Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Things I Wouldn't Mind...

Having a new post or two up next week covering sides 3 & 4 of the Sandinista Project.

Ruminative pieces, possibly on No Doubt and/or Third Eye Blind (as the digital device holding all my notes on both of those shows this year has completely and totally crashed with no hopes of recovery).

Not having to go into oral surgery in less than two days.

Oh well, let's see what sort of word magic we can turn out in the next few days, yeah?

In the meantime, I'm curious. I've been pondering what songs will define this year for me as the year crosses over into a new calender.

What's the soundtrack of your life this year?

Please. Don't be shy and do tell me.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Breaking Down the Sandinista! Project; pt. 3 Side 2




"Seeking Out a Rhythm That Could Take the Tension On..."


TRACK 1:
"Rebel Waltz"
The Clash vs. Ruby on the Vine

-Take 1:
I remember the first time I listened to this song. I hated it. It meanders aimlessly amidst all the dreadful guitar noodling from Mick Jones. And then there's all that warbly dub reverb... Don't even start me on that... And where are the damn Clash guitars that we all showed up for anyways? I think then I started skipping to tracks like "the Leader" or "Police on my Back." Then, eventually, I started to forget skipping it altogether as I got used to it and found myself digging on the... uh... waltz time. Now, listening to it in a new light (for me, anyhow) as the first song on what was/is side 2, it's sequencing starts to make sense. The opening, at first seeming over indulgent, takes on a newfound majesty as I imagine what it's like to flip the record over, drop the needle and wait in anticipation. More than anything, I find myself digging into Joe Strummer's lyrics as he dreams of humanity amidst a horror like civil war.

-Take 2:
Ruby on the Vine's bluegrass interpretation of the song showcases Strummer's lyrics more adroitly and articulately then he ever could. Besides being free of Strummer's adenoidal delivery, the song is stripped down to its basics and played straightforward without the hindrance of a dub mix and the sonic calamity that can ensue. Musically speaking, the effort is technically sound but does little to burn down any barns. What makes it shine, however, is the warmth and whistfulness of vocalist Myrna Marcarian.

WIN GOES TO:
While it's always great to listen to Strummer in his element, I think the win has to go to Ruby on the Vine here. If only for the sonic clarity and gravitas they bring to the song.


Track 2:
"Look Here"
The Clash vs. Jim Duffy

-Take 1:
Going back and taking a renewed and reinvigorated look at Sandinista as a whole has revealed a lot of old prejudices and new insights as to why they exist. And personally, I've come to the conclusion that side 2 may be one of the biggest hindrances to set as a whole. At least, taken as a two cd set. Side 1 shows the Clash at their sprawling and overreaching best. A hot mess, to be sure. Side 2, kicking off with "Rebel Waltz" and following up with "Look Here," quickly sapped any and all interest until I got to the parts with the songs I knew from Clash on Broadway. Just horrible, I know. With the not quite scatting vocals of "Look Here," this song comes off as just a tad bit overcooked and never sure where it wants to go. Again, my teenage self wanted to know where those Clash guitars were...

-Take 2:
Of course, then again, there's this take here by Jim Duffy. Which I kinda happen to love. Again, the Clash are outmastered with a quarter century's worth of hindsight and a knack to keep it traditional. In their own time, the Clash were thought of as being politically and musically progressive, a hodgepodge of ideas (none of which were all that new) thrown into one pot and poured out as a miscegenation of what the future could be if all were willing. They should be forgiven for occasionally overreaching their grasp if some of their songs didn't work. Here, quite simply, Jim Duffy makes the song a hot one by just keeping it simple.

WIN GOES TO:
Jim Duffy for keeping it simple, traditional and swingin'. Although, much like "Rebel Waltz," re-examining the music has brought a new found appreciation to the original.


Track 3:
"The Crooked Beat"
The Clash vs. Wreckless Eric

-Take 1:
Cynically, it's hard to imagine this song as much more than "Guns of Brixton, mk. II." But if the band's insistent dabbling with dub was going to work for anyone in the group, it would have to be bassist Paul Simonon. The song's spare arrangement turns out to be more of a success than most of the album's attempts at dub as Simonon sounds like he's finally finding his stride. Once again, Simonon showed the world who the real reggae afficionado in punk rock was.

-Take 2:
The difference's between Simonon's original and Wreckless Eric's cover are diminuitive, at best. In fact, if nothing else, it should be said that Wreckless Eric manages to keep all the essential pieces that make the interpretation a faithful one; especially that bassline. But by turning up the guitars, even if only barely, he manages to make the song his own at the same time. The dub mix used here keeps it minimal for the most part except when tweaking the occasional reverb effect up to an absurd level.

WIN GOES TO:
One of Wreckless Eric's largest boons on this song is that he doesn't (as if anyone ever does) sound like Paul Simonon. Even then, win goes to the Clash... 'cause it's Paul Simonon.


Track 4:
"Somebody Got Murdered"
the Clash vs. Matthew Ryan

-Take 1:
Easily, this is the best song on this side and definitely one of the best of the whole record. At one moment, this song typifies everything that was ever great about the Clash: great songwriting by Mick Jones, his guitarwork and arrangement held up dynamically by Topper Headon and the humanist poetry of Joe Strummer riding over the top. At the same time, it manages to sound completely different from everything else that they had recorded. Sonically, it carries itself with an ambiance seldom heard in the Clash. In fact, I would go so far as to say that this song is the blueprint for more than a fair share of the college/alternative music that would arrive by the end of the decade. Sonically, they manage to come up with a sound that is anthemic enough for use in the cinema but at the same time human enough that it packs a wallop on any record that it graces. One could almost say that this is the blueprint for every U2 song from the Joshua Tree onward. And I most definitely mean that as a compliment, which makes the Clash's eventual crash and burn all the sadder for me. Ultimately, the song's a good blueprint to follow with Jones plaintively singing a Strummer tale about random violence and the moral ambiguity that follows.

-Take 2:
If the Clash laid down the blueprint for the post new-wave college/alternative music of the late 80's and early 90's, then Matthew Ryan has taken the song and molded it into its late 90's early 00's spawn. Ryan's take turns away from the original's sense of sonic adventure and instead focuses on the solid structure of Mick Jone's tunesmith work. By doing so, he highlights both the plaintive and melodic nature of Strummer's contribution and makes it work with his raspy baritone. Ultimately, it embodies the best of post grunge work by bands like Pearl Jam- all song, no bombast.

WIN GOES TO:
The Clash for coming up with the blueprint to almost every record I've ever loved. I still feel giddy when that wall of guitar noise kicks in at 24 seconds.


Track 5:
"One More Time"
the Clash vs. Haale vs. Ted Harris

-Take 1:
Despite featuring one of the few lyrics in which Joe Strummer's humanist reach exceeds it's grasp, this song still manages to succeed for some reason. Unlike Simonon compositions like "Guns of Brixton" or "the Crooked Beat," which often seem to ride the songwriter's hipster coattails, this song is more akin to the apocalyptic "Armagideon Times," the explosive "White Man (in Hammersmith Palais)" or the grandiose but misguided "Bankrobber." That is to say, this song embodies a dark, funky, paranoid sort of skank that only the Clash could ever pull off. It manages to be urgent but listenable despite Strummer's daft metaphors and loosely connected truisms.

-Take 2:
The largest problem I have with Haale's take on this song is probably what would make any and every other composition she touches brilliant. Like the Clash, she manages to throw a wide disparate spate of influences into a pot and make it her own. Her voice, full and emotive, comes through too clear and as a result feels a bit contrived. The guitars explode into guitar solos guaranteed to give you a third degree burn and the mix offers a lot of interesting sounds to sift through with your heaphones on. So why doesn't this work? The original song offers an insistent if somewhat quiet dread. This interpretation may just be a little too explosive, a little too dynamic in comparison.

-Take 3:
Ted Harris' take on the song comes off as being far more faithful to the original song as well as the album as a whole. Sonically, he layers the vocals one right over the other, at moments utilizing three different vox tracks as he seems to shovel dirt over all of them. Mastering the dub vibe of the project without letting reverb overwhelm the whole of the piece, instruments come in and drone out with the drums starting and stopping just as suddenly. And while the vibe of the piece does seem to lack the urgency of the original, a more subtle paranoia seems to have creeped in, rendering the piece almost downright spooky.

WIN GOES TO:
Despite lyrical gaffes that not even Joe Strummer can get away with (right?), points go to the Clash for creating an apocalyptic rocker in which the music of the band towers over everything else. Moreso than musical cousins like "Armegiddeon Times, " "One More Time" is infused with an urgent sense of dread that never once comes off as blinkered or daft.

Track 6:
"One More Dub"
the Clash vs. Haale

-Take 1:
Initially, I remember listening to this album as a whole and feeling that this track reeked of all filler/no killer. It was obviously redundant as a result of being a dub remix of the previous track. Additionally, it jumped out as an afterthought on an album noteworthy for afterthoughts (see later track "Washing Bullets" et, al for further demonstration of this) in which the Clash threw everything they had on tape at the wall, regardless of whether or not it was going to stick. As hubris goes, this track was exhibit A in the alphabet of self indulgences and a clear foreboding of what was to come, especially in the last few tracks of the album as a whole. Listening to the song with fresh ears, and more to the point a fresh mind, this song becomes fully realized when you place it as the last song on a piece of vinyl with the intention of cleansing your dub heavy palette. And that's a whole different kind of alright.

-Take 2:
Despite my misgivings about Haale's take on "One More Time," all the characteristics I marked as being a bane to the artist's contribution work in spades here. Where the composition for "One More Time" seemed claustrophobic, the dub/remix nature of the original track opens up and lets Haale's genius breathe openly and freely. In fact, the quiet dread that her work on "One More Time" was missing seems to have shown up here in force and in style.

WIN GOES TO:
Haale takes all of the brilliance that crowded and clustered her composition of the original and lets it breathe. Granted, the Clash's version comes off as being an afterthought, but Haale manages to make it a piece of art in its' own right.


FINAL TALLY:
The Clash versus everyone else- 3 to 3, once again.
Cumulative Tally:
A lot like the final tally for this side and last side's- a dead heat. Whether this is indicative of the first piece of vinyl in this set remains to be seen.
On to Side 3!
e.m.p.

Monday, August 31, 2009

your monthly apology


Apparently, I do need sleep and rest and relaxation. But after taking the last month to reconnect old bonds and make new ones, it's time to get things moving again.


As usual, apologies abound as activity here has not been so great. But great things are around the corner. Which means kicking the old stuff out of the queue. Hence, around the corner we've got more of breaking down the Clash's Sandinista! and its tribute album, the months delayed reviews for live shows from No Doubt and Third Eye Blind and more general meandering on music that nobody but me cares about.


After that, however? I'm looking forward to shows from Huey Lewis and the News, U2 and Gogol Bordello. Stick around, it should be fun. We'll have some internet Clash up tomorrow.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Tower of Song


Seeing as I knew I was going to be completely and utterly devoid of creative worth tonight, I set out on a productivity of a different kind. I decided to try and clean my room a little. If nothing else, I figured I could integrate all the new music I've bought over the last season into my shelves.


Holy crap. I've bought a lot of new music lately.


A run down of my latest additions and why.


music from the miramax motion picture: Beautiful Girls

I found this in a Hastings clearance bin for 97 cents. It turned out to be exactly the kind of compilation that you'd expect from executive producers Ted Demme and Greg Dulli: some Howlin' Maggie, Chris Isaak and Neil Diamond. I bought it for the soul music covers that Dulli's Afghan Whigs provided but the real treasure turned out to be "Could It Be That I'm Falling In Love" by the Spinners. Which made me wonder why I don't have any Spinners albums.


the Sandinista! Project: A Tribute to the Clash

I found this one night during one of my characteristically drunk Amazoning marathons. Inspired by the blinkered giddyness of it all, I told myself I'd wait for sobriety and order it the next day. Then I ordered it anyways. Beyond that, I think it hardly requires any introduction as I'm currently in the process of giving it a deep and blogful analysis. I would like to say, however, that I am totally enjoying it and finding it to be a more than worthy tribute to the original article. Thanks, Jimmy G.


East Infection by Gogol Bordello

I discovered this ep lunchtime shopping at Borders one day in a vain attempt to escape from work. Sadly/thankfully, I'm still employed but at least I've got this little disc. Six songs long, it features alternate versions of of "Ave. B" and "Strange Uncles From Abroad." The real gem, however, is a cover of Manu Chao's "Mala Vida" in which Hutz and co. show you what the Gypsy Kings on crystal meth might sound like. It's really way better than it sounds.


Red by Patty Griffin

Tyler passed this one on to me back in April. But I'm a bad friend cause I haven't given it a spin yet. Mostly in favor of all the other stuff he gave me, like Ingrid Michaelson and Okkervil River and Old '97's. But don't tell him.


From Every Sphere/Here Be Monsters/Strangers/Until Tomorrow Then (the Best of...) by Ed Harcourt

Ed Harcourt was one of those artists that Ty and I did our damnedest to see back at SxSw. Every night, he'd have a set and every night, we'd miss it for some reason. Until the last night when we were lucky enough to catch him at the convention center with Victoria, Rob and Brook. I believe that all five of us stood and appreciated the show in slack jawed awe. Since then, I bought the limited edition two disc best of Until Tomorrow Then. I didn't realize that it was a gateway drug for Strangers (my favorite so far) and then Here Be Monsters and now From Every Sphere. Next? Beautiful Lie, most likely. Still, a darker, sexier music I haven't found since Greg Dulli's Twilight Singers.


A Positive Rage/Separation Sunday by the Hold Steady

Speaking of SxSw obsessions, I went to Austin this year convinced of little more than a chance to see the 'Steady. As noted elsewhere on this blog, I saw them not once but twice on the same day, treated to two totally different setlists. For an encore? I picked up A Positive Rage which shows the boys in transition before their excellent Stay Positive came out. Sadly, this means that this live disc is light of the more musical fare of their latest album. Gladly, it is chock full of their old school barroom stompers and a few cuts not found on their regular albums.

Going back to Separation Sunday, on the other hand, is just requisite reading for any devoted fan of the band. Especially as most of us caught on around the time of Boys and Girls in America. Less tuneful that it's successor, Sunday makes up for it in sonic squallor and sheer psychosis. Totally worth it for "Your Little Hoodrat Friend" and the monster riffage that guitarist Tad Kubler throws down.


Honeysuckle Strange by Howlin' Maggie

Another Hastings dollar bin bargain, I bought this for Harold Chistester. Besides providing the most gorgeous keyboards on the Afghan Whig's Black Love and 1965, he was also one of the artists involved in Greg Dulli's first Twilight's record, Twilight as Recorded by the Twilight Singers. I'm greatly ashamed that I haven't listened to this yet, but, if the Maggie's contribution to Beautiful Girls is any indication, it should be good (and doubly shameful) when I finally do.


No One's First, and You're Next by Modest Mouse

This little ep came out with little to no fanfare other the Heath Ledger directed video for "King Rat" and caught me a little by surprise. What wasn't surprising was a small disc of tuneful songs that just didn't seem to fit in anywhere else. Looking over the credits, it's obvious that this is an odd's 'n sod's album, comprised of outtakes from other records. The lead-off track, "Satellite Skin," shows songwriter Isaac Brock at his most melodically dogged. Still, as I was listening to this the other night, it did make me wonder: if Space Ghost's Brak formed an indie band, is this what they would sound like?


The Stand Ins by Okkervil River

The one band we didn't get to see at SxSw that I haven't been able to make up for, the Okkervil was originally ingrained into me by Tyler over many a night at the Anodyne's pool tables. With Stage Names' brilliant "John Allyn Smith Sails" and this year's "Lost Coastlines" off of Stand Ins, however, I can count myself amongs the faithful. In some of their more languid numbers, they can ramble a bit. But at their most rollicking, they show a real rocking potential kindred to Counting Crows.


Feeling Strangely Fine by Semisonic

Admittedly, I already owned this record. But it should be said that I've practically burned a hole through my last copy so it was time to replace it. Pound for pound, one of the strongest albums I've ever heard and full of more hooks than a bait shop, it's sweet enough to make your teeth go bad. Especially the second half. I can never skip "This Will Be My Year" (my anthem every year) or "California." Go now. Buy. Kill if you must.


Music From the Motion Picture: SLIVER

I cannot stress how crappy this album is. Really, it's horrible and I should be ashamed. It's full of early nineties electronic schlock that makes me cringe for remembering the early nineties. I might as well be listening to A Night at the Roxbury, right? But, I used to always steal this from my brother when I was younger. For UB40 doing that gimmicky UB40 thing they do to Elvis' "Can't Help Falling in Love?" Sure. But, there's also Massive Attack, Shaggy (before he was Mr. Boombastic) and the Verve. And just to be clear, dollar bargain bins are evil. EVIL.


Spiders by Space

Speaking of evil dollar bargain bins and useless nostalgia... I used to always love "Female of the Species." Moving right along...


Far by Regina Spektor

This album seems to rest somewhere between her major label debut Soviet Kitsch and it's followup, Begin to Hope. Featuring more fleshed out arrangements than Kitsch, it still lacks Hope's giddy experimental nature. Featuring work from four different producers, it does highlight an insanely charismatic knack that Spektor has for pop hooks. Personally, I can't get enough of "The Calculation," "Dance Anthem of the 80's" and "One More Time With Feeling." "Folding Chair," however, breaks my heart with sheer joy every time I hear it, no matter how little it makes sense.


No Line on the Horizon by U2

For a band that understands the art form of album sequencing so well, this collection of songs falls incredibly flat. Personally, I found the album prone to getting stuck in ruts more often than not. On a lark, I decided to rework the order of the songs (I know how much this annoys some of my friends) and have since found myself not only enjoying the album as a whole so much more, but I've found that I like all the songs. For an album full of so many potential peaks and valleys, U2's original sequence grouped the songs into monotonous stages. Now, thanks to the genius of the ipod, I'm looking forward to seeing all of these songs in October.


Women in Technology by White Town

In regards to the why, see my entry on Space. In regards to how the album sounds as a whole, also see the entry on Space... Moving right along...


It's Blitz! by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs

Honestly, I'm a bit torn on this. None of their releases have matched the raw id of their debut, Fever to Tell. And while Show Your Bones saw them stretching in some interesting directions, I still prefer the tracks on here that sound like the old Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Mostly meaning, the drummer hits things really hard, the guitarist brings the motherfucking ruckus and Karen O stretches her voice as far as it will go. I enjoyed this record so much more than Show Your Bones but still, you never forget your first time.

Saturday, August 8, 2009

Breaking Down the Sandinista! Project; pt.2 SIDE A


"You Gotta Give the People Something Good to Read On a Sunday."
-The Leader
TRACK 1:
"The Magnificent Seven"
The Clash vs. Joe Grushecky and the Houserockers
-Take 1:
This is probably the most notable contribution to the Clash's canon from this album. Notable for, if nothing else, being the Clash's first stab at rap music before Old School, New School and Brownie McGee. Obviously, their time spent in New York was not spent in sequestration. Also worth taking note of here is Norman Watt Roy's contribution at the bass spot. Standing in for Paul Simonon, his work with Topper Headon provides an almost martial beat for Joe Strummer to jump off of with lyrics topical, political and inane. Sometimes, as "Vacuum cleaner sucks up budgie {gerbil}" proves, he comes close to all of them at once. Still, this was Strummer's ode/lament to the working man.
-Take 2:
Immediately, this track jumps right out at the listener, if for no other reason than the way the drums are tastefully compressed. They're clean, tight and unencumbered by the mammoth sound of the bassline. This gives the listener a second or two to settle into the groove before the pandemonium starts. Compared to the original, the original seems unnecessarily drenched in reverb and chorus. Of course, it should be pointed out that the original came well before the 90's when lo-fi actually became an important artistic decision.
Still, this arrangement manages to be tight and loose at the same time. Most of this is due to the mixer's choice to separate the guitars to left and right ears while mixing everything else straight down the middle. What really makes this work is the sense of swagger this imbues the song with. The martial feel of the original serves it well considering the topic, but this song is loose limbed and furious, leaving the listener with an impression of what the song could be live... especially with Simonon in tow.
WIN GOES TO:
The Clash. The tribute is great at presenting a sonic squallor worthy of the Clash but... unfortunately, no one can swagger with the charisma that Strummer did. Especially when it comes to his unique take on hip hop.
Track 2:
"HitsVille U.K."
The Clash vs. Katrina Leskanich
-Take 1:
Artistically speaking, there's a number of adjectives that can and have been used to describe this song, I'm sure: dubious, inspiring, maddening. I'm going to go with puzzling. When faced with the choice of Joe Strummer's bombastic charisma or Mick Jones's hard luck doggedness, the Clash choose to underpin a choral effect with Mick Jones at his fayest, thus removing the effectiveness of either one of their songwriting stars. Which, on a three lp magnum opus, should come as neither a shock or suprise. But for track two? Talk about setting your stall out early.
Eventually, what comes to bear in the memory of the listener is the old Motown indebted bassline (not to mention title) and accompanying guitar part which snaps over the syncopations of the snare. It shows a Mick Jones more enamored with that old Motown song than was ever hinted on London Calling's "Train in Vain."
-Take 2:
Katrina Leskanich (of Katrina and the Waves fame) uses this song to bridge a gap between soul and punk that no one had taken up since the Who (or Pearl Jam after them) covered Holland/Dozer/Holland's "Leaving Here." It almost owes more to a mid tempo Ramones than anything else. But as guitar pop/punk pieces go, it's influences are instantly recognizable and new at the same time. The listener can sit and enjoy the simple but rocking arrangement, even the Thin Lizzy double guitar lead solo.
WIN GOES TO:
Katrina Leskanich for showing the true immediacy and beauty of the songwriting. Sure, the Clash were experimenting with various forms of songwriting and production on this record, but more than anything, the original track shows a group losing sight of a songwriting team second only to the OG's that were Lennon/McCartney. So sue me.
Track 3:
"Junco Partner"
The Clash vs. Jon Langford & Sally Timms w/Ship & Pilot
-Take 1:
Personally, if this record didn't originally go off the rails with a second track that featured none of the hallmarks of a great Clash song... this song had me pushing the skip button. In a renewed light, I have grown to appreciate the livewire nature of Strummer's performance here and the musicality of the group playing a traditional arrangement. But let's be honest, yeah? We know that Joe Strummer loved Dylan and the Guthries and a bunch of other proto-hippie troubador ramblers. And we know that he had that snarl. And... we know that he lived in the moment of the song more than anyone had up til that point. But... BUT. This is Strummer and his eccentric tastes at their most indecipherable.
As a dyed in the wool Clash fan and Strummer acolyte, I've grown to appreciate this song so much more than I used to. Without the context of folk/traditional music or a love for either, this song becomes Joe Strummer mushmouth gibberish drenched in a reverb heavy dub arrangement. Completely worthless to anyone waiting for "Clash City Rockers" or even, say, "Spanish Bombs."
-Take 2:
Jon Langford takes this song back to its roots by using a simple arrangement of brushed drums and guitars. Using Sally Timms to back up on the vocals also gives it a nice sing along effect more consistant with the populist slant of folk music.
WIN GOES TO:
Jon Langford and co. As a Clash fan, this becomes more and more daunting by the song. But, if we're being honest here, Langford's spare arrangement brings to the fore the beauty of the song that gets lost in the Clash's dub heavy arrangement. Beyond providing an idea of what Strummer saw in the song, this interpretation provides an actual understanding of what the song is actually about. Because Strummer, much as I love the man, was never known for his stellar annunciation. Yeah, I said it. But Langford provides a great song and story that I've grown more and more fond of with every listen. Even stopping to listen to the Clash's version when I can.
Track 4:
"Ivan Meets G.I.Joe"
the Clash vs. Jason Ringenberg and Kristi Rose
-Take 1:
There's no reason why this track shouldn't work. Unfortunately, there's also no reason why it does. With Topper Headon providing lead vocals, it seems most likely that he also contributed the bulk of the songwriting on this track. Unlike the hit that became "Rock the Casbah," one has no reason to believe that Joe Strummer contributed lyrics and it's a truism that he didn't contribute lead vocals. Headon's vocals, while not cringeworthy, are symptomatic of the rest of song: workmanlike but ultimately flat and uninspiring. It may be the topicality of the subject matter or the fact that he pales in comparison to three other vocalists in the group. Ultimately, at the end of the day, I want this song to work and believe that it could with a massive overhaul of a remix. But the artifact, as it is, remains to be laregely uncompelling and bloodless. It lacks that spark. Of course, even Headon has admitted in interviews since then that he was doing mostly snare and hat work on the drum kit as a result of his growing substance abuse problem.
-Take 2:
I remember hearing this anecdote in class once, and though it may be apocryphal, I think it speaks to the problem of this track here. Kruschev once took Kennedy to task for the political bent of American cinema. When pressed for clarification, Kruschev responded with the idea that American movies always featured refrigerators that, when opened, were full of food. Nothing, he explained to JFK, could be more political.
Keeping that in mind, one would think that there is no more political form of songwriting than country music. Not the reheated leftovers of the Eagles that the current Nashville has become, mind you, but the real deal of songwriting and storytelling. That being said, this is the first song on the compilation that seems to fall flat. But really, doesn't the original as well? Sadly, I blame Topper here as I've tried really hard to be enamored with the original and have failed. Honestly, this track had no chance. Not without providing a super bass heavy remix and a few tabs of e.
WIN GOES TO:
No one. Not even the listener. Okay, win goes to Jason Ringenberg and Kristi Rose for taking on an unenviable task and taking it to completion. Topper's original track should've been a barnburner of a club hit with it's highly syncopated hi-hat and snare pattern. Even with it's oddly bent political slant, it still would've fit in with any number of 80's anthems. But no. It just runs flat. And that doesn't leave a lot for the tribute performer to work with, does it?
Track 5:
"The Leader"
The Clash vs. Amy Rigby
-Take 1:
From the opening tease of Mick Jones' guitar to the full swagger of the band once the song kicks in, few songs deliver on the promise of the Clash like this song does. The rhythm section provides a true rollickin' backbeat as Mick Jones lays layer upon layer of guitar awesomeosity over it. But the true star here is Joe Strummer. Delivering with his usual charisma, he provides us with a satirical/conspiratorial take on the shadow bureaucracy of government workings and its opportunistic relationship to the press. And not once does he skip on the sense of humor, an aspect often lost to music historians. My favorite line? "He wore a leather mask for his dinner guests/totally nude and with deep respect." Not even Eddie Vedder gets to be that funny. One of my favorite Clash songs ever as it features the whole of the band doing what they all do best: rock while rocking the boat.
-Take 2:
Forsaking the guitar forplay of the original, Amy Rigby's take on the song here reinforces what becomes one of the most obvious draws of the Clash: (yeah... this word again) SWAGGER. The song starts out with the drums before letting the guitars rip in. Honestly, it becomes a much more traditionally punk number in this manner, but never once does it lose the lyrical or melodic punch of what the song was supposed to be. By changing up the structure for the last verse, Rigby manages to do something not often seen on this compilation: be faithful and original at the same time. This is, in all sincerity, a incredibly great cover of an incredibly great song.
WIN GOES TO:
The Clash. Sad as it may be, one must punch their own weight and, in light of this song, the Clash are in a class all their own. Still, Amy Rigby's take on this song is one of the best on the album. And what's more, her energetic verve has made me a fan. That's a win-win-win.
Track 6:
"Something About England"
The Clash vs. The Coal Porters
-Take 1:
Originally, I thought this song was Mick Jones' at his thinnest of vocal stretches. Now, I think this is Joe Strummer at his storytelling finest as he and Mick switch off on narrative voices. Also, for the last few years, I've pondered how I could make Sandinista! into a vehicle worthy of a true rock and roll spectactle (i.e. musical). This song makes the strongest case for that, both musically and lyrically. Like "The Leader" before it, this song features the Clash at their best as Mick gets to drop in with one of his most grandiose arrangements (almost readymade for Broadway) and Joe gets to tell one hell of a story about war and its effects on society. What makes the song perfect, though, is how through the whole narrative, Strummer never loses sight of what makes his work both compelling and vital: his unblinkered sense of humanity. Especially when told through the eyes of a vagrant charting the failed path of warfare and its ravaging effects on society.
-Take 2:
This is a great take on a great song that features a lot more in common with the original than at first suggested. However, for a song title "Something About England," it does little to evoke visions of 'Ol Blighty." Musicianship and presentation do very little to fail this presentation of the song, but they also do very little to challenge the original vision of the song.
WIN GOES TO:
Joe Strummer. For evoking the misery of living through war and its ensuing gloom. Sure, the grandiose arrangement and presentation of the music helped immensely, but its Strummer's incredibly compelling sense of righteously indignant humanity that imbue this song with its impact and gravitas. Like Amy Rigby before this track, covering this song is thankless and destined to pale in comparison.
FINAL TALLY:
The Clash versus Everyone Else- 3 to 3. It's a dead heat on side one.
Cumulative Tally:
A lot like the final tally.
And now? On to side 2!
-e.m.p.

Monday, August 3, 2009

Breaking Down the Sandinista! Project; pt. 1

"F***ing long, innit?"

-Joe Strummer at the end of the Magnificent Seven












Initially, the idea was to break down Sandinista! and it's tribute, the Sandinista! Project, side versus side and song versus song.

This was mostly due to necessity.

Because, quite simply, there are a few choice words to describe the scope of any project that requires a body to go over thirty six tracks, any number of which are impenetrable to begin with. Those words would be: completely and totally blinkered.

And here I am deciding to do it twice. Again, completely and totally blinkered, right? But there are certain things that you just have to do. Because, being a fan of the Clash is a beautiful and wondrous thing in and unto itself. Like the Who before them, being a fan of the Clash is often more than a passion: it's an effing obligation, man. Because once again, like the Who before them, being a fan of the Clash is being a part of a secret society.

We talk in our own language, where the songs and the albums and the vainglorious anecdotes (apochryphal though they may or may not be) are our secret handshakes and codewords and secret decoder rings. I've actually been at the barbeque, a few of them to be honest, where the hypothetical thunderdome of the Who versus Led Zeppelin came up (for the record, the Who usually wins this one). And I mention this only to put into context how being a fan of the Clash goes beyond the pale of your normal insanity. But, as usual, I must digresss... or this will go nowhere but into visions of the Westway to the world and fedoras and Jackson Pollack...

Really, I could do this all night.

And so, the decision was made to break the albums down and compare them side by side, song versus song. This allowed me the opportunity to re-examine each song in a renewed and objective light. To listen, as it is, as something more than a newbie Clash fan (which I kind of was when I originially bought this album), disappointed and titillated at the same time that this album was not London Calling mk. II.

In that initial listening response, I imagine I wasn't alone.

Additionally, in the process of grouping the songs together, I remembered something so plainly obvious that it became embarassing. I remembered what it felt like to listen to vinyl.

I remembered, for the first time in ages, the sublime perfection with which U2 blended "Bullet the Blue Sky" into "Running to Stand Still" and the anticipation I felt when I used to flip the record over into the opening arpeggio's of "Red Hill Mining Town." I remembered the spirit of '91, in which Pearl Jam and the Red Hot Chili Peppers both delivered incredibly career defining albums, both mixed for vinyl, trapped on cd. They indelibly bled song into song, stopping only for the space in which you would flip the record over (between "Jeremy" and "Oceans" on Ten and "Give It Away" and "Blood Sugar Sex Magic" on, uh... Blood Sugar Sex Magic).

That these artists thought in terms of sides A and B led me to the first revelation of The Sandinista! Project and its namesake for which it was made: Originally, this was a three lp project. That means, three side A's and three side B's.

An act of hubris on the part of the Clash? To be sure. Especially when considering that it was one of those "dinosaur moves" that punk rock was supposed to eliminate altogether. Complicated and messy and beautiful? Also, to be sure.

But what I really realized was that I'd been listening to Sandinista! wrong all along. I'd been listening to it as a double cd. At my worst, I'd mixed it down to a more manageable hip-hop 70 minutes. So, of course, the original article never stood a chance. If, for one reason more than all the others put together, I'd never heard the original article.

Since U2's aforementioned Joshua Tree, tracklisting has become a formulaic excercise in record making. Like U2 before them, most artists these days frontload their albums, making sure that it's impossible to stop the record for at least the first three songs. Until ambivalence sets in, anyhow.

But this, Sandinista! is something different altogether. Viewing it as six songs by six sides, what seemed like dubious tracklisting instantly became more understandable. The artist's vision opened up and revealed itself to me.

By breaking the work down into two wholes as opposed to the original three, the vision of the artist became difficult, muddy and unsympathetic. Grouping that work back into sides A and B, as opposed to disc 1 and 2, restores the original balance even if just a little.

Which is completely necessary when dealing with 36 songs. Twice.

Armed with this revelation, Sandinista! has already become less daunting and less of a taxing prospect. Now, its more of a beautiful proposition, wide open for interpretation and discovery.

With that in mind, here's the docket for Sandinista! and its tribute:

DISC ONE:
Side A.
-the Magnificent Seven
-Hitsville U.K.
-Junco Partner
-Ivan Meets G.I.Joe
-the Leader
-Something About England

Side B.
-Rebel Waltz
-Look Here
-The Crooked Beat
-Somebody Got Murdered
-One More Time
-One More Dub

***with the inclusion of "One More Dub" at the end here, this is obviously the safest of the three lp's. While not necessarily a barn burner of a charting record, this lp provides the safest and most reliable of songwriting on all three records. "One More Dub" is, at most, like the bonus remix track on most marketable records these days. Back then, they dubbed. Now, we remix.
Tomatoe... Tomahtoe...


DISC TWO:
Side A.
-Lightning Strikes (Not Once but Twice)
-Up In Heaven (Not Only Here)
-Corner Soul
-Let's Go Crazy
-If Music Could Talk
-The Sound of Sinners

Side B.
-Police on My Back
-Midnight Log
-The Equalizer
-The Call Up
-Washington Bullets
-Broadway

***In modern marketing terms, this would be a b-sides and rarities sorta disc. Most likely, a collection of oddities featuring songs as strong as most of their singles but lacking the cohesion to be included in the main event. But really, most of my favorite songs are on this disc and they feature the Clash stretching out at their craziest.


DISC THREE:
Side A.
-Lose This Skin
-Charlie Don't Surf
-Mensforth Hill
-Junkie Slip
-Kingston Advice
-The Street Parade

Side B.
-Version City
-Living in Fame
-Silicone on Sapphire
-Version Pardner
-Career Opportunities
-Shepherds Delight

***Again, in modern marketing terms, this would be the remix disc that the record company would trot out in order to get you to buy the record for... the third time. Half lazy, half inspired remixes? Check. Haphazard arrangements that showed more forethough put into the drug of choice? Check.... But don't be fooled. There is some crazy brilliant stuff on this lp. Its just hard to find because so much of it is just so... crazy.



Alright, now that we've mapped out the genome of this monster, let's get on to the actuall reviewin', yeah?

Monday, July 27, 2009

Reserving the Right to Make Mistakes



(speaking of mistakes, bear with me- blogger has apparently decided that me using anything like line breaks or indentations is not allowed. sorry.)




Reserving the right to make mistakes is one of the biggest principles I hold dear. Sincerely, I really mean that. Because no one on this planet can claim infallibility or perfection. And the fact that we still strive to be something larger than the random moments we string together is honey on the tongue to me.





In that process, however, sometimes mistakes get made. Mistakes made in such spectacular and ambitious gestures that there hasn't been a scale invented yet to measure it. Not even by the Canadians, and they use the metric system. But in the hubris of those mistakes, sometimes, we also get moments of unimaginable beauty. Contrary, messy and complicated these moments may be, but a real beauty to behold nonetheless.





And I love these moments because they are quite often the most sincere and real that you'll ever get. And honestly? I'm often relieved to see that someone has the balls to fail on such spectacular scales. That someone is willing to fail in the name of taking life, art and everything in between farther, man.






Which brings me to tonights subject: The Sandinista! Project.




It's a track by track tribute album devoted to Sandinista! by the Clash. Why Sandinista!, you ask. Why indeed?






First off, let me say that at least the Clash were willing to fail. The closest U2 ever came was climbing out of a lemon. Which is not to say that U2 has never taken risks. Just never as blinkeringly straighforward as the Clash. That they've succeeded may be the Clash's biggest success... Because somebody learned their lessons well. But I digress.






Sandinista! was neither the revolutionary album that London Calling was nor was it the pop radio rope-a- dope that became Combat Rock. No. Sandinista! is the problematic record in an otherwise brilliant back catalog full of classic albums. In three lp's (that means six sides of vinyl, do the math), the Clash managed to not only make no decisions at all, they managed to make all the decisions at once. The album veers wildly from their love of dub and reggae to motown and rockabilly. Refusing to make a soul record or a dub record or a straight ahead rock record, they instead opted to make all of the records at once. One can imagine the band playing as fast as the engineers could put the tapes on reel, pausing only every once in a while to get St. Joe Strummer out of his "spliff bunker."






Plainly said, the album is a big hot sticky mess. And problematic for almost all of its fans. It's that friend who laughs out to loud at all the wrong jokes. You don't know why you love it, but you do.

Which is why someone actually had the gall to put together a track by track tribute album for it.


In it's own way, this should be a helluva hot sticky mess.




And I'm gonna review it, break it down, track by track to see how it stacks up. And I hope you're here to see it. Because, I think, the only way to do this proper is by reviewing it against the original article, track by track.

So here's the plan, Stan. Six sides of six songs each. I'm going to review side 1, track versus track. Then side 2 and so on.





It'll be my own little Sandinista Project. But nowhere near as beautiful as the original objects.
Be well. Take care of each other.

-e.m.

Sunday, July 19, 2009

rudi, a message to you (a personal note)

Actually, this message goes out to Cody more than anyone because he's been the first to call shenenigans on me.

So... yeah. Not a lot of updateage going on here as of late. So first off, apologies to anyone and everyone who has stopped by as of late to check in and see new material. I can see that you're out there. Thanks for stopping by. I hope to have a lot of new material up in the beginning of August if not sooner.

Truthfully, however, life has been busy as Tyler and I have worked pretty diligently to get a rough draft of our novel done. The work for me was pretty intense as I wrote myself into a corner or two and failed to discuss it with anyone. The moment I did, Tyler set me straight and work began again in earnest.

And so it happents that the stone has been lifted from the quarry. Now, Tyler will chisel it into some sort of magnificent statue. I, most likely, will just draw funny mustaches and anatomically incorrect doodles. So, fingers crossed, we'll have a draft to submit to all the right people very soon. The day will come, soon enough, that we'll all be begging you to buy a copy of it. It will be called This is Not a Love Song. I think it's gonna be hhhaawwwt. We hope you dig it.

Since finishing my portion of the roughie, I've also started writing a new piece. It's short and I hope to find a home for it. More details on that will be forthcoming soon enough, one way or the other. Who knows, I might even let you read it, yeah?

Also, work should begin on Pike St.'s Radio Silence. Yes. It's been two years since I worked on it in earnest. See a few paragraphs ago. The part about writing a novel. But yeah, here's hoping that Raf and I can get back in there soon and turn the mutha out. As I've recently stopped smoking, it's been a real trip finding out where my new voice is.

As for Ronin Rock?

I hope to have new posts up soon detailing the greatness that I've seen lately. Namely, No Doubt's re-introduction to America and Third Eye Blind reigning supreme at the Sunshine. Probably a few stray thoughts about the passing of MJ and possibly, maybe, I hope, a guest blogger or two.

Finally, one last reason (or rationalization) as to why the long silence. Finishing the rough draft of the album has been a great experience. I've literally grown to a place where I just feel better when I'm writing. Looking at this year's output on music, in itself, has been a great experiment. To see where my ability is in terms of writing music journalism, to see where my failing's and my successes are... It's been fun.

But it dawned on me over the last few shows that I've seen that I can offer better writing if I take it in a more personal direction and adhere just a little less to the parameters of typical music journalism. This is a shift that I think will take a little getting used to and I didn't want to just jump into it as I was finishing a much larger body of work. So please, come back, check it out, lemmeno what you think.

Thanks for reading.

Tripping the night fantastic-
e.m.pennington

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

i swear i'm not jumping the gun here

but i'm really excited about this as the light is starting to creep in from the end of the tunnel. anyone who doesn't get this post... will. really soon. nonetheless, your bitchin' mixtape for pennington's half.

this is not a love song by annetenna
you only live once by the strokes
photograph by the verve pipe
found a job by the talking heads
johnny appleseed by joe strummer and the mescaleroes
she just happened by the mighty mighty bosstones
glamorous indie rock and roll by the killers
debaser by the pixies
myxomatosis(judge jury & executioner) by radiohead
let it dive by ...and you will know us by the trail of dead
bonnie brae by the twilight singers
ooh la la by goldfrapp
here it goes again by ok go
village idiots by catatonia
the righteous & the wicked by the red hot chili peppers
so much for the afterglow by everclear
all my friends by lcd soundsystem
problems & bigger ones by harvey danger
stuck between stations by the holdsteady
new routine by fountains of wayne
naked in the city again by hot hot heat
float on by modest mouse


ok... looking at this, i realize this is an impossibly hip list of songs that maybe only seany will appreciate. but i swear it's all great.

ciao.

Thursday, May 21, 2009

M Ward at the Sunshine Theater, Albuquerque 20 April 2009

"He knows one of our songs!"

And thus the story is told by one half of the Watson Twins as to how they met M Ward. The end result being their presence here in Albuquerque opening for him. The song in question is called "Southern Manners." Ripping into it with laid back ease and laden with soul and blues, they let their harmonies plead gently but intensely over the top of the song.

During the course of their set, they switch off on guitar duty with the other doing either percussion and/or backing vocals. It leads one to interesting questions over division of labor. They keep their set spare and minimal, only employing a keyboard player to keep up with them. The rest is kept pared down to guitar, melody and harmony with an occasional stab of small percussion like tamborine.

The effects, instantly both haunting and soothing, speak for themselves. Having provided the Duke City with enough peaceful vibes to soothe a herd of angry elephants, they thank the audience as they leave us to wait for M Ward.

Not long after, Ward takes to the stage in soft, subdued lighting which instantly renders him unrecognizable and evokes thoughts of him solely as "Him" from She and Him fame. The second guitarist runs a steady rhythm on acoustic as Ward tosses off one hot bluesy lick after another. Finishing the song, Ward starts to sing "I want it all" as the light kicks up, but just a little. He leads the band into a rambling blues number that shuffles and swaggers with the most rollicking of folk flavor. He sets the tone early by becoming a grab bag of disparate old school flavors.

Keeping the shuffle but opting for more force, the band kicks into the next song with a definite Bo Diddley beat. Preferring business to foreplay, Ward's band has now launched into three songs with very little time taken up in between. By the start of the fourth, though, Ward finally says hi to Albuquerque as he dives into a ditty somewhere between Charlie Daniels, Social D and the Beach Boys. He's not vintage so much as he is what vintage was coined to cover up: thrift store. His reach becomes more eclectic with each song selection.

The whole time, he belts out rugged, throaty vocals that shouldn't work. Not only do they work, but once you've heard them, you can't imagine them any other way. His voice rings out like a time warp transmission, echoing messages from the past through vintage speakers that distort the sound as they're unable to contain what pours out of them. In this way, his voice is perfectly suited to the music he plays.

When digging into a poppier, more contemporary vein, Ward lets the drummer take over as the bass drum starts to throb with the opening salvo of "Never Had Nobody Like You." Ward sings about seeing the dark side of the moon with a deft touch of contrition but more of a sly wink. As he moves into the next song, Ward finally tilts his hand for those that are watching. Played by any other band, the song would be pure rockabilly, but Ward deftly weaves in and out of genres like a musicologist David Bowie, chameolonically shifting from musical folklore to folklore.

The band slows the pace down a bit as Ward plays his first ballad of the evening. It comes out atmospheric and bluesy as Ward takes his time to really tease out leads. Keeping with this pace, Ward sits at the piano and lets his band do the heavy lifting for another slow burn ballad. A girl somewhere in the audience screams out for the song "Chinese Translation."

Ward stops and lookes to the audience with more self assuredness than most people have in a lifetime. "That will come soon enough," he gently responds, "First, I thought I'd play a few other songs until we get to that one." The audience cheers in approval as Ward has won them over with what is (now) obviously not a shy demeanor.

The band proceeds to take an Appalachian love song and turn it into an extended jam tinged with psychedelia. Upon completion, Ward and his band decide to stretch out as the drummer plays a simple four to the floor beat for the next few songs and the band rocks out accordingly. I always seem to hear a lot about the "new Nashville." I can't imagine it sounds anything like this and it makes me sad as Ward rips out another lead from his bag of vintage, this one somewhere between surf and bluegrass.

The band continues to rip into one style to the next as they go from power chord country to taking on Chuck Berry's over annunciated brand of blues with "Roll Over, Beethoven." A great way to end the normal set, really.

Returning to the stage, the bands dives straight into a honkytonk tornado before immediately launching into their heaviest number yet, courtesy of Ward's hammering piano skills. A style, of course, borrowed from the original killer, Jerry Lee Lewis. Standing up bars before the song is over, Ward bows to the audience and leaves just as anonymously as he arrived.

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

SXSW: the Hold Steady at Club DeVille

Worries persist as to whether or not we're going to be able to get in to see the Hold Steady at the Mohawk. Obviously, since we're without wristbands, the evening ahead could be hardy work. So we decide to start the day, at four p.m., in the dining room at Stubb's. Having put off nourishment for most of the day, we have nothing but barbecue on our minds. We eat in silence as plates of ribs get demolished. Sated (decimated is more like it), we contentedly walk outside to face the afternoon Austin sunshine and the metaphorical music should getting in to see the Hold Steady prove an impossibility.

Then it hits me: the sound of somebody playing the 'Steady's "Sequestered in Memphis" at top volume. I hum along as I think about how excited somebody must be to be playing it so early in the evening. Suddenly, the realization drops in on me: could that actually be the band playing?

Hurriedly, we wander over to a tented parking lot and peer through the chain link fence. Yes, indeedy, it would seem I'm watching the one band I took on faith was going to be here at SXSW this year. We watch through the fence for a song or two when Tyler nudges my arm. I turn to see that there is no line to get in. And miracle of all miracles, the show is free.

We enter the venue after one of us argues with some poor girl handing out promotional materials for Saucony. Not to sound defensive, but she did call us losers. I laugh at the whole experience and start inching my way towards the stage. The band plays a handful of older songs that I'm not yet familiar with as well as perennial live favorites like "Party Pit" and "Stuck Between Stations."

Craig Finn is all jittery and spastic nerves as he veers between singing and hitting those Joe Strummer chords on the guitar that he seems to so rarely use. His face seems to be torn between the emotions of intense euphorical joy and being completely overwhelmed at the enormity of it all.

Tad Kubler, the heavy metal guitarist stuck in a Springsteen band, looks different than I expected. In old photos, he looks doughy and bookish, as though he's entirely succumbed to middle age spread and its mentality. On stage, he is a lean rock and roll animal, adorned in a hip black polo with white trim. His arms, covered in rock ink, bash out lean heavy riffs while Finn does his best to preach to the choir.

On the opposite side of the stage, Galen Polivka and Franz Nicolay hold their own court. Polivka just bobs around as he holds the beat down for the rest of the band. In a few hours, I'll watch him blow out his bass amp at the Mohawk. He'll fidget with it for a few numbers before switching it out altogether for a different amp. Then he'll spend the rest of the evening drinking Lone Star tall boys and placing them on top of a sign on the amp. The sign will read "No Drinks Here!"

Nicolay, at both shows, jumps up and down in a furious pogo as he hits the keys with one hand. Refusing to be your typical keyboard player, he's dressed to the tee in a sharp white three piece suit and proves to be just as dynamic as their singer. That and he rocks a handlebar mustache. Hard to argue with that.

Finn prowls the stage, screaming and twitching and singing to audience- half the time without the mic. His joy is uncontainable as he encourages the audience to clap and sing along. It's great to hear so many voices sing "I'm gonna walk around and drink some more." Objectively, it's a sad line that speaks to the lost. Here, however, it's truly inspiring to hear the audience carry the song.

When it comes time to toast "St. Joe Strummer," Finn screams at the audience to "get 'em up!" Obligingly, a hundred fists pump up and down in unison to the beat. In this light, it's obvious that Finn and his crew are exactly where they belong: fans of the music preaching to their choir. The only difference between the band and their fans being the stage, everyone leaves with their faith renewed in this moment of pure rock and roll bliss.



your bitchin' mixtape for the hold steady at the mohawk:*

Positive Jam

Constructive Summer

unknown song

Sequestered in Memphis

Multitude of Casualties

Stevie Nix

One for the Cutters

Stuck Between Stations

Massive Nights

Party Pit

You Can Make Him Like You

Your Hoodrat Friend

Stay Positive

Southtown Girls

Slapped Actress

unknown song/Killer Parties


*as always, unknown songs should be replaced by your favorites.

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

SXSW: James Harries with Nellie McKay

There's a little amount of anxiety present as we shuffle into line at St. David's. After all, as completely unaware as we were the previous night, we can't help but appreciate the cosmic sense of irony at starting our evening in a church. For the second evening in a row.

Initially, it's hard not to feel like we got a bit of the shaft. We came for Nellie McKay. But she's being billed as a special guest to this James Harries guy. Whoodat?

He stands at the mic with an acoustic guitar in hand and emotes his way through a few songs. His voice is strong and resonant. His songs take on a haunting quality that lazy journalists would compare to Jeff Buckley. But that's too easy. And too obvious given the singer's disheveled hair.

Still, at moments, it seems apt as when the singer brings his voice to a whisper, it's clear that he doesn't need the mic. He wrings every emotional atom possible out of every sung syllable. He changes his range at the drop of a dime and goes from hushedly quiet to an earth shattering vibrato. Clearly, Jeff Buckley would be proud. As would other other obvious comparisons like Thom Yorke and Chris Cornell. After just a few numbers, Mr. Harries hurries off the stage. This can only mean one thing: It's McKay time.

Nellie McKay enters the room to thunderous applause, nods humbly and sits down at the piano. Teasing chords out of it before ripping into the meat of the song, she sings about being secondhand and namechecks Joe the Plumber, a man she claims to "abhor." With no pause given or warranted, she launches into the next song with a little more sultry smokiness and a lot less whimsy.

Clearly, this audience loves her as they thunderously applaud. She strums the keys of her piano with all the laconic ease of a functionally alcoholic lounge singer: effortless and aloof. Taking this aloofness to another level, she rambles on through a monologue that takes on an air of pure ditz. She does it so well, one wonders if it's an act at all. Maybe it's just the way she introduces the song, "Ghost of Yesterdays."

Interestingly, this audience that loves her so seems to be filled with artists from the festival as noted by the numerous wrists sporting green artists wristbands. Even Franz Nicolay from the Hold Steady will be spotted after the show as the audience peters out.

Playing what seems to be a pastiche of a character of hers, she finishes one of her songs played in a mousy voice. Using the same voice, she follows up by announcing the next number as one of her angriest. It's an announcement hard to take in that tiny little voice. Tearing into the song at about a million words per second, she (in her own words) fucks up the solo, announces it, does a dance and rips right back into the song without missing a beat. The audience is delighted.

She switches up her cutesiness by taking a moment to play a ukulele song but before long she is back at the ivories. She announces the next three songs as one before making a playful comment about learning cliches from cowboys. Combined, the next three songs are played with a quiet glee and sophistication that would place her somewhere just a little more aloof than contempororaries like Regina Spektor. Never one to let the playful moment go by, she sings a quick song about scat before launching into a quick cover/parody (it's hard to tell) of Patsy Cline's "Walking After Midnight."

When she stops playing for laughs and rips loose, her voice, at times intentionally thin and mousey, becomes a real force to behold. Of course, watching her play for laughs is every bit its own joy to behold.

Monday, May 18, 2009

Apologies

Apologies to everyone. I've been slacking in my own bloggage due to a variety of circumstances. Most of which make for poor excuses and are no excuse for the lack of activity here.

So... Over the next week, I'll be doing my best to post all the stuff that I've written and just failed to put up here.

Starting with a dump of all the South by Southwest reviews. Then MWard. In the next few weeks, we can hope to see accounts of upcoming shows like No Doubt and Third Eye Blind.

So, hope you're still out there cause I'm still here.

Additionally, at the prodding of my father, I changed the look around a bit to make easier to read. Any thoughts? Do we look pretty?

Monday, March 30, 2009

SXSW: Fastball at Aces

Granted, Fastball are a local act, but the audience is jazzed to see them all the same. And why not? There's a tendency to use SXSW as a launching pad for all the new exciting things you'll be listening to in the hot summer funtime.

If Fastball's opening number is any indication of the comeback they're hoping to make, then they're certainly going to do it with gusto, Thin Lizzy guitar solos and all. They bring with them to the stage a certain sense of professionalism as evidenced their use of the most effective opening number and the minutes spent tuning beforehand.

Tellingly, they slink into their second song with a little more swagger and a little less force. Due to sound problems, they've had to abandon any use of their keyboard and relegated it as a prop leaning against the wall in the background. Still, one wonders what sort of sublime beauty is going to be missed as a result during the quieter moments.

As a resounding answer, they begin to play "Out of My Head," probably their second biggest single. Keyboard or no, they are determined not to be stopped as the lead guitarist pulls off a sweltering solo. Having dispenced all keyboard doubts, they roll right on into funkier territory as they play their next song with just a hint of cheekiness. They may be the band with the worst haircuts, but tonight they are owning the moment as they slip from song to song, sometimes even seguing from one to the next.

Placed on a stage with a bar between them and the audience, the band takes a moment to chat up the bartenders and lose all momentum. Theis seems to work for them, however, as the next song smolders a little before taking off into their more familiar uptempo Fastball territory. Once familiar footing is achieved, they take it back to really familiar territory.

Opening the next song, the drummer fidgets with his kit as the technical difficulties are not quite finished for the evening. The lead guitarist, decked out in his leather jacket and some really nice spats, takes the moment to connect with the audience as he strums the opening chords of their once ubiquitous single, "The Way." All this despite the rest of the band's concerns over how much time they have left. With just this last song to go, they start out harmoniously before shifting from crunchy power chords to ambient solo time. Teasing out the end of the song for all they can, they end as they began: taking the moment for all its worth without excess.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Prepare Soul for Departure pt. 2: Thou Shalt Not Always Necessarily Kill

Sadly, it looks as though thous shalt not always kill. Dan Le Sac vs. Scroobius Pip are the first casualties of the South By SouthWest Music Conference as it's already been announced that Mssr. Le Sac is waylaid by illness and won't make it stateside.

Scroobius Pip, of course, will be hosting some event or another but, sadly, no music. Were the Holdsteady not playing, I'd be destitute, devastated and getting ready to John Berryman myself if I could only find a bridge and a blizzard. Still, I consider going just for the majestic sight of Pip's beard.

I imagine myself as that woman in the bible: so lonely, so desparate... so convinced of JC's power that she's satisfied just to touch the hem of his garment. Jesus, touched by her faith, grants her his grace.

Possibly. Maybe... If I touch Scroobius' beard, I, too, can be loquacious?

Incandescent?

English?

Possibly?

Maybe?

I ponder this before ordering another whiskey.

prepare soul for departure part 1

It's time. Fog has crippled the Houston airport. My flight's been cancelled. I'm funneled to an earlier flight and placed next to an older gentleman incapable of using words like "excuse me" or "please." Common usage may or may include phrases like, "Excuse me, I believe your sitting in my seat." i wonder if this is a tactic espoused by the Ted Turner biography that his clumsy middle management hands thumb through so voraciously.

I imagine him as one of those bonus recipients that our great new presidenet Obama is so publicly shaming right now. I imagine a whole section of the plane devoted to him and his ilk. Coach. 1st class. Asshat. He's grossly impatient. I hear him mention a board meeting in Houston. Somehow, being brusque will get us there faster.

I want to turn to him and say, "Dude. Sir. I realize that you feel like you're a very important person and all. But. Seriously. Are you trying to make this flight feel eight hours longer?"

I imagine his stunned reaction as someone actually tells him face to face, "Sort your shit out. Dude. Sir."

That's right, mofo. It's e.m.pennington, word ronin extraordinaire versus your blood pressure medication.

And then I realize, as we are inflight to Houston to Austin for South By SouthWest, that the adventure is only beginning.

Wheee!

Monday, March 16, 2009

Ronin Rock Gets to the Heart of the Matter

The heart of the music is more like it. This week I will be taking off for the fair city of Austin, Texas where I will be indulging in the annual South by Southwest Music Conference. For those of you in the know, of course, its SXSW and will be referred to as such from now on.

There are really only two bands that I wanted to see this year: Gogol Bordello and the Holdsteady. Having gotten my Gogol in, its time for some Holdsteady. Which I hope to catch in Austin. Additional highlights will hopefully include Dan LeSac vs. Scroobius Pip, Third Eye Blind and Okkervelle River. Its a real exciting time for me.

Thanks go out to E and Travis for making this happen (especially E for helping me with so much beforehand and during), Tyler for being my partner in crime, Vic and her husband for putting up with us and Lauren for much of the same. If I can get my cellular service to stop being failure, I might even get to twitter it at pennifuzzbox@twitter.com. High hopes. I know. But you never do know, really.

Thanks for being here. Hope to have fun exciting stuff to bring back to you all.

Floating On with Modest Mouse at the Sunshine Theatre 26 February 2009

Typically, you hear an air raid siren, it’s time to run. That’s when trouble starts. Tonight however, is different because it signals that Modest Mouse has taken the stage. Isaac Brock, clad in the obligatory Pacific Northwestern garb of jeans, t-shirt and flannel, takes to the moment to announce, "Hey, we’re the rock band!" Without another word, the band launches into Good News’ "Satin in a Coffin." The audience sings along to every word.

When Modest Mouse first announced itself to the world at large with their epic bad time sing along "Float On," it seemed as though the rock and roll deadpool gained a new candidate in Brock. In interviews he came off as sullen and aloof. And those were the interviews where Brock wasn’t dogged by (if not completely indulging in) the constant rumors of drunken mania and possible psychosis in a reputation he couldn’t or didn’t seem to want to shake. Coupled with the hushed and sprawling majesty of Modest Mouse’s aptly titled Good News for People who Love Bad News, one could be forgiven for expecting the worst.

With the release of their follow up, We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank, a new Modest Mouse emerged. Paired with Johnny Marr (of Smith’s fame), the new album was muscular and focused where its predecessor was epic and lush. Brock also appeared more focused in the media, as though he was taking his place in the rock pantheon seriously. Still, Brock has often come off as a songwriter at war with himself. He knows how to write the songs with the catchy melodies but never actually seems to indulge in them.Tonight, as the lights dimmed and the crowd chanted the band’s name in anticipation, the question lingered: which Brock was going to show up?

Fans concerned with whether or not the band sold out to the mainstream are almost instantly gratified as the band steamrolls into a song from their earlier indie catalog. Taking care of their newer fans, they shift just as quickly into "Dashboard," the first single from their last album.

While the band has always centered around Brock, drummer Jeremiah Green and bassist Eric Judy, there is no doubt that Brock is the band’s super-ego. The band has done their best to set up the stage to accommodate the three of them plus another guitar player (who is not Johnny Marr), a keyboard player and a percussionist. Still, Brock is consistently just a little more well lit than the others. It’s a part of being the singer songwriter and Brock seems to accept it just a little grudgingly.

In fact, Brock does very little to promote the idea of the lead singer as rock god. He spends very little time indulging in stage banter and when he does, it’s often to talk about the constant tuning he’ll do over the course of the evening. It’s almost as if he’s bantering to the soundguy. In fact, the whole band seems oblivious to the audience’s presence as they gravitate towards one another in the more orgasmic parts of their set. The music is where they live and if you want to see a band that lives only for the music, you came to the right show.

Brock, in particular, does his best impression of a live wire dangling on the floor. Starting with the first song of the show, he often sings into a separate mike, rigged to sound like a bullhorn, as though his life depends on it. At one point during the evening, he’ll even serenade the pickups on his guitar.

Slowing the pace of the show down a little, the band plays "Missed the Boat," We Were Dead’s answer to "Float On. Flaunting the sort of musical proficiency that will pervade the evening, bassist Eric Judy switches to acoustic guitar as the keyboard player moves to an upright bass. Afterwards, Brock indulges one of his few rock star moments of the show and implores the audience to show him their tits. The male audience, that is. Of course, the guys comply.

Moving onto "Wild Pack of Family Dogs" and "the View," Brock finally seems to be warming up to the audience. Then he indulges in the band’s other rock star moment of the evening.
Halting the band midway through "Paper Thin Walls," he declares, "It’s kind of a bullshit song. The second half is exactly the same as the first. You just play it twice." He asks the audience if they want to hear it again and they indulge him. Although it’s obviously a showbiz stunt (and another helping of self deprecation), the band stops and starts the song with an admirable proficiency.

As the band rips through "Bukowski" and another old school jam lost on fans of their major label catalog, the audience has got to be getting antsy in anticipation of "that song." That song that showed up on Guitar Hero even. Will "Float On" be the rousing bar singalong originally promised when it was first released as a single? The band pays no mind to these sorts of thoughts as they rip into another old school number with a muscular riff and a juicy chorus before taking their encore break.

Returning to the stage, the percussionist starts off by tapping some bongos. As the band suddenly lifts into "Float On," the sing along is hardly disappointing as everyone raises their voices. While it should be inspiring to see an audience so united in a "moment," it hardly is as Brock seems unwilling to indulge in any more time spent on the song than the original recording allowed. The band provides solace for old school fans as they tear into "Tiny Cities Made of Ashes" and "Cowboy Dan."

Finishing the set with "Spitting venom," Brock turns to the audience to apologize. "We’d like to play more," he admonishes the audience, "But we have to finish by a certain time here." Possibly an inference to a last minute venue and time change for the show, it seems more likely that an apology for having to cut short a band exactly where it wants to be. Playing its music.



your bitchin' mixtape
(Substitute the songs I didn't recognize for your favorites that they missed. Personally, I'll be putting "Light It Up" in there.)

Satin in a Coffin
unknown song
Dashboard
Black Cadillacs
the Good Times are Killing Me
3rd Planet
Invisible
unknown song
Missed the Boat
Wild Pack of Family Dogs
The View
Paper Thin Walls
Bukowski
unknown song
unknown song
encore break
Float On
Tiny Cities Made of Ashes
Cowboy Dan
Spitting Venom

Monday, January 26, 2009

A Brilliant Thriller to Say the Least

According to Rollingstone.com, talks are underway to bring Michael Jackson's Thriller to the stage. To which I say: Brilliant!

What's not to love? There be zombies, werewolves and a stunningly nubile young woman at the heart of it all.

So, without further delay, here are my ideas on how to make it not suck:

1)Use all the music from Thriller. It's one of the best albums ever. Ever. Justin Timberlake goes to bed dreaming about how to remake this album. To say that the producers would be sitting on an embarassment of riches is an understatement. And any writer who really just wants to tell a great story could find a way to make it work.

2)Along those lines, the story is simple. It's a boy who versus the world sort of story but a boy versus himself story as well. Boy meets girl. Boy has to compete with other boys for her affection. But boy also has to control the beast within or all is lost.

3)Thinking about putting new music in to pad the time of the piece? That's dicey. MJ has a huge catalog of great music to dig from, so I'd start there. But if you're gonna produce new music, go to the source. Get MJ. Get Quincy Jones. See what they can do before exploring any other options.

4)Three words: Zombies, Zombies, ZOMBIES. Man!

Monday, January 19, 2009

sure, it smells like teen spirit, but what is it really?

Yeah. I'm a thirty year old, grown man who likes to write about pop music. Not necessarily the Michael Jackson, Justin Timberlake vein of pop music (which is not without its validity), but pop music nonetheless. Pop music that's simply an artist following their own vision, even if that vision means *gasp!* being accessible to normal people. People who like to sing along.

Music is a young man's game. No doubt about it. Everybody from Little Richard right on up to My Chemical Romance has started their careers writing music about being young and, more often than not, disenfranchised. What would the Beatles have been without the mass hysteria of the screaming young masses and the global parental freakout that followed? Great damn songwriters, really. But sometimes it's hard to see past those moptops or the drugs.

Somewhere after that magical age of twenty five (i.e. not a college freshman but really shining off adulthood), you have to acknowledge that your taste in music is probably veering far off the course of the musical mainstream. And that, in its own way, is a golden thing. No longer bound by the tastemakers of modern corporate (or should I say conglomerate) radio, you're free to find your real muse. You're free to find music that is what it is, as opposed to music that plays like a pantomime of teenage rebellion and disenfranchizement. You're free to find yourself somewhere that is, preferably, far away from Nickleback.

And that's where I found LCD Soundsystem and their wonderful album, Sound of Silver. Initially, I'd read about them in a glowing write up at Slate.com where the author of the article raved about the song "All My Friends." An anthem for the aging disenfranchised, "All My Friends" sang about what it was like to grow up: putting on the favorite albums of your youth, staying up way too late, regretting the things that you said and realizing that you don't do it nearly often enough. Poignant, moving and funny, its underlined by an unalarming sense of dread as opposed to the sunny, cheerier feelings invoked by most summer time pop.

I was twenty eight when I found this. Certainly, the chorus of "You spend the first five years trying to get with the plan and the next five years trying to be with your friends again" certainly hit me as I watched friends move away, settle down into careers/relationships or all of the above. I couldn't help but feel like I'd found the self help seminar I'd always needed. I should be with my friends tonight. Dammit!

My girlfriend at the time, in one of her typical and frequent outbursts of kindness, bought the album for me. Possibly because she was tired of me cranking Franz Ferdinand's cover and raving that it was so New Order! What I found inside that cd case was nothing short of a musical leviathan in my life. Filled to the brim with songs of melancholic glee, it touched on the empty promises of nostalgia ("Sound of Silver"), death ("Someone Great") and even such adultly concerns as gentrification ("New York, I Love You"). I felt like I'd even found my anthem as a pub crawling twenty something in the song "North American Scum." Screw the Lost Boys. I'm part of the Lost Generation and we drink our way in.

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

super taranta-ta! at the 9:30 club with gogol bordello

Shirtless, sweaty and sporting more facial than I've accumulated in my entire life, Gogol Bordello frontman Eugene Hutz sighed as he prepared to drop some knowledge on his faithful audience.

"The economy is down," he frowned and huffed, "But good music is up."

With that he shrugged his shoulders and blitzed into another fierce gypsy punk masterpiece with his band. The audience, ever faithful and devoted, jumped, danced and slammed along as they did to every number the band played that night. One would never have known to look at them as the doors opened earlier that evening.

Congregated towards the front of the stage, the hardcore fans waited patiently for the band to take the stage. Looking around the rest of the club, one could find everything from teenyboppers decked out in the latest mall wear to club kids resembling those of the ska-daze of yore. Even the demographic of a certain age were going to be accounted for as evidenced by the guy to my right discussing his organic diet with his date. Looking to the back of the club, one could even find the sound guy, looking bored in his fuzzy Elmer Fudd headwear.

Eventually, a dj takes the stage and starts to mix dub for the patient and the faithful. The audience mills about in some sort of half appreciation. Because tonight is Gogol Bordello's night and they create their own unique brand of ruckus; a heady dub that owes as much to the Clash as it does traditional Romany music. Most of the audience seems curious, at best. But if Gogol Bordello's reputation for chaotic and unpredictable live shows is to be believed, one can rest assured, that won't last long.

And as the dj leaves the stage, one can feel the audience start to catalyze. It's like the tension on a rubber band as its strained to its breaking point. Draped over the stage is a large Gogol Bordello banner adorned with the black and yellow logo of a slingshot and its hard to imagine a better metaphor for this increasingly impatient audience: they need to shoot and they need to shoot now.

Fortunately, Eugene Hutz (clad in a Ramones 3/4 tee) and Gogol Bordello takes the stage, acknowledges the audience and the proceeds to rip directly into Sally, the opener from their first album, Gypsy Punk. Nothing less than completely and totally psyched, the audience starts to dance as Hutz starts with his scat and is then followed in by the violin and guitar work. What follows can be described as nothing less than a molotov cocktail of a show. The audience sings along with every chorus, pogoing and slamming as they go. Refusing to lose momentum, the band rips into Not a Crime as they keep the audience moving like an unstable gas molecule.

The danger of forcing Gogol Bordello upon those closest to you is one of misconception; that somehow Eugene Hutz' thick Ukranian brogue and lunatic demeanor is played up for commodity, for gimmick. But watching this band play live should allay all those fears. For those that only know Hutz as that guy from Everything is Illuminated or that guy that hangs out with Madonna, have no doubt, this is a BAND. And what a band they are.

There is, of course, the typical constraints of a modern rock band: the singer with his guitar, the underappreciated guitarist off to the side working dutifully as he lays down the real monster riffs of the show, the bassist who moves as fluidly as his basslines and the drummer holding it all together in the back. But Gogol Bordello is not a modern rock band. They also keep both a violinist and accordian player who bring the more traditional elements of their music to the band. And then there's the percussionist, a delightful suprise to anyone who hasn't seen the band live. Acting as a true Flava Flav hype man to Hutz' Chuck D, he jumps to the front of the stage to supply backing vocals as well as toasting the audience when the song calls for it. A true showman, one can tell that if he weren't so busy keeping Hutz on his toes, he'd easily be fronting his own band and killing at will. Some are born for the stage and in a strange way, he balances Hutz' goofy aloofness with an indomitable force of will to just have fun, man.

And then there are the dancers. At times, they seem like the most gimmicky aspect of Gogol Bordello but their connection and appreciation for the audience is never in question as they bang their cymbals and drum. In fact, few bands have ever come off as more grateful in front of the crowd. At more than one point, everyone save the drummer could be seen at the front of the stage connecting with the audience.

And how the audience responded in kind. Through every number, they jumped when the song called for it and slammed knowingly as the songs kicked into high gear. They danced when the band decided to bring it down a bit and play the instrumental number Mishto! And by bringing it down, I mean making every ass in the house shake. When the chanting parts of the songs came up, every fist in the house pumped the air as voices shouted along.

Taking the stage for their encore, Hutz appeared in a big fuzzy bear hat as the band strolled through the opening chords of Start Wearing Purple. Teasing the opening of the song (and not for the first time that evening), they stretched it out into one long gypsy punk jam. Eventually tearing into the song, voices carried as everyone in the audience sang along. To finish the evening, they lauched into the opening chords of Think Locally/Fuck Globally, but instead Hutz and his hypeman chose to exchange toasting verses in what eventually became a cover of Pink Floyd's Another Brick in the Wall. With that madness done, they really launched into Think Locally as the audience clapped along with every overpunctuated beat. Whipping up a maelstrom of a ruckus at the end the song, Hutz put his trademark fire bucket on top of his mike and drummed out his own little solo. Building to crescendo, Hutz removed the bucket and held it out over the audience as the band teased out the end of the song. Reaching out to the audience, Hutz mimed the action of picking as he plucked energy from the audience to fill his bucket with. Adding a dash of red wine and the microphone, he ended the show much like his music starts- taking a little bit of everything he likes and shaking, not stirring.

your bitchin' mixtape (setlist)

sally
not a crime
supertheory of supereverything/immigrant punk
dogs were barking
wanderlust king
mishto!
60 revolutions
american wedding
ultimate
tribal connection
santa marinella
oh no?/sally/underdog world strike/forces of victory
Intermission
start wearing purple
? (feat. another brick in the wall)
think locally/fuck globally