Wednesday, March 31, 2004
Sorry...
Sorry, I've been missing in action for about a month. Here's three reviews...I hope you forgive me.
::Madvillain - Madvillainy::
Back when Ornette Coleman practically invented free-jazz in the late 50’s, early 60’s, it resulted in a huge shift in the world of music. In the years following his most commercially successful album, The Shape of Jazz to Come, the more musically outlandish followers of Coleman (and Thelonius Monk, among other innovators) fell further and further below the radar, while the more accessible, traditional players found continued mainstream acceptance.
Looking at the state of hip-hop, one gets the sense that the same thing seems to be happening. The underground is deservedly receiving a huge amount of critical acclaim, but still cannot find a stronghold in the mainstream.
MF Doom and Madlib, the two men comprising Madvillain, have, for years, been part of this underground. But rather than attempting to water-down their sound to increase record sales and public approval (Black Eyed Peas or Jurassic 5, anyone?), Doom and Madlib have followed in their jazz torchbearers’ steps and have made their music more exciting and experimental with each record. This is expertly proven with Madvillainy, a record of incredible depth and artistic integrity.
Madlib, as usual, handles most of the production and uses his comprehensive knowledge of jazz to his advantage, laying down unrecognizable yet great jazz and soul records to sound somewhere in between Sun Ra to Philly Soul, as strange as that may sound. As Doom says on “Money Folder”, “He flipped it like Madlib did an old jazz standard.” Tracks like “Meat Grinder” and “Sickfit” have the power to prove to any doubter that, yes, sampling can be incredibly dense and captivating stuff.
But as good as Madlib’s production is (and if we’re comparing them to their peers) Doom’s rhyming truly destroys any competition. He’s funny, surreal, aware, poetic, and any other number of praising adjectives you can think of.
More than anything, Doom is extremely entertaining to listen to. He uses words to their full effect, playing with their sound, meaning, and rhythm to make him, quite possibly, one of the most original MCs ever. Take “Rhinestone Cowboy”, for example, where Doom exclaims, “We rock the house like rock n’ roll/Got more soul/Than a sock with a hole.”
While this may not seem too impressive on paper, hearing the spoken rhythm allows Doom’s rhymes to take off over top of Lib’s production that perfectly complements Doom’s dry attack.
Although MF Doom takes the microphone for most of the record, Madlib’s split-persona does show itself as the helium-voiced Quasimoto. His appearance on “America’s Most Blunted” is amazing—schizophrenic and hilarious, even if the subject matter is dumb, making the track to be one of Madvillainy’s best.
Even though some of the tracks on Madvillainy may be better than others, you’d be really hard pressed to find a bad track. As a whole, the record is unstoppable and, quite possibly, better than any other hip-hop record released this decade.
Madvillainy has potential. It can make a commercial splash and have some of the same influence that Coleman’s Shape had. If it does, we can look forward to an incredible future of progressive underground hip-hop.
Looking at the state of hip-hop, one gets the sense that the same thing seems to be happening. The underground is deservedly receiving a huge amount of critical acclaim, but still cannot find a stronghold in the mainstream.
MF Doom and Madlib, the two men comprising Madvillain, have, for years, been part of this underground. But rather than attempting to water-down their sound to increase record sales and public approval (Black Eyed Peas or Jurassic 5, anyone?), Doom and Madlib have followed in their jazz torchbearers’ steps and have made their music more exciting and experimental with each record. This is expertly proven with Madvillainy, a record of incredible depth and artistic integrity.
Madlib, as usual, handles most of the production and uses his comprehensive knowledge of jazz to his advantage, laying down unrecognizable yet great jazz and soul records to sound somewhere in between Sun Ra to Philly Soul, as strange as that may sound. As Doom says on “Money Folder”, “He flipped it like Madlib did an old jazz standard.” Tracks like “Meat Grinder” and “Sickfit” have the power to prove to any doubter that, yes, sampling can be incredibly dense and captivating stuff.
But as good as Madlib’s production is (and if we’re comparing them to their peers) Doom’s rhyming truly destroys any competition. He’s funny, surreal, aware, poetic, and any other number of praising adjectives you can think of.
More than anything, Doom is extremely entertaining to listen to. He uses words to their full effect, playing with their sound, meaning, and rhythm to make him, quite possibly, one of the most original MCs ever. Take “Rhinestone Cowboy”, for example, where Doom exclaims, “We rock the house like rock n’ roll/Got more soul/Than a sock with a hole.”
While this may not seem too impressive on paper, hearing the spoken rhythm allows Doom’s rhymes to take off over top of Lib’s production that perfectly complements Doom’s dry attack.
Although MF Doom takes the microphone for most of the record, Madlib’s split-persona does show itself as the helium-voiced Quasimoto. His appearance on “America’s Most Blunted” is amazing—schizophrenic and hilarious, even if the subject matter is dumb, making the track to be one of Madvillainy’s best.
Even though some of the tracks on Madvillainy may be better than others, you’d be really hard pressed to find a bad track. As a whole, the record is unstoppable and, quite possibly, better than any other hip-hop record released this decade.
Madvillainy has potential. It can make a commercial splash and have some of the same influence that Coleman’s Shape had. If it does, we can look forward to an incredible future of progressive underground hip-hop.
::Kanye West - College Dropout::
The American Dream.
Kanye (pronounced Khan-yay) West, producer and rapper from Chicago, pretty much has this one thing on his mind. Only, it’s not the American Dream most people have of money, success, and happiness. While West’s idea does encompass these three touchstones of the American Dream, it dives a bit deeper into the fray surrounding this abstract notion.
When immigrants first arrived on ships into Ellis Island, being successful in the United States was not something that had to be achieved through education. Gradually, as the 20th century began to wear on, education almost became a necessity for anyone seeking class movement. Especially in today’s world, one must attend college to become successful as evidenced by our enrollment in Wake Forest.
Kanye West wants to eliminate this preconception. Even before you listen to the record, you kind of know what you’re getting yourself into. After all, you are buying a CD in a record store called College Dropout. This guy is letting you know “even though I didn’t go to college, I’ve made myself successful. Eff the system.”
Once the record hits the needle, it’s a bit different than the uninitiated listener might expect. He’s not a cocksure or brash in proclaiming “I’m #1”, because he constantly checks himself by confessing his weaknesses. It’s incredibly exciting to listen to College Dropout because Kanye is a man who is arrogant yet mindful. In other words, he’s someone the listener can relate to.
The best tracks are the ones that illustrate this duality. “All Falls Down” is the first track we see this, when he says, “Man I promise I’m so self-conscious/That’s why you always see me with one of my watches”. “Jesus Walks”, on the other hand, is a view of an actual cry for help, something almost unprecedented in the hip-hop world and one of Dropout’s best songs. Pair this subject matter with West’s smooth, simplistic (but not half-baked) flow, and the record becomes almost unstoppable.
Unfortunately, as a whole, the record does lose steam at some points. Most of the skits are unnecessary and truly boring. They serve no purpose to the record. Just keep that finger on top of the fast forward button when they come up.
Thankfully, this lull in quality throughout is more than made up for with West’s dominant production. West was a producer before he decided to step up to the mic, having helped on Jay-Z’s “Izzo (H.O.V.A.)”, Ludacris’ “Stand Up”, and Talib Kweli’s “Get By” (all three appear on Dropout). His studio experience is mesmerizing as he easily weaves 70’s soul and jazz reminiscent of A Tribe Called Quest into soon-to-be (or already, like “Slow Jamz” with Twista & Jamie Foxx) club tracks.
Kanye West’s debut is an incredible one. He, with a few missteps, has created an incredibly successful album bridging the underground and the mainstream. West is living the American Dream, but he still remains insatiated, wanting to conquer even more real-estate. He’s there, but not yet.
Kanye (pronounced Khan-yay) West, producer and rapper from Chicago, pretty much has this one thing on his mind. Only, it’s not the American Dream most people have of money, success, and happiness. While West’s idea does encompass these three touchstones of the American Dream, it dives a bit deeper into the fray surrounding this abstract notion.
When immigrants first arrived on ships into Ellis Island, being successful in the United States was not something that had to be achieved through education. Gradually, as the 20th century began to wear on, education almost became a necessity for anyone seeking class movement. Especially in today’s world, one must attend college to become successful as evidenced by our enrollment in Wake Forest.
Kanye West wants to eliminate this preconception. Even before you listen to the record, you kind of know what you’re getting yourself into. After all, you are buying a CD in a record store called College Dropout. This guy is letting you know “even though I didn’t go to college, I’ve made myself successful. Eff the system.”
Once the record hits the needle, it’s a bit different than the uninitiated listener might expect. He’s not a cocksure or brash in proclaiming “I’m #1”, because he constantly checks himself by confessing his weaknesses. It’s incredibly exciting to listen to College Dropout because Kanye is a man who is arrogant yet mindful. In other words, he’s someone the listener can relate to.
The best tracks are the ones that illustrate this duality. “All Falls Down” is the first track we see this, when he says, “Man I promise I’m so self-conscious/That’s why you always see me with one of my watches”. “Jesus Walks”, on the other hand, is a view of an actual cry for help, something almost unprecedented in the hip-hop world and one of Dropout’s best songs. Pair this subject matter with West’s smooth, simplistic (but not half-baked) flow, and the record becomes almost unstoppable.
Unfortunately, as a whole, the record does lose steam at some points. Most of the skits are unnecessary and truly boring. They serve no purpose to the record. Just keep that finger on top of the fast forward button when they come up.
Thankfully, this lull in quality throughout is more than made up for with West’s dominant production. West was a producer before he decided to step up to the mic, having helped on Jay-Z’s “Izzo (H.O.V.A.)”, Ludacris’ “Stand Up”, and Talib Kweli’s “Get By” (all three appear on Dropout). His studio experience is mesmerizing as he easily weaves 70’s soul and jazz reminiscent of A Tribe Called Quest into soon-to-be (or already, like “Slow Jamz” with Twista & Jamie Foxx) club tracks.
Kanye West’s debut is an incredible one. He, with a few missteps, has created an incredibly successful album bridging the underground and the mainstream. West is living the American Dream, but he still remains insatiated, wanting to conquer even more real-estate. He’s there, but not yet.
::Franz Ferdinand - Franz Ferdinand::
As soon as I saw Franz Ferdinand’s press kit, I knew I would hate them.
I mean, look at these nerds, dressed up like Interpol without ties, trying to be all cool and hip.
These guys haven’t got a chance in hell.
But my job is to review music, not wardrobe and image.
I put the record on and immediately, I thought, “You’ve got be kidding me with this post-punk crap. That garbage was sooo 2002.”
Of course I wasn’t really listening. I was still thinking about how much I hated that one dude’s moustache. It wasn’t ironic or good-looking. What was he thinking?
Music, not wardrobe.
Focus, okay?
All right.
I let a few days pass and eventually I sat down with the record, attempting to divorce myself from my preconceptions.
And, hell, I was wrong.
I heard one of the best records I’ve heard in a long while.
The thing about Franz Ferdinand is that they’re not really that new.
Rather, they tend to be a synthesis of everything that draws one into an addiction with rock music.
They keep their head in the future and their feet in the past.
Franz Ferdinand’s all-encompassing knowledge of worthy music is impressive, but their tightness is even more astounding. Every song is so securely wound that it feels like it could unravel at any moment and leave the listener with an incredible sense of urgency.
While each member plays perfectly in time with one another, they, at the same time, aren’t afraid of going in four different directions, which they almost always do.
Franz Ferdinand’s urgency can’t be simply measured by how fragile they sound. One needs to, of course, mention those damn disco beats.
It sounds like they’re playing at Studio 54 where someone lit them on fire and told them the only way they could put it out was by playing with a greater sense of urgency and by making everyone dance faster and weirder.
Not only would Franz Ferdinand make a great Studio 54 house band, but they’d probably fit in there as well.
All over their record they make an effort to sound creepily androgynous like early Bowie or Suede, especially on “Michael.” Singer Alex Kapranos blurs sexual lines allowing everyone except the homophobes to come along.
While Franz Ferdinand do sound kind of disco, they more frequently tend to stick to the rock end of the spectrum.
They find a comfortable niche in between Interpol and Hot Hot Heat (see “Take Me Out,” “Cheating On You,” or “This Fire”) but thankfully sound nothing like either.
Other times, like on “Tell Her Tonight,” they sound like Wire or even the Pixies.
In the end though, Franz Ferdinand doesn’t sound like a conglomeration of these torchbearers but a completely new band - and a fantastic one at that.
So I learned a valuable lesson. Don’t judge a book by its cover, or its press kit, because you might lose out on the content.
Unless that book looks like Good Charlotte. In which case you should discard of it immediately because there is nothing redeemable to be found in those pages.
I mean, look at these nerds, dressed up like Interpol without ties, trying to be all cool and hip.
These guys haven’t got a chance in hell.
But my job is to review music, not wardrobe and image.
I put the record on and immediately, I thought, “You’ve got be kidding me with this post-punk crap. That garbage was sooo 2002.”
Of course I wasn’t really listening. I was still thinking about how much I hated that one dude’s moustache. It wasn’t ironic or good-looking. What was he thinking?
Music, not wardrobe.
Focus, okay?
All right.
I let a few days pass and eventually I sat down with the record, attempting to divorce myself from my preconceptions.
And, hell, I was wrong.
I heard one of the best records I’ve heard in a long while.
The thing about Franz Ferdinand is that they’re not really that new.
Rather, they tend to be a synthesis of everything that draws one into an addiction with rock music.
They keep their head in the future and their feet in the past.
Franz Ferdinand’s all-encompassing knowledge of worthy music is impressive, but their tightness is even more astounding. Every song is so securely wound that it feels like it could unravel at any moment and leave the listener with an incredible sense of urgency.
While each member plays perfectly in time with one another, they, at the same time, aren’t afraid of going in four different directions, which they almost always do.
Franz Ferdinand’s urgency can’t be simply measured by how fragile they sound. One needs to, of course, mention those damn disco beats.
It sounds like they’re playing at Studio 54 where someone lit them on fire and told them the only way they could put it out was by playing with a greater sense of urgency and by making everyone dance faster and weirder.
Not only would Franz Ferdinand make a great Studio 54 house band, but they’d probably fit in there as well.
All over their record they make an effort to sound creepily androgynous like early Bowie or Suede, especially on “Michael.” Singer Alex Kapranos blurs sexual lines allowing everyone except the homophobes to come along.
While Franz Ferdinand do sound kind of disco, they more frequently tend to stick to the rock end of the spectrum.
They find a comfortable niche in between Interpol and Hot Hot Heat (see “Take Me Out,” “Cheating On You,” or “This Fire”) but thankfully sound nothing like either.
Other times, like on “Tell Her Tonight,” they sound like Wire or even the Pixies.
In the end though, Franz Ferdinand doesn’t sound like a conglomeration of these torchbearers but a completely new band - and a fantastic one at that.
So I learned a valuable lesson. Don’t judge a book by its cover, or its press kit, because you might lose out on the content.
Unless that book looks like Good Charlotte. In which case you should discard of it immediately because there is nothing redeemable to be found in those pages.
Thursday, February 26, 2004
::Liars - They Were Wrong So We Drowned::
“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.”
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.”
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.
Tuesday, January 27, 2004
::Stereolab - Margerine Eclipse::
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.
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.
::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.
Wednesday, July 30, 2003
::Warm Waves of Sound::
I really do like electronic music. Sure, sometimes it's cold and less emotive than a "more human" acoustic ballad. But, like rock music using typical arrangements (i.e. guitar, drums, etc.), smart electronic music can prove to be just as emotional. Problem is, most electronic music becomes outdated very quickly. Really, when was the last time you picked up a techno record from the mid 90's? Technology advances at such a rapid race that equipment that was once cutting edge becomes obsolete.
Take, for example, The Notwist's Neon Golden and the Postal Service's Give Up. Both groups have created great pop records that I thoroughly enjoy listening to. Unfourtunately, I already feel like these records have become dated. The Notwist, in particular, is a great pop record, but still sounds too synthetic with its clicks, bleeps, and drum machines. I know that the point is to combine the electronic with the pop melody, but something gets in the way--the "state of the art" machines they used. This record is no longer fresh. And freshness is key in listenability.
Enter: Keith Fullerton Whitman's Playthroughs. (Note: I'm not a pretentious asshole who only supports the avant-garde.) Now I could give you a whole back story on Whitman, but that would downplay how good this record is and trivialize where it is coming from. Yes, it's great. It stands alone, apart from almost all other electronic records that I've heard in the last few years. Aside from that, one can listen to the record repeatedly, finding something new each time. It's a thrilling listen that exists independent of genre, time, and place.
So what does Playthroughs sound like? OK, I'll try my best. Basically, Whitman has made a record of hums, drones, guitar feedback, and other harmonic noises that gently melt into one another. Think shoegaze without drums. This record has the capability to dismiss rhythm and still sound more interesting than 95% of electronic music. Strike that, music in general. The "songs" (it's recorded in 5 parts) layer innumerable amounts of warm tones on top of one another creating an electric blanket of sound. The music washes over you, causing the hair on your neck to stand up. Occasionaly a click or bleep finds its way into the mix, but not really for rhythm's sake--these pops remind you that, no, you're not in heaven, just listening to what it might sound like. I really don't think it's an accident that the cover has photos taken from a plane looking down upon the earth.
I know that in 5 years I'll be able to listen to this record an think, "damn this is some beautiful music." It won't be pigeonholed to an area. It won't sound dated, because Playthroughs sounds like it was created with wind, fire, water, and earth. And it won't be compartmentalized or stuffed into a genre, because it doesn't sound like anything else.
Or, at least I hope it'll sound as new--who knows what the future has in store?
Take, for example, The Notwist's Neon Golden and the Postal Service's Give Up. Both groups have created great pop records that I thoroughly enjoy listening to. Unfourtunately, I already feel like these records have become dated. The Notwist, in particular, is a great pop record, but still sounds too synthetic with its clicks, bleeps, and drum machines. I know that the point is to combine the electronic with the pop melody, but something gets in the way--the "state of the art" machines they used. This record is no longer fresh. And freshness is key in listenability.
Enter: Keith Fullerton Whitman's Playthroughs. (Note: I'm not a pretentious asshole who only supports the avant-garde.) Now I could give you a whole back story on Whitman, but that would downplay how good this record is and trivialize where it is coming from. Yes, it's great. It stands alone, apart from almost all other electronic records that I've heard in the last few years. Aside from that, one can listen to the record repeatedly, finding something new each time. It's a thrilling listen that exists independent of genre, time, and place.
So what does Playthroughs sound like? OK, I'll try my best. Basically, Whitman has made a record of hums, drones, guitar feedback, and other harmonic noises that gently melt into one another. Think shoegaze without drums. This record has the capability to dismiss rhythm and still sound more interesting than 95% of electronic music. Strike that, music in general. The "songs" (it's recorded in 5 parts) layer innumerable amounts of warm tones on top of one another creating an electric blanket of sound. The music washes over you, causing the hair on your neck to stand up. Occasionaly a click or bleep finds its way into the mix, but not really for rhythm's sake--these pops remind you that, no, you're not in heaven, just listening to what it might sound like. I really don't think it's an accident that the cover has photos taken from a plane looking down upon the earth.
I know that in 5 years I'll be able to listen to this record an think, "damn this is some beautiful music." It won't be pigeonholed to an area. It won't sound dated, because Playthroughs sounds like it was created with wind, fire, water, and earth. And it won't be compartmentalized or stuffed into a genre, because it doesn't sound like anything else.
Or, at least I hope it'll sound as new--who knows what the future has in store?
Wednesday, July 23, 2003
::Song Review: Superchunk's "Throwing Things (Acoustic)"::
I must admit that I haven't fully understood Superchunk until the last few years. Yeah, they're nothing new, especially now, for someone who missed factions of the indie rock boat in the early 90's. One thing I'll give Superchunk is that in between the buzzsaw guitars, punk rock drums, and shrieked vocals is an incredible pop song that ocassionally gets lost under walls of distortion. And, if you've read anything other than this article, you'll probably notice that I'll claim over and over that there is nothing better than a great hook that gets stuck in your head.
The problem with Superchunk is that a cursory listen won't provide much. You will almost always miss the hidden melodies and songcraft buried beneath a pop-punk exterior. This means a casual listen will reap no benefits of a Superchunk song. The original, electrified version of "Throwing Things" (off of No Pocky for Kitty)is nowhere near as captivating as the acoustic version on Incidental Music 1991-95, their singles collection. The electric version practically chews up the song and spits it out, resulting in an average indie rock song with (seemingly) little emotional weight.
Once the electric guitars are removed, drums are simplified, and a leisurely pace is employed "Throwing Things" becomes a stripped down masterpiece. Mac McCaughan's lyrics about trying to prove his love are suprisingly great. He is at once whole-heartedly sincere yet unbelievable. Mac admits "I'm making a promise and that's a start", painting the girl as one who knows all his past failures in romance, obviously a difficult position for the protagonist to be in when trying to start over. We never find if he does win the girl over, but we can be sure that he's sure he needs her companionship or, in looser terms, lovin'.
While McCaughan does sound sure that he wants the girl, he still cannot escape his past, making him unsure of the courtship. Will he wind up with a "skinned back", will he win her over, or will he realize that mabye he's put this girl on a pedestal? After all, she's treating him like shit. She's putting herself above him, throwing shit at him, and making him grovel for her respect. Yet still, he has his "hand on [his] heart" as if he's pledging allegance to her. But mabye that's just love, eh?
The problem with Superchunk is that a cursory listen won't provide much. You will almost always miss the hidden melodies and songcraft buried beneath a pop-punk exterior. This means a casual listen will reap no benefits of a Superchunk song. The original, electrified version of "Throwing Things" (off of No Pocky for Kitty)is nowhere near as captivating as the acoustic version on Incidental Music 1991-95, their singles collection. The electric version practically chews up the song and spits it out, resulting in an average indie rock song with (seemingly) little emotional weight.
Once the electric guitars are removed, drums are simplified, and a leisurely pace is employed "Throwing Things" becomes a stripped down masterpiece. Mac McCaughan's lyrics about trying to prove his love are suprisingly great. He is at once whole-heartedly sincere yet unbelievable. Mac admits "I'm making a promise and that's a start", painting the girl as one who knows all his past failures in romance, obviously a difficult position for the protagonist to be in when trying to start over. We never find if he does win the girl over, but we can be sure that he's sure he needs her companionship or, in looser terms, lovin'.
While McCaughan does sound sure that he wants the girl, he still cannot escape his past, making him unsure of the courtship. Will he wind up with a "skinned back", will he win her over, or will he realize that mabye he's put this girl on a pedestal? After all, she's treating him like shit. She's putting herself above him, throwing shit at him, and making him grovel for her respect. Yet still, he has his "hand on [his] heart" as if he's pledging allegance to her. But mabye that's just love, eh?
Monday, July 21, 2003
::Some Quick Reviews Of Shit I Have In My CD Booklet Right Now (Pt.2)::
Yeah, I wanted to do this on Friday, but I was too lazy to get around to it. So here you are...
- Loose Fur Loose Fur: Although this isn't nearly the masterpiece that Yankee Hotel Foxtrot was, this collaboration between Jim O'Rourke, Jeff Tweedy, and Glenn Kotche is nothing to immediately dismiss. The three players on this record have an incredible chemistry together. They trust the direction the song is going rather than forcing spontaneous ideas. As always, O'Rourke's production is amazing. Some standouts include (and some of Tweedy's better songs) "You Were Wrong" and "Chinese Apple".
- Blur Think Tank: I like this record, although I really need to be in the mood to listen to it. A very interesting departure for the band from their acclaimed 13. Since Graham Coxon, the band's former guitarist, has left, Damon Albarn has obviously taken over and created an electronically-oriented pop album, perhaps too ahead of its time. Althought the Norman Cook produced (read: Fatboy Slim) tracks fall very flat there are some redeeming qualities in "Ambulance" and "Out of Time". But none of the tracks hold up to something like "Coffee and TV".
- Bonnie "Prince" Billy Master and Everyone: Fuck the haters. Who says this album is bad? It's a simply beautiful, worthwhile album full of perfect singer-songwriter folky type stuff. There is no disputing that. I've heard Will Oldham compared to James Taylor on this new record. That's unbelievable. First, Oldham doesn't write songs that are boring as shit. Second, Oldham doesn't use the same harmony in every tune. Finally, Oldham's lyrics are actually captivating--always on the brink of sanity/insanity yet always seemingly in control. Songs of heartbreak have never sounded so pretty before. Try "Ain't You Wealthy, Ain't You Wise?" and "Joy and Jubilee" if you don't listen to the whole thing.
- Summer Hymns Clemency: Athens, Georgia. I visited there last fall during a school break. It's really kind of strange. (More than) half the town seem to be fratty jocks rooting for dem Dawgs, brother! The other half have blue hair and are the resident arty folk. I don't really understand how these two groups survive together, in the South no less, but it seems to happen effortlessly. What's even more strange is that countless great indie rock bands have come from this town and called it home. R.E.M., Olivia Tremor Control, and all the Elephant 6 groups got thier start here, and now we have Summer Hymns. At first, I was very apprehensive about this album. That is, I thought is was another run of the mill alt-country album. That is not the case, my friend. This is an incredibly gorgeous pop album perfect for the summertime. Lots of pedal steel and slow ballads, but an abundance of hooks that could fill three records. Listen to "This Hip Hop", "Upon Your Face", and "Pete Rose Affinity" (weird) to get a taste.
- Prefuse 73 One Word Extinguisher: Atlanta, Georgia. I also visited this shithole of a city on that school break. Atlanta is spread out into something that looks like 80 towns in one, is hot, and is not fun. You could probably tell me that I looked in all the wrong places, but, I doubt it, Altanta is boring. It suprises me that anyone could live there and make music as beautiful as Scott Herren's new record under the Prefuse moniker. This record, like Atlanta, is all over the place with 23 tracks in 60 minutes. Herren, dabbles in glitch-heavy hip-hop that builds heavily upon the ambient factor. Really, this is the record that DJ Shadow should have made. Very bright towards the second half of the album. Some good ones are "Choking You", "Perverted Undertone", and "Huevos With Jeff and Rani" which features Def Jux MC, Mr. Lif.
- The Kinks The Kinks Are the Village Green Preservation Society: Goddamn the Kinks are good. The Kinks really hit their stride with this record which is perfect from start to finish. Listen to "Big Sky" over and over and over and over.
- Q and Not U Different Damage: This DC band, is doing what that whole boring post-punk scene can't. Be interesting. I really like this record, because it doesn't seem to subscribe to a formula. Rather, Different Damage branches out into exciting, unvisited territory. There are some hallmarks here, the choppy guitars, spazzy drums and vocals, but there's one thing that is pleasantly missing--heavy bass. Now, I like the bass as an instrument, but that shit is getting out of control. Every recent post-punk record relies on the bass so heavily that its becoming the next electric guitar or something. Q and Not U instead relegate the bass to lower volumes, that is, if it's there at all due to the departure of their bass player. Bonus points for the drummer who was playing with a broken foot. Punk Rock! "Soft Pyramids" is hot, brothers and sisters.
- Rocket From the Crypt Group Sounds: So I saw RFTC when they were on tour for this record. It was kinda cool, they all had snakes embroidered on their shirts. Also, they play rock and roll music. Of the balls-out sort. I would recommend Scream, Dracula, Scream over this record, but this one's good too. They all kinda sound the same, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. In fact, it's kinda comforting. Plus John Reis is a genius just because he's written some great tunes for Drive Like Jehu, RFTC and Hot Snakes. "Venom, Venom" is new territory for the band.
- Radiohead Hail to the Theif: Radiohead can do no wrong in my book. Unless, of course, they go back to The Bends. But they didn't with this record. Thanks for that boys! Great record, but my favorite track is still "There There".
::That's all...more tomorrow or later today if I feel so inclined::
- Loose Fur Loose Fur: Although this isn't nearly the masterpiece that Yankee Hotel Foxtrot was, this collaboration between Jim O'Rourke, Jeff Tweedy, and Glenn Kotche is nothing to immediately dismiss. The three players on this record have an incredible chemistry together. They trust the direction the song is going rather than forcing spontaneous ideas. As always, O'Rourke's production is amazing. Some standouts include (and some of Tweedy's better songs) "You Were Wrong" and "Chinese Apple".
- Blur Think Tank: I like this record, although I really need to be in the mood to listen to it. A very interesting departure for the band from their acclaimed 13. Since Graham Coxon, the band's former guitarist, has left, Damon Albarn has obviously taken over and created an electronically-oriented pop album, perhaps too ahead of its time. Althought the Norman Cook produced (read: Fatboy Slim) tracks fall very flat there are some redeeming qualities in "Ambulance" and "Out of Time". But none of the tracks hold up to something like "Coffee and TV".
- Bonnie "Prince" Billy Master and Everyone: Fuck the haters. Who says this album is bad? It's a simply beautiful, worthwhile album full of perfect singer-songwriter folky type stuff. There is no disputing that. I've heard Will Oldham compared to James Taylor on this new record. That's unbelievable. First, Oldham doesn't write songs that are boring as shit. Second, Oldham doesn't use the same harmony in every tune. Finally, Oldham's lyrics are actually captivating--always on the brink of sanity/insanity yet always seemingly in control. Songs of heartbreak have never sounded so pretty before. Try "Ain't You Wealthy, Ain't You Wise?" and "Joy and Jubilee" if you don't listen to the whole thing.
- Summer Hymns Clemency: Athens, Georgia. I visited there last fall during a school break. It's really kind of strange. (More than) half the town seem to be fratty jocks rooting for dem Dawgs, brother! The other half have blue hair and are the resident arty folk. I don't really understand how these two groups survive together, in the South no less, but it seems to happen effortlessly. What's even more strange is that countless great indie rock bands have come from this town and called it home. R.E.M., Olivia Tremor Control, and all the Elephant 6 groups got thier start here, and now we have Summer Hymns. At first, I was very apprehensive about this album. That is, I thought is was another run of the mill alt-country album. That is not the case, my friend. This is an incredibly gorgeous pop album perfect for the summertime. Lots of pedal steel and slow ballads, but an abundance of hooks that could fill three records. Listen to "This Hip Hop", "Upon Your Face", and "Pete Rose Affinity" (weird) to get a taste.
- Prefuse 73 One Word Extinguisher: Atlanta, Georgia. I also visited this shithole of a city on that school break. Atlanta is spread out into something that looks like 80 towns in one, is hot, and is not fun. You could probably tell me that I looked in all the wrong places, but, I doubt it, Altanta is boring. It suprises me that anyone could live there and make music as beautiful as Scott Herren's new record under the Prefuse moniker. This record, like Atlanta, is all over the place with 23 tracks in 60 minutes. Herren, dabbles in glitch-heavy hip-hop that builds heavily upon the ambient factor. Really, this is the record that DJ Shadow should have made. Very bright towards the second half of the album. Some good ones are "Choking You", "Perverted Undertone", and "Huevos With Jeff and Rani" which features Def Jux MC, Mr. Lif.
- The Kinks The Kinks Are the Village Green Preservation Society: Goddamn the Kinks are good. The Kinks really hit their stride with this record which is perfect from start to finish. Listen to "Big Sky" over and over and over and over.
- Q and Not U Different Damage: This DC band, is doing what that whole boring post-punk scene can't. Be interesting. I really like this record, because it doesn't seem to subscribe to a formula. Rather, Different Damage branches out into exciting, unvisited territory. There are some hallmarks here, the choppy guitars, spazzy drums and vocals, but there's one thing that is pleasantly missing--heavy bass. Now, I like the bass as an instrument, but that shit is getting out of control. Every recent post-punk record relies on the bass so heavily that its becoming the next electric guitar or something. Q and Not U instead relegate the bass to lower volumes, that is, if it's there at all due to the departure of their bass player. Bonus points for the drummer who was playing with a broken foot. Punk Rock! "Soft Pyramids" is hot, brothers and sisters.
- Rocket From the Crypt Group Sounds: So I saw RFTC when they were on tour for this record. It was kinda cool, they all had snakes embroidered on their shirts. Also, they play rock and roll music. Of the balls-out sort. I would recommend Scream, Dracula, Scream over this record, but this one's good too. They all kinda sound the same, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. In fact, it's kinda comforting. Plus John Reis is a genius just because he's written some great tunes for Drive Like Jehu, RFTC and Hot Snakes. "Venom, Venom" is new territory for the band.
- Radiohead Hail to the Theif: Radiohead can do no wrong in my book. Unless, of course, they go back to The Bends. But they didn't with this record. Thanks for that boys! Great record, but my favorite track is still "There There".
::That's all...more tomorrow or later today if I feel so inclined::
Thursday, July 17, 2003
::Some Quick Reviews Of Shit I Have In My CD Booklet Right Now (Pt.1)::
OK. Like most people, I have a short attention span. I like it when things are stripped to their bare minimum, but still retain the main idea. That's why I've always liked 'zine reviews. They're concise, yet good ones try to achieve the overall feel of a record. That's what I'm about to attempt. Some of the records I'm going to review will take longer than others, I'm sure. Read the ones you like. Without further discussion....
- David Bowie The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust: I bought this about a year ago and I still feel like I haven't completely absorbed this disc. Mabye that's just because it's really fucking good and I can listen to it again and again. I'm sure its irrelevant for me to point out that Bowie's alter ego was in full swing at this point, marking the beginning of rock theatrics and glam rock. Even though this album came out over 30 years ago it has aged very, very well never seeming rudimentary or played out. Also, it is worth noting that Bowie is quite possibly the greatest frontman ever and also, quite possibly, the greatest rock n' roll vocalist. Check out the one-two punch of "Ziggy Stardust" and "Suffragette City". Rock n' roll for the slightly sleazy set.
- Iron Maiden Live After Death (Disc One): Recorded live in L.A.'s Long Beach Arena, this record showcases some of the best popular heavy metal of the 80's. I understand many people's association with this band are the stoner losers in Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure. This is a very unfortunate connection. Although Iron Maiden can be kitschy (after all, what rock music isn't?) at times, they always fucking rock. The set is comprised mostly of their hits, and you can understand why these were such chart-toppers. They're pop songs trying to be hidden by a metal band and the outcome is great. Everything is just as you'd expect--the guitar solos are fast and long, lots of double bass drum is used, and the vocals are shrieked. Highlights include "2 Minutes to Midnight", "Run to the Hills", and "The Number of the Beast", obviously.
- Spoon Girls Can Tell: I automatically think that everyone knows this record as well as I do and in a way, they do. Recycled and refurbished pop hooks make great songs. The innovation comes across in the delivery. From Britt Daniels' vocals to Jim Eno's sparse and picky drumming, this is a truly great rock album taking chances and succeeding effortlessly. Also, the production is huge yet intimate. Girls Can Tell is quite possibly Spoon's most accessable effort (sucks for you Interscope!), but not quite as good as their minimalist masterpiece Kill The Moonlight. Check out "Everything Hits at Once", "Lines in the Suit", and "Fitted Shirt".
- Modest Mouse The Moon and Antarctica: Modest Mouse's finest hour. Although I still don't understand how they got signed to Epic, this record definetly has reaped the benefts of the label's resources. Namely, money. This is a record, like Girls Can Tell, that showcases excellent production, this time focusing upon space courtesy of ex-Red Red Meat member Brian Deck . Issac Brock's vocals are especially chilling on this record focusing on death and more philosophical territory more than before. Rather than capatilize on their spazzy The Lonesome Crowded West, Antarctica focuses on more subdued material that finds Modest Mouse sounding suprisingly sincere. Listen to "3rd Planet" and "The Stars are Projectors" for highlights, although the whole is better than its parts.
- Tomahawk Mit Gas: I'm not going to lie and try to justify my purchase by saying this is a great record. I'm not going to tell you that Tomahawk are the best rock band out there. I'm not going to talk about Mike Patton. I'm not going to review the bands the other members were in. I'm not even going to tell you what this record sounds like because you probably already know. All I'm going to say is that Tomahawk is a fucking rock band, that put out a fucking rock record, and I like it. Try "Birdsong".
- Chic The Very Best of Chic: Fuck you, I like wearing headphones and walking to this record. That way I can time my paces.
- King Geedorah Take Me To Your Leader: Daniel Dumile a.k.a. MF Doom has made a great record under his new alias King Geedorah. Featuring more unknown talented MCs than I know what to do with, really great production, and a weird B-Movie theme, Dumile's new project is brimming with ideas. This is the best hip-hop record I've heard in a very long time. Possibly since BlackStar. Yeah, that good. Try "Fast Lane", "Monster Zero", and "Next Levels".
- Trans Am Red Line: I don't really know what to do with this record. I want to like it, but something is incredibly abrasive, boring, or just generally not good about this record. Clocking in at around 74 minutes, it might be the overall length that keeps on scaring me off. Very atmospheric, ambient at times, but occasionally a new wave slice of goodness beats you over the head. Mabye I just bought it for the song titles. Check it: "Where Do You Want to Fuck Today?", "Play in the Summer", and "Shady Groove".
- Marvin Gaye What's Going On: What, honestly, can I say about this record that has never been said before? It's perfect? Nope, been said. Marvin Gaye's got a voice sweeter than honey? Nay. Never has an artistic endeavor dealing with social issues been so accessable? Sorry, no. What's Going On is just one of the best albums made--ever. Everything fits together perfectly but the record never comes across bland or one-dimensional. Can you say that about political punk-rock? No, because there is no sloganeering on this album, just perfect pop songs capturing a changing America. Listen to the whole thing over and over again.
- The Flaming Lips Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots: I bought a copy of The Soft Bulletin in high school and I found it to be an incredibly difficult album to comprehend. Once I finally figured out what was going on, I realized how great a songsmith Wayne Coyne is. Ironically once I started to "get it", the Lips were about to release a new album and make me reevaluate again what I think pop music is. Fortunately (for my lazy ass, at least), Yoshimi is an entirely different affair than their previous masterpieces. The record is at once accessable, thrilling and experimental. The record retains The Lips' ability to write profound ruminations on death, love, and life, all while disguising them behind beautiful melodies and lyrics about karate and pink robots. The Flaming Lips are an incredibly vital, interesting, and innovative band that has changed the topography of popular music as we know it and Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots shows that they're nowhere near slowing down. I think "Fight Test", "Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots Pt.1", and "Are You a Hypnotist?" are great tracks.
- Meat Puppets II: Well, this, along with the Mekons Fear and Whiskey, started the whole alt-country deal. This is a damn good record. Curt Kirkwood's guitar playing is some of the best I've ever heard and fits perfectly with the country fried psychedelia that was II. Nirvana, Dinosaur Jr. and countless other bands claim the Meat Puppets as influences and they undoubtedly are. The Meat Puppets took the punk energy of bands like Black Flag and X and applied it to pop-rock songs without sounding too abrasive. Oddly, even though I love the vocals on this record, my favorites every time are the instrumentals "Aurora Borealis" and "I'm a Mindless Idiot" because they flow like water.
::I'm through with this for today...it's taking longer than I thought. Tune in tomorrow for more....::
- David Bowie The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust: I bought this about a year ago and I still feel like I haven't completely absorbed this disc. Mabye that's just because it's really fucking good and I can listen to it again and again. I'm sure its irrelevant for me to point out that Bowie's alter ego was in full swing at this point, marking the beginning of rock theatrics and glam rock. Even though this album came out over 30 years ago it has aged very, very well never seeming rudimentary or played out. Also, it is worth noting that Bowie is quite possibly the greatest frontman ever and also, quite possibly, the greatest rock n' roll vocalist. Check out the one-two punch of "Ziggy Stardust" and "Suffragette City". Rock n' roll for the slightly sleazy set.
- Iron Maiden Live After Death (Disc One): Recorded live in L.A.'s Long Beach Arena, this record showcases some of the best popular heavy metal of the 80's. I understand many people's association with this band are the stoner losers in Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure. This is a very unfortunate connection. Although Iron Maiden can be kitschy (after all, what rock music isn't?) at times, they always fucking rock. The set is comprised mostly of their hits, and you can understand why these were such chart-toppers. They're pop songs trying to be hidden by a metal band and the outcome is great. Everything is just as you'd expect--the guitar solos are fast and long, lots of double bass drum is used, and the vocals are shrieked. Highlights include "2 Minutes to Midnight", "Run to the Hills", and "The Number of the Beast", obviously.
- Spoon Girls Can Tell: I automatically think that everyone knows this record as well as I do and in a way, they do. Recycled and refurbished pop hooks make great songs. The innovation comes across in the delivery. From Britt Daniels' vocals to Jim Eno's sparse and picky drumming, this is a truly great rock album taking chances and succeeding effortlessly. Also, the production is huge yet intimate. Girls Can Tell is quite possibly Spoon's most accessable effort (sucks for you Interscope!), but not quite as good as their minimalist masterpiece Kill The Moonlight. Check out "Everything Hits at Once", "Lines in the Suit", and "Fitted Shirt".
- Modest Mouse The Moon and Antarctica: Modest Mouse's finest hour. Although I still don't understand how they got signed to Epic, this record definetly has reaped the benefts of the label's resources. Namely, money. This is a record, like Girls Can Tell, that showcases excellent production, this time focusing upon space courtesy of ex-Red Red Meat member Brian Deck . Issac Brock's vocals are especially chilling on this record focusing on death and more philosophical territory more than before. Rather than capatilize on their spazzy The Lonesome Crowded West, Antarctica focuses on more subdued material that finds Modest Mouse sounding suprisingly sincere. Listen to "3rd Planet" and "The Stars are Projectors" for highlights, although the whole is better than its parts.
- Tomahawk Mit Gas: I'm not going to lie and try to justify my purchase by saying this is a great record. I'm not going to tell you that Tomahawk are the best rock band out there. I'm not going to talk about Mike Patton. I'm not going to review the bands the other members were in. I'm not even going to tell you what this record sounds like because you probably already know. All I'm going to say is that Tomahawk is a fucking rock band, that put out a fucking rock record, and I like it. Try "Birdsong".
- Chic The Very Best of Chic: Fuck you, I like wearing headphones and walking to this record. That way I can time my paces.
- King Geedorah Take Me To Your Leader: Daniel Dumile a.k.a. MF Doom has made a great record under his new alias King Geedorah. Featuring more unknown talented MCs than I know what to do with, really great production, and a weird B-Movie theme, Dumile's new project is brimming with ideas. This is the best hip-hop record I've heard in a very long time. Possibly since BlackStar. Yeah, that good. Try "Fast Lane", "Monster Zero", and "Next Levels".
- Trans Am Red Line: I don't really know what to do with this record. I want to like it, but something is incredibly abrasive, boring, or just generally not good about this record. Clocking in at around 74 minutes, it might be the overall length that keeps on scaring me off. Very atmospheric, ambient at times, but occasionally a new wave slice of goodness beats you over the head. Mabye I just bought it for the song titles. Check it: "Where Do You Want to Fuck Today?", "Play in the Summer", and "Shady Groove".
- Marvin Gaye What's Going On: What, honestly, can I say about this record that has never been said before? It's perfect? Nope, been said. Marvin Gaye's got a voice sweeter than honey? Nay. Never has an artistic endeavor dealing with social issues been so accessable? Sorry, no. What's Going On is just one of the best albums made--ever. Everything fits together perfectly but the record never comes across bland or one-dimensional. Can you say that about political punk-rock? No, because there is no sloganeering on this album, just perfect pop songs capturing a changing America. Listen to the whole thing over and over again.
- The Flaming Lips Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots: I bought a copy of The Soft Bulletin in high school and I found it to be an incredibly difficult album to comprehend. Once I finally figured out what was going on, I realized how great a songsmith Wayne Coyne is. Ironically once I started to "get it", the Lips were about to release a new album and make me reevaluate again what I think pop music is. Fortunately (for my lazy ass, at least), Yoshimi is an entirely different affair than their previous masterpieces. The record is at once accessable, thrilling and experimental. The record retains The Lips' ability to write profound ruminations on death, love, and life, all while disguising them behind beautiful melodies and lyrics about karate and pink robots. The Flaming Lips are an incredibly vital, interesting, and innovative band that has changed the topography of popular music as we know it and Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots shows that they're nowhere near slowing down. I think "Fight Test", "Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots Pt.1", and "Are You a Hypnotist?" are great tracks.
- Meat Puppets II: Well, this, along with the Mekons Fear and Whiskey, started the whole alt-country deal. This is a damn good record. Curt Kirkwood's guitar playing is some of the best I've ever heard and fits perfectly with the country fried psychedelia that was II. Nirvana, Dinosaur Jr. and countless other bands claim the Meat Puppets as influences and they undoubtedly are. The Meat Puppets took the punk energy of bands like Black Flag and X and applied it to pop-rock songs without sounding too abrasive. Oddly, even though I love the vocals on this record, my favorites every time are the instrumentals "Aurora Borealis" and "I'm a Mindless Idiot" because they flow like water.
::I'm through with this for today...it's taking longer than I thought. Tune in tomorrow for more....::
Tuesday, July 15, 2003
5 Reasons Why Stephen Malkmus' "1% of One" Is Good
5.) One percent of one is actually 1%. In fact, 1% of 1 is .01. If you turn it into a percentage .01 is 1%. Therefore, the central statement is true making the song not only believable, but in essence, a fact. Since many people pride themselves on knowing facts both for their own satisfaction and to function reasonably well in society, listening to this song almost mandatory.
4.) When the Jicks fully take hold of this song, live or on the recorded version, its fascinating. Never does the song get boring or belabored--you do not want this song to end. Now can we say the same thing about a cover of "Cortez the Killer" that lasts for 24 minutes? No, we cannot.
3.) Have I mentioned that Stephen Malkmus is one of the greatest lyricists ever? Well, sort of. He is. In addition to that, Malkmus is a fucking great guitar player. This isn't the kind of shit you'll read about in Guitar World. It's stuff that way too inventive for that rag. This is guitar playing that implies more that the actual music played.
2.) Never have the Jicks seemed so loose and out-of-control while keeping their focus. This was probably one of the best things about Pavement and it has finally transferred over to the Jicks. Completely in control while on the brink of disaster. And we all know Pavement was great.
1.) It's a great pop song with sweet melodies guaranteed to stick to your ribs.
4.) When the Jicks fully take hold of this song, live or on the recorded version, its fascinating. Never does the song get boring or belabored--you do not want this song to end. Now can we say the same thing about a cover of "Cortez the Killer" that lasts for 24 minutes? No, we cannot.
3.) Have I mentioned that Stephen Malkmus is one of the greatest lyricists ever? Well, sort of. He is. In addition to that, Malkmus is a fucking great guitar player. This isn't the kind of shit you'll read about in Guitar World. It's stuff that way too inventive for that rag. This is guitar playing that implies more that the actual music played.
2.) Never have the Jicks seemed so loose and out-of-control while keeping their focus. This was probably one of the best things about Pavement and it has finally transferred over to the Jicks. Completely in control while on the brink of disaster. And we all know Pavement was great.
1.) It's a great pop song with sweet melodies guaranteed to stick to your ribs.
Tuesday, July 08, 2003
Dead Meadow - Shivering King and Others - Matador
Live music is incredibly important to any rock n' roll band. Those who commit themselves to creating music as a living simply must survive by touring. It is the only way for many bands to make money. Of course, touring can be a double edged sword. People get exhausted from incessant travel, egos collide due to limited space, and songs become worn out through daily play. Sometimes touring is the reason for a band's demise. After all, a floor or a van can become the home of the professional musician--certainly not the glorious Cribs vision of rock superstardom.
While some bands may fall apart because of touring, some seem like not touring will tear the group apart. Dead Meadow is one of those bands. Each of their albums seem like warehouse jams that just happened to fall upon rolling tape. They thrive in the live atmosphere. I have seen the band twice: once in New York City and another time in the lovely, tiny Winston-Salem, North Carolina. Each time the band had a no-holds-barred performance. That is, they fucking floored me. Not only were their songs stretched out to the breaking point, but the power trio created a wall of sound that the Grateful Dead only could have hoped for. I couldn't imagine Dead Meadow ever just putting records out. They simply wouldn't hold up to the live experience.
For Shivering King and Others Dead Meadow have finally made an album that adequately transfers their live performances to tape. From the opening thud of "I Love You Too", Dead Meadow drop bass heavy psychedelia that commands to be cranked at maximum volume. Fuzzed out guitars and bass creep their way patiently overtop of Mark Laughlin's gigantic drumming. Heavy emphasis is placed on reverb and echo, especially with Jason Simon's otherworldly squeak and rocketship guitar. The song results in a journey through the past 30 years of hard rock, without recycling any ideas or sounding stale in any way.
While heavier Dead Meadow recalls early Blue Cheer and Black Sabbath, their slower and (mostly) quieter songs are recognizible as no one but themselves. Songs like the droning canyon jam "Everything's Going On" and the acoustic "Good Moanin'" fill the gaps between the sludge with beautifully organic gems of songs. The natual factor cannot be emphasized enough--these songs breathe like a living being and are definitely some of the best material on the album.
Shivering King and Others only weakness is its length. All of the songs seem to arise out of the great monolithic powerchord, so after 62 minutes (average track length: 6+ minutes) sometimes the jams can get tedious. Ironically, this never happens live, as their songs can stretch to lengths over 15 minutes without any sense of boredom setting in. Apparently the sheer volume that they accomplish live is not as captivating on tape.
Once Dead Meadow learn how to hone their songwriting chops a little better they will become unstoppable. As of right now, they have not yet learned the difference between a live performance and a recorded version. For now we'll just have to settle for this close approximation of their live capabilities. I think its a good deal.
Rating: 8
While some bands may fall apart because of touring, some seem like not touring will tear the group apart. Dead Meadow is one of those bands. Each of their albums seem like warehouse jams that just happened to fall upon rolling tape. They thrive in the live atmosphere. I have seen the band twice: once in New York City and another time in the lovely, tiny Winston-Salem, North Carolina. Each time the band had a no-holds-barred performance. That is, they fucking floored me. Not only were their songs stretched out to the breaking point, but the power trio created a wall of sound that the Grateful Dead only could have hoped for. I couldn't imagine Dead Meadow ever just putting records out. They simply wouldn't hold up to the live experience.
For Shivering King and Others Dead Meadow have finally made an album that adequately transfers their live performances to tape. From the opening thud of "I Love You Too", Dead Meadow drop bass heavy psychedelia that commands to be cranked at maximum volume. Fuzzed out guitars and bass creep their way patiently overtop of Mark Laughlin's gigantic drumming. Heavy emphasis is placed on reverb and echo, especially with Jason Simon's otherworldly squeak and rocketship guitar. The song results in a journey through the past 30 years of hard rock, without recycling any ideas or sounding stale in any way.
While heavier Dead Meadow recalls early Blue Cheer and Black Sabbath, their slower and (mostly) quieter songs are recognizible as no one but themselves. Songs like the droning canyon jam "Everything's Going On" and the acoustic "Good Moanin'" fill the gaps between the sludge with beautifully organic gems of songs. The natual factor cannot be emphasized enough--these songs breathe like a living being and are definitely some of the best material on the album.
Shivering King and Others only weakness is its length. All of the songs seem to arise out of the great monolithic powerchord, so after 62 minutes (average track length: 6+ minutes) sometimes the jams can get tedious. Ironically, this never happens live, as their songs can stretch to lengths over 15 minutes without any sense of boredom setting in. Apparently the sheer volume that they accomplish live is not as captivating on tape.
Once Dead Meadow learn how to hone their songwriting chops a little better they will become unstoppable. As of right now, they have not yet learned the difference between a live performance and a recorded version. For now we'll just have to settle for this close approximation of their live capabilities. I think its a good deal.
Rating: 8
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