Gauzed

Listening to the Cocteau Twins’ abridgment, Lullabies to Violane, it’s evident how at one point the members fall to “addiction” (via wikipedia, y’all). Syrupy vocal melodies glaze over the heavily treated guitar and reverbed drum mechanics, making for an incredibly narcotic mix and – no, (embarrassingly) I didn’t know this before I heard today – the reason My Bloody Valentine exists. Talking extremely heavy music for how light and fluffy it tries to purport – the debilitating mixture isolates as only stop dead-in-yr-tracks music can. It could be how delicate the melodies are: it could be how simple/perfect the musicianship is. Or it could simply be the siren’s wail heard herein is something that the heart cannot handle and, inexplicably, wordlessly, gives everything impossible weight.

Most of the time listening to the Grateful Dead and I'll be left with a feeling that this could've been better -- a little more focused here, a litter weirder there. Most definitely more balls and crunch. Similarly, with some heavier acts (doom-rock, guh) I wish they would show off a little more, spread it out and let the amps smoke instead of pounding my head into the ground with chug. Mostly, what's missing is that southern boogie, Led-heavy, acid drenched freakout solos, echo beyond comprehension and WOAAAAEAH's. And done well.

That's why we have Avatar by Comets on Fire. Like Blue Cathedral it's got the riled-up beery psych-out boogies, but this time around the craft's tuned, like they wrote some songs instead of drinking a fifth of JD and lettin' 'er rip in E, OK, this time A. The first two are scortchers, but then comes an effin' sweet piano slow burner courtesy of full-time-drummer, sometimes-keyboardist Utrillo Kushner. (He also plays in Colossal Yes, which hands down is a great name.) The rest of Avatar gives us those Comets that rip and roar but, most importantly, can also write a great rock n' roll record, even funky at times ("Sour Smoke"). It's one that plugs the gaps in any rock head's collection real fine and gives hope to the LP.

Charleston

On my way back from a trip down south in the wonderful town of Charleston, South Carolina. An absolutely incredible town built around life's unnecessary pleasures of eating, drinking and shopping.

In other news, Rick Springfield followed by "Let Me Clear My Throat" playing loudly with a light up dance floor, can give you the spins. (So will multiple vodka clubs and copious cigarette smoke.) Chic's "Everybody Dance" played on portable speakers, on the other hand, will not. (Nor will a Manhattan, but no one knows how to make these dreamy cocktails in the south for some reason.)

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I read Killing Yourself to Live by Chuck Klosterman this week. He's really fun to read, but 250 pages of self-awareness gets old after a while. I do agree with him that Interpol kind of sucks and that Rod Stewart has the best voice in rock and roll.

Also - been listening to the following:

• Hot Snakes' "If Credit's What Matters, I'll Take Credit"
• Dinosaur Jr.'s Without a Sound
• Drunks With Guns, Scratch Acid, Pissed Jeans
• Howe Gelb's 'Sno Angel Like You

Haven't had too much to say on here lately as a good friend has passed away recently rendering blogging a somewhat low priority. DP, we'll miss you...

To the rest -- we'll see you soon.