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

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Pink Floyd - Ummagumma (1969)

1.5 ★/3.0 - 3.9

Wisdom teeth. Male nipples. Tonsils. Fortune cookies. Spam email. Gossip. The National Enquirer. Silly Putty. Reality television. Antique Roadshow. North Dakota. Paris Hilton. Livejournal. Myspace. Internet Memes. 80% of the internet, for that matter. Chopsticks. Golf. The Grammy Awards. Infomercials. Wonder Bread. Watching paint dry. Miss Cleo. Any one of those "world's largest... whatever" sites that are usually in the middle of nowhere. Tay Zonday. American Idol. William Hung. Pre-ripped pants. Puff Daddy's constant name changes. Boy Bands. Stamp collections. Breakfast burritos. Steven Seagal movies. The color, beige. Rolling Stone's 500 Greatest Albums of All Time. This guy.

And now, I would like to congratulate Pink Floyd, for their latest addition into the Hall of Tame; a collection of some of the most useless, pointless and straight-up boring things in the world! I'm not talking about that pesky "exciting" and "fascinating" live disc; heavens no! I'm strictly dealing with the strikingly bland studio material of Ummagumma. Not even David Gilmour's attempts at sabotage, with lush contributions and interesting musical textures, were able to derail the listlessness and apathy that the bulk of this album inspired. Ranging from animal noises to completely emotionless droning sounds, the second disc of Ummagumma has always been the subject of intense debate. But we on the National Board of Boredom hope that it's inclusion into the Hall of Tame will hopefully allow everyone to recognize this collection of aimless instrumental meandering and found sounds for what it really is:

a hollow, soulless piece of shit. You've been warned. Read more...

Monday, December 22, 2008

Common - Universal Mind Control (2008)

2.5 ★/5.0 - 5.9

Fade in on the schoolyard. Common sits on a bench, watching all the other boys as they brag, boast and taunt their way through a particularly loud and coarse game of Dodgeball. Usually an optimistic and clear-headed straight A student, he holds a somber look on his face, still bothered by his mediocre grades last year. A flurry of thoughts go through his mind. Perhaps academics isn't everything? Perhaps he should learn to have a little more fun? Perhaps he should make at least some attempt at fitting in. Suddenly, fed up with all the other kids constantly excluding him from their games, he steps up and marches into the crowd...

Common: Hey guys how's it going!
Everyone turns to stare at Common, absorbing his whimpy voice, tame demeanor and depressing sense of fashion; coke bottle glasses, sandals w/ socks and a lunchbox with a peace sign on it. Kanye, the most popular of the group and Common's lone friend, develops a look of concern. Suddenly someone breaks the silence.
Jay-Z: whatcha want, faggot!
Common: ...Well, um...i was wondering if you could...maybe let me in on this game?
There's a long silent pause before the group explodes in a fit of laughter.
Ludacris: Aww, this bitch wants to play with the big boys now!
The wall of roaring laughter continues as Kanye leaves the group and runs over to Common.
Kanye: Look Common, I'm your friend. You know I almost always support you. But this is a little out of your league. Dodgeball just isn't your thing. Why don't you go back to class for lunch? I know Ms. Rosemary could use some help, and she'll probably love that last poem you wrote. I'll meet you there in like 15 minutes.
Common: Hey man, I'm sick of this! I know how your friends constantly talk shit about me! Calling me gay, and pussy, and teacher's pet and nerd. I can talk about girls, and play-fight and Dodgeball just as well as the rest of you! Just teach me how to play and I'll pick it up real quick!
Timbaland: ahhaha! Come on guys, let's give him a shot; it'll be worth a laugh at least.
Kanye: I'm sorry Common but I'm not gonna help you out here. I really don't think this is such a good idea.
Common: well...won't anyone teach me how to play at least!?
Pharrell: eh...I guess I'll help him out.
10 minutes later...
Kanye: OH MY GOD, COMMON WAKE UP PLEASE!
Kanye deleriously struggles to give CPR to Common's unconscious body.
Timbaland: man, he was doing pretty well...
Pharrell: psshh...only when I aimed my tender shots at him. I got just a little aggressive and then all of a sudden, he's sprawled on the floor. And I was barely even aiming too.
The Lesson learned? Always be yourself. Read more...

Saturday, December 20, 2008

The Clash - The Clash (1977)

2.5 ★/5.0 - 5.9

I know I may be shooting myself in the foot here and destroying any traces of credibility I've ever had, but seriously, what was so great about Punk Rock anyways? (Cue the entire punk community screaming in rage at my ignorance). I'm not saying there isn't anything credible about the genre. I've always respected the artists and viewed the movement as integral in terms of it's philosophies, influence and historical significance. Plus, considering the depraved state of Prog at the time, I should also be thankful that bands like The Sex Pistols and The Ramones stepped in to upset the imbalance of power. But do I ever actually enjoy listening to the stuff? Hardly. Mindlessly slamming a series of power chords into the ground and saying it has value just because it's "anti-establishment" has just never struck me as requiring much effort or talent. The best Punk albums are ones that suggest some sort of effort in the studio; an ear for dynamics, hooks, sound/texture, melodies, or anything else that at least hints at some sort of grasp on song-craft. And usually those albums aren't straightforward Punk at all, but could more accurately classified as Pop Punk, Post Punk or Dance Punk; all styles that are usually appreciated for what they share with genres other than Punk.

The Clash's raw, uninspiring debut, however, is uncondensed Punk in it's absolute, purest form and, predictably, embodies everything that there is to love and hate about the genre. Evidence to the former can only be found in short doses; the thrashing chords of "I'm So Bored With The USA", the catchy quick-witted perfection of tracks like "What's My Name" and "London's Burning", the Television-lite jam session on "Police & Thieves", the shaggy riffage on "Protex Blue" and the hungrily distorted guitar solos (almost all of them in every track). But for evidence on the latter, you could look at pretty much everything else, the biggest of which is probably the embarrassingly lazy structures of these songs. None of the progressions within a single song feel like they go with one another, yet all of them are completely and totally interchangeable, and for the life of me, I can't remember any. Before going on to integrate all of the much more interesting genres of the world and eventually becoming my personal favorite of Punk Rock's original "Big 3", The Clash began pretty much like every other Punk band of their ilk; Angry, obnoxious, simple and completely boring. Read more...

Monday, December 15, 2008

Protest The Hero - Fortress (2008)

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

Every once in a while a band emerges out of that ever-constant shit-stream known as modern "emo-core", to remind people of the great aspects of the genre that no one remembers (or never bothered to explore in the first place). Protest The Hero...is not that band. As much as I'd like to see a revitalized interest in the classic emo forefathers like Drive Like Jehu or At The Drive In, the only artist that comes to mind when listening to Fortress is Dream Theater. This is pure Progressive Metal filtered through a hardcore lens. The album's short ten tracks bulge frantically with unpredictable fragments ranging from decimating death metal grooves to soaring hair metal solos, and above all, epic war-torn victory choruses. Indeed, there's so much crammed into each track that even repeated listens doesn't quite unravel all it's joys. Fortress is every bit as impenetrable and dizzying as it's name suggests and, initially, everything just goes by in a blur. But give it enough listens and the impressive song-structures show that they're more than ends to themselves. They become vehicles for the individual moments.

Fortress is, at no point, an album of songs. It's always an album that is propelled by spectacular moments, whether it's the cavernous, bass-led head banging intro of "Bone Marrow", the anthemic Queen-influenced sections of "Palms Read" (including what is easily one of the most grand and majestic musical moments of the year, surfacing at around 3 minutes; a double bass drum, power ballad progression, enhanced by heroicly delivered vocals and intensive guitarwork), or the catchier sections of "Goddess Gagged", undoubtedly inspired by Journey. Breath-taking dynamics are constantly flooding the listener with exhilaration and rousing animation, before abruptly rushing into the next movement as quickly as it came and, over the course of 40 sparse minutes, Protest The Hero achieves a certain schizophrenic euphoria, using their ADD nature to strike an intensely violent and satisfying balance between rapid fire brutality and anthemic glory. Read more...

Sunday, December 14, 2008

Frightened Rabbit - The Midnight Organ Fight (2008)

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

Musical pet peeve #42: Albums that open with tracks that are so amazingly heart-stopping that the rest of the album pales in comparison. The sophomore album from Scottish indie band, Frightened Rabbit sets itself up to be just that, from the moment "The Modern Leper" hits it's rushing chorus. Argurably, it is that kind of album, but that's unavoidable when you've written one of the single greatest pop songs of the decade. No matter how many times throughout the album that the duo effectively yanks at your heart strings, or how well "The Twist" evolves into a swirling fist-pumper from fairly simple piano figures, or how much unbridled joy bursting out of the square dance, "Old Old Fashioned," or how much spiraling songs like "I Feel Better" and "Fast Blood" rouse and flail at the brim with a hurricane of emotion, the distant memory of that first track's constipated frustration sticks with you; a sneering voice describing the horrors of full-body leprosy, perfectly matched with a shambling acoustic shuffle and a simple riff distorted to sound like a dying rat. It's the brilliance of contrast epitomized in less than 4 minutes. As suggested though, the rest of the album is well-spent. Listening to The Midnight Organ Fight is actually a lot like listening to Badly Drawn Boy's Hour of The Bewilderbeast. There's no denying what a great pop album it is, but it's also difficult to avoid the fact that it's walking on the fringes of something painfully generic. Just as Damon Gough quickly embraced glossy production and shitty anthems for soundtracks, Frightened Rabbit could just as easily be The Fray or any other shitty arena band, under the right restrictions. Still, whatever may become of them later, the band has mastered a stirring and unrestrained style of emotive pop here. Read more...

Ludacris - Theater of the Mind (2008)

3.5 ★/7.0 - 7.9

Fact: Ludacris is severely underrated.

As a rapper, his cartoonish personality and touch of southern drawl perfectly supplements his unstoppable collection of hilariously clever allegories and similes, and even if he doesn't have much to say besides the usual bragging, boasting and "hos-N-dro" talk, he definitely pulls it off with more authority, character and off-the-wall tongue-in-cheek than most of the peers he shares the billboard charts with. He's got charisma, wit and charm and that's all an MC needs really.

Sadly, he's also always been a businessman at heart and so all his albums in the past have balanced every playful, off-kilter and completely unique production with mainstream flirtations, ranging from cliche crunk to generic club bangers ("Move Bitch," I'm looking at you). In this sense, Theater of the Mind is not a surprise, clear from it's guests stars. But surprisingly, the tracks where the worst offenders show up are some of the album's best tracks. T-Pain's Autotone is perfectly suited for the smooth, sexy vibes of "One More Drink." And the cinematic symphony on "Last of A Dying Breed" makes up for the Lil Wayne appearance. It's the lone thing that Ludacris' latest has over all it's predecessors that inspires him, and that is a conceptual drive, which, although only loosely enforced, is perfectly suited for his theatrical and commanding flow. Nevermind the pure shit that is "What Them Girls Like" and "Wish You Would"; from the moment the merciless "Undisputed" decimates the generic vibes of career-lowlight, Release Therapy, with a flurry of horns and vocal samples, to the intensely symphonic narrative of "Call Up The Homies", Ludacris finally comes into his own on Theater of the Mind, embracing the drama and superstar profile that his charming personality has always suggested. Read more...

Monday, December 8, 2008

TV On The Radio - Dear Science (2008)

4.5 ★/9.0 - 9.9

Delivering a follow-up to what many will probably look back on as one of the greatest albums of the decade can be a bitch. Just ask Kevin Shields or Brian Wilson. TV On The Radio understands that once you've dropped a masterpiece, there's a delicate balance you have to maintain afterward. You want to move on because what's the point of trying the same sound once you've already mastered it? But you don't want to make a full fledged jump into a single new genre only to find out it isn't your strong suit (Just ask David Bowie). So TV On The Radio did the smart thing and made Dear Science an Aladdin Sane to their Ziggy Stardust. It takes the basis of Return to Cookie Mountain (impossible to categorize, poetry laced Noise-Soul-Doo Wop-Indie Rock), and diversifies it in every direction at once. With the benefits of a new studio, TV On The Radio experiment and play with everything they could get their hands on, and guess what? It turns out they can do pretty much anything.

Prince-like grooves such as "Crying," and "Golden Age" have addictive, buzzing synths and jerky Electronica in their DNA while "Stork & Owl" and "Family Tree" pile the strings, creating lush Disney-esque ballads that soar with soul and passion. There's even the usual head-scratchers, such as "Dancing Choose" (Funky Electro-Rap Indie Rock?) or the rackety "Red Dress," shaking with punky sneering declarations yet nimble horns and funky guitars. And while the sheer variety of everything here can be exhausting, there's something infinitely exciting about the fact that 3 albums in, this band is still impossible to pin down, categorize or compare to any other band out there. Well there is the unavoidable comparison to Radiohead at their original peak (The Bends to Kid A), but that's just because TV On The Radio could similarly go in any direction from here, and there's very little doubt that it'll anything less than stellar. Read more...

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

The Blood Brothers - Crimes (2004)

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

Many laws usually have an element of prejudice that comes specifically from within the community. For a good example, homosexuality is a crime under strict Christian rules. The Blood Brothers clearly had this in mind when titling their fourth studio album, Crimes. On it, the band may as well be a bunch of boisterously-clad, flaming queers strutting their stuff loud and proud in Sunday school. Except, in their case, the crimes committed aren't in violation of any of God's codes, but of the unwritten laws of the close-minded Hardcore scene. Crimes deviates from the proper path of a devote Hardcore album by inserting keyboards and Dance Punk into their style, occasionally getting Glam, usually flirting with melody, and embracing the heresy teachings of Emocore and most of it's proponents. Still, Blood Brothers are as cracked out, spazzy and painstakingly jerky as ever before. The duo's vocal chords emit the usual visceral, inhuman shrieks and squeals and the backing band sounds like they've just gone through a horror movie marathon while tripped out on speed. "Love Rhymes With Hideous Car Wreck" and the title track are single-ready, but most of the other songs don't go down easy at all. "Feed Me To The Forest" is all metallic grind and disturbing industrial, before thrashing straight into the berserk "Trash Flavored Trash". The Cabaret style organs of "Peacock Skeleton With Crooked Feathers" are twisted enough to directly serve the songs' frantic and surreal agitation. "My First Kiss At the Public Execution" forces you through a meat grinder before rewarding you with the hooks.

The rest of the album follows suit accordingly, pushing and pulling between the catchy and the cutthroat with very few weak moments. As good as Burn Piano Island Burn was, this is the album that The Blood Brothers were born to make and it shows. Conservative hardcore fans might condemn them for "selling out" but they'll be ignoring the consistency here that's been lacking in all their previous albums and, more importantly, the fulfillment of potential that's been brewing in this band's growth for a few years. Crimes is a necessary peak in The Blood Brothers discography and living evidence that some rules are just made to be broken. Read more...

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Beck - Mellow Gold (1994)

2.5 ★/5.0 - 5.9

Listening to Mellow Gold should remind you of this news story:

A Georgia man is accused of holding his wife and children captive in a trash-filled mobile home for three years, police said Wednesday. Raymond Daniel Thurmond, 36, was arrested after police got a call from a woman at a local shelter August 4. "She told me they had a mother and four kids and apparently they'd been kept at home and there was some abuse allegations and the dad wouldn't let them leave," Lavonia Police Lt. Missy Collins said. Thurmond, who has no criminal record, was charged with one count of rape, four counts of cruelty to children in the first degree and five counts of false imprisonment. Alma Medina, the property manager for the Beaver Creek mobile home park, had lived three doors away from the family for the past 2½ years. Medina said she put a note on Thurmond's door to pay the late rent by August 5. On August 6, after no rent was received, she sent her maintenance man to the 3-bedroom, 2-bathroom trailer. He opened the door and came straight back, she said. "I want you to see this with your own eyes," she recalled the maintenance worker saying to her. "You better wear some shoes and gloves or something." Medina went in the trailer and found piles of trash everywhere: 4, 5 or 6 feet high, she said. Medina shot a video of the trash inside the trailer, including Diet Mountain Dew bottles, board games, cigarette boxes, frozen pizza boxes and piles of human hair on the kitchen floor. "You cannot describe the smell," she said. "It was so strong it would knock you out." After Thurmond's arrest, the trailer was cleaned out, but yellow jackets swarmed around a Dumpster full of trash -- including a stroller, car seat and toys -- from the trailer. A horrible stench still lingers. Before the park's maintenance staff began cleaning, anthills were under a mattress in the master bedroom, maggots crept around the trailer and roaches roamed inside the fridge.
~ from update on cnn.com/crime, August 13'th, 2008.

Not enough people seem to point out how outright disturbing a lot of Beck's music is, but Mellow Gold is probably where it was most obvious. Unique and fascinating, yet undoubtedly repulsive. Read more...

Saturday, July 12, 2008

Beck - Modern Guilt (2008)

3.5 ★/7.0 - 7.9

Beck's albums have always, for the most part, been scattershot collages; stream-of-consciousness constructs of messy finger-painting in which the artist chooses to completely ignore any boundaries between genres. But with Danger Doom by his side, his wild attitude is quieted down, and while the result is a more homogenic demeanor, it also has led to his most focused album in years. On Modern Guilt, Beck's style is more akin to hard-edged abstract art. If albums like Odelay, Midnite Vultures, Guero and The Information were wildly flailing expressionist pieces, his latest is geometric, controlled, clean and cut at the edges, with an ultimately sharper bite. The condensed rocket-pop song, "Gamma Ray" is proof enough, but there's also the mechanical funk of "Youthless," the metallic boiler-room grind of "Soul of a Man", the glitchy "Replica" and "Walls", which is all woozy strings and post-modern swagger. Only tracks like "Profanity Prayers" and "Orphans" feature a bit of Beck's old, more loose style of genre hopping with acoustic guitar features, but they're handled with such sterility and so many electronic textures, that the songs feel unlike anything else in Beck's discography (except maybe the more spaced out tendencies of Mutations, which to many, will be a good thing). Admittedly, by adopting these new sounds, Beck has certainly began to sound more 'normal' and some of these tracks just don't have enough character (especially "Volcano"). But then again, a track as amazing as "Chemtrails" suggests that maybe this change was for the best. The ghostly piano-led ballad, blown up by rigid careening drums, is the early centerpiece of the album and the main argument for a more subtle, stripped down Beck. A year or two ago, these songs would be the same-old loosely held together extensions of his "anything goes" personality, something that has almost become more of a gimmick than a vehicle for good songwriting. With Danger Doom's help though, they're tightly constructed for maximum effect, and so even though Modern Guilt will probably be looked back on as a transitional album, it's high points have opened the door and paved the path of growth for Beck's future. Read more...

Thursday, July 3, 2008

Wire - Object 47 (2008)

3.5 ★/7.0 - 7.9

Wire's career is a microcasm. From the stripped down beginnings on Pink Flag to the avant-influenced oddball experiments on Chairs Missing and finally the full fledged leap into the unknown with 154, their first three albums provide a point-by-point rundown of how punk developed into post-punk before the latter even really had a name. Even after their hiatus, their return in the late 80's epitomized the sound that post-punk had turned into, embracing pop and dance music to create "New Wave." This is why you couldn't be surprised by their second reformation in the 00's. Post Punk had indeed entered another stage in it's timeline (the "revival" stage, popularized by bands like Franz Ferdinand and The Futureheads), and it's creators, who seemingly have been documenting it's evolution ever since, had to have their say. And so, 5 years after capturing the post-punk revival movement in it's aggressively youthful abandon with Send, they've returned with the much more melodious Object 47, defining how most of the post-punk revivalists have now embraced higher production values and tamed down their approach (Bloc Party, British Sea Power and even Interpol don't sound nearly as energetic and frantic as they once were). The difference is, much like how the soft-spoken A Bell is A Cup... distinguished itself between its peers, Object 47 does it right.

The album's electrifying contradictions are the stars of the show. When you pick apart Wire's music, there's nothing but menacing tenseness and industrialism. "All Fours" rolls in on a single-chord bash, that gets exceptionally assaulted by a vicious bridge of noise and feedback. "Circumspect" is drugged up and strung out to dry, decadence and distance embodied in the form of listless guitar figures. But looking at Wire's latest offering from a distance reveals nothing but a bunch of condensed pop tunes. The tightly-wound guitars may be focused on forming walls of dissonance and repetition, but unlike their last album, the band uses these ear-piercing textures in order to pen some infectious hooks. "Perspex Icon" couldn't be more memorable, contrasting a vocal that borders on whimpering with layers of brisk and fervent post punk guitars. And tracks like "Mekon Headman" or "One of Us" have choruses that will lodge themselves in your brain for weeks. On modern electro-buzzing tracks like "Hard Currency" it becomes especially easy to guess that the producer in question is Flood (Smashing Pumpkins, Nine Inch Nails), a craftsman who has been known in the past to dwell in that spot between abrasive squalor and catchiness. There are moments that Flood's mainstream flirtations are made far too apparent (the dark highway driving anthem, "Four Long Years" is a little too close to Depeche Mode for comfort and "Are You Ready" desperately needs to get away from its sterile production), but Wire is a band that has proven to hold up to change remarkably well, and with Object 47 they continue to triumphantly hold the torch up for post punk. Read more...

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Coldplay - Viva La Vida or Death and All His Friends (2008)

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

...or "Brian Eno Snatches up Coldplay from the jaws of arena mediocrity." Yes folks, after 7 years of pounding their cheap streamlined versions of U2 and Radiohead into the ground, Coldplay finally decides to make some artistic growth! Well...sort of. They're still basically easier-to-listen-to versions of U2 and Radiohead, but in and of itself, I don't think there's anything wrong with that. What matters is whether or not they deliver the pop goods and on Viva La Vida, they introduce enough new elements to recapture the guilty pleasure that was Parachutes, the biggest of which is Brian Eno's signature stamp of sound manipulation. His influence is apparent in every aspect of the album's making, whether you're looking at the heightened density of atmosphere, the wider variety of songs (something X&Y had virtually none of), or the new and interesting song structures ("42" moves from genuinely haunting to uncomfortably vicious and feral with stunning ease, and the middle section of the album from "Lovers in Japan" to "Chinese Sleep Chant" moves like a series of melodic sketches). Most important though, is the way that, for once, The piano or guitar isn't used as the main songwriting origin. "Lost" is primarily a triumph of production over substance, but the hand claps, gospel organs and hoove-clopping rhythm form a melodic tapestry of sound that is irresistible enough to overcome the simplicity of the song itself. This is typical Brian Eno behavior at work, where songs are based on sounds alone, as with the tripped out guitars on "Strawberry Swing" or the walls of piano on "Lover in Japan". In conjunction with the deal-breaking fact that Chris Martin's lyrics actually manage to resist obvious, gooey cliches, Viva La Vida prevails as a worthy spiritual successor to The Joshua Tree. Read more...

Saturday, June 21, 2008

Sigur Ros - Með suð í eyrum við spilum endalaust (2008)

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

Often, Sigur Ros' music sounds like the stuff that gods might listen to. Their oozing symphonic excess and patiently paced crescendos enhance an unearhtly vocal performance that could only be that of an Angel's. But this reliance on divine weightlessness is not necessarily the element of Sigur Ros' music that makes them so good. ( ) seemed to pile on that formless atmosphere to no end, yet the album as a whole didn't quite reach the startling heights of their prior album, Agaetis Byrjun. Conversely, their new album, With A Buzz in Our Ears We Play Endlessly (English Title), feels much more grounded, yet it's probably Sigur Ros' strongest work since their sophomore breakthrough. The down to earth qualities of the album probably comes from the fact that many of the tracks blatantly take cues from other modern bands. From the moment "Gobbledigook" bursts out of the door, parading through an Animal Collective drum circle, Sigur Ros seems to be finally showing a passion for music other than their own. Besides the 3-minute acoustic pop glory of the aforementioned single, "Inni Mer Syngur Vitleysingur" tacks a Sufjan Stevens-esque wall of glockenspiels and horns onto a driving, passionate rhythm. The combination of symphonic touches and rock-song structure makes it feel like a twin to Arcade Fire's "Keep That Car Running". Meanwhile, "Vi Spillum Endalaust" is a picture perfect ascending anthem that recalls Mercury Rev circa All Is Dream, and "Festival" wanders through familliar holy territory for it's first half, but very suddenly adopts a more earthly progression that is an exact replica of the outro for Titus Andronicus' "Fear And Loathing in Mawnah". This similarity is probably a complete coincidence, because the aesthetic here is completely different, enhanced by a more affecting build-up and bigger pay-off, but the fact that any connection can be made between the celestial Sigur Ros and a filthy bar-band that's pure Grassroots, is saying something about how far the band has come to do away with the pretentious qualities that's made them so hated by their dissentors. Admittedly, the songs gradually and completely return Sigur Ros to the sound that they're known for by the end of the album, with the breathtaking heights of tracks like "Ara Batur" and "Fljotavik", so this mainly feels like a transitional album. Nonetheless, the effect remains the same, and is only further established by the inclusion of their first english-spoken song, "All Alright". With A Buzz in Our Ears We Play Endlessly borrows it's warmth from Takk... and it's creative layers of coos and voices from ( ), but the craft and accessibility of it's songs suggest something that their last two albums didn't (besides the post-rock friendly title) and that is tangible growth. Sigur Ros always tended to sound, on some level, like they were going through the motions just to maintain their heavenly reputation. But on With A Buzz... Sigur Ros' sincerity cannot be questioned. They've transcended their profile to become a magnificent, fun symphonic pop band. Read more...

Thursday, June 5, 2008

Alla - Es Tiempo (2008)

3.5 ★/7.0 - 7.9

While Stereolab's past two or three albums have proven that Tropicalia-tinged, Electronica leaning, polyrhythmic groove-oriented indie pop will probably never die, the acclaimed French super-groop has been known to fail in the past. And in the event that this year's Chemical Chords turns out to be one of those unfortunate instances, a practically unknown Chicago three-piece with latin origin is already prepared to take the reigns. But even if Stereolab finds enough of a variation to keep their style sounding vital, there's still something distinctive about Alla that makes them equally enjoyable as, rather than overshadowed by, the highly regarded band that they'll undoubtedly be compared to. While Es Tiempo begins in the same polyphonic, hook-laden ballpark with "Una Dia Otra Noche," the album soon breaks apart and reforms in tangles of soothingly narcotic instrumental stretches. They become more post-rock in terms of song-structure and more prone to jam out, clear from tracks such as the spiraling "Tu y Yo," the druggy "Sazanami," and the relaxing "La Montana Sagrada." On tracks like "Tu Vida!" and "El Movimiento" they reveal a fondness for trip hop with touches of samples, scratching and high energy drumming, like their Chicago neighbors, Tortoise. The Sea and Cake makes a similar cameo apperance on ""No Duermas Mas," which adopts jazzy chords to induce an inescapable tranquilizing warmth. The end result is that, compared to the usual desensitization of emotion and exhaustion that comes out of listening to too much Stereolab, Alla's psychedellic washes of sound leave behind a startlingly fresh, subtle and substantive mark. There's variety here, and an attention to album craft that is usually lacking even in the "Krautpop" godfathers' best albums. Read more...

Tuesday, June 3, 2008

Opeth - Watershed (2008)

2.0 ★/4.0 - 4.9

You can be rest assured that a band that's developed as devoted a cult following as Opeth has, hardly needs to worry about their latest being received as anything less than monumental. It's not even out yet and bloggers have already begun to lob it excessively ecstatic praise. But here's just hoping that Opeth doesn't listen to their listeners, because after the irrational fandom that so many have for Opeth settles, the bottom line is that they're really gonna need to focus in order to bounce back from the disappointment that is Watershed. Essentially, Watershed retreads the balance between brutality and beauty that Ghost Reveries achieved, except with half the inspiration. "Heir Apparent" and "The Lotus Eater" form the meat of the first half and they're depressingly typical for Opeth, filled with all the expected death metal chops and progressive structures but none of the heart. If a song is gonna waste 9 minutes of your life, it should at least be sincere and coherent, but these songs never come together as much more than demonstrations of dexterity. It's volume and misplaced intensity without any memorable dynamics or soul. The slow-paced "Burden" is much more basic, but probably even worse. Opeth have always hinted at their dreams of being featured on Monster Ballads, but they've usually had the sense to reign in their hair metal urges by balancing them with a sense of the arcane and attention to composition. "Burden" throws this rule completely out the window for an extremely predictable and cheesy power ballad. The solos are admittedly, accomplished, but hardly are enjoyable thanks to how easy it is to imagine Steve Vai jamming along. It's after the dissonant Spanish guitar noodling that separates the two halves, that the possibilities of Watershed become apparent. "Porcelain Heart" is the first song on the album that stops messing around and takes Opeth's legacy seriously, with consistent quiet-loud dynamics that are continually breathtaking for the full 8 minutes. The hair trigger riffage of "Hex Omega" and beautiful landscapes of "Hessian Peel" are even more exciting and both rank among Opeth's finest. But since the album is only 7 tracks, it picks up the pace a little too late to save itself from mediocrity.

Many critics will probably cop out and blame the drop in quality on the departure of guitarist, Peter Lindgren, but that's just laziness. Mikael Akerfeldt is the main songwriter and he shows he hasn't lost anything on the album's second half. Maybe the near-perfection of Ghost Reveries set a standard that was too intimidating. Or perhaps writing songs between the nearly 200 performances of the tour are what resulted in the rushed feel of the album's first half. Critical analysis aside, Watershed is quite simply a listening experience that frustrates as much as it thrills, made all the more infuriating by the fact that it's come from one of the best death metal bands of the decade. Read more...

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Nine Inch Nails - The Slip (2008)

3.5 ★/7.0 - 7.9

Despite the fact that Nine Inch Nails has ceased to be relevant in any musical sense, Trent Reznor's rampant support of the modern digitalization of music has kept his music thriving. From online alternate reality games, to releasing his albums for free on the web, one gets the sense that his attack on music industry commercialism has revitalized his efforts, and it shows both in the frequency with which he's released his last few albums (three in little more than a year), as well as their quality (Year Zero and Ghosts I-IV were probably his first great albums since The Downward Spiral). The Slip continues this trend, lacking the conceptual coherence that charged its predecessors, but making up for that with Trent's most concise collection of tracks since Pretty Hate Machine.

The album makes its two halves very distinct from one another. The first half contains all the usual industrial influenced, rage ridden dance-pop that Nine Inch Nails has made itself known for; in other words, 4 straight reprisals of "Bite The Hand That Feeds". Yes, the proto-industrial grind of "Head Down", high-octane energy of "1,000,000" and club-ready single, "Discipline", are all very entertaining. But one can't shake off the feeling that Trent watered down the striking Bomb-Squad-esque production of Year Zero leaving behind, artless angst-rock. A full album of this stuff would have been a disappointment. Thankfully, The Slip, makes a 180 degree turn on the remaining songs. The first track of the second half, "Lights in The Sky" blows away everything that came before it. Stripped down to its emotive core, Reznor's songwriting talent is finally given the treatment it deserves. No more pedestrian, overtly-distorted anger overflowing his composition; just Trent and a spacious piano, with haunting results. After a soothing ambient piece, two hypnotizing near-instrumentals with buzzing layers of synth-pads, de-tuned guitars and unsettling layers of noise function as even more evidence that Reznor should consider following through with a sequel to Ghosts I-V. Admittedly, the off-the-cuff nature of the album release makes it feel like it's not quite the proper sequel that's been promised by Year Zero, and if there's any other fault to be had, it's the same complaint that could be given against Trent's mid-career material - an unwillingness to move forward. But The Slip is still yet another brick in the ever-building wall of anticipation for Reznor. Only time will tell if he decides to follow through with these inspired tendencies or just linger in a point of transition, still fatally attached to his younger years of misplaced angst. What's definite, however, is that the past two years have marked a much stronger revival than the With Teeth years did. Read more...

Monday, May 12, 2008

Death Cab For Cutie - Narrow Stairs (2008)

3.0 ★/6.0 - 6.9

Secretly, nobody likes change. It's inherent in Humans to gravitate towards our comfort zones. But who knows where the world would be if people didn't evolve, grow, move on and move out. Death Cab For Cutie understands this well enough. Scenesters still decry this once-loved Indie guitar-pop band for turning their backs against the underground and entering the major-label studio. But ultimately, two of Death Cab's most financially and critically successful works (Transatlantacism and Plans) came from this career trajectory. So for a band whose style (and gross income) has benefited so much from change, you'd think they'd be happy to welcome it back with open arms. But Narrow Stairs shows that, in reality, Ben Gibbard and co. are as apprehensive towards transformations as the next person.

The common consensus is that this is Death Cab's "experimental" album. But if you've grown attached to their current stream of OC-friendly guitar pop, you don't have to worry. Narrow Stairs' perceived experimentalism is more obvious in idea than in practice. "I Will Possess Your Heart" is probably the main source of the talk. It opens with 4 instrumental minutes of Can-esque jamming and spacious atmosphere led by a soulful bass riff. Also, "No Sunlight" and "Long Division" carry dense, intricate guitar-play and driving Neu!-style rhythms that distinguish them from typical Death Cab fare, yet still fit perfectly with their sing-along qualities. Even though "Pity and Fear" falls flat in it's attempt at traditional tabla-driven Indian music, Narrow Stairs' boldest tracks point to what could've been a spectacular new chapter in Death Cab's career. But the biggest problem of the album is that the band seems so resistant to make the full-fledged leap into the unknown, even though they clearly have the capabilities. Too many tracks hide behind the same AM pop territory they hinted at with their last two albums. In particular, the mid-section spanning from "Talking Bird" to "Grapevine Fires" settles into a lazy lull of humdrum hooks. Even after getting back on track with the slinking beauty of "Your New Twin Sized Bed", "The Ice Is Getting Thinner" prevails as a completely underwhelming closer, filled with lifeless cliche that leaves the listeners asking themselves, "is that it?".

Any way you look at it, Narrow Stairs is a polarizing album. Death Cab's experiments are exciting enough to get previous detractors on board, but those people will undoubtedly be let down by the straightforward interior. Inversely, those who jumped on board with Transatlantacism and Plans probably won't welcome the new influences very nicely. And ex-fans of their first few albums, will probably fall in love with "Cath..." (which strongly recalls Something About Airplanes) but will be unimpressed with both their typical tracks and their new jams. If Death Cab had just applied to a single mode, they might've retained the focus that makes all of those aforementioned albums so great. Instead, they've made a strange transitional work that offers small snapshots of the band's strengths and wide-scale landscape photos of their fears. Read more...

Islands - Arm's Way (2008)

2.5 ★/5.0 - 5.9

So many other journalists have written about what causes the musical anomaly known as a "Sophomore Slump", that restating it would just be redundant. That said, if you don't want to hear about yet another band falling hard on the follow-up to their well-received debut, just walk away from this review right now, because Arm's Way is a frustratingly classic case.

Here's the deal: each track on Arm's Way is bursting with ideas, but very few of them actually materialize into worthwhile songs. First track, "The Arm" personifies the album best, opening with a beautifully delicate build up of ghostly voices and crashing cymbals, but quickly ditching it for a generic, dark indie-pop tune. Time and time again throughout Arm's Way, the band induces face palms of the highest order, with their decision to make the strengths that they exhibited so well on Return to the Sea (subtlety, playfulness and catchiness) an afterthought, in favor of a sound that's darker, more progressive, and ultimately more forgettable. This choice probably comes from a new-found love for The Who, and I'm not just saying that because of the reprise of "You Are Forgiven" that arrives at the end of "In The Rushes". Each song flows like a Rock opera with a capitol R, filled with misguided attempts at drama, Prog and capturing the over the top whine of Queen at their most sinister and "serious" sounding (serious is in quotations because even when Queen were serious, they weren't, really). But all the tempo changes and excess Muse-inspired melodrama (his blood is dirty, and he likes it that way, folks!) can't mask the fact that the parts of these multi-sectioned songs that focus on the whimsicality from their debut are the only reasons Arm's Way is worth listening to at all. Check out the tip-toeing bridges of "The Arm", the chorus of "Pieces of You", the funky mid-section of "Life in Jail" and observe how much more lively, original and true to the band they feel in comparison to the majority of the forced, bloated songs they're lazily tacked onto. Jamie Thompson boasted in interviews how much more dark and complex the new album would be. But he should have known better than to overlook the fact that that's precisely one of the main issues that leads to a sophomore slump: a band consciously ditches their strengths in an attempt to avoid an album that's tagged as "too similar to their debut". One might argue that changes are necessary in a band's evolution, but it's also important to note that a change should be natural. If it's too self-conscious...well...we get a baffling mess like Arm's Way. Read more...

Thursday, May 8, 2008

Titus Andronicus - The Airing of Grievances (2008)

3.5 ★/7.0 - 7.9

Can passion be substituted for virtually every other attribute that characterizes good music? Some would point to Conor Oberst as proof that it can, but just as many probably remain unconvinced by his albums; especially his more recent ones, which have tended to overlook the fact that if you're gonna make emotion be the core-attraction of your music, you shouldn't drown it out with string sections and excess compositional prowess. If someone's gonna stake out the claim that emotion trumps content, Titus Andronicus is perhaps a better example, whose dedication to fervor and fire is only further strengthened by their muscular, musical simplicity.

It's too appropriate that a review of The Airing of Grievances open with a mention of Conor, because the lead vocalist of Titus Andronicus has a raspy and emotive voice that recalls the indie boy-wonder at his most searing, longing and corrosively punk-damaged. Unlike Bright Eyes, however, which too often contrasted Conor's quavering voice with spotless pop, the enraged and implosive screams and gang-shouts on The Airing of Grievances are perfectly appropriate for the music. The bulk of the album is made up of Flogging Molly-esque bar anthems that recall Punk in terms of volume and energy, but bring to mind The Hold Steady's dedication to painting pervasive pictures of parties and recklessness. In other words, these songs are freaking loud. The band begins with their amps at 11 and get progressively louder, nearly falling apart under the weight of every member plowing a single progression into the ground. They milk anthemic hooks for all they're worth, riding them through enough repetition and hot-blooded delivery of notebook poetry to thrust you into nostalgia, pining for long lost urges of youthful abandon. And this album is nothing, if not a soundtrack for growing up, particularly in the Western World. You can hear the Fourth of July fireworks sparking off in the opening rush of "Albert Camus". The two sections of "No Future" reek from traces of American rooted pride and honor in their traditional structures and melodies. Matched with the band's bleeding angst, fury and disquieting readings of Albert Camus, it feels like a mean-spirited satire on whatever this country is supposed to stand for - an extension of the idealism and anarchistic rage that develops when you're young and just learning the world's unfairness. Perhaps I'm reading too deeply into what many will justifiably ingest as bar-rock, but the band's wonderfully cryptic and poetic nature invites these kinds of interpretations. And as easy as it is to be resistant to music like this that wears it's heart and mind on it's sleeves, nothing really succeeds without some sort of emotional backing. I hope that The Airing of Grievances manages to convince the more hard-hearted people out there to accept sincerity at face value. It's okay to have feelings. It's okay to be philosophical. And it's perfectly possible to write a bare-bones, vulgar, kick-ass drinking album in the process. Read more...

Cut Copy - In Ghost Colours (2008)

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

Through the first half of the 2000's, DFA records struck upon something gold, even if they didn't realize it yet. The formula was simple: Live Rock instrumentation + Dance music = a good time. The result was what publications have gone on to call "Dance Punk", recalling the early 80's, but bringing in the modern dance renovations of Club music. Bands like !!!, The Faint and Hot Chip spread these forefathers' philosophy all across the country, revealing scenesters' silliness at refusing to get their asses on the dance floor and start moving. It's no surprise why someone would look back on this as the "golden era" for music in the 00s, but those people also face the undeniable fact that the genre didn't have nearly enough top-tier albums before dying down.

This is what makes Cut Copy's sophomore album such a pleasant surprise. It so impeccably fuses dance music and indie pop that one would have trouble recalling a time when the two genres were at all separate. They're akin to a more poppy version of LCD Soundsystem, abusing all the arm-crossing, stand-still hipsters at a show with irresistible, hip shaking grooves, leaving them no choice but to move to the beat. But let's get rid of the modern cultural implications here; Cut Copy are just a ridiculously catchy Techno band. They aren't doing anything that Depeche Mode (or even more recently, The Rapture) didn't do before, and you'll be mistaken to think that there's any sort of cultural milestone hidden within In Ghost Colours' spinning keyboards and sharp rhythmic guitars. All they have are insanely catchy melodies and toe-tapping beats to match. But they accomplish it with so much charisma and fearlessness that you can't help but get caught up in their ever-swirling daze. "Feel The Love" is the mission statement, mixing Futureheads-style hooks with whimsical Disco breakdowns and shameless usage of a vox-box that seem to invite the listener to let go and embrace the cheese. If you do so, you'll be rewarded with the bass-led dance punk of "Feel The Music" and "Nobody Lost, Nobody Found" or "So Haunted", which glamorously fuses avant-noise with a rock-star arena chorus. "Hearts On Fire" meanwhile is a straight-forward club track with "uh" voice samples and layers of spacey synths. Between each of these 80's dance-offs are cloudy sound collages of vocal clips and samples that recall Animal Collective (see "Eternity One Night Only") and do away with any overbearing qualities that could've so easily plagued a retro-release like this. As a matter of fact, similar to M83's Saturdays = Youth, In Ghost Colours perfectly fits into 2008 despite it's dated influences. I think what we're seeing is a vigorous response to everyone who said in the early 2000's that all the bands bringing retro influences back to the forefront of musical consciousness was just a phase. The bottom line is that truly timeless music doesn't just stick to it's decade. It continues to inspire and be reinterpreted in an infinite number of ways, sometimes in a form that's just as fresh as the original was. In Ghost Colours is such a case. Read more...

Saturday, May 3, 2008

Boris - Smile (2008)

3.5 ★/7.0 - 7.9

From what I've heard, the American version of Smile has a more clear, focused and direct feel to it. But when it comes to the Japanese version, it's contrasting styles, inconsistency, and unwillingness to edit makes it feel like a challenging collection of oddball leftovers from Pink. What's strange is how Boris makes what should be a scattered, short-sighted and hard-to-follow collage of unrelated tracks somewhat enjoyable. It opens with a striking duo of immediacy that hardly characterizes the bulk of it's inaccessible content. "Message" is Boris doing TV On The Radio, Hendrix style: fuzzy drum-machine driven Electronica with violently disorienting guitar-noise solos and playful doo-wop chants. The following "Buzz-In" makes an exhilarating and primal leap back into Pink territory: careening drums, garage riffage and background tape loops tossing in a psychedelic edge. From then on though, Smile becomes a tough cookie to crack. It doesn't fail completely, but on your first few listens, it does fall apart. I still can't understand how the underwhelming "Flower Sun Rain" has become a fan-favorite, constantly regarded as "wrongly excluded" from Pink. It's pace is mind numbingly slow, Takeshi's poor vocal attempts at balladry comes off as bad karaoke and the intended melancholia that this is supposed to be supporting doesn't even have a memorable progression. "Shoot!", meanwhile, is just too irritatingly fuzzy to retain any listening value. But Boris will still be your favorite Japanese Indie/Ambient/Drone/Psychadelic/Noise/Metal band by default. As difficult as it may be to get through their unpredictable albums, no one can deny them their distinctiveness, especially in the context of their homeland, where their closest living relative is probably Boredoms (and even they would only qualify as a half-cousin, twice removed). That realization alone makes all their albums worthwhile in some way. As confounding as Smile may be at first, it's got a personality that keeps you fascinated, making it a grower. Eventually, the initial incomprehensibility of "Dead Destination" begins to reveal an unstoppable decimation of apocalyptic proportions and the closing "You Put Up Your Umbrella" can never forgiven for it's lame first half, but soars and swoons through enough mind-expanding jamming and breathless ambiance in it's second half to impress.

The more you look at it, the more you realize Smile shouldn't be as good as it is. Pink was great because of it's cohesion and accessibility. It sounded like a work of labor and gave their experimentalism an aim and a recognizable identity. Here, the band sounds like they're once again shooting the shit, catering to no one and yet all the while, getting pretty close to Pink's greatness. Sure, it isn't very together, but taken as a collection of individual moments, it'll captivate. Read more...

Thursday, May 1, 2008

The Notwist - The Devil, You And Me (2008)

3.5 ★/7.0 - 7.9

The Notwist's last album, Neon Golden, was an album disillusioned with relationships, crafted mainly for long lonely nights (see song titles like "One Step Inside Doesn't Mean You Understand"). It was only on tracks like "One With The Freaks" and "Consequence", that the band opened their arms, revealing their fondness for simple, tender and touching rumination pieces. The Devil, You + Me, on the other hand, revels in that sound, from the moment "Good Lies" bursts out the door with pensively driving waves of sound that paint a picture of the band crouched over their instruments, pouring all their memories of loved ones, instinctual intimacy and traces of emotion into each heavenly movement. But for all it's romantic gestures and love-centric gestures, The Devil, You + Me is still best personified by it's album cover: A lone man standing at the edge of a forest, ankle deep in a body of water teeming with birds and wildlife. The narrator of Neon Golden has made it out of the dank labyrinth of tracks like "Trashing Days" and "Neon Golden", only to emerge in an endless sea. Beauty thrives much more in this place, but there's no escaping the fact that he's still a long ways from home. It's that tension between inescapable sadness and beauty that may make The Devil, You + Me worth checking out, despite it's lack of focus. By lack of focus, I'm referring to way in which the sequencing of the album let's down it's powerful individual moments. Unlike Neon Golden, which had a track order that lent each track a distinct identity and immediacy, even countless repeat listens will render The Devil, You + Me as not much more than a collection of tracks. But with delicate and transcendent songs like "Gloomy Planets" and the title track, one gets the sense that The Notwist puts so much into each one of these individual tracks, filling them to the top with hooks, life-affirming spirituality and dense textures, that their disregard for cohesion is a forgivable mistake. Read more...

Wednesday, April 30, 2008

Cat Power - Jukebox (2008)

3.0 ★/6.0 - 6.9

Covers of songs used to be way more popular. What happened? For many, there's just way too much music now. People's hands are too busy listening to stuff they haven't heard to work up the enthusiasm to devote any significant amount of time to reinterpretations of old music. Still, the occasional cover here and then can be genuinely refreshing provided the artist puts in enough of their own flair to warrant the new version. There are some selections on Jukebox where Chan Marshall definitely shows that talent. It's hard to imagine the need for a re-do of Liza Manelli's "New York" or "Hank Williams' "Ramblin Woman," but Marshall's sexy crooning and her band's lo-key somber jamming strengthen the core progressions in unique ways. Lee Clayton's "Steel Stallion" feels like a completely new song thanks to the benefit of revitalized sound quality. And there simply couldn't be a more appropriate track for her to cover than Joni Mitchell's "Blue". The smooth-jazz organs and chords enhance the original with a ghostly quality and immediacy that that ranks it among Talk Talk's best. But Jukebox is just filled with too much filler. Marshall doesn't seem to have much soul covering James Brown and George Jackson and the "why fix it if it's not broken" philosophy applies to a disappointingly grounded version of her own "Metal Heart". The fact that the strongest track is the only new original Cat Power tune is saying something. The sweetly moving "Song To Bobby" is a much more satisfying tribute to Dylan than the plodding soft-rock revival of "I Believe In You", a selection from one of the worst albums of his career, and is enough to get anyone hankering for a genuine Cat Power follow-up to The Greatest. For an example of a cover album done right, listen to The Covers Record. Songs from that album have entered the regular go-to Cat Power canon and a handful have even been chosen for movie soundtracks. That's the mark of a successful cover project. But at this stage in her career, Jukebox is evidence that an EP would probably have been a better choice. Read more...

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Vetiver - Thing of The Past (2008)

3.0 ★/6.0 - 6.9

The reason why any genre revivalist succeeds as more than an outdated tribute to an overdone style is because of the unique elements and variations they bring to the table. Let's look at the burgeoning folk scene, for instance. Although more recently dying down, the past five years or so has been honored with spectacular folk-revival albums by artists such as Devendra Banhart and Joanna Newsom. The former introduced a wildly varied take on organic traditionalist styles, given more modern relevance by his crooning, unruly snarls and hippie ideals. And the latter fuses harp-playing, love-it-or-hate-it childlike-yelps, fantastical poetry and conceptual adventurousness, putting her at the forefront of ground-breaking music today. "Freak Folk" may have become a damning tag, but any artists that can fuse such a rootsy genre with experimental, forward-thinking elements deserve a medal or two. With so much competition, Vetiver's self titled debut album earned itself three. A weightless journey through a natural yet fantastic terrain, heightened by dramatic strings and beautifully psychedelic textures, Vetiver is an overlooked album that still sounds fresh four years later. Sadly, the band seemed to levitate a little closer to earth for their sophomore effort. Their influences were a little more apparent and the songs themselves hinted at more traditional soft rock and country territory. As a result, To Find Me Gone is a mildly enjoyable yet unessential album that hasn't aged as well.

So now Thing of The Past is here to make the band's influences 100% percent clear, with covers spanning from Garland Jeffreys to Ian Matthews, and Vetiver has become a significantly less interesting band because of it. Admittedly, many of these songs are super obscure, so the criticism of "what's the point?" isn't warranted. And tracks like Norman Greenbaum's "Hook And Ladder", Biff Rose's "To Baby" and Loudon Wainwright's "Swimming Song" contain timelessly catchy and folksy hooks that deserve to re-presented to the general population. But Vetiver's true strengths shine gloriously on the unconventional tracks. "Roll On Babe" revitalizes Ronnie Lane with a misty weightlessness while "Hurry On Sundown" illuminates the band's love of jamming and classic rock through one of Hawkwind's better known progressive southern ho-downs. They disappointingly remind us that the bulk of the album ditches these exciting elements for pleasant yet forgettable staples, void of dynamics, soul or original flair that would warrant a track to be covered - lifeless renditions of Elyse Weinberg's "Houses", Townes Van Zandt's "Standin" and Michael Hurley's "Blue Driver" for example. This hit and miss affair is saved at the end by Bobby Charles' "I Must Be In A Good Place Now"; a beautifully hushed and unpretentious gospel tune, which makes the album a step above mediocre and even gratifying enough for a listen or two. But much like Cat Power's Jukebox, Thing of The Past takes it's name too literally, coming off as a dispensable relic from the past, and consequently extinguishing a little bit of the inventive and mystical nature that keeps a voice fresh and distinctive even in orthodox territory. Read more...

Thursday, April 3, 2008

Dodos - Visiter (2008)

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

Animal Collective are quickly becoming one of the most influential and important bands of our decade. The decade isn't even over and already bands like The Ruby Suns, El Guincho and now The Dodos are shamelessly parading their love of the tribally rhythmic, psychedelic/freak-folk-pop innovators. Still, it's nice that we haven't reached that stage in the style where the bands and albums begin to get watered down, predictable, and more focused on paying their respects than actually adding something new. So far, each addition to the style that Animal Collective have fathered has introduced a welcome variation on it. In The Dodos' case, they've done away with the alienation that makes Panda Bear and Avey Tare such cult-favorites and capitalized on a stronger embrace of immediacy, whether stripping tracks down to pleasing jingles and throwing in heart-warming vocals that recall Ben Gibbard or embracing psychotic hollers and vicious slide guitars reminiscent of Jimmy Page. The songs on their debut build and reform and have the track lengths to prove it (6-7 minutes usually), but they either do so in a flurry of accessible progressions and harmonies or in an exciting and invigorating punk fury. Arguably, the latter mode gives birth to the album's strongest moments, with shifting epics like "Paint The Rust", "Jodi" and especially the second half of "Joe's Waltz", which is absolutely perfect: a demented folk-rodeo hoedown enhanced with manic cries, exhilerating breakdowns and discordance bursting at the seams. But the former mode is just as necessary in establishing the album's overall flow, with tender and relaxing fragments such as "Eyelids" and "Undeclared", the marvelous wistfulness of "Red and Purple" and "Winter" and the soothing waterfall lullaby, "Ashley" all contributing to the push-pull element that makes the overall experience of listening to Visiter so satisfying.

Although stretching a little too long at nearly an hour, there are very few albums as unfalteringly enjoyable as Visiter. It's a warm, lovable and endlessly repeatable collection of carefree tracks that achieves the timeless sound of two friends having fun, an aesthetic that hasn't been done this substantially since Sung Tongs. Read more...

Friday, March 28, 2008

M83 - Saturdays = Youth (2008)

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

I didn't live through the 1980's, and until now, I didn't regret it. Despite uncovering many strong points and varying styles (The Cure, Tom Waits and various underground punk for example), I still consider the majority of the 80's one of the weakest decades of music for the past 60 years. But from the moment I heard the opening kaleidoscopic chords and swirling radiance of M83's new lead single, "Graveyard Girl", I felt an uncontrollable nostalgia for that time. The bulk of Saturdays = Youth is no different. It inspires a giddy and uncontrollable glee for the oft-misunderstood era, celebrating The Breakfast Club, big hair styles and unashamed abuse of synths. But the reason why this succeeds as much more than a dated period piece is because M83 is still an Electronica project at heart. All sorts of production quirks and brief spoken word sections make Saturdays = Youth much more than a simple tribute to an era. It's a reinterpertation, integrated with the contemplative and paranoid-driven insight of the 2000's; kind of like an album version of Donnie Darko, except celebrating the things we might've missed from the decade, rather than causticly satirizing it. Piano-led tracks like "Too Late" and "You, Appearing" do away with the cheesiness that tended to ruin so many songs from the 80's and heightens the genuine sentimentality with walls of rich, dramatic sound. "Highway of Endless Dreams" builds and expands like a modern techno song and instills the generation with a grandeurous driving force. The extended bridges and soaring hooks on tracks like "Kim & Jessie" and "We Own The Sky" overflow with the romantic innocence and bright-eyed curiosity that was so common among youth of the 80's. And closer, "Midnight Souls Still Remain" is nearly 12 minutes of thoughtful and uplifting Ambiance, seeming to bookend the collection with one last triumphant defense for the daydreaming demeanor lost to the hard-hitting 90's. Admittedly, M83 has had a hard time throwing off the shackles of living in My Bloody Valentine's shadow and because of the reverb and shrieking distortion effects in Saturdays = Youth, the similarities probably won't stop being noted. But M83's third album is so refreshing that it lessens the implications of inferiority in that comparison. By making the connections between the 80's and Loveless more apparent, Saturdays = Youth defends its credibility, while mastering a joyous middle-point sound of its own. Read more...

Saturday, March 15, 2008

Xiu Xiu - Women As Lovers (2008)

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

There's something to be said for an artist like Jamie Stewart, who, with his twisted Ian Curtis-meets-Conor Oberst constitution, has so boldly extracted the essence of manic depression for 5 albums of cacophony and disturbing avant-pop, without ever bothering to make it more accessible for his listeners. But the reason Women As Lovers succeeds more than any other Xiu Xiu album, is because of it's willingness to open up. Whereas their last two albums focused on distancing it's emotions from the listener through avant touches, Women As Lovers delivers upon the approachable form that the seamlessly consolidated Fabulous Muscles promised. Don't get me wrong, the content itself is still roughly disturbing - just look at the album artwork, which appears to be a naked child-form roughly bound by rope and tourniquet wire. And then there's the heart breaking center of the album, "Black Keyboard" and "Master of the Bump" - two of Stewart's signature acoustic treks into his dark and troubled psyche, enhanced by weary and unflinching lines like "why would mother say such things, why add tongue to her kiss goodnight" and "a child is nothing without hate". But for music that's so blatantly driven by intensity and trauma, the band sounds they're having a ton of fun. The "doo doo doo" yelps in the background of lead single, "I Do What I Want When I Want" make what's already a shambling recording feel even more like a children's recess project. "No Friend Oh!", the album's most immediately catchy song, sounds positively triumphant with the chorus' blaring horn section. And even though you'd expect the end result of Jamie Stewart handling any song with intentions as melodramatic as Queen's "Under Pressure" to be a total depress-fest, what's amazing is how loosely the band plays with it, delightfully reassembling it with a revitalized madhouse arrangement that puts to shame the more predictable versions that have popped up lately (My Chemical Romance and The Used, I'm looking at you). Jamie Stewart's barely controllable melodramatic shouts, Caralee McElroy's gentle whispers and Michael Gira's powerful sing-speaking all take turns, powered by free-jazz dissonance, and a wall of pretty guitars.

What Women As Lovers ultimately does for Xiu Xiu is shed the off-the-walls variety of all their other albums in exchange for a single, tangible, down-to-earth face. Throughout the album there's a consistent sound: a steadily tense, post-punk influenced, rhythmic section, rollicking bass and startlingly violent percussion clashing savagely with Stewart's unstable whimpers, random electro-noise and acoustic meanderings. This new found focus, looseness and attention to jamming (no matter how off-key it may be) all add up to make Xiu Xiu finally sound like a coherent and widely listenable band, rather than a left-of-field recording project. For that, it's undoubtedly one of their best albums to date. Read more...

Friday, March 14, 2008

The Ruby Suns - Sea Lion (2008)

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

While the shifting swirl of voices in the first half of "Morning Sun" or the hissing, half-asleep swayer, "Blue Penguin" suggests more lo-fi origins, this exterior conceals the hi-fi mentality abound in Sea Lion. "There Are Birds", for example, sets itself up to be a simple buzzing pop tune, but then makes a right turn into a multi-layered funhouse carnival section. The percussion that opens "Tane Mahuta" sounds like it's all silverware and tin cans, but then the song reveals a musical sophistication that would make Brian Wilson blush, it's main melody becoming supplemented by all manners of Pacific Islander, African, and Hawaiin originated instruments. And "Kenya Dig It?" is the kind of Pet Sounds-worthy flawless creation that you'd expect to only be attempted in a high-end studio; it's structure brilliantly ebbs from a downpour of phaser mist draping a heavenly harmony into an elaborate shifting of styles and back to the beginning, before side-stepping into a gorgeous shoegazer outro. As a matter of fact, the weakest parts of the album are sections that become too fractured or bogged down in lo-fi textures (particularly on tracks like the Microphones-esque "It's Mwangi In Front Of Me" or the lifeless "Ole Rinka"). Try as they might to jump on the rugged, garage pop bandwagon, The Ruby Suns work best when they sound exactly how everyone would expect a New Zealand band to sound like: as if they've risen out of an underwater city with Sebastian and the entire Atlantica orchestra behind them. Read more...

Sunday, March 9, 2008

Atlas Sound @ Bottom of The Hill, San Francisco, CA, 03/08/08


For an artist whose last album was an intimate bedroom recording project, Bradford Cox showed an excessive amount of energy on stage. It was of course, immediately apparent, from his swaying and practically incoherent rambling, that this was due to the alcohol he had consumed prior and continued to consume (and spill) throughout the show. According to the bassist, it was only one drink. If that's true, it's confounding that such a tall person could be such a lightweight because he was so drunk that the show must've gone on almost 2 hours longer than it should have, to fit in all of his in-between song ranting, crowd interaction, and aimless jamming. And even after the show was over, he stayed on stage, sat on a monitor and just continued to talk to the crowd about music, modern art and people he had met that night. Failed attempts at covers followed (although one effort was successful: Velvet Underground's "I'll Be Your Mirror") and after ten minutes of requests, Bradford finally dragged himself off stage.

As infinitely entertaining as it was to witness Bradford Cox spiral into unpredictable silliness (especially to his core fans who, eventually began to encourage him with conversation), it's a shame that his antics had to kill the atmosphere of the excellent songs, because when he did stick to the set, what went down was a force to be reckoned with. Composed of members from openers, Valet, and the impressive ambient sound manipulator, White Rainbow, Bradford's backing group tackled all of the more structured and full-band oriented songs from Let The Blind Lead... with impressive vitality and concentration. The sound mixing was perfect, and was able to fit all the electronic noodling and noisy guitar texturing on stage into a listenable form (Bottom Of The Hill has always, in my opinion, contained one of the best and clearest sound systems in the entire city). But the overall feeling of the show can best be characterized by it's last 5 minutes. The set ended in a total stage breakdown, each of the five musicians on-stage escaping their otherwise consistent pensive raptness to completely consume the audience with an off-the-rails performance of fierce noise making and impassioned form. It was truly captivating...up until the moment Bradford Cox clumsily dropped a mic on his friend/bassist's face, giving her a fat lip. Here's hoping their other shows on the tour stay a little more focused.

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Saturday, March 8, 2008

Fleet Foxes - Fleet Foxes (2008)

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

A band that my parents and I can both enjoy comes around about once every other blue moon. My record shelf and their collection of washed up southern traditionalists have virtually not a single overlap, and whenever they threaten to cover the same ground, I tend to find myself disowning the artist in question. This explains my resistance to giving anything from the "alternative-country" movement a chance. I know there are elements of those artists that could ease me into the style, and I'm arguably already on it's outskirts, with Wilco and Calexico. But I'd rather not have to go through the devastation of having to bury my passion for a piece of music because it conflicts with my subconscious conditioning to be disgusted by anything that my parents can view as wholesome all-American entertainment, to go with their Grammy Awards and American Idol. Still, I've given into Fleet Foxes and feel very much torn. Something tells me that in the end, I'm gonna have to work extra hard to keep this a secret from my parents, because I simply can't stop listening to it and don't think I'd be able to if I tried. The splendidly gorgeous "Meadowlark", at the very least, is infinitely replay-able; the kind of song that, after hearing once, I couldn't stand not hearing at least once a day every day for the rest of my life. No matter how much I stare apathetically at their shudder inducing favorite artists (Crosby, Stills & Nash for example) and how much they embrace genres that I've never been too fond of, from gospel to southern rock, I can't ignore that Fleet Foxes have instilled these influences with enough originality and inventiveness to have delivered yet another nomination for this year's best debut album.

Like recent psych-folk misfits, Grizzly Bear, the key to Fleet Foxes' success is the way their organically flowing arrangements so masterfully maintain a balance between American backwoods influence and blue-eyed Psychadellia. Right from the start, album opener, "Red Squirrel" couldn't be more blatant about it's American grass roots intentions, yet the connected "Sun Rises" eventually reforms it's banjo-toting harmonies into a flurry of mind bending riffs. Check out the way the otherwise typical adult-alternative anthem, "Quiet Woods" bursts into an organ-led circus square dance for it's interludes. Or marvel at how effortlessly "He Doesn't Know Why" veers between a "my dear clementine"-esque ditty and a dramatic beach boys style build up. The best way to explain how good Fleet Foxes is, however, is to simply look at the way it's convinced me to open up. I saw O Brother Where Art Thou earlier today and for once, the Soggy Bottom Boys song that the film revolves around got my toe tapping. The other day I stole a listen to a Fleetwood Mac album from my mom's collection. And who knows, I may even let her listen to Fleet Foxes. After all, good music should make you want to share it, despite generational or cultural differences. Read more...

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Built To Spill & Meat Puppets @ The Fillmore, San Francisco, CA, 02/25/08

At first glance, the godfathers of 80's underground cow-punk and the godfathers of 90's indie guitar rock don't have much in common, besides their title. The relatively unknown opener from Seattle, Helvetia, worked to bridge the gap between the two bands with a sound that fused the best of both styles: Anthemic songwriting, J. Mascis-esque vocals, Sonic Youth style noise solos, and a penchant for jamming out. But even their fairly impressive attempt (which encouraged me to check out their myspace, something that I encourage any Dinosaur Jr fan to do as well) couldn't make the two bands' performances feel any closer to one another.

Meat Puppets took the stage and exhibited an energy and excitement that you wouldn't expect from a bunch of gray haired middle aged men going on their 28'th year as a band together. The Bassist in particular, Cris Kirkwood, overflowed with enough glee and playfulness to fill a giddy schoolgirl at her first high school dance. However, their age revealed itself in the extremely dull moments that they decided to play any of their recent work. Thankfully, the extended jam sessions that tied each song together made up for such mistakes, and fan-favorites like "Up On The Sun" and "Plateau" were instilled with enough improvisation and twists to feel completely new.

Sadly, Built To Spill was in direct contrast with Meat Puppets' enthusiasm (which surprised me, since the first time I witnessed them, on the You In Reverse tour, they were spectacular). Their stage presence was just what you would expect from one of the spokes-bands of the slacker generation. Whether staring solemnly at their shoes or pensively fixated on their guitars, they barely changed their facial expressions and stage positions for the entire show. Other bands may have been able to put up a show without much movement, but Built To Spill's best songs vary between ecstatic joy and soaring chaos, so by all rights, their physical manifestation should be appropriate. Instead, I got the impression that they were going through the motions, completely unmoved by their own stellar compositions. But the even bigger issue was the poor sound-mixing, which effectively eliminated the best parts of each song (dense layers of supplementary riffs, slide guitars, and Doug's wonderfully whiny voice) in favor of the rhythm guitar's overloud chunky monster riffage. Still, unmoved by their most recent work, it was nice to see that they hadn't abandoned their classic albums, crafting a set that took all the best tracks from their trio of greatness (There's Nothing Wrong With Love, Perfect From Now On and Keep It Like A Secret).


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Friday, February 15, 2008

Atlas Sound - Let The Blind Lead Those Who Can See But Cannot Feel (2008)

4.5 ★/9.0 - 9.9

Anyone who finds themselves indifferent to this album and only liking the obligatory single "River Cards" (Or, more justifiably, the excellent "Bite Marks", which sounds like Aphex Twins doing Weezer's "Only In Dreams"), may want to reconsider their approach. Bradford Cox's solo experiment should not be taken in anywhere near the same vein as his other band, Deerhunter. Ultimately, that band is about pop-rock. Atlas Sound may be under the guise of a dreamier version of the same thing, but these songs are above and beyond such restricting structures. Instead, Cox crafts a full-blooded ambient album, layering his walls of sound to create a 50 minute transportation to another world that is weightless, transcendent, and above all, gorgeous.

Like most ambient music, enjoyment develops out of repeated listens. Only then do otherwise bland songs reveal the subtle elements that make them interesting and engaging. "On Guard" would be a bore if not for the way hand claps, disembodied voices and a keyboard scale enhance it so effectively. The laser beam phasers of "Scraping Past" begin to fufill as a guitar solo would. The Blade Runner-esque synth pads of "Winter Vacation" add a heavenly quality to an otherwise simple drum machine. The slowly mounting white noise on "Recent Bedroom" make a fascinating tension between beauty and abrasiveness. But the best parts are instrumental tracks like "Ready Set Glow", "After Class" and the title track, which become otherworldly in their simplicity, matching the dreamy aura of similar minded experimentalists (Brian Eno, Panda Bear). It's individual highlights are so good that they almost overshadow the fact that Let The Blind Lead... achieves a certain coherence that very few singer-songwriters seem capable of. It begins with a ghost story, and the rest of the album follows suit, settling into a spectral groove of relentless supernaturalism and beauty. This kind of intimacy and ethereal pulse gets attempted all the time, but not enough of those attempts really get down the single-minded perfection that My Bloody Valentine's masterpiece, Loveless, so stunningly exhibited 17 years ago. This is perhaps the closest anyone will ever get. Read more...
"How many times must a man look up
before he can see the sky?"