Stereolab, a band whose most important period is considered to be the mid 90’s (circa Emperor Tomato Ketchup), has been remarkably consistent in their evolution. While some may find it difficult to see a difference from their debut Peng! to Margerine Eclipse, Stereolab have allowed their sound to naturally and interestingly evolve into more mature and orchestrated territories. Stereolab has almost totally given up the 2-chord pop songs of their earlier (but still great) material and have now begun experimenting with prog-type structures, but without all the D&D references and self-indulgent solos.
Superficially Stereolab’s sound remains the same spacey lounge-jazz it always has been. Their clearest reference points continue to be krautrock hall-of-famers Kraftwerk and Can. But this time around Stereolab willfully explores their love-hate relationship between disco/not-disco. On “La Demeure” we are greeted with their typical dry, driving beat and some ambient keyboards only to be sucked into a parallel universe where Chic and Parliament run a sexy cocktail bar with Air and Dimitri From Paris in attendance. “Need To Be”, on the other hand, follows a rainbow synthesizer line to the obvious reassessment of Stereolab’s mellow pop-songwriting chops complete with soaring chorus.
Margerine Eclipse is not an album that finds Stereolab attempting to conquer any new territory. Rather, Stereolab proves that persisting down the same path can yield some tasty new fruits.
Tuesday, January 27, 2004
::The Unicorns - Who Will Cut Our Hair When We're Gone?::
Spontaneity in music is a volatile thing. On one hand, it can be endearing, make you feel as though the song is being meticulously crafted around you, and can leave a sense of urgency and energy that will not be found in carefully orchestrated performances. On the other hand, in spontaneity can leave a sloppy, misguided, and pointless feeling to songs. Typically, Phish (and their ilk’s) songs fit into the latter category.
Montreal’s the Unicorns, on their first album Who Will Cut Our Hair When We’re Gone?, have, from out of nowhere, successfully found a balance between this live, spontaneous energy and pop craftsmanship and songwriting. “Les Os” perfectly embodies this flexibility. The song, while undeniably pop, takes a strange route from beginning to end that seems fragile and combustible at any point, but when looked at deeper, proves to be incredibly intricate while thoughtfully messy. Add to that some surreal lyrics (“I want to die today/and make love with you in the grave”) and a melody borrowed from 70’s power-poppers Big Star or the Beach Boys and you’ll get the idea.
The one thing that makes the Unicorns’ record so great is its repeat value. WWCOHWWG is incredibly accessible pop music that, dependant on how closely you listen, has layer upon layer to unravel.
Montreal’s the Unicorns, on their first album Who Will Cut Our Hair When We’re Gone?, have, from out of nowhere, successfully found a balance between this live, spontaneous energy and pop craftsmanship and songwriting. “Les Os” perfectly embodies this flexibility. The song, while undeniably pop, takes a strange route from beginning to end that seems fragile and combustible at any point, but when looked at deeper, proves to be incredibly intricate while thoughtfully messy. Add to that some surreal lyrics (“I want to die today/and make love with you in the grave”) and a melody borrowed from 70’s power-poppers Big Star or the Beach Boys and you’ll get the idea.
The one thing that makes the Unicorns’ record so great is its repeat value. WWCOHWWG is incredibly accessible pop music that, dependant on how closely you listen, has layer upon layer to unravel.
Tuesday, January 13, 2004
::The Velvet Underground's "I'm Waiting For My Man"::
Imagine yourself living in the sixties--a time of change from a period of strange paranoia and social oppression to a era of free love, thinking and risk taking. There is no doubt that many of us, who missed the opportunity, have romantically dreamt of the time, its signifigance, and most of us have even imagined living in the middle of America's maturation. But the more I think about it, the Sixties must have been fucking scary, man. Especially if you listened to the Velvet Underground.
These days, the Velvet Underground are more readily recognized for their place in the hipster canon rather than their uncompromising, gothic blues. Which, let me remind you again, can be really fucking scary. Under these seductive, driving 12-bar blues songs lie sadistic songs of drug addiction, sexual perversion, and overall the notion of a utopia gone wrong. For a time like the Sixties, where drugs were romanticized and sex was pure, the Velvet's music was undeniably jaw-dropping. Here were four rock 'n rollers, creatures of debauchery and excess, talking about the inescapable dark side. No wonder no one wanted to hear it.
"I'm Waiting For My Man" is one of these songs that seem easy enough to get along with, but in the end find the darkness at the end of the tunnel. Surely, no one wants to romanticise the notion of drug addicition and paranoia with the "free" Sixties. Instead, the Velvet's refusal of more popular superficial rock themes like love or the depths of the mind, decidedly take a more realistic and dangerous approach that observes one's freedoms as occasionally becoming one's vices. In the end this notion is most likely what turned people off from the Velvet Underground but also made them one of the most important bands ever to exist.
These days, the Velvet Underground are more readily recognized for their place in the hipster canon rather than their uncompromising, gothic blues. Which, let me remind you again, can be really fucking scary. Under these seductive, driving 12-bar blues songs lie sadistic songs of drug addiction, sexual perversion, and overall the notion of a utopia gone wrong. For a time like the Sixties, where drugs were romanticized and sex was pure, the Velvet's music was undeniably jaw-dropping. Here were four rock 'n rollers, creatures of debauchery and excess, talking about the inescapable dark side. No wonder no one wanted to hear it.
"I'm Waiting For My Man" is one of these songs that seem easy enough to get along with, but in the end find the darkness at the end of the tunnel. Surely, no one wants to romanticise the notion of drug addicition and paranoia with the "free" Sixties. Instead, the Velvet's refusal of more popular superficial rock themes like love or the depths of the mind, decidedly take a more realistic and dangerous approach that observes one's freedoms as occasionally becoming one's vices. In the end this notion is most likely what turned people off from the Velvet Underground but also made them one of the most important bands ever to exist.
Monday, January 12, 2004
::"The Boss"::
[I know it's been quite a bit of time since I've updated this website, but I know you all understand because I'm incredibly important! Stay tuned for regular updates.]
Bruce Springsteen is "The Boss". He always has been and always will be. But how does a person who writes songs sympathizing with the lives of lower-middle class men and women become "The Boss"? Surely, this is a misnomer.
Springsteen, to most people, is a realist, one who questions common (the media's?) values and opts to portray life in its most vulnerable and unpleasant ways. In particular, his brilliant 1982 album Nebraska shows Springsteen as an even-more-regular-than-you type of person.
But how does this happen? Obviously, Bruce is not like any of us. Sure he may have grown up in middle-earth type places like New Jersey (ah, home) and seen the blue-collar lifestyle, but isn't Springsteen a celebrity? Isn't he one of those rich, pleasant-on-TV/Stage type of people? Especially at the time of Nebraska Bruce Springsteen he was a recognizable celebrity, selling out stadiums and shows on all his tours.
But yet the music prevails. The thing is that Springsteen tends to illustrate his stories with a narrator that may not necessarily be himself. This worn-down man has seen a lot, knows more than he'll let on, and has that raspy voice to prove it. Listening to Nebraska is not like listening to a rock star attemping to reestablish his credibility, but is like listening to the emotion, thought, and stories of an underrepresented lower-mid class. Ironically, his stories transcend class boundaries and achieve (especially on Nebraska) something like the Human Experience. His dealings with violence, lust, love, and emotion, as stripped down as they are, achieve things anyone can relate to. The sound is necessarily barren and raw to give us that realness we need.
Even though Springsteen is a celebrity with money, fame, and most things that middle America cannot relate with, we find ourselves giving him the name he deserves. He is "The Boss". We will work a week so that we can spend our hard earned cash on seeing a Springsteen show. He knows human emotion like the best artists of our time. And, more than that, he knows he's not better than the murderers, gamblers, or antisocial characters in his songs because, at heart, we all are equal.
Bruce Springsteen is "The Boss". He always has been and always will be. But how does a person who writes songs sympathizing with the lives of lower-middle class men and women become "The Boss"? Surely, this is a misnomer.
Springsteen, to most people, is a realist, one who questions common (the media's?) values and opts to portray life in its most vulnerable and unpleasant ways. In particular, his brilliant 1982 album Nebraska shows Springsteen as an even-more-regular-than-you type of person.
But how does this happen? Obviously, Bruce is not like any of us. Sure he may have grown up in middle-earth type places like New Jersey (ah, home) and seen the blue-collar lifestyle, but isn't Springsteen a celebrity? Isn't he one of those rich, pleasant-on-TV/Stage type of people? Especially at the time of Nebraska Bruce Springsteen he was a recognizable celebrity, selling out stadiums and shows on all his tours.
But yet the music prevails. The thing is that Springsteen tends to illustrate his stories with a narrator that may not necessarily be himself. This worn-down man has seen a lot, knows more than he'll let on, and has that raspy voice to prove it. Listening to Nebraska is not like listening to a rock star attemping to reestablish his credibility, but is like listening to the emotion, thought, and stories of an underrepresented lower-mid class. Ironically, his stories transcend class boundaries and achieve (especially on Nebraska) something like the Human Experience. His dealings with violence, lust, love, and emotion, as stripped down as they are, achieve things anyone can relate to. The sound is necessarily barren and raw to give us that realness we need.
Even though Springsteen is a celebrity with money, fame, and most things that middle America cannot relate with, we find ourselves giving him the name he deserves. He is "The Boss". We will work a week so that we can spend our hard earned cash on seeing a Springsteen show. He knows human emotion like the best artists of our time. And, more than that, he knows he's not better than the murderers, gamblers, or antisocial characters in his songs because, at heart, we all are equal.
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