“Fear is a very powerful emotion.” Or so says the first sentence of Liars’ press release.
I’d tend to agree. After all, we’re fed fear every day. Glance at Fox “News” and most of the time you’ll get some sort of mention of an orange/purple/green alert. Why? To scare us into watching more? To see what kind of duct tape we should purchase? To see when Bill O’Reilly predicts the world is going to melt?
Although the media does play a large part in the American consciousness, it’s not completely their fault that we are terrified of everything. I’d like to point my long middle finger at the Bush administration for the rest of the blame. Sure, everyone should have felt uneasy and, well, terrified after 9/11, but the extent that the Bush administration went to was ridiculous. What they have taught us, by example, in the past few years is absurd: every middle-eastern non-U.S.-supporter is a potential terrorist whether they prove to be an imminent threat or not. What the hell happened to innocent until proven guilty?
Liars, like many other skeptical Americans have watched what has happened to our country for the past few years with a weary, firsthand eye. They are from Brooklyn, minutes away from where this all began (or did it?). Rather than take the blatantly easy route by screaming personal politics over sharp-edged discopunk, (see They Threw Us in a Trench and Stuck a Monument on Top) Liars have created something different.
Liars have taken America’s history of fear and turned it into an uncompromising work of art. They have proved that our earliest fears run parallel to our current paranoia. That’s right; Liars have created a concept album about witches.
The United States has a history of witch hunts. They date as far back as the literal Salem witch trials to the McCarthy “you’re a communist” era all the way up to now, and the Bush “you’re not patriotic” era. These times have created a paranoia uniquely American, one that is dutifully captured on Liars’ They Were Wrong So We Drowned.
The album in question is one that takes sound and uses it to create the aural equivalent of a Pollack painting. Synth bleeps, collapsible drums, and lacerating guitars arise chaotically and sporadically creating dark and forceful sound collages reminiscent of terrified confusion and dread.
Although Liars have allowed their sound to become noisier and less-accessible, their old post-punk resonance is not completely gone. Songs like, “There’s Always Room on the Broom” and “Hold and It Will Happen Anyway” revisit familiar territory that is both recognizably welcome respites and forward-thinking at once.
They Were Wrong, So We Drowned is not for everyone. This is a record interested in social commentary through art, and difficult art at that. This record will polarize many crowds like most abstract contemporary art does. But if you allow yourself to get into it, you will find, as the Liars’ press release says, “Fear is a very seductive emotion.”
Thursday, February 26, 2004
Tuesday, February 17, 2004
::Air - Talkie Walkie::
In the early 90’s, I used to watch Back to the Future, Part II repeatedly. There was something that was so exciting about jackets that were hair dryers, watching 12 television networks at once, and having a flying skateboard. As I got older, Michael J. Fox’s face was gradually replaced with a faceless Hal 3000 computer from 2001: A Space Odyssey. My innocent, hopeful vision of the future had slowly begun to change into a more paranoid idea of the unknown.
Air, like those films, have found themselves evolving in the same manner. For their past two full-lengths the electronic/acoustic French duo has been creating a time that does not suit them. Their sound seemed stuck in some kitschy 70’s vision of the future, a time when space travel is common for anyone and everyone, a time that finds us miniscule and in awe of a huge universe.
Ultimately, this sound quickly wore itself out. Moon Safari, their debut and the album most consider their masterpiece, after a few listens seemed too tacky and absurd; too innocent a picture of the unknow. While “La Femme d’Argent” and “Sexy Boy” were great, the rest of the tracks failed to explore very different ground. 10,000 Hz. Legend, their sophomore effort, fared even worse by testing out paranoid experimental soundscapes that were found to be flat, claustrophobic, and uninteresting making them sound like some new-age bores.
Talkie Walkie, I figured, would continue down this road to self-destruction, eventually resulting in an Air track on some gross Ibiza “chill-out” compilation. Surprisingly, Air has not only reclaimed the magic of Moon Safari, but has stripped Safari’s sound to its core, resulting in simple, minimalist compositions. Particularly on “Alpha Beta Gaga” we see an incredibly mature band finding the silence between the notes to be more deadly than the melody.
That is not to say that Air has given up their sense of melancholy, dreamy pop. Every one of Talkie Walkie’s tracks float in those soft harmonies that made Air so memorable in the first place. This time around, the band places those sexy synths and plucked guitars against little more than a dry drum-machine or no rhythm at all. On “Universal Traveler” and “Cherry Blossom Girl” Air uses this exact method of restraint to achieve breathtaking results.
While their sense of melody is approaching impeccable, their sound also finds an impressive cinematic center. “Alone In Kyoto”, a song used in Sofia Coppola’s Lost In Translation and the album’s centerpiece, is exactly this—a song that undeniably evokes imagery. What, exactly, that is remains up to you.
Because most of the lyrics on Talkie Walkie are about rockets, planets, and space travel in general, there is no doubt that Air is attempting to evoke a visualization of the future. With their simple, mysterious production and nearly perfect sense of spacious melody Air has finally found how to straddle the line between an absurdly glamorous prospect and heavy-handed apocalyptic outlook resulting in a repeatedly enjoyable vision of the next century. I can’t wait for the DVD.
Air, like those films, have found themselves evolving in the same manner. For their past two full-lengths the electronic/acoustic French duo has been creating a time that does not suit them. Their sound seemed stuck in some kitschy 70’s vision of the future, a time when space travel is common for anyone and everyone, a time that finds us miniscule and in awe of a huge universe.
Ultimately, this sound quickly wore itself out. Moon Safari, their debut and the album most consider their masterpiece, after a few listens seemed too tacky and absurd; too innocent a picture of the unknow. While “La Femme d’Argent” and “Sexy Boy” were great, the rest of the tracks failed to explore very different ground. 10,000 Hz. Legend, their sophomore effort, fared even worse by testing out paranoid experimental soundscapes that were found to be flat, claustrophobic, and uninteresting making them sound like some new-age bores.
Talkie Walkie, I figured, would continue down this road to self-destruction, eventually resulting in an Air track on some gross Ibiza “chill-out” compilation. Surprisingly, Air has not only reclaimed the magic of Moon Safari, but has stripped Safari’s sound to its core, resulting in simple, minimalist compositions. Particularly on “Alpha Beta Gaga” we see an incredibly mature band finding the silence between the notes to be more deadly than the melody.
That is not to say that Air has given up their sense of melancholy, dreamy pop. Every one of Talkie Walkie’s tracks float in those soft harmonies that made Air so memorable in the first place. This time around, the band places those sexy synths and plucked guitars against little more than a dry drum-machine or no rhythm at all. On “Universal Traveler” and “Cherry Blossom Girl” Air uses this exact method of restraint to achieve breathtaking results.
While their sense of melody is approaching impeccable, their sound also finds an impressive cinematic center. “Alone In Kyoto”, a song used in Sofia Coppola’s Lost In Translation and the album’s centerpiece, is exactly this—a song that undeniably evokes imagery. What, exactly, that is remains up to you.
Because most of the lyrics on Talkie Walkie are about rockets, planets, and space travel in general, there is no doubt that Air is attempting to evoke a visualization of the future. With their simple, mysterious production and nearly perfect sense of spacious melody Air has finally found how to straddle the line between an absurdly glamorous prospect and heavy-handed apocalyptic outlook resulting in a repeatedly enjoyable vision of the next century. I can’t wait for the DVD.
Tuesday, February 10, 2004
::The Descendents::
Let's talk about pop music for a minute.
Ok.
The Descendents are pop music. Yes. We agree.
Words like, "I like food/food tastes good." Yes, everyone can get along with that. Understand that.
But the genius of the Descendents is not easily seen by everyone.
They're a punk band.
[Crowd Groans]
Stop and listen. The Descendents are genius. They exist in the same realm as any great pop band. Ever. Yes.
That means they can be compared to The Beatles, Beach Boys, Byrds, Beulah, Beachwood Sparks, etc.
A Descendent's song rarely consists of more than 3 chords, inane lyrics about something anything a high-school dropout could have written (note: Milo Aukerman, the singer, is a Molecular Biologist when he's not in the band), and a fucking unbelievably catchy hook for the chorus.
This is enough to make any person a fan of the Descendents. Even if the lyrics "Sienfeld, Simpsons, My So-Called Life/Seen the reruns 20 million times" make you cringe. I mean after all, you've seen all those shows too, haven't you? You sad bastard.
Yes.
So, go buy the new single 'Merican. You know what you're going to get, you know you're going to like it, and you know it's going to be money well spent.
Just so you know.
Ok.
The Descendents are pop music. Yes. We agree.
Words like, "I like food/food tastes good." Yes, everyone can get along with that. Understand that.
But the genius of the Descendents is not easily seen by everyone.
They're a punk band.
[Crowd Groans]
Stop and listen. The Descendents are genius. They exist in the same realm as any great pop band. Ever. Yes.
That means they can be compared to The Beatles, Beach Boys, Byrds, Beulah, Beachwood Sparks, etc.
A Descendent's song rarely consists of more than 3 chords, inane lyrics about something anything a high-school dropout could have written (note: Milo Aukerman, the singer, is a Molecular Biologist when he's not in the band), and a fucking unbelievably catchy hook for the chorus.
This is enough to make any person a fan of the Descendents. Even if the lyrics "Sienfeld, Simpsons, My So-Called Life/Seen the reruns 20 million times" make you cringe. I mean after all, you've seen all those shows too, haven't you? You sad bastard.
Yes.
So, go buy the new single 'Merican. You know what you're going to get, you know you're going to like it, and you know it's going to be money well spent.
Just so you know.
Monday, February 09, 2004
Hello...
Hello,
I wanted to thank some of the readers of this rag for a moment. Also, I would like to let everyone know that many of the things that I print in the upcoming weeks will be printed in The Old Gold & Black at the same time (Wake Forest University's school paper). You can see that here.
While you're reading about music, why not see what's happening in the world of film (and music, too)? I have a great website for you to turn to here. It's called Math Industries and its published daily by a friend named Paul Bullock. He's a smart and reliable fellow. Check it out!
The Math Industries website is quite sexy, don't you think? Yes. Well, another friend of mine has helped design it, and he also has his own website here. His name is Chad Pugh and he is extremely creative. At that website you can check out his work. Check that out too!
Okay, that's it for now, I'll talk to you soon!
Love,
Brett
I wanted to thank some of the readers of this rag for a moment. Also, I would like to let everyone know that many of the things that I print in the upcoming weeks will be printed in The Old Gold & Black at the same time (Wake Forest University's school paper). You can see that here.
While you're reading about music, why not see what's happening in the world of film (and music, too)? I have a great website for you to turn to here. It's called Math Industries and its published daily by a friend named Paul Bullock. He's a smart and reliable fellow. Check it out!
The Math Industries website is quite sexy, don't you think? Yes. Well, another friend of mine has helped design it, and he also has his own website here. His name is Chad Pugh and he is extremely creative. At that website you can check out his work. Check that out too!
Okay, that's it for now, I'll talk to you soon!
Love,
Brett
::The Walkmen - Bows and Arrows::
The Strokes. Yeah, the Walkmen kind of sound like the Strokes. They both have that wildly crooning singer that seems really impassioned yet bored at the same time. They both dress well. They’re both from New York. And, in the last six months, they both put out records that are much more impressive than their predecessors.
The comparisons between the Strokes and Walkmen pretty much end in their specific locations, the Strokes are from downtown Manhattan while the Walkmen call uptown home. Where the Strokes are all parallel lines and Mondrian-esque, the Walkmen take a crescendo and make the song to melt into itself like grilled cheese (see “No Christmas While I’m Talking”). Also, where the Strokes seem pleasantly grimy, the Walkmen actually embrace a weathered songwriting approach.
That’s not to say that their chops are underdeveloped and woefully scratchy. Rather, the Walkmen’s production, which they mostly do themselves, allows their songs much more space to breathe than the Strokes’ airtight veneer.
While the Strokes are good, the Walkmen are better. The thing about the Walkmen is that they don’t care about the garage-rock thing that much anymore.
In the late 90s three of the five Walkmen were in the superb Jonathon Fire*Eater, which predated pretty much every half-rate “rock revivalist” that M2 deems “buzzworthy” (screw you, Jet). They’ve taken the standard three-chord songs as far as they can go and now challenge themselves to embrace more orchestrated and difficult territory.
The outcome is nearly perfect. While their last album Everyone Who Pretended to Like Me is Gone, with a song in a Saturn car commercial, was simply catchy; Bows and Arrows, on the other hand, is even more accessible, memorable and rewarding all at once.
Songs fluctuate between brink-of-disaster rockers like “Little House of Savages” and the utterly fantastic “The Rat” to the mood-oriented and rhythmless “Hang On, Siobhan.” The fact that they seamlessly fluctuate between sweat and sweetness is impressive. After all, can you say that for their colleagues in the Strokes?
Nay.
The only problem encountered with the different types of songs is that the fluidity of the album is compromised. Twice the listener’s heart rate is brought up only to be suddenly cut off in heart-wrenching laments. Of course, this is only a minor problem in the long run, because individually the songs stand up separate from the whole.
The more and more I think about it, the Walkmen don’t really sound like they should be related to that god-forsaken/holy place that is known as New York City. Their sound is too natural, too dreamy. There’s an environment that lives in this record and it’s not the high rise, fashionista life of the East Village, but the snowy, cold winters experienced all along the eastern seaboard, looking from the inside out. While the Strokes can and will always have New York pegged with Room on Fire, the rest of America can embrace Bows and Arrows as the soundtrack to the East Coast’s muffled landscape of winter.
The comparisons between the Strokes and Walkmen pretty much end in their specific locations, the Strokes are from downtown Manhattan while the Walkmen call uptown home. Where the Strokes are all parallel lines and Mondrian-esque, the Walkmen take a crescendo and make the song to melt into itself like grilled cheese (see “No Christmas While I’m Talking”). Also, where the Strokes seem pleasantly grimy, the Walkmen actually embrace a weathered songwriting approach.
That’s not to say that their chops are underdeveloped and woefully scratchy. Rather, the Walkmen’s production, which they mostly do themselves, allows their songs much more space to breathe than the Strokes’ airtight veneer.
While the Strokes are good, the Walkmen are better. The thing about the Walkmen is that they don’t care about the garage-rock thing that much anymore.
In the late 90s three of the five Walkmen were in the superb Jonathon Fire*Eater, which predated pretty much every half-rate “rock revivalist” that M2 deems “buzzworthy” (screw you, Jet). They’ve taken the standard three-chord songs as far as they can go and now challenge themselves to embrace more orchestrated and difficult territory.
The outcome is nearly perfect. While their last album Everyone Who Pretended to Like Me is Gone, with a song in a Saturn car commercial, was simply catchy; Bows and Arrows, on the other hand, is even more accessible, memorable and rewarding all at once.
Songs fluctuate between brink-of-disaster rockers like “Little House of Savages” and the utterly fantastic “The Rat” to the mood-oriented and rhythmless “Hang On, Siobhan.” The fact that they seamlessly fluctuate between sweat and sweetness is impressive. After all, can you say that for their colleagues in the Strokes?
Nay.
The only problem encountered with the different types of songs is that the fluidity of the album is compromised. Twice the listener’s heart rate is brought up only to be suddenly cut off in heart-wrenching laments. Of course, this is only a minor problem in the long run, because individually the songs stand up separate from the whole.
The more and more I think about it, the Walkmen don’t really sound like they should be related to that god-forsaken/holy place that is known as New York City. Their sound is too natural, too dreamy. There’s an environment that lives in this record and it’s not the high rise, fashionista life of the East Village, but the snowy, cold winters experienced all along the eastern seaboard, looking from the inside out. While the Strokes can and will always have New York pegged with Room on Fire, the rest of America can embrace Bows and Arrows as the soundtrack to the East Coast’s muffled landscape of winter.
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