Funkadelic - One Nation Under A Groove (1978)

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

Albums like these are the reasons why the term "overrated" exists. Looking at the journalistic ratings and reviews fluctuating around on the web, there seems to be very few critics who view One Nation Under a Groove as any less than a perfect album. But seriously, are these people listening to the same album I am? The title track is good but how songs like "Grooveallegiance" and "Who Says A Funk Band Can't Play Rock" went on to become fan favorites, should be classified as one of those baffling unsolved mysteries of the world, alongside Stonehenge and The Bermuda Triangle. The former is simply an awkward and meandering attempt to integrate Reggae, while the latter sounds like it was written by the cast of Sesame Street. Yeah, there are good parts in both of them (mainly the jam sections) but why in the world would anyone want to slog through the silly, forced, weakly structured songs they're attached to when there's almost no limit to the same brand of jam-band perfection in the rest of the Funkadelic discography already? However, in defense of the critical consensus, things get significantly better thereafter. Scat-Porn groove, "P.E. Squad/The Doo-Doo Chasers", is actually a lot less repulsive than it sounds. As a matter of fact, with soulful breakdowns, inspired guitar solos and hilarious one-liners it remains one of the smoothest, sexiest and most refreshingly natural tracks written under George Clinton's reign. The next two songs feel just as relaxed, and create a nearly flawless second half, that makes up for the fractured first half. Don't let the critics fool you; it's not crazy to think that every Funkadelic album released on Warner Bros. failed to reach the heights of their Westbound works...but despite its flaws and obvious attempts to replicate Parliament, One Nation Under A Groove is the sole exception, retaining a personality and coherence that definitely makes it worth owning. Still, even those who consider the album a shining light surrounded by the darkness of Funkadelic's later days, will probably have a hard time really accepting it as one of their masterpieces. Read more...

Funkadelic - Let's Take It To The Stage (1975)

3.5 ★/7.0 - 7.9

Cliffnotes: Summaries And Commentaries for Funkadelic by George Clinton

Part One: Chapter 7

Summary: George emerges out of his last particularly violent state of Psychedellic exploration drained. Realizing that another experience of that intensity would be his end, he wisely throws away the rest of his drugs, but almost immediately regrets it. Knowing that, without them, his long suppressed alter-ego, Starchild, would soon begin overtake his personality completely, he decides to embrace this brief moment of sanity, taking in worldly pleasures.

Commentary: Up to this point in George Clinton's semi-biographical magnum opus, the author has taken liberties with extended stream of consciousness rants and abrasive language in order to capture the intensity of his drug experiences. However, with George having Stood At The Verge Of Getting It On, and now beginning a brief sober period, the writer appropriately reels in the blistering words and long stretches of repetition to capture the main characters' sobriety with a more clear-headed and traditional usage of language. The result is that Clinton comes off sounding a lot more like his peer and main influence, Hendrix. While this certainly contains a wealth of pleasures in and of itself; even enough to make this one of the stronger chapters of Funkadelic (especially when compared to the bulk of Part 2: The WB Years), there's no denying that the new direction eventually falls apart, particularly near the end of the chapter when George begins to speak out of character with extended brooding. "Baby I Owe You Something", he whines to his regular prostitute, creating a scene that adds very little to his character. When he finally feels that "The Song is Familliar", the novel enters one of its weakest sections, attempting some interesting "Atmosphere" but mostly coming off as artless and clumsy. It's moments such as when George is getting "Better By The Pound", confidently asking his loved ones to "Be My Beach" and demanding his friends to "Get Off Your Ass And Jam" that we as a reader actually are interested in what becomes of him, because of how they remind us of the relentless excitement and verbal density that stayed so consistent in Funkadelic's early chapters.

Glossary:
"Let's Take It To The Stage" - A phrase that comes to symbolize George's new embrace of the populous he was once so biased against; justifiably one of the chapters' most popular quotes.
"Stuffs And Thangs" - Yet another infectiously catchy euphemism for sex. Read more...

Animal Collective - Merriweather Post Pavilion (2009)

5.0 ★/10.0

Some might say that in order to better understand Animal Collective's sound on Merriweather Post Pavilion it would've been beneficial to see them live on one of their recent tours. For about a year, the bulk of the band's sets consisted of many of the songs recorded here, so, for many hardcore fans, it might be easy to assume this is just a compilation of all of Animal Collective's best live moments; a perfect distillation of that enchanting feeling one got from watching them. Surely, if this recorded material could only be called one thing, it would be "enchanting". And the live Animal Collective experience is certainly every bit as seductive. They usually play the songs without gaps, strung together by drones and fragmentary interludes, creating the simulation of one long track. When surrounded by innumerable dancing and sweating bodies, and blinded by a hallucinatory lighting design, the music takes on a captivating element of hypnotic bliss. For this past year, watching Animal Collective live was like stepping into another world.

But to say that Merriweather Post Pavilion is just a performance document and a treat for the fans would be lessening its distinct monumental value as an album. As a matter of fact, this material could only have been made for headphones; there's just too much going on at any given moment to be properly translated with a live show. The hooks of "My Girls" are undeniable in any form, but the subtleties of the songs' erratic and gradually diversifying drum-and-bass beat was never as exhilarating as it is here. On the surface, "Guys Eyes" is a simple melody delivered with a soulful undistorted piano and stick percussion, but it takes dozens of in-depth listens to separate all the swirling layers of voices from one another. Furthermore, Pet Sounds b-side, "Bluish", was never even played live, but on the album it's clearly one of the best songs; a flawless pop centerpiece holding both halves of the album together.

It's also important to take into account that some songs don't stand up individually too well. Live, "Also Frightened" was just a messy collage of sounds and electronics but with the benefit of close listening, the groove-oriented rhythm and soaring breaks are given room to breath and fit appropriately into the sequencing. Similarly, "In The Flowers" once seemed to be a listless and underwhelming ballad, but when set as the opening track, it's perfect. The song opens with indecipherable noise, as if to signify all the obstacles from your daily life, before Avey Tare's otherworldly chants lulls you into a calm. He slyly suggests a form of relief; "If I could just leave my body for one night..." All of a sudden the band shows what he's talking about, with a blast of holy radiation. Heavenly synths rain down from the skies and the listener is drawn straight into the world of Merriweather Post Pavilion with the intention of discovering the euphoria this intro has hinted at.

With that mission statement, the rest of the album even appears to take on an almost Odysseus-like pilgrimage, which makes it resonate deeply on a conceptual level and further distinguishes it from a collection of "songs from the shows". Assuming that the tripped out album cover is not a coincidence, the album could be seen as an argument for subconscious exploration, whether that journey is embarked upon through drugs, dreams, music or any other form of therapy. The first track resembles going to sleep and entering the sub consciousness; taking the drug; beginning the album. The following eight tracks represent the deranged trip through the minds' tangled weaves with various ups and downs. The textural feast, "Daily Routine", for example, is practically a wrestling match with the self. It begins with a bright synth making noise at arbitrary intervals, taunting the listener. But it soon gels together, becoming a piercing hole in the clouds, and raining light at the end of each of Panda Bear's joyful lines, as if leading us on. At the bridge, the hole in the cloud finally stays open and widens, letting the light swallow everything up into a binding fog. The epiphany that the listener is looking for seems to almost be reached; but at this early stage of the album, it's clearly just as frightening as it is revelatory. Panda Bear's voice is malformed and surrounded by a formless haze, reverb and powerful piano chords swirling about before somberly drifting away. "Summertime Clothes", a single-worthy pop song, is much more clear-headed and positive sounding, but it's still inseparable from the mental muck; the sound of two sheets of metal being rhythmically rubbed together recreate a shroom trip, with everything moving, breathing and blurring together. "Lion in a Coma" goes on to reflect this confusion lyrically: "Sometimes I'm not aware where I am or what I care, Sometimes I'm well-to-do but I don't know what to do!" After a long stretch of fake-outs and misadventures though, a definite epiphany is reached on the simple yet beautiful "No More Runnin"...and it's surprisingly quiet. Nighttime finally falls in the mystical land of Merriweather Post Pavilion and the narrator seems ready to face his fears and challenges head on: "No more runnin...it's what I hoped for..." yawns a collection of sleepy voices in the distance. The final track, "Brothersport" takes that new initiative and charges forward with a fiery determination; straight faced optimism is abound with chants like "you've got to open up your throat!" and "You gotta have a real good time!" After a wonderful bridge in which Animal Collective get as close to Trance as they've ever gotten, the song breaks into one last orgasm of harmony. For 2 minutes, the culmination of all this soul searching is chanted repeatedly over a relentless hook: "You've got so much inside, let it come right out!" When it finally ends, don't be surprised if the colors of the world suddenly appear brighter.

But even discounting the conceptual worth of Merriweather Post Pavilion, there's something inexplicably perfect about its overall sound. Songs like "Taste", a magnetized wall of sound functioning as an electro-vaudeville carnival romp, and "Lion in a Coma", a didgeridoo led drum circle, rank among some of the most creative songs in the bands' entire library, and the fact that they're merely minor complimentary songs in the scope of the album, is a clear indicator of the bands' growth. it seems that Animal Collective has utilized all the best parts of all of their past incarnations and none of their weaknesses to craft Merriweather Post Pavilion ranging from the single-mindedness and natural drones of Feels to the Pop centered outlook and electronic gurgling of Strawberry Jam, and even collecting some of the Brian Wilson worship from Person Pitch. It's the album they've been working towards making their entire career; their Dark Side of The Moon. I mention that album (instead of the more obvious touchstone, Pet Sounds), because if Radiohead is The Beatles of the decade, then Animal Collective is the Pink Floyd. Equally critically acclaimed, the band has taken the basic elements of underground music's most popular trends, perfected them, and gone beyond, into the spaced out unknown, not only influencing countless indie and underground bands in their immediate wake, but also subtly expanding the language of all music, and allowing it to evolve organically into the 21'st century. Perfection is not a strong enough word for a band as vital as Animal Collective. Artistically, this is one of the absolute peaks of our era. Read more...

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...

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...

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...

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...

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...

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...