“I've become the Orson Welles of the record industry. People want to take me to lunch, but nobody wants to finance the picture...I keep hoping that when I make a record, I'll be asked to make another one. I keep hoping that if I can make a series of three records, then I can progress and do different things each time. But when I have to get it up once every 10 years... it's a tough way to work." – Scott Walker, 1995.

A lot of internet and media buzz has been made of the new Scott Walker record, The Drift. For once, it’s undeniably justified. Walker’s first in 11 years is a desolate, devastating, overwhelming listen. His quivering but gorgeous croon floats like a poltergeist over meticulously arranged and produced guitars, bass, drums, strings and electronics that wait in the shadows until all are summoned in explosively alarming cacophony. At once a period of our time – industrial and paranoid – The Drift references ancient motifs through lyric and harmony, proving that the past can come back to haunt. But, full disclosure: take these words only at face value, I’ve only listened once.

Looking at the quote above, it’s not surprising that Walker doesn’t have big business backing his solo albums. Can people really handle this kind of art more often than every decade? How much of this can we truly embrace without becoming, dare I say, morbid? Also, would Walker be considered a visionary and his records masterpieces if we’re reminded and reexamine on a regular basis? Personally, it’ll take at least a listen a year to unravel at least part of this. But, yeah, if they were to come every year, I’d be listening.

And We're Back...

It’s been a long time since I’ve been here – I’ve been busy with life changing decisions which are pretty damn exciting. My apologies to anyone that checks this more than once in a while. To you, I tip my hat.

I haven’t been into new music lately, other than that Brightblack Morning Light record, whose smoky psych is just the ticket on humid summer mornings. Mostly the last month has been a time for reappraisal and nostalgia.

1. Daft Punk – Discovery: Everyone will tell you that they love this record and they’re right. No dance record I’ve ever heard has the pacing and completeness of this. Not to mention, Discovery’s ability to capture my attention rather than have me slip into a K-hole. Conceptually complete and wonderful pop music for the robots in us all.

2. Archers of Loaf – All the Nation’s Airports: In particular, “Chumming the Ocean”. Eric Bachmann’s Crooked Fingers outfit (the first record, at least) is pretty much predicted in this stunning moment of serenity from the crusty college-rock punks. The rest is not as good as the other AoL records, but solid enough to work that angst out.

3. Chic – “Everybody Dance”: Talk about dance music – this could be where it might have started. From a pump-up intro into the groovy rollerskate jam verse, this is the complete package.

4. Man or Astro-man – A Spectrum of Infinite Scale: A great display of Steve Albini’s recording techniques. These instrumental surf-rock geeks use the heavy drums and reverb to their advantage, putting together paranoid, retro-future tubes.

I'm an engaged man these days (!) and my post-work computer time has been limited in the past few weeks. It's OK, because I've only been listening to "Hungry Eyes" off of the Dirty Dancing soundtrack anyways. More to come...

Cash

Everyone else sounds like a girl compared to him. I know it's kind of popular to dig him now, but there's no way around his huge drawl. He has a voice like a wrecking ball.

To The Max!

Heavy music deservedly got a rap as being for stoners, losers, and dropouts. So what happens when Sunn 0))) gets a Times spread and Jesu (former grindcore shredder Justin Broadrick) releases Loveless only re-imagined as 100x heavier and maybe better? Can we write off the stereotypes? Probably not, because your favorite metalhead at the gym is probably softly banging to Dope or Static-X. But. Holy smokes man, is there something happening here. One of these drifters put down the Scotchgard and learned a few things outside of the pit.

Jesu’s new Silver EP is enormous. My Bloody Valentine realized a very special and unique thing that has not been understood (to these ears, you know) until now. It’s a simple formula, volume plus emotion, mostly melancholy. And it’s overwhelming. In this case, 10-ton guitars and buzzing bass overdubbed 10,000 times crush and ripple the ground as drums collapse gracefully. Meanwhile, heavenly organ drones, floating synth lines and barely audible vocals waft over top of the grind. Turn this up loud enough and the bottom end completely paralyzes your body while the upper end’s sunset melodies warm the air with a cool breeze. It’s a completely disorienting listen and one of the best kinds – the physical combined with the emotional creates a whole new incredible sensory experience, one that will make the hairs stand up on your neck and fall out. Like watching nuclear warheads detonate, its bone-rattling power can’t be anything but gorgeous.

All We Are Is Dust In The Wind, Dude

Take a quick glance through any critic’s notebook, list of favorites, compendium of reviews and nearly every time you’ll notice that a reviewed musician’s initial offerings or works are somehow of more cultural importance than those coming late in their career. It’s an interesting thought – that all works, particularly those in the rock and roll genre, need that youthful energy and pop. Those coming later on always tend fall short of the promise hinted at early on, wishes left unfulfilled, somehow blanded out with age. Is rock music a young man’s game, so much so, that rock’s elders have no chance of keeping up?

The first records in bands or musician’s careers are their defining period, it’s impossible to capture that mindset for subsequent releases. Add to that, the early innocence and ignorance of youth that gradually disappears and is replaced with deeper knowledge and understanding. It’s strange that experienced mindset isn’t embraced but shunned in favor of ignorance-is-bliss mentality.

Obviously, I’m speaking in sweeping generalities, but it’s interesting. Consider Elliot Smith: as a young man he produced some incredible records, records that to this day are deemed his most important, essential listening. Smith matured as an artist, introduced incredibly developed arrangements on XO and Figure 8, something most young artists just couldn’t do without years of experience. But critics looked the other way, preferring his early work. For his last record before he took his own life, From a Basement on the Hill, Smith came with something grimy, curt and unpolished – a return to his early underproduced days. The record seems to be trying to capture the essence he exuded early on.

I could be thinking too much into this, and it could essentially be a case of the critics, or minority VIPs, saying “I was there before you, thus these are better.” Or could it be that youth is just so attractive and incapable of ever being achieved again? After all, knowledge can be gained over time. Age is just lost, never recaptured. Either way, it’s time to respect my elders in case I ever get old.

T.I. – King: Been listening to “What You Know” on repeat for 2 weeks now. Still good. Reminds me of the ending of a video game with melancholy but hopeful synth strings falling all over the place, trying to jam too big a line into too small a place. The laid back drawl overtop tells you who owns this. The rest: yes. Requisite parts present, check. (Rattlesnake hi-hats, slow jam track with Jamie Foxx.) But boy’s found a voice like Fab, but less punk more class.

Spank Rock – Yoyoyoyoyo: Baltimore? Sounds like grounds for glorification of poverty again for the educated (and white) crowd. A.R.E. Weapons? But. This stuff is down and dirt. Anyways, Mr. Rock has the resume to be straight for this boogie – he’s from a Charm City row home. Whatever – that shouldn’t be what makes it OK. Mic skills are solid and dirty like it should be, not transcendent. It’s the dirty-ass bass that hits the quickest, brown notes and all. Electro-funk ready, get yr Sparks and dance.

Queens of the Stone Age – Rated R: Don’t know how many times I can write about this band without repeating myself. When I graduated from marginal radio rock like Foo Fighters and worse (Lit, Buckcherry, the Refreshments?!) I saw this as an OK place to ride the train. More importantly, AP said 4 out of 5 times I was correct. Instincts are alright sometimes. “Auto Pilot”, “In the Fade”, and, of course, “Feel Good Hit of the Summer” are all pretty great, as is everything else on here to my ears. Yeah, nostalgia for The Headphone Album of sophomore year.

My Bloody Valentine – Loveless: I was drinking with my girlfriend and friends at Tangier in Philly Saturday night. The bartender came over to see if we were OK and needed another. I was drunk, grossly so. Said “Nice tunes man” or something else vanilla. Dude said, “Yeah I saw them live one time and they were sooo loud. They hit one chord and the girl I was with threw up all over herself.” Don’t know whether this is good or bad, but for the rest of the night I thought he was trying to sell me ecstasy.

Like a Rolling Stone

There recently was an article on cnn.com regarding the 1,000th issue of Rolling Stone. Like most gala events, someone’s unmentionables are being tugged for whatever reason, usually money. In this case it’s Jann Wenner, RS’ owner, showing how well he can do himself. Wenner points to his readership, 1.3 million strong, to show just how damn important his publication is.

It’s unassailable to say that Rolling Stone has had a great impact on the world of music, for better or worse. Sure, there’s been some incredible writing over the years, Hunter S. Thompson is one beacon, but there’s been little growth in the last 10 (more?) years. Every time I read it, it’s only because they have some List of the 243 Most Important Songs of All Time Ever in the Whole World. Don’t get me wrong, I love to read the lists, hell I love to write the things. The rub is that there’s no quality control or knowledge anymore in the pub. 3 Doors Down’s “Superman” at 476? Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway” at 13? Eagles’ “Hotel California” at 142? Obviously, there has to be a better way to expose people to incredible music that’s being made everywhere, underground and over, not a rehashing of “yeah we were there and we are awesome”. But to understand why they’re doing this is simple: they need to sell magazines.

Now it’s easy to turn your nose in the air and say that the last Deerhoof record was so much better than anything they would even give a 1/16 column to. Those of us indie/underground listeners feel entitled to be snobby about our tastes. After all, it took us time (don’t forget money(!) - for those of us that still buy music) to find these artists, research them and get into them. Michael Azerrad writes in his Our Band Could Be Your Life: “The underground’s musical diversity meant there was no stylistic bandwagon for the media to latch on to, so the record-buying public had to find things on a band-by-band basis, rather than buying into a bunch of talk about a ‘new sound.’” Well, here we are in 2006 and we have multiple online and some print media outlets to hear about all these new indie groups putting their spin on the new sound. Shoot, anyone remember the two words “dance punk”?

Essentially, the “underground” has disappeared and is only something worthy of the name for the mom-and-pop record labels and distribution channels. No, that Air Conditioning record isn’t going to make it into Best Buy – does that make it underground, exclusive and more important? Basically, the indie record consumer should control their urges to put that ringed nose in the air and begin to understand that you’re not so unique. Yes, what you’re listening to is most likely 10x better than the manufactured pap smears Jessica Simpson is putting out. But we should learn why that music is better by focusing only the music, not the exclusivity of it all. Because it’s not unique anymore. Just like everything else, the underground has been sold. Hell, it’s really not a bad thing – some kid in Oklahoma might be able to pick out the new Pissed Jeans record in Circuit City. They’ve recently signed to SubPop and you better believe they’re working their hardest to get on those shelves.

Cream of the crop/Rice of the top:

• Richard Hell - "Love Comes In Spurts": Can another song even come close to that title? Not even. Shame Quine died a while ago, guy could shred.
• Smog - Been reading a lot about this guy -- seems like an enigmatic character, at once guarded and super-arrogant. It's kind of annoying that Bill Callahan (yes, "Smog") gives such terrible interviews and is so standoffish with the press -- he's a genius with the pen, it'd be fun to hear him talk about it. Any of his records are hottness.
• Stiff Little Fingers - Inflammable Material - side A: Haven't gotten to B yet, had to hear
  Chocolate City by Parlament. So-so. This one I was thinking about after the fact more, for sure. Paint-by-numbers pop-punk at this point, but gruff vocals and raw spirit-of-'77 jazz this jawn up.
• 33 1/3 books: I read Endtroducing... and There's A Riot Goin' On in the past three days. Endtroducing... is the better read even though it's only really one long interview and the writer doesn't actually get to the record until a 1/3 of the way in. No joke: doesn't even drop the name until like page 25 or something. Still -- Riot goes track by track. I thought it'd be more about Sly melting down and doing massive amounts of PCP, play-by-play style and writing genius songs. Endtroducing... is a very well conducted interview with a smart guy, who just happened to put together a world class record.

How German Is It?

Leaving behind their deeply paranoid and fanatical vision of witches, Liars new record Drum’s Not Dead thankfully leaves the darkness in place, but rather than claw and holler through it Drum floats along like a misty fog through a cemetery. Ghouls abound: this record is liberal in its use of roomsound, exploring every nook of the East German radio facility they inhabited for the recording. These natural frequencies are the primer that Drum is built upon: they give focus to the industrial and tribal rhythms while spartan melodic accompaniment hangs up top. Liars use the album to craft a story based on two fictional artists: Drum and Mt. Heart Attack, Drum being the confident, assertive, and truculent-at-times artist with Mt. Heart Attack the opposite: questioning, frustrated and uninspired, jealous of Drum’s success. That plot sits a distant second to the unbelievable density and power of the music, even though it is also incorporated into the plot. Liars have developed from terse post-punkers, into full-fledged sound sculptors over the course of a short 3-album history.

From the thrust of the storyline it’s plainly obvious Liars are not a pop group; they’re adamantly arty and uncompromising in their vision. Their intentions are not disposable enjoyment but lasting impression. Drum succeeds on this front: it’s a full-length story or dream sequence, not short, unconnected bursts of inspiration. Their records, at least this and the We Were Wrong So We Drowned, are akin to novels and films in their scope. At a time when the album is supposed to be dying because the iPod mixes and matches any artist to another, Drum stands as a reminder that artists with patience and vision will continue to embrace the long view. Whether listeners will demand this type of craft remains to be seen. For the time being, it’s an incredible work of art waiting to be discovered. Take your time.

April Mix

For IMP:

1. The Breeders - "Cannonball"
2. Elton John - "Take Me to the Pilot"
3. Blood On The Wall - "Stoner Jam"
4. Bruce Springsteen - "Tenth Avenue Freeze Out"
5. The Clientele - "My Own Face Inside The Trees"
6. Chad VanGaalen - "Clinically Dead"
7. Archers Of Loaf - "Web In Front"
8. Fugazi - "Do You Like Me?"
9. Iggy & the Stooges - "Penetration"
10. Queens Of The Stone Age - "In The Fade"
11. Mission Of Burma - "That's When I Reach For My Revolver"
12. The Kinks - "Big Sky"
13. My Morning Jacket - "O Is The One That Is Real"
14. The Olivia Tremor Control - "A New Day"
15. Robert Pollard - "Dancing Girls And Dancing Men"
16. Akron/Family - "Italy"
17. Low - "Broadway (So Many People)"

When I can't write, I make lists.

I suggest the Archers of Loaf's "Wrong" or the entirety of The Speed of Cattle.

Zapp's first, self-titled record still jams, light-up dancefloor style.

Conversely, "Siberian Khatru" by Yes will make your nipples tight, especially the opening riff.

And it doesn't get better than this picture of Yanni.

If there is a more radical hard rock album than Boris' Pink all year, I will be very surprised. It's not Sunn 0))) redux (which could be good or bad), but some masterful thrash and doomy metal. Reminds me of Minor Threat as dropouts huffing gas.

Are people really convinced by this Matisyahu character?

Does anyone want to start a band and only play "I Only Want You" by the Eagles of Death Metal? I'm singing.

Cannonball Coming

It’s a transitory moment – coming right at the opening section after Kim Deal sings “Check Check, Ah Oooh Oooh” that seems to announce something new, something very exciting. The simple hi hat is played as tight as possible making tons of room for the fat, slip-slide bass, cleansing the palette and making room for the minutes that follow of pop perfection. That greasy clean guitar plays star gazer, while an undercurrent of powerchords keep things moving, and the clincher line that gets me glad every time “Spitting in a wishing well/Going to hell/Crash on the last splash.” But that chorus, with the chuh-chuh-chuh-chuh-chuh “Will you, (Indecpherible)! In the shade, in the sha-ade.” This isn’t nostalgia, it’s a blast.

I've been gone for a long time, mostly because I've hit a rut in writing and listening. For a while there I couldn't really enjoy anything that I put on. Maybe I was sick of my music or my work life bled over into private time, but a recent trip to San Francisco (for work, ya) again renewed my interest and faith in the human forces of life and love. Funny how a simple change of scenery can get the blood flowing again.

My first day was spent travelling. I woke at 6:45 for an 8:00 flight, first word out of my mouth being "f---". I threw everything I hadn't packed into a bag and ran downstairs to find a cab to take me to the airport. Luckily, everything worked out, I made my flight and even had a chance to grab a sandwich for the miserable 6-hour flight to San Fran. I didn't listen much to my iPod as I had planned, mostly because I realized I needed to make the juice last for the whole weekend. I forgot the charger. I did listen to the Boredoms' Vision Creaton Newsun (missed 20 minutes in the middle for some shut eye) and some of the new Destroyer, but I read pretty much everything I could get my hands on.

Once I landed in San Francisco my plans were only about an hour of work, setting up our booth for a convention. I did that and got my chance to go to Amoeba records in the Haight-Ashbury section. It's a grand store, huge and has everything I've ever really wanted to find. I got a few things: Fela Kuti's Expensive Shit (awesome), Boredoms' Super Ae, Love Is All's Nine Times the Same Song (eh), Green Milk From the Planet Orange's City Calls Revolution, Om's Variations On A Theme, and Smog's Red Apple Falls. I did have a chance to flip through these records a bit back in my wonderful hotel room (TV in the bathroom!), but the real pleasure was elsewhere.

What other city has such great people? I mean, nearly everyone is nice and doesn't suffer from that big-city aversion to conversation with strangers. Maybe it's a California thing, but everyone seems willing to talk about their past, their future, whatever. That first day was the best, talking to Russian cabbies, hipster goofballs in Amoeba, the Palestinian guy. It's such a romantic city, perfect for walking and smiling at complete strangers. It sounds hippy, but it's a great tonic for getting back into living, man. Sometimes I get so shut off, it's good to throw yourself out there and experience rather than wait for it to come to you.

‘I Was Just Another West-Coast Maximalist, Exploring the Blues…’

Some things I listened to recently:

The Microphones, The Glow Pt. 2: There’s something astoundingly breathtaking about this record in how it almost silently devastates you. The yawning gaps in this record that practically make your hair stand on end waiting for Phil Elvrum’s innocent voice and messy guitar to penetrate the expansive soundscapes. Not to mention, there never has been a record as well produced in lo-fidelity. Listen to this spot on headphones and you’ll be completely incapacitated for the duration, especially by those ominous foghorns.

Another thing too, I’ve never listened to this record in when it was light outside. Something about the night makes the perfect setting for tales of the infinite.


Destroyer, Destroyer’s Rubies: I’m not going to say that I know what the hell Dan Bejar, Destroyer’s head honcho/New Pornographers mainstay, is saying, but the wordsmith is pretty convincing. I have a sneaking suspicion that this is going to be one of those records that just completely takes over my life like The Dismemberment Plan’s Emergency & I or Wilco’s Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. Now keep in mind, I’ve only heard this once, but near everything sounded perfect to these ears (except for the last track). The music is really well-recorded indie music, ornate on some tracks, stripped down on others, with lots of intricate instrumentation and those quivery yipped vocals that are popular these days, but not by proximity, only by coincidence. I can’t wait to unravel this one.


Smog’s “Held” at 7:30 this morning, on the incline press: Somehow it’s really nice to feel feminine in the morning (‘For the first time in my life/I let myself be held/Like a big old baby’). Even while trying to meat up.


The Sword, Age of Winters: Not much to say about this. They’re certainly not rewriting the book on Metal, but it’s not awful either. You’ve heard it before, the re-re-recycled Sabbath riffs that crush and smoke, the D&D lyrics, the double bass drum. Yes, all awesome, all necessary.

But something makes me want to listen to High On Fire, Dead Meadow or Kyuss/Queens of the Stone Age. Speaking of, has anyone listened to Dave Grohl’s drumming on QOTSA’s Songs For The Deaf? Whew…

I Wanna Pee On You...

I can't remember if i wrote about this before, so pardon me if I have, but something made me think of it. And yes, I know I'm late to this party...

I was just flipping through iTunes looking for something to listen to and I saw R. Kelly. My wonderful lovebird gave me Kells' TP3 Reloaded for Christmas. (By the way, best artwork of the year. Standing on a mountaintop with your shirt mostly open? Correct choice.) Like most people, I was intrigued by the "Trapped in the Closet" suite. The record didn't come with every chapter, only 1 through 5, but plenty to give you a good idea about it and a DVD of those first 5 "episodes".

I flipped in the DVD to check it out and was, like most people, flabbergasted. That initial shock eventually gave way to laughter which quickly gave way to rapture. By the end of chapter 5, I had tears in my eyes, on the verge of losing it.

Really? Crying to music by a man who wrote the lyric, "Girl I'm ready to toss your salad/When I'm making love, I'll be feasting/Girl you're in the kitchen/Sweating up a storm/The oven's on 500/So you know the kitchen's warm."?

Yes. It's seriously that good.

I finally got my iTunes back up and working after a delay, so that's the main reason for lack of posts this week as I typically type and listen to music here on one thing. Problem is, every time I install the new version from the Apple site, Big Brother, Mr. Norton Antivirus, decides that its not safe enough for me to listen to my music through iTunes. Who does this dill think he is?

Anyways, I travel to NYC to visit friends on Friday so I should have something enjoyable and substantial for you to read by this weekend as I'll be keeping my ear to the ground during the commute.

For now:

• Blood On The Wall, "Stoner Jam" -- Real nice Sonic Youth-type rock that I (appropriately) first heard on the way back from heady Vermont on Sirius. These boys and grrrl are from NYC and the fashionably gritty coolness factor shows. The rest of their Awesomer record ain't that bad either.
• Boredoms, Vision Creation Newsun -- I haven't fully digested this one, but it's some tribal, prog-heavy and unbelievably ecstatic stuff made by the real Pro-Lifers. Praise God!
• Acid Mothers Temple & the Cosmic Inferno, IAO CHANT -- Come on. Just check out that name. How cool are the Japenese? More crazy psychedelic explosions from the maximalists. Also a more accessible place to start with this group, but only if you can sit still for the 50 minute run time.
• James Taylor is no better than a post-buffalo-wing poo. Fire and rain.

Call of the Wild

Like most of the entrancing minimalism I’ve been in contact with (art or music), Orthrelm’s newest record OV, puts me in that state of blissful Zen. Comprised only of guitar and drums for one 45-minute shot, OV features some of the most techinically astute, repetitious/never-repeating (you’ll know what I mean when you hear it) heavy music I’ve heard. This is not the noisy, over-bearing rock of today’s noisemongers, but rather academic virtuosos out to flatten your sense of linearity. The guitar played consists of the fastest, short repetitious bursts of shredding I’ve ever encountered, until a cue, guitar or drums (but weirdly mathematical and precise), instigates a switch into a different territory previously unseen and never revisited through the entire piece. Drums are tom heavy and rolling, perfectly punctuating the guitar cloudbursts and keep the only constant throughout the whole record: motion.

But words can’t possibly do this one justice, mostly because I don't know what to say. For anyone considering themselves a fan of modern human art (this is all live???), set aside 45 minutes and explore the fractured minimalism possible in heavy music. You will not be disappointed.

So I wrote a song last night on the guitar about these guys that were stealing dead bodies and selling the parts to people that needed them. It really didn't turn out as morose as it sounds, its actually kind of happy and the words aren't nearly that bad. If I can figure it out, I will post the song so you all can hear. (Does anyone know how to do this?) Problem is, once I usually record I get terribly embarrassed and critical about the sound of my own voice and my playing. But I'm psyched -- it's the first I've been able to write in months!

In other news, if you haven't picked up Sunn O)))'s Black One, and you're a fan of metal or horror movies, do so. It's some of the most twisted and surreal dark art -- it made me get more than a little woozy when I turned it up loud. The last track is super scary: the vocalist was recorded in a closed casket so you hear every one of his tight-chested breaths and bloodcurdling screams along side their trademark bowel loosening guitar and bass rumbles.

Haven't posted in a bit -- sorry for neglecting you. Here's a mix I made for my girlfriend:

1. Nada Surf – “Blankest Year”
2. The Unicorns – “The Clap”
3. Crooked Fingers – “Call to Love”
4. Superchunk – “Florida’s On Fire”
5. The New Pornographers – “The Bleeding Heart Show”
6. Spoon – “Sister Jack”
7. Toms – “(I Wanna Be A) Teen Again”
8. The Dismemberment Plan – “Do the Standing Still”
9. LCD Soundsystem – “Tribulations”
10. Vitalic – “Poney, Pt. 1”
11. Julez Santana – “Mic Check”
12. The Game – “Hate It Or Love It”
13. Amerie – “1 Thing”
14. Madonna – “Hung Up”
15. Beck – “Hell Yes”
16. The Postal Service – “The District Sleeps Alone Tonight”
17. Pixies – “Monkey Gone to Heaven”
18. My Morning Jacket – “Off the Record”
19. Ryan Adams & the Cardinals – “The Hardest Part”
20. Loose Fur – “Chinese Apple”

I went all smash hits, all the time on this one because I know she gets bored with artsy fartsy stuff and she like to excersize to it (read: squats and cleans). Don't mind if I toot my own horn though -- these are some great selections. And no, I didn't give her "The Clap". Yet.

Intermission

I will be gone from Wednesday until Sunday on vacation in Vermont and might not have internet -- see you all soon!

In the meantime:

• Chad VanGaalen - Infiniheart: Great bedroom indie, with one of the weirdest and most captivating voices I've heard in a while. Like Joanna Newsom, but a dude and not initially abrasive.
• Dinosaur Jr. - You're Living All Over Me: I'll be listening to this as I drive through Western Mass. Really amazing guitar work from a guy who's totally zonked. Anyone else ever see The Year Punk Broke and J. Mascis' hat? Whatta burnout.
• Don Caballero - American Don: For anyone who liked Bonham but didn't think he took it far enough over the top. Not to downplay any of the guitar playing, but Damon Che (drummer) is not following anyone's lead. Super intricate polyrhythms, ricochet guitar, and bass fatter than Large Marge. Don't listen to this drunk, you'll get the spins. I'm serious.
• Minor Threat - "Stepping Stone": Rock!
• Foo Fighters - Foo Fighters: Nostalgia's at play here for a lot of this, but I still love this record to death. From "Alone and Easy Target" on is nearly perfect. "Exhausted", "For All the Cows" and "Weenie Beenie" all got play in the band I was in throughout high school. Sexy as hell, I know. You should have seen the syncronized jumps...

I Give the Pitchfork Review a 4.1

A while back I wrote about a review of the new Pearls & Brass album on Pitchfork. In said interview, the writer acknowledges not actually caring about classic rock and bands that assimilate that classic rock sound. And the reason? Because, “I want music to interact with the moment we inhabit now, and the most frustrating thing to me about modern classic rock is how closed and final it seems, how unavailable to the living, breathing moment.” Closed and final? If there was one thing that classic rock, and this record in particular, is not, is final. Rather, it’s a launching off point for explorations on a live date. But I digress…

What really is the point of having a writer who acknowledges that they don’t care about a type of music write about it? I understand that there have to be some quality-control issues over at Pitchfork – meaning, they basically have to pan some albums (Travis Morrison’s 0.0? Yeah, not that bad still…) and boost others so they seem to know what they’re talking about and aren’t just handing out gold stars to everyone. But the assigning of a writer that automatically will not care about a record? Come on. At least give it to someone who cares about the genre and has the knowledge to say something. Speaking in generalities about the genre is doing nothing and avoids the task at hand of reviewing the record.

One of the most ironic things about the review is that he says classic rock writers tend to reveal more about themselves than the music at hand. And what were you doing, Mr. Howe?

As for The Indian Tower: It’s good. No, it’s not the future of music (whatever that is), but as far as the blues go, and heavy music goes, you could do a lot worse. These dudes (and I mean that) never let their fingers rest on the fretboard, churning out rolling rock boogie much like Blue Cheer’s pyschedelia, but without the rough edges. This is bro rock, but not in a bad chest-thumping way, more of a long-hair, Budweiser, stand-in-one-spot-softly-headbanging kind of way. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

Who does Ariel Pink think he is? This guy, a lo-fi pop songsmith who’s indulged in a very unhealthy amount of psychotropic substances, is going on tour soon and says he’s inviting any local band in town to back him up, sans practice save an hour or so before the actual gig. It’s been reported that before this experiment Pink’s shows were already tenuous and ramshackle. How is this going to help present the rough sketches of songs on his records?

Pink’s songs, appearing on any and every one of his records, are dirty and mixed weird, stop and start at any given minute like prog that doesn’t know how to transition, but still show the strange genius of 70’s and 80’s radio pop. He’s not interested in showing off a mastery he’s worked out behind the scenes. Doing something like channeling these songs through a batch of unpracticed musicians will again test his experiment of examining art in an embryonic state. It should be interesting to see how different musicians with different ideas try to funnel the same ideas out.

Is there a more perfect song than "Florida's On Fire" by Superchunk? This song came on when I was walking out of my apartment onto the Philly streets and made got me all worked up. (Does anyone else have a problem holding back from doing rock moves like me? Seriously, I'm a mess when I'm listening to music on headphones, especially when I workout. I want to jump off the treadmill and do David Lee Roth kicks and guitar face.) Not to mention the rest of Here's To Shutting Up is pretty unbelievable. Does anyone make indie like this these days -- that happy, punky, jangly stuff? How much longer until this stuff becomes chic again -- a Chapel Hill renaissance?

This isn't to dismiss modern music because the Secret Machines' "Nowhere Again" is really great. I didn't really like this album (Now Here is Nowhere) the first 10 tries and honestly gave up, but just heard it through a new pair of ears today. Really nice -- good space rock that could find a home on alternative radio. Dudes seriously sound like the Flaming Lips playing Zep covers.

But back to NC stuff. I went to CD Alley in Chapel Hill (best record store ever) about a week ago and picked up the new Cat Power. Talk about a great record to have while driving in the south -- all warm guitars, horns tooting away and wispy voice perfect for a southern night. It was work, but The Greatest puts me on a different tip, adult-contempo style, but great for cruising the long curling roads of North Carolina. It's changed flavor now that I'm home: it's kind of got me think of making babies to a Pottery Barn soundtrack. But in a good sunflower and vanilla Yankee Candles way, not a Harry Connick Jr. way. That dude's Brokeback!

January International Mixtape Project

I think this is one of my best yet. I still haven't sent it out though cause I'm too lazy to get to the post office.

See:

1. Circulatory System – “Yesterday’s World” – Circulatory System
2. Spoon – “No You’re Not” – A Series of Sneaks
3. Enon – “Window Display” – High Society
4. Hot Snakes – “Unlisted” – Suicide Invoice
5. Pedro the Lion – “Foregone Conclusions” – Achilles Heel
6. The Beta Band – “Broken Up Adingdong” – The Beta Band
7. Stevie Wonder – “Maybe Your Baby” – Talking Book
8. TV On the Radio – “Bomb Yourself” – Desperate Youth, Bloodthirsty Babes
9. PJ Harvey – “A Place Called Home” – Stories From the City, Stories From the Sea
10. The Microphones – “The Moon” – The Glow, Pt. 2
11. Ryan Adams & The Cardinals – “The Hardest Part” – Jacksonville City Nights
12. Crooked Fingers – “Call to Love” – Dignity and Shame
13. My Morning Jacket – “Old September Blues” – The Tennessee Fire
14. The Wilderness – “End of Freedom” – The Wilderness
15. Akron/Family – “Italy” – Akron/Family
16. Ween – “Captain” – Quebec
17. Dead Meadow – “Sleepy Silver Door” – Feathers

I've been thinking about this mixtape thing too. Most of my knowledge on how to create a playlist has (embarrassingly) come from High Fidelity. You know, hit 'em hard first, up the ante second, bring it down third, etc. I've begun to think that most important thing to do with a mix is segue. You can knock the listener's socks off by putting the perfect songs on there, but if there's no organization or common thread to bring it together, it becomes a greatest hits comp that the listener is going to flip through. The challenge is to engage by choosing both songs that are great and having an understandable follow-up to each one. My suggestion: listen to the last 30 seconds of the previous song and see how it translates into the upcoming tune -- that should give you a nice transition and create a new context for the songs into your own personal album.

But honestly, who knows? Everybody's ears hear things different...

Dumb

This is quite possibly the worst review I have ever read. How phoned in is that? It's my thought that music reviews should in some way touch on what it sounds like, but that's just me...

Let's Dance About Art 2005 -- Part I

Everyone says the same thing, so will I: To somewhat repeat myself from last year, lists are something of a bogus endeavor, I know. But – they are fun and a decent way to make sense of a year spent critiquing, obsessing, thinking and wondering about music. The following albums are not indicative of everything I listen to, but rather, a sampling that pulls from every different genre I enjoy. It’s nearly impossible to quantify and weigh art, so the following is mostly what I’ve enjoyed throughout the year, the albums I’ve listened to the most and the albums that I feel have a certain gravitas about them.

As far as the numbering system goes, please hold loosely it – there’s no real order to everything. By the time I finished this I really wasn’t feeling the order. It’s really there to create suspense. Otherwise you’d be bored by the third review, wouldn’t you? Also, I really tried not to curse, but I love the word fuck. Sorry.

Without further ado, please enjoy my favorite records of 2005 and Happy New Year!

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25. Ryan Adams & the Cardinals – Cold Roses/Jacksonville City Nights

Rather than embrace or deny any meanderings about persona/image (yeah, he’s a tool, but what self-promoter isn’t?), look to the music. Cold Roses and Jacksonville are delivered in a straight face, nothing but good songs, written at a level that everyone can embrace and few will care to comprehend. We’ve seen this before, 3 or 4 recycled chords, driven by a bottle of whiskey and heartbreak – this is country, earthy hymns. On one hand, Adams wants to be in the Dead driving some country road jams. On the other, he’s a fine needlepoint musician. Doesn’t hurt that his backup band is knockout.

24. High On Fire – Blessed Black Wings

Much has and must be spoken about Steve Albini on the mixing table for this one, but I don’t understand his production (“engineering”?) and don’t care to talk about it and, fuck it, it doesn’t really matter when it comes to quality music. What we’re given here is our fave stoner Matt Pike injecting some crank and stirring up a hurricane. Guitars still chug, but this time like a stainless steel bullet train and you’re tied to the tracks. Skins are beat to shit in an attempt to add punctuation to these run-ons, but once Pike steps to the edge of the cliff to stand and deliver the Holy Solo you realize theres no place for that shit bro Fuckin metal man stop bein a pussy

23. Crooked Fingers – Dignity and Shame

Archers of Loaf were always one of my favorites, ever since I discovered “college rock” from the Poster Children back in 7th grade. I used to leaf through the liner notes of every album I got to discover new bands to impress my friends and, mostly, myself. Upon the demise of AOL I was supremely disappointed having just come of age and missed their live show. Shoot, they left such an impression that I practically went to NC for school because of word about the “Chapel Hill scene”. I never knew what happened to them after White Trash Heroes (half good) until I finally fell upon a website called PitchforkMedia and their review of Crooked Fingers’ first album.

Now, I haven’t really been one of the best supporters or biggest followers of Crooked Fingers, but I’ve got to say this is undeniably the best set of NC-indie in my recent memory. Everything is given that front-porchy feeling, but still, the songs are more pop than anything. Once “Islero” fades into “Weary Arms”, it’s obvious why. Eric Bachmann, owner of the herky-jerk scream and weirdo growl has found a wonderful voice. By “Call to Love” there’s no way you can ignore this feel-good college rock. It’s a sunny album that’s perfect for holding your girlfriend’s hand, smoking cigarettes with your friends, and dreaming of the possibilities of your wondrous life.

22. Paul McCartney – Chaos and Creation in the Garden

Back to production again, but this time I’ll know what I’m talking about. Nigel Godrich (Beck’s sensitive side) twiddled the knobs on this and forced Paul to play all the instruments, save some strings that he probably could’ve done a better job on anyways (dude’s a musical genius, fuck Stevie Wonder). Godrich compresses the air out of all the songs and all for the better. He eliminates every excess sound, every unnecessary fingersqueak and lets the songs appear unadorned eliminating any sense of environment or composition letting the songs exist as beautiful reminders of songwriting genius. As for the songs, we still have a couple of punchy numbers but mostly softly arranged, precisely sung and elaborately adorned Eleanor Rigby-type numbers. Seems to me that Paul is more vital then ever questioning his beliefs, questioning his place in the universe, and, yes, singing about love. Death’s unfortunate head is peeking around the corner – let’s hope the corny drummer dude in sunglasses goes first.

21. Pissed Jeans -- Shallow

Drugged, fucked up, and heavy as a ton of bricks. These Allentown, PA jesters seriously might have well as hit me in the face with a Louisville Slugger. Guitars are sludgy, strung with chicken wire and turned way to loud, bass that makes you shit, drums beaten like kids from the wrong side of town. Not to mention the mixed-way-too-low hollers about the stupidest stuff ever (sample songs: “Ashamed of My Cum”, “I Broke My Own Heart”). They reach their logical extreme two songs in (come to soon? Yeah.) on “Boring Girls” a one-chord sucker punch about wanting to nail the Maxim cover girl. Don’t discount these dudes as a bunch of gas huffing dopes – the boys can play. It’s just that they don’t care to play tight, especially not for you. If punk wasn’t dead, this would be it.

20. The Mountain Goats – The Sunset Tree

While John Darnielle, thee Mountain Goat, has never been a favorite of mine because of his nasal whine and run-of-the-mill guitar playing, this record was simply too devastating to ignore. It could also have been the obtuse lyrical angles he’s taken in the past, but this time around things are clarified. He’s taken on a subject that is always serious: abuse. Add to that the confusion and mayhem of childhood and Darnielle’s magnificent grasp of words and rhythm. His verses spill over about visions of meaningless details that grow to mythic proportions over time, his voice barely able to hold on to the chaos surrounding him. And sometimes he can’t, his whine becomes a yell, a yelp, a cry for help. But no mind, even though this youthful John is bursting at the seams, he has the maturity of a man twice his age, exclaiming his mantra early on: “I am gonna make it through this year if it kills me.”

19. Vitalic – OK Cowboy

I don’t dance – I tell people I’m white. Full disclosure: I love that shit. So what would I want to boogie down to? Yo: 21st century disco cooked up with rave I was fond of in the ‘90s when shit looked limitless and I didn’t know any better. Music that makes you want to dress in silly glasses and dance in foam, uninhibited. French shit. Daft Punk shit. That “One More Time” song I used to do the robot to because that shit was way too much fun and I felt like a million dollars doing it. This – gritty electronic stuffs that makes you want to flip the lights on and off—real fast—cause that shit looks like a strobe, yo! It builds and builds and builds and never loosens the grip, aural blueballs. But good, release is in your immediate future. I can see the lasers, kids hugging speakers and the pacifiers now…

18. Doveman – The Acrobat

Coming in like a snowdrift, sweeping piano, banjo and brushed drums, The Acrobat is like a winter storm – everything is cool, muffled from the snow, but warmer than before the snow. Thomas Bartlett’s voice sounds like someone that a critic would tell me I should listen to more frequently and the band plays to his whisper-soft voice perfectly, crafting minimal accompaniment without coming off cold or aseptic. The whole thing comes off as an effortless affair, lighter than air and just as angelic.

17. Jamie Lidell – Multiply

Back to dance, this time the Motown indebted stuff that spun my head around a few years back. Like, I couldn’t believe someone would make as crazy a record as Talking Book with all the slow jams. And it hits like a Mack truck that you can’t get or don’t want to get outta the way of. Lidell can sing man, he diaphragms like the Hardest Working Man in Show Business, croons like Rev. Green, and, yeah he’s white. And English. It’s like this is on a tip from Dusty Springfield (she’s pre-Joss Stone, yo), but fast-forward to 2005 and insert JayTim’s dance hottness. The back end lags only for a minute, but seriously, with “Multiply”, “When I Come Around” and “A Little Bit More” back to back to back – moistness.

16. Stephen Malkmus – Face the Truth

Starting off all synth and geetar squiggles, I didn’t know what the hell I was getting myself into. Is this guy finally giving up and selling his guitars for keyboards like James Murphy said? Nah, just using everything he can to Q-Tip your ears and paint a day-glo song devoid of pose or categorization. Those that follow aren’t the same as opener “Pencil Rot”, but follow that genre-less tip into some pretty righteous, loose and fabulous guitar rock – and that’s just at face value. Listen to this stuff on headphones and its like looking up close at one of those pointilist paintings – far away its ordinary, close up there’s an attention to detail usually only found only in the confines of electronic music. So yeah, Steve’s not reinventing the wheel here, but wowing us as a guitar god ain’t so bad after all. (Note: hipsters will be afraid of this one because they might think they smell the stank of patchouli when they listen to it. The Grateful Dead were NOT bad or thoughtless at all.)

15. Deerhoof – The Runners Four

Eschewing the Who-like explosions on Reveille, The Runners Four is a record that just puts me in awe of these creators. These are musicians who know their way around a guitar neck or drum kit, thankfully unafraid to give one idea a rest to move onto the next. But, unlike so of their other records, this one’s more planned out, not as spontaneous as some of their other records, and it’s a good thing. Runners is probably going to be one of the Deerhoof records I’ll keep coming back to, it’s not going to give me a seizure from over-stimulation and the sugar is finally evenly distributed. No more cavities.

14. Black Mountain – Black Mountain

I first let the needle drop on this one on and heard the opening bars, then whole song, of “Modern Music”. I immediately thought I threw away $10. What the hell was this white-boy soul stuff? The dude can’t sing! Luckily, I kept rapt, mostly because of the possibly for a complete train-wreck. Couldn’t turn away, right? Luckily, “Don’t Run Our Hearts Around” spun things around totally, boogeying like Mountain with the drive of ZZ Top and the haze of Kyuss. From there, things never turned back, the songs got druggier and better, heavy, then soft, then a complete blowout in “Faulty Times” whereupon the needle lifts. Trite as it may be, I guess, don’t judge a book by its cover.

13. Wolf Parade – Apologies to the Queen Mary

Yeah, these guys sound like Modest Mouse. Yeah, they’re from Montreal. Yeah, they play jerky rock and roll with quivering vocals. Yeah, they have “Wolf” in their name (At least it’s not Clap Your Hands Because You Gave Me the Clap). Yeah, they use the high-hat a lot. Yeah, they have a guy who plays a synth. Yeah, it’s kind of dramatic and, uh, emo. Yeah, so, what’s wrong with these things anyways?

12. Jesu – Jesu

First time I ever heard My Bloody Valentine I was driving on I-85 in North Carolina coming up on the Virginia border. Not quite aware of how disorienting an album could be, in no less than 5 minutes I thought I was driving backwards and the cars next to me were stopped. Turned out I was stopped in a traffic jam and the left lane was just moving forward. I had to tear Loveless from the player, unsure of how I’d get back to Jersey practically hallucinating.

First time I heard Jesu, it wasn’t quite the same, but immediately my head got similarly fucked. From the downtuned opening thud of the guitars and the overloud drum pounding, opener “Your Path to Divinity” disengaged me from there. Guitars layered on top of guitars layered on top of bass and more bass churn like a black ocean while a crest of Justin Broadrick’s vocals and electronics ride the top like a life raft about to be sucked under at any time. From there things get murkier and dirtier, but from a guy who is a card-carrier for Napalm Death and Godflesh, sorta life-affirming. While the sea of bass, guitars and drums roil underneath constantly and powerful in their undertow can be deadly in their own right, nothing can outdo the menace of melancholy melody treading water and riding these waves to shore.

11. A-Frames – Black Forest

Unapologetically dark and mechanical from the outset, Seattle’s A-Frames destroy any notion for me that garage rock is dead. This skuzzy but precise mix of Man Or Astroman?’s surf rock and Liars’ theatric doom is the dirtiest shot in the arm Detroit Rock City has gotten in some time. Guitars are full of feedback, as is bass, but nary a missed note or stray whine is here. Rather than foul it up with that “loose = authentic” some of garage tries to pull off, these boys and girls are economical and powerful in their playing, making the notes sound like Chinese throwing stars. And it doesn’t hurt that even though they sound like man-machines, its kind of sexy.

Let's Dance About Art 2005 -- Part II

10. Dead Meadow – Feathers

Ever since Dead Meadow blew me against the back wall at one of their live shows, I’ve been a believer. Their records have gotten close to their accomplished live show, but never really showed the power they were capable of. Feathers, their fourth studio album, is just that remedy finally tapping the frequency they can tune into. This is some high-flying stuff, nipping from the trippiest Black Sabbath, Pink Floyd and Led Zep had to offer, but rather than pummel the listener into submission the tunes rise and fall gently like, yeah, feathers. They also continue their theme of rerecording their past works, but this time it works better than ever with their huge (and best work) “Sleepy Silver Door”. The one note verse drains my frontal lobe until the boogie gets the blood flow back at the chorus. Only be ready to be devastated every time the avalanche of guitar solos runs me down. Heavenly.

9. LCD Soundsystem – LCD Soundsystem

I recently heard “Daft Punk is Playing at My House” in my gym, a Bally’s Total Fitness. Hard to say what most of those meatstick guidos really think about Daft Punk or The Scene, but I saw more than one head nodding. See, that doesn’t really matter when you make music of this order. I expected this record to be pandering (ironic handclaps, cowbell and been-there-done that lyrics) to the critic crowd, but when music is this alive and forward thinking, you can’t help but eliminate past conceptions. Sure, everything probably been done here before, and will again, and maybe even better. And it’ll be awesome man, you should’ve been there.

Presently, this is some funky, badassss and hott music.

8. Akron/Family – Akron/Family

I’m not really sure what makes folk music “freaky”, but if there is a good example of it, I’m sure Akron/Family’s self-titled debut might fit the bill. Starting off with a simple plucked measure, nothing outrageous, the first-round knockout comes in when we hear words, strained and forced, trying to stay up, but undeniably pure and like nothing I heard all year, or ever. Now, just because music is new and innovative, it doesn’t immediately make it good, but when melodies this timeless accompany new and wildly interesting ways of putting them together, you might almost have yourself a masterpiece. Acoustic instruments accompany wily electronics, overdriven guitars come out of nowhere and scraps of weirdo found sounds sound more natural than their other accompaniments. This music isn’t freaky for its mixture of the traditional with the atypical, but for the capability of these mere men to create pristine vessels of sound.

7. Animal Collective - Feels

Yes the feeling (sic) is juvenile as ever, just as before, but a bit more psychopathic than I’d seen before. Songs are sung with abandon, loud in the sound, not enunciation, and more than ever the melodies are, gasp, understandable. It’s a less schitzo AC almost like they’re building these songs from the ground up rather than letting them grow and run their natural course. But so it goes, kids do become men.

6. Smog – A River Ain’t Too Much to Love

Rivers aren’t things that follow direct lines. They’re sneaky, winding, full of snakes, and wonderful on a hot summer day. They provide life, helping our trees grow, our farms grow. They can be deep, quick, rocky, placid.

I’d like to think that Bill Callahan, aka Smog, has simplified everything. The arrangements are basic – just acoustic guitar, bass and drums for most of the songs. I’d like to think that he’s just giving it to me straight for once. But as he says, “There is no love/In the one true path.”

I’ve never seen a river follow a straight line.

5. The Psychic Paramount – Gamelan Into the Mink Supernatural

Flip this disc in and start thinking yr in a time warp. Backwards everything, mixed way, way too hott, nothing making sense. Bass is locked in a groove, everything else pounds you like yr caught under a waterfall. But make it out alive…

From the start: “Megatherion” is like ginger to your ears, cleaning out the wax, dusting you off. Then, “Para5”. I mean SHIT. Starting off like a funky Yes, this junk steamrolls over your body, infecting your veins until yous just gots to have more. The song fades, becomes, like, part II or something, and just completely slays every guitar player ever to pick up an axe. Best solo of the year, hands down. So hott, in fact, that it breaks the tape into, uh, part III where the Chili Pepper guitar (In a good way, man) comes back and the bass is forced even louder, until, drop out. I’ve never been more disappointed by a song ending, my chest heaving, my body sore.

“Echoh Air” follows with bubble guitar, thudding bass and cymbal- and snare-heavy drums. It starts out at the bottom of the fret board, low but building, until it gets higher and higher and higher. The production’s still mixed so the needles are breaking off, making for a grainy, snuff film feel, but not half as drrty. Naw, this stuff’s a riot, not degenerate like most noise music.

Segue right into “X-Visitations”. At this point you start to realize that a word hasn’t been sung or spoken, but that’s ok. You get a chance to breathe before another onslaught, but, again, not the kind that noise would incapacitate you with. By then you start to realize, wait, I just listened to about 5 minutes of static. Isn’t that noise? At that point a godly, passionate and righteous guitar sweeps down from up top to deliver a sermon with accentuations from the chorus of bass and cymbals. It’s sad it’s only a fleeting moment, but afterwards we’re given a chance to reflect in the debris and dust following the proclamation.

And finally silence, only for a second, but feeling like a million years. Back to that bubbling guitar and bass for the title track, cymbals touched, things steadily rising, rising. Things are at a fever pitch, expert tension is built, but better yet, maintained. The tape captures this – can any physical entity sustain the pressure this force is generating? Can any set of ears or placement of microphones withstand the weight? Can the tape last in the wall of a hurricane? And it breaks.

4. Sufjan Stevens - Illinois

Nearly every review I’ve read of this album gestures toward the absolute grandiosity of this record and attempts to explain why it’s so big. Ironic then that it’s set within the confines of a state, something finite and in the case of Illinois, not that huge. Nearly every song here deals with the supernatural, notions bigger than most of us can hope to understand, and people bigger than life (ever seen the Lincoln monument?).

It’s a perfect encapsulation of ideas too big to be held in the boundaries of a jewel case, or one person’s head. But they’re ideas that need to be there, things that need to be remembered, reconsidered and thought about for future generations. But then again, they’re simple ideas at heart, really boiling down to a single question of goodness. But, thinking back, that idea is much too complex. And that’s what makes Illinois so good.

3. Kanye West – Late Registration

And so comes my first (and last) white-boy nomination for a hip-hop record. For me, it was a year where I finally started to understand hip-hop, even if I didn’t really listen to many albums. This one, something I didn’t really even want to get, was like a smack in the face. I thought it was hyped so much, and it was, but not because it good. It was great. It’s written like a book, every song a chapter in the ongoing saga of being a Black American. Not that I really know. No, honestly, I have zero idea.

The production is the first thing that hit me. The breath is compressed out of the beats on this thing, trimming the fat and moving everything forward. Samples are still used, and no matter how familiar I am with them (“Move On Up”? I’ve heard that like 50 times by itself.) they still sound brand new written in a push-things-forward context. And, to reconfirm my whiteness, Jon Brion’s coloring of the tracks is an impeccable choice, another checkmark for a man with the best style in entertainment.

Lest us forget Mr. West himself. Sure he’s loud, he’s proud, but this dude’s got breath control. He’s taken a large step from College Dropout as far as MCing goes. His strength is still in his control of recognizing the human condition, how we want to be untouchable but continually fall. Only this time he might be invulnerable. At least until next year.

2. My Morning Jacket - Z

Before I even begin to describe this, I must let you know that MMJ is one of my favorite bands. They were a band I’d never have enjoyed had I not spent 4 years of my life in North Carolina. Something about their calm, jammy rock and roll really fits perfect in between the peaks of the Western Carolina Appalachians, the I-85 and I-40’s. It’s easy music for a slow afternoon of drinking and sitting. I can still perfectly remember the first time I really listened them – driving up from Atlanta to Augusta, GA on a fall break from the uni, my now girlfriend of 3+ years asleep in the passengers seat as we drove into an immaculate fall sunset, “Bermuda Highway” playing softly out of the speakers. An idealistic idea I know, but really a moment that has stood still for me and romanticized the group’s music for me.

When I found out that My Morning Jacket were releasing Z, I was psyched. Having just finally put It Still Moves to rest after burning myself out on it, I was ready for their next move, something I knew was upward. The skill they showed on Moves is present here, but there’s an unprecedented explosiveness that I’ve never heard before.

The songs on Z are arena ready, meant to be played in front of millions of people. They’re short, but only because they’re going to be totally blown out live. This is also pop music, easy for anyone who likes the Dead, Allman Bros., or Skynyrd to enjoy. Every single song is great here perfects old-school rock for the hippy masses without losing the thread by being too improvisational (save “Into the Woods”, which is good, but should’ve been relegated to an EP like “Cobra”). They cover nearly every base, from the reggae-inflected, but-not-cheesy (“Wordless Chorus”, “Off the Record”) to midnight-boogie (“Anytime”) to Pink Floyd smoke-outs (“Dondante”).

And of course, there’s Mr. Jim James, the man with the golden voice. MMJ strip away the reverb that has been their trademark, and instead of soaking all the instruments in it, they just apply enough to James’ voice to make him sound, once again, divine. The man can’t hit a sour note and holds the single greatest instrument ever to appear on record. His tone can be echoed in the music they create – naturally beautiful yet angelic and dynamite hymns of praiseworthy rock n’ roll.

1. The New Pornographers – Twin Cinema

In all honesty, I never really cared for the New Pornographers, before this record. I never heard their first record, didn’t care for Electric Version, and really almost wrote them off. You hear a ton written about them, mostly every review listing how they’re a “Canadian Supergroup”. How can they be a supergroup if you’ve never heard any of them in their own right?

It’s certainly apparent on Twin Cinema. Every song is a tightly reigned-in package, a pop mini-masterpiece. And when I use “pop” here, I mean pop. It’s not that skewed spazzy stuff like Deerhoof or Unicorns that people are calling “pop” because they can’t think of anything else. No bro, this is the real deal. Pop like Rusted Root (end of “Bleeding Heart Show”?), pop like Kelly Clarkson, pop like Tom Petty, Joe Jackson, and anyone else on radio in the you can think of. Oh, uh, except for the Dan Bejar songs – sorry. Exceptions to everything.

I’ve never been a huge power-pop fan, but after hearing this, the Yellow Pills album on Numero and the Exploding Hearts, I’m fully sold. Each song seems to be composed with the idea of a crescendo in mind. That is, start with a small yet attractive idea, work in more and more details until the song becomes a huge sing-along blast. By the end, you’ll have people swinging back and forth, hands in the air, girls and boys making out, etc. Actuality: you’ll have me screaming along in my car on the NJ Turnpike, looking like a teenybopper.

The New Pornos do this power-pop thing the best. They’ve got the vixen (Neko Case), the genius (AC Newman) and the quality control dude (Dan Bejar) making sure everything is sufficiently twisted so we keep ‘em interested. Hooks are immediate, but not over-sweet – diabetics are welcome. They’re expounded upon until they reach their logical climax, either a third chorus conclusion or a coda of bittersweet ooh-ing and aah-ing that just makes my heart break all over again for music. It’s a beautiful moment, a fantasic voyage throughout and yet another perfection of the art form. Where else can you get this feeling? Where else can you find this joy, this uplifting moment? And when will it happen again? Because I can’t wait.

Coming Soon

After a long and arduous couple of weeks I have almost completed my list for the Best Records of 2005. It's taken me way to long, I know, but it could be worth your while. Having finished 23, I only have the top two left. I guess for next year I should start this crap around Thanksgiving. Sorry for the delay and please come back soon!

Suggested listening while you wait:

Khanate -- Capture & Release (not on the list, I was too late on this one)
The Game: "Hate It Or Love It"
Madonna: "Hung Up"
The Vaselines -- The Way Of The Vaselines
Todd Rundgren -- A Wizard, A True Star

This is the Time to Remember

I will not be posting very frequently for the rest of the year as much of my attention will be focused on examining and listing, in a very secretively scientific way, the top albums of the year. Most likely there will be 25, most of them featuring guitars and white men with dumb haircuts. But who knows???

Honestly, it's a pretty large undertaking -- so far I have 50 possibles and I know I'm missing about 25. I probably have to listen to more than half of these again, as I was most likely doing your mother or something similarly distracting while they were on. If you have any opinions about things I should consider, please indulge me. My email is brett (dot) baxter (at) gmail (dot) com, or you can let the world know how hip you are and put a message in the comments.

Finally, I will be in Las Vegas for the first full week in December. Any good record stores there?

Independence Day

Most of the music that hits the mainstream, and also the average brain the quickest, is immediate, punchy, upbeat music. Think of it, the most primitive form of music (I can think of) is tribal or African music. The drums are nearly always upbeat, chanting or chorus is encouraged, and a sense of release and glee are synonymous with the performance. Naturally, music evolves, but also retains some of those primal traits.

Then why is it the slow ballad-type song is so prominent these days? Acoustic based music is very popular indie terrain now, with an emphasis on single performers (Joanna Newsome, Devendra Banhart, Sufjan Stevens, etc.) and their personal, intimate and mostly slow-tempo songs. Have we forgotten to dance?

Not everyone. Obviously, I’m mostly speaking to underground music fans who like this stuff. Hip-hop is still churning out a furious rate of wonderful singles (David Banner’s “Play”? Good God.), dance is alive and well through Madonna and others, and Billboard pop chart music hasn’t seemed to put out a ballad of any importance in the last 5 years, to my recollection. And again, many indie or underground music fans love this shit even if they don’t admit it. Still, the ballad is alive and well for them.

Why is this? As a hobby or pastime, music collectors and fans have more steadily gotten away from the social aspect of music, or even enjoying it as an event rather than a constant thing. Instead, we now rely heavily on websites and internet information, a faceless, endless and constant tool for us to stay informed about new music, all while eliminating the personal contact of talking with your record store clerk or friends. Not only that, downloading has allowed us to binge on tons of new sounds that we may not even care for. Noise music has sprung forth through the frenzy, a music so strange and personal – for real, who can you share this music with if you don’t have hipster friends? The internet has allowed this lonely communication where we can learn about new things, consume them and express our opinions, just like me in this blog.

This is not to say that the internet is “at fault” for anything. If anything, it has exponentially increased the music idea pool faster than before and introduced us previously unseen forms of sound. But the majority of that underground music is personal, the community is shrinking.

Now maybe I’m wrong. Am I just not out communicating about music? Seeing or meeting the right people? Voicing my opinion enough? Or, am I right – just another faceless voice in an independent music chatroom?

(With that, a wonderful record to enjoy by your lonesome, and something that I was going to try to weave into the above, but couldn’t: Doveman’s The Acrobat is a great record of breathy vocals and soft arrangements. This one undoubtedly reminds me of wintertime – bare trees, cold breath, but looking out from inside, warmth radiating off the fire. Yeah, the songs are sad, but there’s something optimistic lurking right underneath. Spring is right around the corner after all…)

Help!

I've been getting a ton of spam through this website -- anyone out there know how to put a stop to this? Is it as simple as getting my email off the site? I'd like to keep the comments section open in case this shit blows up, but I keep on hearing about "children with adhd" and "cool, i have a site about bukkake too" (because of this post) because of it.

Also, all week I've been listening to Ryan Adams & the Cardinals' Cold Roses. Who knew?

(I swear something substantial will appear this weekend...)

Here's an article that got me semi-pumped about rock-crit. It can get deafening how monotone some writers/papers can get. Doug Mosurak, who writes Dusted Magazine's Still Single column, is a real fluent, fun writer. I don't claim to know who this guy might be on the radar of record collectorship, nor do I care, but I do know he has a good ear.

Etc.

If I didn't waste enough time on Google Maps, Gmail and Image Search (past 11:00 PM = SafeSearch off please), Google has probably found a way to kill my entire work day. Google Print has been introduced. I'll tell you, if I can figure out a way to read books by everyone from Stephen Hawking to Don DeLillo, online, during work, my entire future career is going to be ruined. 2:00 conference call or Harlequin Romance? You bet your sweet ass I'd rather hear about Antonio the Mechanic seducing Elizabeth the Housewife and bringing the love back into her life that Mark the Accountant has given up on after their marraige.

In other unrelated news, I recently saw the Fiery Furnaces live w/ supporting act Man Man. Of all people, my 14 (now 15) year old brother wanted to see the concert, so I decided to go with. It was an all-ages show at a local Unitarian Church where they hold DIY shows. I've been to the venue before to see ...And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead, one of the loudest and worst shows I've ever seen. Well, same deal. The acoustics in this place, along with amateurish mixing, make everything bounce and sound so damn loud that its nearly impossible to enjoy. Add to that Man Man's herky jerk carnival sounds (fun for one song, awful for nearly 45 minutes of constant noise) and the Fiery Furnaces terrible live show and its a surefire shitshow. Now, Man Man I didn't come to see, so their so-so performance didn't tiff me too much. But the Furnaces, sweet Lord. I was already on the fence with their wordy bullshit concepts, but bringing it live and being unable to sound ANYTHING like the record is crap. Don't get me wrong, I love improvisation, but rendering everything unrecongnizable is a joke. Add that to the fact that Elanor had to read the words to some of the new songs. And that nearly every song sounded identical. Fiery Furnaces, you're dead to me.

Finally, I decided to nix the BowFlex get a new gym membership to Bally's Total Fitness. Expect my writing to be stronger, more streamlined.

Have a wonderful weekend!

Rolling Rock

Mostly everything that I currently listen to is marginalized to the unfavorable ‘indie’ isle of the record store, a product positioning unlikely to ever reach the mass audience. Most of the time its justified. I can’t imagine the ‘average listener’ ever wanting to hear a massively dense Khanate record, or a slippery Need New Body CD, or even the Futureheads smart-alecky pop-post-punk. Those that do cross over, the Modest Mouses (never again) and Flaming Lipses (see what I mean?), rarely have continual commerical success. And for the obvious argument – no, Nirvana was never an indie band. So where’s the payoff from being an indie musician? At most it includes a moderate amount of fame, a sub-par amount of money, and a lasting impression on white males in track jackets (this year).

For My Morning Jacket, we finally have an indie band raised in the minors that’s looking for the pot of gold – the famous Rock and Roll. From their beginning output they’ve always stared down the righteous road of rock salvation. Over the years they’ve streamlined their sound from a folky, mostly acoustic experiment in reverb to a ‘commercially viable’ amalgamation of 70’s and 80’s rock and roll. Their newest record Z does the thing that no one else does. They take your old Boston, Grateful Dead, Steve Miller, and, sure, the Lynyrd Tucker Band records and update the beasts. Most everyone in the underground seems terrified of these groups so far as to completely ignore and distance themselves from them. Not true. They wrote some of the best, most fun and engaging music of the 70’s.

Rightly so My Morning Jacket has been enjoying a mild amount of success in the jam band circuit. After all, they play a music easy to comprehend and noodley enough to satisfy your average Jazz Mandolin Project fan. The difference is that they don’t take the gimmicky approach most of the bands do, incorporating stupid instruments and bad voices. MMJ can sing, wail and flail with the best rock bands of all time. Their shit can be a white-hot supernova, or it can be a country road rambling on. All this and their versed enough to stay interesting in the confines of a rock tune.

Their newest record Z is their best. There are still missteps, but the overarching feel of the album ties everything they’ve done together to this point. Their music is undoubtedly arena or club-ready. It smokes and carries that midnight, lava-lamp sheen that all cool rock music should. It uses pianos and doesn’t sound like a pussy (‘Tiny Dancer’?), guitars that improvise but go somewhere. And Jim James is still singing. Just the sound of his gorgeous wail on “Wordless Chorus” should give you reason enough to believe. Rock music doesn’t have to have words or music so deep, philosophical and theory-heavy that it isn’t transcendent.

Art Therapy 1

Music has a very apparent therapeutic effect on most people’s lives. Dependent on what kind of day it is and what kind of mood you’re suffering (or enjoying), rock and or roll can totally make or break, justify or deny how you feel. Now I guess you the reader can say “faggot” and that this my emo post, but hear me out. There are definite career choices out there relating to this very topic: music (and art) therapy. While I think that these take things a bit too far, and certainly shouldn’t be used exclusively in psychiatric help, there is a nugget of truth in this study. I mean, music has a certain visual effect on people, (ever seen the color of a song? No I’m not on acid…more on this topic (Synestasia) later.) why can’t a song clear, confirm or question a mood? Why can’t music confirm or even help specific states of mind?

So, since I’m too lazy to write an essay and further examine the topic, I’ll show you a few records that remind me of or emote me in a certain way and some that can be generalized of a specific state of mind. You’ll find that, generally, these albums I cover all carry a common thread throughout and aren’t usually “singles” records.

If this works, I’ll post a few more relating to the subject.

Yeah, I was in the shit:

Case No. 001
State of mind/mood: Realization/Coming of Age
Album: Emergency & I
Artist: The Dismemberment Plan
Why: What better gift to give the high school graduate than this record? This is surely not Dr. Fucking Seuss’ Oh the Places You’ll Go – it’s not cheeky and clever, certainly not on sale (Starting May 15!) on a table in Barnes and Noble. Yet, it’s a better illustration of moving forward than any record I’ve ever heard. Lyrically, starting with the overarching march/what not to do anthem of “Life of Possibilities”, wading through the shit and obstructions of “What Do You Want Me to Say?”, again feeling righteous anger and sadness in “The City” and finally letting it all wash over, for better or worse with “Back and Forth”. And not only do the lyrics tell the story, the Plan’s music explodes with the noise of possibility, awkwardness and awesomeness, seemingly feeling it out in front of you. There’s never been a better album that funnels all shades of grey that confusion and the multiplicity of change that maturity brings. (Except Baz Luhrmann’s “Everybody’s Free (To Wear Sunscreen)”.)

Case No. 002
State of mind/mood: Overcoming Rejection/Sadness
Album: One Word Extinguisher
Artist: Prefuse 73
Why: Admittedly, this is an easy and obvious choice for both the artist and subject matter. It’s been widely documented that Scott Herren worked on this record after enduring a collapsed relationship. Also, there are a million other records dealing with the same damn thing. Pop music hasn’t really shied away from heartbreak to say the least. The thing that makes this record so unique is there aren’t any words to explain the guilt, sadness, and pain of a failed relationship. Rather, synths moan and clouds of melody blow over disjointed drum breaks while occasional voices coo, illustrating the slow rehabilitation of a broken heart.

Case No. 003
State of mind/mood: Immaturity
Album: Reville
Artist: Deerhoof
Why: While winsomeness isn’t something that I’d usually find particularly engaging, Deerhoof have a fantastic way of exploring something so indefinable. Sweetly sung, no-lyric melodies hover over a grand explosion of massive rock n’ roll fun recalling the best of the Who and Zeppelin. But rather than being sweaty Man Rock, their music is painted in big bright colors with wide-sized Crayolas, making beautiful art that exudes cuteness and creativity in its rawest form.

[I’m now exhausted – more later, I promise. I’ve been up since 4:30 this morning.]

For the Love of Money

I just bought a few records that I'm currently enjoying on this unbelievably georgous day in Philadelphia:

• Mazarin - We're Already There: Sounds great. Really poppy indie rock from some cats out of Philly. Good use of motorik beats, fuzzy electronics and sweet melodies. Not afraid to lay sheets of feedback or make sweet sunshine music (a la Yo La Tengo). I probably should have scored this one for the summer. It's good lemonade music.
• Wolf Parade - Apologies to the Queen Mary: How many more bands are really going to come out of Montreal? Better question: how many more records will I buy from bands calling Montreal home? If the quality remains the same as this hotshit group (friends of the Arcade Fire, yah), probably many more. Yes, they have that red-hot quivering, oh-fuck-I'm-crazy voice that all the bands have and they're obviously familiar with Modest Mouse(Issac Brock produces here), but their angular and anguished compositions show they hold a section of the blueprints for New Seattle. You heard it here first!
• The New Pornographers - Twin Cinema: Haven't really listened to more than a few tunes off of this so far, but I'm pretty sure Power-Pop Record of the Year is gonna be a barn hard to miss for these supergroupers. I mean, what else is there when you have A.C. Newman? He's like David Bell hitting an amazing home run in the top of the 9th against the Cincinatti Reds to put the Phillies one game back in the Wild-Card. Right?

I'd write about the other two, Devendra Banhart's Cripple Crow and some new Acid Mothers Temple record, but it's too nice out. I'm a make a venture into Hell's Angels by the king of loonies, Hunter S. Thompson. Have a wonderful day.

Great Expectations

I had grand expectations of offering my world the final say on the nature of web discourse and its effect on the world of record making and, in the end, record sales. Unfortunately, I don’t know how to research and plan ahead, not to mention I don’t have the resources to complete such a piece. No go -- maybe later if I get smarter.

But the good news is that I do still have grand aspirations of becoming a part of the great white pantheon of writers by writing boring shit about record stores in Philadelphia. I even got a new computer for that exact purpose!

For now: my September Mix…

1. Circulatory System – “Yesterday’s Gone”: What a cute song to start with. You get the children’s chorus pump pump pumpin’ it up and then we let loose into green psychedelia. I’m fond of this one, it reminds me of three years ago, when I first started off with my sweetheart. It’s super dreamy, cloudy and uncertain.
2. Dungen – “Festival”: I think that Festival means festival in Swedish. This is a nice tune to follow with, along the same lines of repurposed ‘60s psych for the ‘00s. Of course, this isn’t paint-by-numbers – mid-stream Gustav and co. go off on a tangent.
3. Bob Dylan – “I Want You”: I loved this song going into my post-senior summer from Wake Forest University. Then I heard it on my trip in a London Starbucks, buzzed to shit off a large coffee. Still gets me pumped.
4. Yo La Tengo – “Nowhere Near”: Another dreamy one of bass and slight shading from the rest of the company, until feedback squalls overcome. Only we make it out alive, the dream comes back to earth, we land safely.
5. The Secret Machines – “What Used to Be French”: Off of one of my favorite records of all time. This song is packed with good shit: great production, great drums, great soft keys, and great guitar licks. It begins with a soft bass bloop, some high organ/guitar, until the drums get spaced in by a flatbed truck. Druggy vocals shine this diamond, but the instrumentation take the cake, especially the twinkling guitar at the end.
6. Animal Collective – “April and the Phantom”: Not too sure if I like this one anymore, but it makes me cool. Look! I have this band’s first record!! Sounds like a less-good-natured and more-fried Ween.
7. Akron/Family -- “Before and Again”: I guess this fits in with the new folk sound, but there’s something much more interesting. They use technology like Grandaddy. They are a rock band, but that doesn’t mean electronics makes them any less earthy.
8. Enon – “Pleasure and Priveledge”: Kick this shit up! Good rock and roll tune from spazz-rock’s first. Edgy, angular and hott.
9. Fugazi – “Bed for the Scraping”: I once read that Ian MacKaye’s voice was like a wrecking ball. This song is Exhibit A. Mostly bass to begin, but then those Eastern and noodling guitars make a swoop and break for “riff of the century”. Only to be outdone by
10. Dismemberment Plan – “The City”: Best song ever. I can’t possibly write another word on this song. Just know it still gets me choked sometimes and I’ve been listening to it for 6 years.
11. Ted Leo & the Pharmacists – “Timorous Me”: I missed this for a while. Great Thin Lizzy shit on this one with the guitars at the end and Leo’s trademark wordy wail.
12. Built to Spill – “Carry the Zero”: See “The City”.
13. My Morning Jacket – “The Bear”: Can’t wait until this record comes out later this year! I heard a song “Wordless Chorus” and it was fine. Sounded more spacious and interesting, but still had Jim James’ honey sweet voice all over it. This one is like most the rest. Wonderful.
14. M. Ward – “Vincent O’Brien”: Still keeping things moving with this one. A great stomp for a smoky cave of a bar. This record always reminded me of what I thought New Orleans was – yellow-brown, accepting of every genre and boisterous. God Bless you New Orleans – get well soon!
15. Sufjan Stevens – “Jacksonville”: I seriously picked this one because its only a one-word name. Sufjan gets silly with too many titles. Again, a great song, with glorious woodwinds, strings and hushed voices singing in chorus. A grand arrangement, like the Hall of Presidents.
16. Can – “Oh Yeah”: Starts off slow only to blow the effing top off. This song creeps like a hunchback, until it stands up straight to reveal the most unwieldy rock animal – a beast that only moves forward, get the fuck out of the way or I’ll stomp you bitch!

The Record Collector, Part II

(Second in the series. Next up, Repo Records, also on South Street.)

Since I really began paying attention to what I was getting myself into, I recall Repo being one of my favorite record stores to frequent. Back in high school I was mightily into pop-punk and Repo was my mecca offering me the entire catalogue from every small punk band in Orange County. The music playing was always punk, usually some riotous NYCHC or ’79 influenced kids that couldn’t play. I bought plenty an album from here from All to Agent Orange to the Ataris’ EP on Fat Wreck (not that bad!). Of course, over time, as happens with many others, my tastes gradually evolved to still like the noisy and obnoxious (albeit, punk’s structures got tiresome so developed noise took its place), but also embrace the soft and delightful. In short, I fell in love with the Dismemberment Plan my senior year in high school, became a DJ my freshman year for my college’s radio station and began my pretentious journey into the world of indie rock and its surrounding sub-headings.

I’ve continually visited Repo throughout my years of high school, college, and beyond, and a strange thing has happened. Repo has almost followed my musical maturation (or I followed its?). Gone is the punk rock on the store’s monitors and, in its place, today’s NOW That’s What I Call Indie. The punks that frequented the store must have grown up and realized the genre’s limitations and the store has adapted to the change.

Although the records they play are different, the actual store hasn’t changed that much. The punk racks are still in the front of the store, but pared down to only one rather than two. The other CD rack is indie/rock/avant/everything else. Move to the back and you’ll see the vinyl racks, which are relatively new and generously expanded. They’ve got tons of new and used records, way too much to wade through without a spare hour, but they do have some wonderful finds. Repo is a great place to look for something that Spaceboy doesn’t have. It’s also deceptive in its size, consisting of only two 15’x15’ rooms they pack a ton of LPs, CDs and 7” in there.

Repo’s staff is probably one of the best I’ve ever encountered. Rather than act stuffy and snobby about the music they sell, they generally seem excited to share with you the music that they love. I recall the summer I got my record player I picked up Godspeed You Black Emperor’s Lift Your Skinny Fists Like Antennas to Heaven. The clerk, a young indie girl, proceeded to share with me some records I might like if I like that one. In all of my years of going to record stores, this was the only time a store clerk went out of their way, without me asking, to recommend some music to me and walk out behind their bench to show me where it was located and talk about what it sounded like. Must be that punk rock inclusive spirit, rather than the indie exclusivity. (Also, funny aside: I had eaten a fried-onion cheesesteak earlier which made me beef and it stunk up the whole store. I was the only customer in there. Fucking embarrassing.)

Repo’s main flaw is its new music section. You have to actually ask for the record you want, if it’s new. This is a terrible idea for the impulse buyer, such as myself. I can’t always remember which new records are currently available. They don’t put them in plain view and they don’t put them with the other, older records. Change that, if anything.

Obviously, I’ve got a lot of memories tied to Repo Records, but for good reason. For all its dilapidated features inside and out, the punk rock spirit and indie record selection make for a great shop. The store has grown with a trajectory similar to my tastes and I’m sure the shitty green awning hiding on South Street will continue to make chills run down my spine. Oh the possibilities!

What I bought:

- Can: Monster Movie
- John Fahey: John Fahey Plays Blind Joe Death LP
- Man or Astroman? 7”
- The Locust 7”

Swedish Meatballs

Listening to Dungen’s Ta Det Lungt, it’s immediately evident that what we’re dealing with here isn’t the new psychedelic faction issuing yet another disc of overlong drone mind-melts, but the old world order. Psychedelic music’s recent incarnation has fashioned psych as a body music, which is strange. Think of it, the most outwardly, not to mention druggy, psychedelic bands today (Animal Collective, Sunn O))), Acid Mothers Temple, for example) use drone and music that foregoes and sometimes overloads the ears to become a viscerally physical thing. Of the three, AC remain more song oriented, but one listen to Here Comes the Indian and you’ll hear what I mean – digital washes make the hair stand up on your body. Even the oscillating acoustic guitars on Sung Tongs are hit rather than strummed or in constant crescendo/diminuendo pairings. Point is, volume and sound can be cerebrally disorienting and become wholly physical.

Dungen, on the other hand, use the old standard of mind-bending psychedelic experience, that may make them, dare I say, more capable. Where experimental psychheads use new methods to explore undeveloped terrains (sometimes to glorifying results), a band like Dungen and one of my favorites from last year, Comets on Fire, place more importance on technical prowess all while pushing the envelope of experimentation. Often times avant-garde and experimental psych music can seem aseptic, leaving emotion at the door in the void of experimentalism. On the flip side of that coin, retro leaning psych can seem contrived and boring.

The great thing about Dungen, is they never succumb to falling in a rut and not pushing boundaries. Their music is rarely if ever boring, only familiar through some of the melodies that seem to waft out of a bong from the late 60’s. There are the 8-9 minute guitar workouts, but the guitar is rarely aimless or stoned noodling, instead it’s unafraid to pounce and zoom. Perhaps the most psychedelic thing about Dungen, for better or worse, is that all of Gustav Ejstes’ vocals are delivered in his native Swedish. This creates the disorienting on top of the familiar. Its as if the music was written in English but the words are from another planet.

My only gripe, which is small, is the production. Ejstes and co. go for the 60’s sound and most of the time, the music sounds a bit thin and could be fleshed out to sound much fuller. But this is a small problem with an album that on the whole delivers music far outdistancing their experimental and retro peers. Dungen have given us an album for the ages – avant enough to be interesting yet unafraid to adorn their work with the brushstrokes of masters of their art.

The Record Collector, Part I

(As I mentioned earlier, I will attempt a series of posts about record stores in the Philadelphia area. First up, Spaceboy Music.)

Spaceboy had to regretfully move its shelves from its previous location at 409 South Street where it shared the renowned Zipperhead awning. The space, while bigger, distinctly lacks the previous store’s charm. The floors are now carpeted instead of wood, the walls are white instead of, well, not noticeable before. Also, and most importantly, the vinyl is in the same room as the CDs, unlike the other location which separated the vinyl from the used CDs from the new CDs. The new Spaceboy is at the corner of 7th and South, further away from the nexus of South Street – Jim’s Steaks.

Aside from all my nostalgia for the old location – ah, many a dollar spent there – the new spot still does have a wonderful selection of music. The newest and most popular records are still highly visible and right next to/behind the register. I love that they do this so you can look at what’s come out and easily find the new CDs that you came for. My only problem is that, usually, when you’re trying to read the records, the clerk is standing right there like a bonehead, staring uncomfortably at you while you glance from top to bottom. In my experience, eye contact with unsociable music dorks sucks. And, yes, nearly all music folk are reclusive, as the consumption of “high-art”/indie music is a singular and unsocial thing – I’ve never seen anyone signing along to an Acid Mothers Temple record.

Located around the walls of the store is the newest vinyl (and other CDs) that they’ve gotten in, which is usually some pretty great stuff. They always have a 6-7 new Soul Jazz records, typically compiling old soul, blues, funk, reggae and jazz music into beautiful packaging very well worth the sometimes ridiculous prices. Most of the names you see are a who’s who of record collector panty wetters – anyone from Sightings to Iggy Pop to My Bloody Valentine to Lightning Bolt. Lately, Spaceboy has featured an increased number of psychedelic and noise records, which, not coincidentally, fall in line with most of my recent record purchases and plays.
While new releases or new reissues are displayed on wall racks, most old records and back catalogues of artists are relegated to the racks bordering the store. CDs are listed alphabetically by rock (guitar-based or more standard instrumentation), hip-hop, electronic, and used. Vinyl is stuck on an island in the center of the store and is difficult and extremely exhausting to look at, categorized by used and new vinyl.

Record shopping is an exhausting affair and the way the records are set up at Spaceboy allows you to minimize your time spent in the store. Most people are looking for new stuff and therefore ask the clerk, who will snag it off the wall. For those of us looking to make an experience of it, it does take a while trying to find the right thing and vinyl is particularly bad, as bands with “M” names (and all letters) are all just thrown together -- there is no seperation for artist by name.

Lastly, the clerks at Spaceboy, although awkward and snobby, are very knowledgeable. Ask them about the Pissed Jeans record and they’ll probably know what it sounds like, giving you a few reference points (Black Flag, Scratch Acid, Flipper were what I got) and a “it’s good” or “cool”. If they don’t like the record, you risk being a tourist and they will absolutely try to make you feel that way. I personally have no time for this elitism, particularly when it is with strangers. Even moreso, you are a representative of your business, Spaceboy records – don’t scoff at me for liking a certain thing. Of course, this has never happened to me as my tastes are impeccable.

Overall, Spaceboy is a great store. You can find most anything here that you’d want to find, minus the super-obscure stuff which is either sold out or at Mondo Kim’s in NYC. I’d recommend this place to anyone for its convienence of location and selection, but just avoid the occasional jerk-off record store guy.

What I bought:

- Menomena: “Posh Isolation” b/w “Tung Track” (7”)
- The Psychic Paramount: S/T
- The Poster Children: No More Songs About Sleep and Fire
- Dungen: Ta Det Lungt
- The Secret Machines: The Road Leads Where It’s Led
- Gang Gang Dance: God’s Money

Website

I don't know who this guy is, I didn't read far enough to figure out what happened, but this is simultaneously the funniest and saddest blog I've ever read. Click: http://nemoming.blogspot.com/

He calls himself "Dying Fish AKA Fish That Can't Swim". Wow -- that girl must have been something else.

All Apologies

Hi!

This summer has most likely been a boring event for most of you GoldSound readers. (All 3 of you -- Hi Christine!) I don't know why I've been so slack at the posting thing, but I can't seem to get into it. I've been busy, but not so busy that I can't write.

I really do hope that things are going to pick up. I'd like for people to read this. Unfortunately for me, there really isn't a dearth of hipster music sites for people to wander to when this one isn't up and running. Therefore, rather than try to be snide, snobby and a shabby pitchforkmedia-lite, I'll attempt to do my best at reviewing the music and scenes that I love in an energetic, positive and interesting tone. If I backslide, you can all keep me in the know.

Up soon:

• Review different independent music stores in the city of Philadelphia and its surrounding area. (This will most likely be ongoing since I can't take the time, or money, to look at records in 5 different locales.)
• Go to a concert and review that shit. Sorry, I wanted to review the Wilco show but it's too long gone in my head.
• Review the Sufjan album. (Probably won't get to this soon -- save this for the end-of-the-year wrap.)
• Buy new records and review them.

Since I am indisposed at the moment, here's some things I listened to and liked in the past few weeks:

• The Fucking Champs: III
• Devendra Banhart: Rejoicing In the Hands
• The Faces' "Ooh La La"
• The Dismemberment Plan's "The City"

Also, plan on a sexy site design if I can figure it out. At least some links up in this jawhn.