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...
"How many times must a man look up
before he can see the sky?"