Rantings, reviews and lists from a person who structures half his life around obsessing over music.

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

El-P - I'll Sleep When You're Dead (2007)

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

For all it's paranoia driven anxieties, dark subject matter and terrifying atmosphere, El-P's second solo album feels, oddly enough, like a comedy. Check out "Smithereens (Stop Crying)," which opens with a playful children's theme song for the first ten seconds, before El-P demands the music to bring him "the dramatic intro...machine." Suddenly the song is abused by an exaggeratedly brooding synth march before transforming into a militaristic horror-groove. If that's not enough to get you chuckling, try listening to a line like, "why should I be sober when god is so clearly dusted out his mind" with a straight face. And there's a reason why "Habeas Corpses," the disturbing story of a futuristic forbidden love between soldier and prisoner, is delivered with laughter at the end of the track. El-P certainly has a sense of humor about his cynical views, which is why I'll Sleep When You're Dead is so successful. Like on Eminem's early albums, everything is delivered tongue-in-cheek so that when he really goes off the deep end into despair and desperation, you never get too overwhelmed. Still, that's not to say that you shouldn't take this album seriously. If I'll Sleep When You're Dead had to be classified as a single sub-genre of comedy, it would probably be Satire, the most serious-minded of all the styles. You can hear El-P dripping with contempt and sarcasm when he litters stripped down club tracks like "E.T.M." and "No Kings" with hellish dance-chants and cynical-minded observations of corrupt cops and drug addictions. The Hyphy and Crunk movements are at the peak of their popularity and to this rapper, the connections between the downfall of serious hip hop and the downfall of society is worth laughing about. It may be easy to regard his Bukowskian outlook as a little excessive, but he addresses all possible criticisms appropriately on "Drive": "I'm not depressed, man. I'm just a fucking New Yorker who knows that sittin' in traffic with these bastards is torture." In every respect, once you wade through the layers of scornful muck on I'll Sleep When You're Dead, you'll find this producer's latest to be one of his most pointed, playful and effective works to date. Read more...

Thursday, November 15, 2007

Quasimoto - The Unseen (2000)

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

It's a shame that your imagination never really matches the rampant power it contains when you're a kid. Before you've learned everything you can about the world and before you develop any clear definition of reality, your hyper-sensitive mind is capable of running wild with creativity. That's why so many toddlers have imaginary friends. Most will decry it as an adolescent obsession with fantasy, but I see it as more of an exhibition of the true creativity kids have before they grow old, mature and lose that essential spark of inventiveness.

The origin of Madlib's imaginary friend and moniker, a pig nosed yellow hippo named Quasimoto, is probably attributed to the fact that he (supposedly) recorded this album in the midst of a week-long binge on shrooms. But the true drug of choice is weed; The Unseen is the most blunted haze of an album since Cypress Hill's glory days. The lyrical content is abundant with stoner jargon and sentiments while Quasimoto's helium-induced delivery is as bored and listless as potheads get. Plus the lines themselves are pretty sluggish and weak on their own - it sounds like one too many spliffs have been smoked. Meanwhile, Madlib's beats are deliberately subdued and disorienting, filled with faint loops and understated touches that usually reveal themselves when listened to in altered states of mind, and the nature of the tracks cater directly to ADD patients, running extremely short and abruptly cutting out or changing completely. All cannabis culture nods aside though, Madlib and his demented alter ego have crafted a twinkling collection of smooth jazz-rap beats; sort of a twisted update of A Tribe Called Quest. Yes, there's plenty of druggy "what-the-fuck?" excursions ("Astro Travellin" and "Come On Feet", which has Madlib and Quas lazily struggling to encourage their feet to not fall asleep), but there's also sublimely soulful ballads ("MHBs"), chill elevator music grooves ("Axe Puzzles", "The Unseen"), tributes to Madlib's obscure Jazz record collection ("Jazz Cats Pt.1", "Return Of The Loop Digga"), hard hitting faux-battle raps ("Put A Curse On You", "Boom Music") and, in true Q-Tip and Phife Dawg fashion, countless down to earth criticisms of accepted hip hop stereotypes ("Real Eyes", "Bluffin").

The Unseen is so impressive because by reverting to his inner-childish self, Madlib has released a plethora of surging creativity; a collage of ideas spanning in all sorts of directions, overlapping and colliding with the attention span of gas molecules. For that same reason it can be a strange listen, with nothing really pulling the jarring samples, off-kilter rhymes and fragments together into a cohesive whole. However, the best way to understand Quasimoto is to listen to him through the perception of his creator. In other words, as Madlib kindly suggests on "Return Of The Loop Digga," "Throw this record on, pack a bowl, take a hit." Read more...

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Battles - Mirrored (2007)

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

When trying to describe Battles, I've been driven towards all sorts of interesting analogies I thought I'd never in my life be able to use. A high speed scooter joyride through an industrial nuclear power plant. Alvin and the chipmunks trapped in a strobe-lit high-tech laboratory with King Crimson's Discipline playing on repeat. A carnival freakshow goes post rock. Transformers. Glitch rock. Saturday morning cartoons with steroids. These descriptions alone are going to get a lot of people giving the album a listen, but are they enough to establish Mirrored as album of the year? No, even though everyone will undoubtedly cite it's uniqueness as an attraction point. The first song they'll let all their friends listen to is the alien-like single, "Atlas" where Marilyn Manson style industrial filth is married to a club friendly beat, circus music guitars and the vocal stylings of hundreds of hardworking underground dwarves. Or they might point to the first half of "Rainbows," a teetering prog-rock implosion waiting to happen Animaniacs style - hammer bonks and goofy cartoon chases through rabbit holes and winding tunnels. These are spectacular songs, but what makes Mirrored one of the best albums of 2007, is when you can sense that the band is doing so much more than novelty. It's revolutionary. They're not just messing around; the constructs of this music is a complex fusion of man and machine and the end product is serious driving rock. The impenetrable King Crimson influenced jam sessions are invigorating enough, but when the band is also tinkering and experimenting with computers and loops as if they were simply another instrument, the process is refreshing in ways that haven't been done by any rock band yet. "Tonto" has a somber progression that's driven by a restless guitar line and cpu induced voices that resemble wild forest animals. "Bad Trails" is a tense tribal soundscape cluttered with dense digital effects and "Tij" takes off from samples of wheezes and heaves into a sinister slice of chaos with ricochet guitars and kinetic keyboards.

The majority of people who go into Battles unprepared could very well reduce them to the kind of thing you let your friends listen to almost as a joke. When I heard the head scratching "Ddiamondd," composed of whistles, techno breakdowns, and Mickey Mouse on speed, I thought the same thing. But it would be one of this decade's greatest tragedies if that's all Mirrored was known for. Sit through the off-kilter oddities and you'll find at the end of the day that Battles are not fucking around. You'll have your ass kicked in every direction at once and then served to you on a platter. And you'll see that this band has delivered the future of rock music, whether or not we're able to comprehend it as such. Read more...

Wednesday, November 7, 2007

King Crimson - In The Wake of Poseidon (1970)

2.5 ★/5.0 - 5.9

Don't get me wrong: if a band has a distinctive sound that works, then chances are it's a better choice for them to drive that sound into the ground with slight variation, rather than move on, attempt something radically different and fail miserably. But this is too much. This is the kind of bullshit you'd expect Nickelback to come up with, but not freaking King Crimson! Yet lo and behold: most of the follow up to In The Court Of The Crimson King is practically a carbon copy of that critically acclaimed classic. Sometimes this translates into very good things. "Pictures Of A City" isn't nearly as immediately impressive as "21'st Century Schizoid Man," but it still has invigorating twists and turns that keep you glued to your seat for the lengthy solo section. And "Cadence And Cascade" is every bit as stunningly beautiful as "I Talk To The Wind." Unfortunately, the bloated title track falls flat on it's face by trying to over-dramatically emulate "Epitaph," which wasn't a very interesting song in the first place. And if "The Devil's Triangle" was gonna play the part of "Moonchild" it could at the very least have some of the beautiful balladry that offsetted the aimless unrestrained wankery that followed. Instead it packs as much pointlessness as it possibly can in 11 minutes. The epic conceptual textures can't take away from the fact that it goes absolutely nowhere. What makes it even more frustrating is that the few new things they try are just as worthless. "Cat Food" is a head-scratcher that sounds totally out of place and the "Peace" interludes are all pleasant enough but ultimately add nothing to the album. But hey, Robert Fripp has has rarely ever kept King Crimson in one place for an extended period of time. Their musical style has shifted and changed about as much as their members have, so the occasional redundant blunder such as this is probably forgivable. Read more...

Thursday, October 11, 2007

Radiohead - In Rainbows (2007)

5.0 ★/10.0

Buffered by the controversy of its unique release, few will be able to judge In Rainbows simply for what it is. Indeed, it seems that almost every review has begun with a discussion about the “pay-as-much-as-you-want” internet-only release (this one included). Perhaps it’s justifiable. The creativity and balls that Radiohead showed with their experiment was refreshing, to say the least. Nevermind the implications it suggested to the music industry; just think about the profound experience fans must’ve had, waiting till midnight on October 9’th, 2007. Released merely ten days after it’s announcement, In Rainbows never had a chance to lose momentum. There was no chance for a leak. Fans didn’t have to deal with that slow anti-climatic process of waiting months and months after a release date is announced, then drag themselves to the nearest record store during their lunch break. Everyone heard the album at the exact same time and, for a single night, a record release was once again an event. But with this understanding of how exciting the experience of the album was, it might be easy to overlook the material itself. So it's relieving that after the dust settles, In Rainbows remains one of those rare albums that actually completely lives up to its hype. Quite simply, every single song works; an accomplishment which, this late in Radiohead’s career, may finally be enough to cement their ranking in the same tier as the Fab Four themselves.

That often-made comparison between Radiohead and The Beatles may be a bit of a cliché, but that doesn’t make it any less true, especially when examined on an album-to-album basis. You see, Pablo Honey represents the entirety of The Beatles' pre-Rubber Soul work - pleasant, but ultimately shallow, dated and ordinary. The Bends, much like Rubber Soul, was the band's first sign of ambition. Although firmly rooted in the same style, it showed mastery of the form, greater depth, and hints of future experimentations. Taking the place of Revolver, OK Computer pushed that adventurism to the forefront and introduced the “new Radiohead” as we know them now - paranoid, uneasy, and brilliant. Kid A, however, was their Sgt. Pepper. It was their single-minded and bodied statement, their great leap into the unknown and their vie for perfection. And then they dropped their White Album with Hail To The Thief: a sprawling work that went in all directions at once. So, as you guessed it, In Rainbows completes the parallel and functions as Radiohead's Abbey Road. On it, Radiohead take their last 10 years of experimentation and graft it onto their old style of songwriting, resulting in a work that concisely sums up their career in 10 distinct tracks.

Each song captures a different side of Radiohead, clear already from the drastic differences between the two leading singles; “Jigsaw Falling Into Place,” plays like “A Wolf At The Door” sped up, capturing the frantic Radiohead in their most paranoid form, whereas the dub version of long time fan-favorite, “Nude,” is quite possibly the most beautiful and reserved thing they’ve ever put to tape. But, of course, it has major competition with “Reckoner”. Initially, the album’s centerpiece feels underwhelming in comparison to every other track and comes off as the weakest of them all. But as the band has insightfully stated in interviews, In Rainbows’ two halves are held together by the song’s understated pianos and string arrangements, and repeat listens reveal it to be a gorgeous and essential piece of the album.

This brings up another similarity to Abbey Road, which is that In Rainbows is always relentlessly beautiful – warm and lush, where their other albums since the big change in sound (OK Computer and onward), were cold and a little detached. Even Yorke's lyrics open up to some of the accessibility he abandoned after The Bends (“I don’t want to be your friend, I just want to be your lover”). Appropriately, “15 Step” feels like their own "Come Together": cool, calculated, groove centered and unafraid of utilizing human sounds, like handclaps and a chorus of cheering children. It introduces the listener to a band that's regained complete control of their direction and production (which is in stark contrast to the Radiohead on Hail To The Thief that sounded nearly possessed; trapped in their own minds and enslaved by their fears). Adversely, “Bodysnatchers” is an unhinged beast, comprised of Yorke’s menacing snarls and some of the most furious Greenwood-signature riffage since “Electioneering.” It’s the kind of song we thought they’d never make again. But then again, the peaceful "House Of Cards" is the kind of song we thought they'd never make, period; a catchy, carefree island theme song, whose only traces of Radiohead-origins lies in the submerged reverb and alien noodling between verses. And it’s just as exhilerating to see an acoustic track making the cut (“Faust ARP”). Even if it’s just an interlude, it prevails as an infinitely re-playable folk song.

In song of the year category, there's “Weird Fishes/Arpeggi”, where (surprise) arpeggiated guitar arrangements and Ed O’ Brien's stirring background moans strengthen what is already one of the album's most dramatic moments. "All I Need" is even better. The song begins to evolve out of nothingness. A sparse hip hop beat and electronic bass that sounds ready to cough up phlegm makes a spacious atmosphere. Yorke’s voice goes into R&B mode, dishing out sincerely romantic lines. The band tinkers and toys subtly with glockenspiel while bizarre noises rush up and disappear without warning. And then after enough head-bopping, a wonderful piano line rises out of the surface breaking the ever-constant tension. Strings waver, then implode, and Yorke’s voice soars into heaven with the rest of the band ala “Let Down”. But as grand as In Rainbows gets in its most climactic moments, it’s usually defined by spaciousness, and so it’s perfect that it ends with “Videotape”. Once cluttered with symphonic strings and epic guitars in its live incarnation, the studio version barely exists under a quiet piano progression and a deathly electronic march-beat. The minimalism seems to be in direct contrast with the closer of Radiohead’s other magnum-opus, Kid A, and is the final conceptual stamp the album needs to establish it as a complimentary masterpiece to that classic.

It's obvious that Radiohead knew that they knew they were composing a perfect album here. In interviews, Ed O’ Brien called it the last great album they needed in order to secure a legacy, and Thom Yorke cleverly makes his last line on the album, “I know today has been the most perfect day I’ve ever seen.” Fans may have trouble shaking off the feeling that the album feels a bit too much like a collection of leftovers from throughout the band’s career, but that too, feels like it was part of the concept. Kid A and In Rainbows form two sides of the same coin. The former is conceptually precise with very few individual moments rising above the overall experience, while the latter is a scattershot collection of nothing but shining individual moments. And both are, track-for-track, two of the most accomplished and stimulating musical works of art of the decade. Read more...

Wednesday, October 3, 2007

My Chemical Romance - The Black Parade (2006)

3.0 ★/6.0 - 6.9

For some, 2005 probably went down as the year that they struggled to make their friends and family give Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge an honest open minded listen. In retrospect, they probably would've had an easier time defending the artistic credibility of Pink. It seems today that there's nothing people enjoy hating more than snot-nosed whiny kids from suburbs who dress and act hardcore, but are actually distributing melodramatic guitar pop with whiny processed vocals: "Emo." And it's pretty easy to pigeonhole My Chemical Romance into that genre. Their neo-goth clothes, eyeliner obsessed vocalist and MTV airplay all point to peers such as The Used and Taking Back Sunday. But that's where the justification ends. Their metallic guitar wankery have Iron Maiden written all over it while their high octane energy brings to mind At The Drive In. Plus their lyrics embrace high-concept indulgences. (zombie spaghetti westerns?) With the exception of "The Ghost Of You" and "Cemetery Drive," Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge was anything but Emo.

With The Black Parade, their ambition is even more evident, through their newly enlisted horn section, devised concept complete with outfits to boot, and bizarre collaborations, including Liza Minnelli. What's more surprising are the cues taken from incluences such as Sgt. Pepper, Smashing Pumpkins and especially the 70's. On The Black Parade MCR flexes their flair for the dramatic, touching upon everything from the operatic grandeur of Queen ("Welcome To The Black Parade") to the glam stylings of T-Rex ("Teenagers"). "The End" sounds like a Roger Waters composition circa 1979. It's acoustic guitar balladry opens a floodgate of lurching, epic, heavy guitar, and we can see The Wall rising in the distance in all it's overblown glory. Following that cue, they take liberties successfully using and abusing the tried-and-true formula for the glorious power ballad. Track after track we get powerful arena worthy anthems such as "I Don't Love You", "Disenchanted", and "Cancer" that remind us what it was like when waving our lighters was not cliche, but sincere.

Sadly, the album is still rooted in MCR's established formula, which hasn't aged well in the past two years, resulting some mediocre moments that seriously drag the work down; "This Is How I Disappear", "House of Wolves" and "The Sharpest Lives" are as boring as mainstream monster rock gets and what emerges is an album that doesn't have the coherence nor consistency as their past two efforts. But still, the band is on to something here. Many didn't get to live through the age of concept albums but they really missed out: the pomp, the high concept drama, the idea that you can have something important to say and not have to take yourself too seriously. My Chemical Romance have not only completely spit in the face of anyone ready to damn them with the "Emo" tag; they've also given people of the current young generation a chance to experience the wonder and awe that we would've felt during an era long gone. Read more...

Monday, October 1, 2007

Sly And The Family Stone - There's A Riot Goin' On (1971)

5.0 ★/10.0

Parallel to the rise of social activism and civil rights protests of the 60's, Sly And The Family Stone was releasing the soundtracks of their time, with a triumphal fusion of soul, rock, R&B, psychedellia, and funk. They most successfully absorbed and represented the summer of love vibes on their 1969 classic, Stand!, which accurately defines the late 60's through a communal "shout-out-loud" style and clear addressing of politics. Listening to Stand! was a celebration, a call for revolution and no other album speaks for that period better. But the fact remains that the late 60's was essentially a big party. One with good intentions, but a party nonetheless, and every hard party has it’s hangover. The 70's began to loom over the horizon with all of this shining promise from the previous decade...and yet...nothing happened. And when time came for Sly's next album, there was no more radiating enthusiasm for revolution anymore. On the contrary, between the assassination of MLK and Malcolm X and a new population of drug addicts and abusers being formed, there was a real hopelessness permeating the social atmosphere.

The spirit of There’s A Riot Goin On resides in that era of shattered dreams and disappointments. The Family Stone was coming out of those few years of revelry in shambles. They had become pretty fixated on partying and drug usage and Sly in particular had developed major addictions, consequently arriving late to or sometimes completely missing shows. When he did appear, his behavior was erratic enough that people began to seriously worry about his mental health. He would act extremely paranoid, even of those close to him, and went as far as to hire bodyguards and gangsters to protect him. The recording sessions for his upcoming album were just as affected. Unlike previous albums, Sly was recording practically all of the instruments himself with overdubs. He holed himself up either in his mansion or his self-built studio and would rarely come out, often recording his vocals while being strung out on a bed or couch. He built every track on drum loops from a rhythm box rather than live drums and that only heightened the insular mood. Plus, he constantly missed deadlines. On his contract, Sly had owed Epic a new album at least a year, before he actually got it to the CBS studios. And it must’ve been pretty frustrating to have, after a full year of delay, received an album as hard to market or sell as Sly’s new creation.

Don't get me wrong, the tracks were packed to the gill with hooks. Just check out the mid-tempo single, "Family Affair", the light syrupy vibes of "You Caught Me Smilin" or the gorgeous bubble gum pop of "Runnin' Away", enunciated beautifully by Rose Stone. And the in-your-face pop-funk that "Brave & Strong" authors, would eventually become extremely popular (not to mention the song's rhythm, which would be excessively sampled by countless hip hop artists in the future). But the recordings themselves were so extensively over dubbed, re-recorded and edited that the mastered versions came out drenched in hiss and buzz. The songs didn’t jump out like everything Sly had done before, because the production rendered them dry and damp, more low-key than anything else. As a matter of fact, hooks aside, most of the songs don't really build up or move anywhere. After the opener, "Luv N’ Haight", introduces it's apocalyptic chorus, it gets right into the album's mission statement: "Feels so good inside myself, don’t need to move," Sly hollers in the slithery verse. Consequently, track after track is found just lingering in their hazy junkie holes. Between the sluggish bass, scattered moans, and formless guitar lines, you literally can almost hear the weed being puffed on the R&B ballad, "Just Like A Baby". "Time"'s impressive compositional shifts can't shake off the disorienting keyboard effects and lazy, strung-out Blues that make it the equivalent of smoking a blunt on a hangover. And "Spaced Cowboy" may have a serious descending progression, but the inclusion of yodeling and a harmonica solo add a "what-the-hell?" factor that could've only come out of narcotic influenced noodling. Overall, There’s A Riot Goin On is a stoned out, muddy, almost funereal, mess of an attempt at a hard funk album. And yet that very messiness lends it timelessness, because it’s perfectly appropriate. Sly was burned out, stoned out, and stingingly cynical and so was his music, portraying drugs as he was experiencing them: seductive and enticing medications that ultimately disrupt motivation and encourage alienation. The production was perfect for this state of mind and, combined with the soulful, free form funk grooves, spontaneous instrumental interplay and few smooth pop melodies, made the jarring and impenetrable There’s A Riot Goin On one of the most essential albums of the 70's, containing within it’s murky depths, the most chill, laid-back music you will ever hear. The sexy sounding bass and keyboards of "Poet", for example, oozes urban coolness. Despite being nothing more than an interlude, it's a major highlight because of how loose the recording feels. As a matter of fact, it’s hard to believe that the song came out of anything other than a warm up jam session. Which brings to mind the album's effortless centerpieces, "Africa Talks To You The Asphalt Jungle" and "Thank You For Talkin Me To Africa". Combined, these two epic jam sessions are the true icing on the cake that makes There's a Riot Goin' On so perfect. In the former, ensemble group vocals match and even surpass anything from Stand!, but are used for the complete opposite: to mock the hippies and idealists left over from the summer of love with a savage uproar of “Timmmmbeeer...all fall down!” In the latter, an infectiously head-bopping, thick bass driven, dirge-like tempo resides over the sun setting, while Sly and his group take a final bow to their fans who stuck with them all the way to the last track: “Thank you for letting me be myself!” In both tracks, guitar and keyboard are pushed to the front as they nervously pop and crackle, trading off impressively sharp and spastic lines throughout and competing with each other in fractured bursts of escalation and release.

But truly, every track on There’s A Riot Goin On is worth mentioning and examining. What really makes it a perfect album is simply the way it sounds and how that contributes to such a uniquely singular experience. The album’s drug-induced message is conveyed in every minute aspect of it. The way the bass endlessly jerks, while the guitar stumbles over it almost randomly, captures the state of altered mental activity perfectly. The song structures thrive on repetition that bounce and groove with the single-mindedness of someone who’s definitely on something. Sly’s lines and sentiments always make a strong case for laziness and the slacker generation. Yes, it’s weak and devoid of any sort of energy, but the charm lies in that Sly embraces that, and devotes everything on the album to defending it, with enough stunning clarity to author a masterpiece. Read more...

Friday, May 4, 2007

Broken Social Scene - Feel Good Lost (2001)

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

Broken Social Scene is best known for their sophomore effort, You Forgot It In People, which became acknowledged by most critics as a modern masterpiece filled with masterfully gritty and passionate indie rock and pop. Meanwhile, their early work usually gets overlooked. Hopefully that will change, however, with the reissue of their debut album.

Those looking for the immediate brilliance of You Forgot It In People are gonna come away from this one underwhelmed, because Feel Good Lost is comprised almost solely of instrumental soundtrack-like pieces; vulnerable, affecting soundscapes sculpted from shimmering guitar tones and atmosphere. It’s no surprise considering that in the time from this album to their “sophomore jump”, their band membership expanded from 2 to 20. The mood here is less garage and more intimate. Vocals only appear in two songs, and in one of them, they’re so warbled and drenched in reverb that they resemble something closer to sound effects than a human live voice (Think “Anthems For A 17 Year Old” except less structured). But even though that very track, “Passport Radio” is a major highlight, those willing to let their minds daze off into the ever pulsing drones will be just as impressed by the instrumental bulk of the album because this isn’t just dull and redundant ambiance. The songs don’t wander; they drift with purpose. Subtle textures hold the listener’s attention as instruments drift in and out without any weight. In recent years, post rock bands have begun to follow the same patterns: quiet, loud, quiet, loud, repeat. But Feel Good Lost reminds us that songs don’t need to catch your ear to necessarily impress. Admittedly, the diversity and sprawling brilliance exhibited on later efforts is clearly missing. There’s simply not enough “oomph” or "balls-on-the-floor" impressiveness (even though, ironically, their post-YFFIP material has too much of that). But there are some late players which break from the standard fare and succeed wildly, such as the reflective, chugging “Stomach Song” (with sing-speaking that, oddly enough, recalls the disturbing online web-cartoon, Salad Fingers) or the joyous closer of the set, “Cranley’s Gonna Make It” which foreshadows the shimmery tropical styling of “Pacific Theme” and “Looks Just Like The Sun”.

This music is strictly for isolation; to explore with headphones, listen to on long train rides through the countryside, or fall to sleep to. Sure, they went on to do something much more diversified, but this has got enough beauty and awe to speak for itself. Anyone interested in post rock, ambiance, or just hopeful, calming, instrumental music needs to own this. Read more...

Wednesday, April 4, 2007

Stars - Set Yourself On Fire (2004)

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

How appropriate is it that an album, whose sole purpose seems to be to soundtrack those long drives in the rain after breaking up with a long term lover, opens with a song titled, “Your Ex Lover Is Dead”? A gale of classical sounding sorrowful strings rushes in and sets the introspective tone of the track. The two main vocalists, Torquil Campbell and Amy Milan take turns reciting clearly spoken verses, and relaying the minute observations of a failed love while the crescendos and marching drums enhance the narrative, before building up into an awesome harmonization between the two: “There's one thing I want to say, so I'll be brave, You were what I wanted, I gave what I gave, I'm not sorry I met you, I'm not sorry it's over, I'm not sorry there's nothing to save”. If you are not clinging to the closest pillow or stuffed animal at this point, you surely must not have a soul. One could dismiss the band as overblown sentimentalists, but the best thing about the album is how restrained each of the songs are. They know when it’s appropriate to stay ambiguous and when to burst out with oozing passion. "He Lied About Death" is a pedestrian attack on George Bush, but succeeds because the way the track builds up abrasive tension, adding more and more digital fuzz and noise before Campbell drops the line “tomorrow it's you and me...”, and the whole scene explodes in an enraged French horn solo. Evidently, Stars' mastery of volume must come with the territory of being on Art & Crafts (label-mates with Broken Social Scene - another purveyor of the crescendo), but it’s hardly an old trick. Their dynamics are what make the shimmering ethereal qualities of “Calendar Girl” stand out and inspire the gradually increasing wall of sound on the glitch pop influenced “The First Five Times” or the epic closing jam session of “One More Night (Your Ex Lover Remains Dead). And on the title track, the band seems to challenge themselves to throw as many harmonies and varying ideas into a single seamless composition as they possibly can. Yes, “The Big Fight” is almost too mushy for it’s own good, and sometimes a monotone song like “Sleep Tonight” just sounds lazy in comparison to their more daring tracks. But they’re only small blotches in the bigger picture: that Stars have released an album that breathes new energy, sophistication and creativity into a stagnating contemporary pop style. Read more...

Saturday, February 17, 2007

Cat Power - Moon Pix (1998)

3.5 ★/7.0 - 7.9

Many people look up to female musicians because they're an empowering image of the confidence and accomplishments that a woman can attain in a male-dominated world which purportedly aims to keep females in social and psychological depression. You know the scenes - burn the bras, riot grrl, etc. Chan Marshall definitely isn’t one of those musicians. Anyone who's seen her live has had experience with her shambling performances. Her nervousness on stage insures that those looking for inspiration are gonna come out malcontent. Besides, her music isn’t exactly the confident stuff your average feminist would want to keep in her collection anyways. Moon Pix, in particular, sounds like the consequence of too many lonely hazy nights spent browsing black-and-white photos of dead loved ones. But with it, Chan proves you don't need an empowering image to be accomplished.

Previous Cat Power albums were urgent and amateur sounding while Moon Pix’s astute mixing suggests more aesthetic thinking. There are sophisticated and subtle textures at work that make it as unsettling and confrontational as Chan's early work, such as the intricate guitar interplay on "No Sense" or the plodding backwards drums and gentle feedback on "American Flag." But while Chan’s songs are no longer exhaustive with conflict, they’re still emotionally resounding. The guitar line on "Say" is as desolate as the gray skies and thunder storm sound effects it inspires. And that’s before Chan’s desperately pleading whine is hauntingly over dubbed to suggest sheer heartbreak. There’s a certain sarcastic bitterness when she sings, “Never give up,” and “no one is around but we’ll always love you”. And surprisingly enough, it’s not all hopelessness. "You May Know Him", an acoustic guitar ballad, suggests more optimism than any of Chan’s other recordings. “Lord, I've never doubted for an instant...you came through,” she sings over ascending major chords. "Color And The Kids" follows and for over 6 minutes, Chan delivers her most touching performance over a sparse reflective piano melody. "When we were teenagers, we wanted to be the sky, now all we wanna do is go to red places and try to stay outta hell," she utters, painting a vivid picture of reminiscence and euphoria, without sinking into depression. And completing the greatest stretch of the album is haunting single, "Cross Bones Style" which, from Chan's seductive moans to the chugging rhythm, is arguably the most dauntless thing she's ever recorded.

With Moon Pix, Chan Marshall discredits the stereotype that you need complete confidence and activist tendencies to be an ideal female model, by portraying the courage that can be found in weariness. And while it makes for a long winded and depressing album which ultimately may fall short of perfection ("Moonshiner" and "Peking Saint" are pretty dull), it's still an enormous step forward. After all, part of the show when you go to see her live is witnessing her anxiety in all it’s starkness. It makes those moments when she does express a glimmer of hope and confidence so much more revelatory. Read more...

Friday, January 26, 2007

Mercury Rev - The Dark Is Rising (2001)

3.0 ★/6.0 - 6.9

Gosh, look at that album cover - can you say overkill much? And check out the tracklisting - "The Dark Is Rising". What a bunch of dorks! There’s a song called "Hercules"! I can just picture Norwegian Viking Metal fans getting excited about the pretense of Roman gods conducting epic battles. But mentioning the whimsy of Mercury Rev in the same sentence of Death Metal is silly. This album obviously conjures up the images of witches and encantation more than it does of battles and testosterone. Speaking of genetic makeup, did they take estrogen shots in the making of this album? I’ve never heard so much delicate tender lyricism set to equally romantic atmosphere for a while. The closest modern approximation I can think of is HIM. Wow, Aron, you just mentioned HIM and Norwegian Viking Metal in one review. If the reader hasn’t walked away yet, they’re a real trooper. And you gentle reader, will be awarded for your perseverance if you get this album, because the music itself isn’t nearly as silly as any of the imagery conjured by the album’s inclinations (especially those goofy looking “pensive” band pics in the liner notes). Don't get me wrong, there’s definitely bombast in small doses. Listen to the opening of "The Dark Is Rising" to get an idea of the bravado employed occasionally. The symphonic self-indulgence swells like a Star Wars soundtrack. But it’s kinda deceiving because, in the same track after the initial boom, a lovely piano ballad follows - one that’s subtle and intelligent as well as emotional... uh oh, here comes the swell again...

Despite such a mixed opening track, the album grows to harbor genuine gold in the dream pop field. Yes, the swirling synth lines, sprightly bass and absolutely huge sounding piano chords in "Nite And Fog" may as well be playing on your parent’s lite-rock AM radio station, but the spectacular hooks make it hard to dislike. The gentle melancholia of "Tides of The Moon" drifts loosely along, expanding into a nice reverb drenched drift. "Lincoln’s Eyes" is an eerie lullaby that explodes into an unhinged swirling jam session before settling back into the prior unsettling atmosphere. "Little Rhymes" comes in like a gentle train whistle and grows into a steady, bass-driven anthem creating the feel of skating on the rings of Saturn. The splendid "Hercules" builds upon the initial two chord acoustic progression in all sorts of exhilarating ways before exhausting every possible outgrowth and ending the album with a bang.

Majesty is a sorely under-appreciated emotion in music these days. Thank god for bands like this bringing it back unashamedly. Sometimes Mercury Rev slips and lays down a clunker or two, becoming the perfect example of style over substance. Nowhere is this more notable than in Donahue’s lyrics which beats the dog dead with their portrayal of women through proverbs ranging from decent to embarrassing. But for the most part, they wisely sidestep that weakness and gives us a worthy follow up to Deserter's Songs.
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Monday, January 15, 2007

Sigur Ros - ( ) (2002)

3.5 ★/7.0 - 7.9

Pretentious is one of the most overused and misunderstood words in music criticism today. It’s constantly employed as a sticker of disapproval, when in reality, music can be pretentious without necessarily being bad. For example, Sigur Ros, as you probably already know, is pretentious in that they think their glacial paced, classical influenced soundscapes are vital. Just look at the bombastic claims left on their website (“We are simply gonna change music forever...and don't think we can't do it, we will”). But this wasn't a problem on Agaetis Byrjun because they exhibited the talent that could back up such statements. Their new album, however, is another beast completely and whether they've constructed a work that justifies the self-importance that's overabundant in every single aspect of it is questionable. You see, ( ) doesn’t have a speakable name. It's simply given the symbol of two opposing parenthesis. Of course, we'll probably think of something to call it: “The Brackets Album”, “The Unpronounceable” or, a title preferred by the countless dissenters it’ll undoubtedly inspire, “Aimless Self-Indulgent Crap”. A more pressing issue is that the songs aren't titled anything either. All 8 tracks will show up in your computer as "Untitled", even though they blatantly have names (see set lists, their website).

Despite the album's puzzling conceptual nature, "Vaka" (I'm using the real songtitles, translated to english) is enough to believe in it's immense power. The sorrowful keyboard progression, Birgisson’s ball-clenching high falsettos, and the soaring crescendo near the end create what is easily the most breathtakingly beautiful thing they’ve ever recorded. However, the first half is much better than the second half. While the first four songs are all distinctive from one another, brimming with shimmering hooks ("The Spy Machine") and masterfully executed atmosphere ("First Song"), the second half, with the exception of the excellent "Pop Song", dissolves into a string of slow, plodding, never-ending swells. By the end of the fifth track, we’re sick of the same lyrics, the same tempo and the formulaic compositions which aren’t worth being stretched out like taffy to the high-digit time marks they’re given. Everything Sigur Ros constructed for ( ) gives off the vibe that it's a life changing conceptual masterpiece that needs to be given time and research towards understanding. Realistically though, there’s nothing to be had. Further exploration into it's significance proves to be fruitless; the substance is as hollow as the liner notes’ 12 blank pages and as meaningless as Birgisson's fabricated 11-syllable language. Still, some of these songs are mesmerizing enough that the implicit meaning doesn’t even matter; the listener can apply any heartbreak, sorrow or joy s/he wants to and it'll work. In that way, the concept (or lack thereof) reflects the music perfectly. ( ) is composed of blank emotional blackboards, waiting to be chalked on. Read more...

Friday, January 5, 2007

Sufjan Stevens - Illinois (2005)

4.5 ★/9.0 - 9.9

Well, 2 states down and 48 more to go. Regardless of whether or not Sufjan actually pursues this extremely daunting "states project" though, at the very least we'll have Illinois. As a matter of fact, Illinois has made his task tougher, because he's gonna have a hell of a time topping what is not only his best album to date, but the best album of the year.

Musically, Sufjan’s symphonic folk and "everything-plus-the-kitchen-sink" instrumentation makes a return in epic fashion. However, "Come On! Feel The Illinois!" makes the difference between Illinois and Michigan apparent. Whereas Sufjan revealed Michigan to be the depressing asshole of America, with failing businesses and unemployment, Illinois is a center for celebration! The joyous piano line and staccato horn section gives way to Sufjan’s precious vocals to take the forefront as he and his choir section reveal to us the wonders of Illinois: The Ferris Wheel, Cream of Wheat, The World’s Columbian Exposition and more. Most of the album is dedicated to this and Sufjan isn’t a pussyfooter; he knows his shit. "Decatur" takes one of Sufjan’s irresistible banjo-toting campfire melodies and, along with splendid backing harmonies from Matthew Morgan, touches everything from Abe Lincoln to the manufacturing company, Caterpillar Inc. "John Wayne Gacy, Jr" is a hauntingly gripping narrative recounting the tragedy of the clown serial killer who raped and killed 33 young boys and buried them under his house, while "The Man Of Metropolis Steals Our Hearts" spends the most rock-oriented track recounting the legacy of the man of steel himself. By halfway through the album, a musical picture is already painted, giving a very distinct identity to Illinois, and there's still room left over for more personal-sounding song of the year candidates, "Chicago" and "Casimir Pulaski Day". Yes, the album is huge and doesn’t come without a couple of missteps, but it’s a shame that many listeners will become drained midway and not get to some of the strongest tracks buried in the mix, such as the booming crescendos of "The Predatory Wasp Of The Palisades Is Out To Get Us" or the strange time signatures and hand claps employed in "The Tallest Man The Broadest Shoulders".

Still, Illinois is easy to dislike. There's something about Sufjan's "precious pretty Christian boy" approach that's bothersome. With lyrics like, "I cried myself to sleep for the earth and materials" and christian themes, the inner punk in everyone will undoubtedly breach security level red. But if one keeps with it, even the most cold-hearted people could fall for these soulful epics. Through his stories and ceremonious demeanor, Sufjan gets you sucked into every dramatic crescendo, every shimmering note being held and every choir shout. He appeals to a basic human instinct - one of community and togetherness in the face of challenges. And I’m rarely one to go to sermons or join groups and sing along. But with Illinois, I’m taken. Agape, nudist colonies, turtle fetishist cults, whatever the fuck it is, just give me Illinois and sign me up. Read more...
"How many times must a man look up
before he can see the sky?"