Saturday, December 29, 2012

Ten$ion: Is It Real or Is It Die Antwoord?


Initially, listeners were introduced to Die Antwoord with the viral explosion of their 2010 video "Enter the Ninja." The clip veered wildly from wide-eyed aww-shucks bravado to guileless obscenity as lead rapper Ninja seemed both amazed by and stridently convinced of his imminent fame. "This is like, the coolest song I've ever heard in my whole life," he (self-)proclaimed in the song long before anyone else would validate that opinion and yet, he was confident he'd be "all up on the interwebs." Apparently, this was the South African equivalent of keeping it real. Assuming, of course, that you've based your entire identity on stale American hip-hop cliches and lost half of it in translation.

Ultimately, though, the video delivered a lot more than the obvious laughs at Ninja's clueless bluster. In fact, his spot-on pastiche of American gangsterism failed to conceal a gift for deft lyrical dexterity. As evidenced by his rhymework in "Enter the Ninja" and its subsequent album, $0$, there was an obvious talent and ambition at work here. So much so that the cartoonishly excessive nature of Die Antwoord has been repeatedly called into question on the grounds of authenticity. What initially seemed like a joke has blossomed into cult obsession as listeners try to decipher the true nature of the group: is Die Antwoord an elaborate con job or are they South Africa's hip-hop idiot savants?

Inevitably, that persistent scrutiny colored expectations for their latest album, Tension. Would Die Antwoord come out swinging in the hopes of asserting some hardcore credibility? Or would they stand revealed as an hiphop internet fluke? Either way, the pressure was on to replicate their initial success. Luckily for fans, Ten$ion brings us a Die Antwoord that spends less time on the offensive in exchange for just being offensive, grossly cocksure and stupidly aggressive. Which is just to say, really, that Die Antwoord is back with more songs.

It didn't hurt the band's reputation that the last thing they did before releasing the album was alienate their label. Early buzz pointed to creative frictions between the band and Interscope, with the final result being a parting of ways. And while Die Antwoord use the album to take their requisite shots at the label, numerous fans point to the video for "Fok Julle Naaiers" as a breaking point. In particular, they single out it's gay-baiting addendum ("DJ Hi-Tek Rulez") in which DJ Hi-Tek sets a new benchmark for homophobic rants in little more than a minute and a half.

Or does he?

Like everything else the group does (mostly just by existing), bystanders were left to wonder- is this shit for real? And even though Die Antwoord are no strangers to courting controversy (see $0$'s "Evil Boy" video for just one example), this went far beyond their usual brand of crass vulgarity. As such, it should surprise no one that the band anticipated the ruckus they were bringing. Pre-emptively, Ninja filmed a quick defense to accompany the video's release.

"For those of you who don't know, DJ Hi-Tek is gay." He shrugged his shoulders. " So there you go." Ninja quickly brushed this "fact" aside, opting instead to take Americans to task for their all too enthusiastic tendencies towards political correctness and the fearful power that imbues words with.

Lost amidst all this noise, however, was the unprecedented act of hiphop history taking place. The real story here was not Die Antwoord's politically incorrect litany of words, nor was it the recasting of DJ Hi-Tek as the homosexual aggressor of all homophobes nightmares. The real news here was not even the outing of DJ Hi-Tek as a homosexual in hip-hop. The real story, the one that everyone overlooked, was that anyone in hip hop willingly came out as homosexual.*

Again, though, the smoke and mirrors that seem to surround Die Antwoord prevail.

The veracity of DJ Hi-Tek's true identity has always been sketchy at best. On record, his voice has never been presented unaltered and visual appearances have been inconsistent with numerous faces being attributed to the name. Listeners could be forgiven for wondering if the DJ even exists, much less if his outing is just another hiphop experiment taking place in Ninja's mad basement.

Regardless of intent, however, the episode revealed a lot more than DJ Hi-Tek's sexual orientation. First, it betrayed a sense of self-awareness that runs much deeper than Die Antwoord's gonzo gangster horndog image allows for. Moreso, it highlighted the conflict at the heart of their commercial existence: Are These Guys for Real?

Die Antwoord has been plagued by questions of authenticity simply because they are so painstakingly spot on in their pastiche of Amercian Youth Gangsterism. Their moves seem far too calculated, their sound is far too commercial and their rhymes are far too capably executed for them to truly be the simple minded lunkhead collective they portray themselves as. They seem neither stupid nor naive enough to actually be as they portray themselves. Which indicates either they've gone native on what was intended as an art project or they've been scamming us wholesale the whole time.

Ten$ion fits nicely into their agenda, whatever it may actually be, by letting the freak flag fly as high as possible. One need look no further than the recent video for "Fatty Boom Boom" as proof. The clip is a parodical view of South Africa, a cheap shot at Lady Gaga and a pisstake of our first world preconceptions. And then there's Yolandi Visser in black face. Filmed in the Hype Williams style via fellow South African maverick Neill Blomkamp, it quickly turns into an explosion of color and is one of the most visually arresting pieces to come out all year. But if American artists were to attempt this, effigies would be burned, boycotts would be enacted. For Die Antwoord, it's simply another day of jumping the shark.

The lunacy of such viral antics have, for the most part, been embraced by their audience and, as of late, come to be expected. Establishing such a crazed identity online would threaten to overwhelm the actual work of most artists, especially in a market experiencing freefall as badly as the recording industry. Instead, it's allowed Die Antwoord to flourish as they fly under the radar of expectation. Critically speaking, they've slipped in like (dare I say it) a ninja.

Looking back at their debut album, $0$, it's obvious now that controversy was just the sizzle of the steak. The album turned out to be an oddly addictive piece of genuinely weird but delicious hip-hop. Additionally, their production values always skewed closer to the populism of club music rather than anything produced by the pantheon of Dre, RZA, Kanye or Timbaland. Ten$ion retains those tendencies, whether it's the opening dubstep of "Never Le Nkemise 1" or the accelerating bridge of "I Fink Yu Freeky."

Further into the album, though, something interesting happens: mainstream American sounds start to creep in. Ninja goes so far as to spell it out when he harkens back to that "feel good gangsta shit" on "So What." What follows is Dre by numbers with a simple but effective piano loop. "Hey Sexy" recalls the Indian spice of Timbaland at the peak of his freak producto powers. No worries, however, Die Antwoord is not selling out. Their madcap gonzo style is still on full display, whether it's the rich bitch theatrics of "Baby's On Fire" or the crudely offensive "U Make a Ninja Wanna Fuck."

Even Die Antwoord's blatant mysogeny is called into question as Yolandi Visser's presence here presents the group as a legitimate triple threat. For all of Ninja's lyrical dexterity, Yolandi answers in kind: she's a spitfire on helium, just as prone to shooting out aggressive rapidfire rhymes as she is to singing the hooks. Trading verses with Ninja in "Fatty Boom Boom," she threatens to "kick you in the teeth, hit you on the head with the mic" and you can't help but feel that she might.

Running roughshod rhymes over each other with bragadocious flare and aggressive charm, Die Antwoord finally reveal themselves for what they truly are: audio graffiti. Like real graffiti, one does not need to understand it to "get" it- one needs only to see it. Bearing witness is the only true validation any art ever gets and to probe deeper only invites madness, or worse, pretense (exhibit A: see the size of this post). For now, bearing witness may be the only sense we'll ever get to make of Die Antwoord.


*yes, i know that frank ocean came out earlier this year. but, truth be known, the bulk of this was written before that. real life obligations put this on the shelf for the better part of this year, so we'll just pretend that i finished it much much earlier. as fer frank, his coming out genuinely suprised me and bully on him for at least sparking conversation.

Saturday, November 10, 2012

Give You the Ghost by Polica


In a year flavored predominantly by hip hop weirdos, female singer songwriters and artists who encompass elements of both, Minneapolis' Polica arrived to spike the punch with ingredients more potent than sweet but subtle enough to pique the listener's attention. Give You the Ghost, possibly the most aptly titled album of the year, resembles more a stir of echoes than a debut album. It's a haunted house of ethereal melodies, a ghostship on ambient seas. It's a sonic salvia, if you will, that connects listeners to some unreachable, great beyond where we dream and where we die.

Chances are, you won't hear a thing this year that's half as mesmerizing.

Musically, the band's sound is an exercise in deceptive simplicity. It markedly lacks the guitar histrionics of typical rock music, opting instead for endless waves of gentle keyboard sounds. Aided and abetted by the dextrous basslines of Chris Bierden, Polica's musical aesthetic is, in all actuality, a polyrhythmic attack powered by the dual drumkits of Ben Ivascu and Drew Christopherson. The end result, executed with easeful finesse, forms an hypnotically effective springboard for the vocal theatrics and effects of singer Channy Leaneagh.

Leaneagh's captivating vocal performance, with all due respect to the rest of the band, is worth the price of admission alone. And while the vocals are autotuned for artistic effect, the grasp of her voice far surpasses the crass reach of a million mediocre hip hop songs. Instantly, it is clear that this is not the autotune Jay-Z was griping about.

Give You the Ghost, however, works as more than an aesthetic allusion to the band's sound. It points in a metaphorical yet very direct way towards the emotional content of the record. No matter how otherworldly the vocals sound, Leaneagh's lyrical concerns betray a woman touched by very real and very human anxieties. Themes of dissolution, confusion, abandonment and discovery abound here. There are numerous contemplations centered on the dutiful and whistful themes of mothers and daughters. There are pointed lingerings on matrimony, tinged with pragmatic sadness at one turn and liberated elation at others.

Leaneagh is a revelation in progress as she sorts through the sadness, longing and fear of her life. The record, functioning much like Hephaestus' forge, breaks down the raw elements of her anxieties and hopes as she is melted into new and more resilient shapes. With every passing track, she emereges more fully realized as both a person and an artist. And while it would be easy for Leanagh to coast on the vast sonic ocean that her band creates around her, make no mistake, her emotionally charged melodies are the turbulence of the tides. The undertow here is a purely vocal one that sucks the listener in and pulls them along for the ride.

Packed with potent melodies and expansive sonic soundscapes, Give You the Ghost brings a currency to the year that has been in suprisingly short supply: beauty. Haunting, emotive, whistful beauty. Fans of Massive Attack, Tricky, Bjork and Portishead should (especially) welcome the album as a throwback to a time when the words trip and hop were used together and without irony. That's right teenyboppers, sad bastard electronic music is back.

tracklist
Amongster
I See My Mother
Violent Games
Dark Star
Form
The Maker
Lay Your Cards Out
Fist, Teeth, Money
Happy Be Fine
Wandering Star
Leading to Death

Track by track, this was probably the record I listened to the most this year. It's stunning in all the best ways that a debut album should be but certain songs inevitably haunt more than others.

"Lay Your Cards Out," "Wandering Star" and "Leading to Death" all exude the perfect mix of Polica- beautiful but defiant in the face of heartbreak. But when Leanaegh sings "I need some time to think about my life without you" in "Happy Be Fine," it's enough to give one fits.

Radio Free Pennington 2012


Nestled somewhere between the last few scraps of Halloween booty and the ever increasing ads for Black Friday, there's a dark nagging feeling. That's right, the year will be over soon and all the things we're supposed to do will quickly fade into the things we forgot only to be washed, rinsed and repeated.

About this time last year, I did my year in review with bullet reviews. Designed as a mental exercise, I wanted to see what happened when I limited myself to smaller word counts. This year, I'm going to try working with larger pieces with an eye toward more expressiveness and larger themes to the music I've spent this year listening to.

We'll see how it goes.

In any event, happy holidays to those of you tuned in, tuning in or just stumbling in by accident.

First up, Give You the Ghost by Polica. I was kidnapped for my bachelor party earlier this year and spent the whole car ride up to Denver announcing that this was the only band I wanted to see this year, chance permitting. Like an asshole, I didn't realize their tour ended in Denver and tickets were mere seats away from me. Thanks, guys.

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

just another apocalyptic love song


this picture was a wedding present from future collaborator tj.

our upcoming project is one i have mentioned before that involves space pirates, space zombies, space pirate zombies, quantum suicide, the kuiper belt and two girls named mary jane and molly. all things being what they are, in my head it still works out as a love story so big we have to destroy and rebuild the universe to do it properly. or, as ed harcourt might put it, it's "an apocalyptic love song."

when i asked tj if there was anything he wanted to draw, he replied with "smoke and explosions." ...well, jeepers, if you gotta twist my arm.

it's currently scribbled into all my various notebooks as revolver but i think i'm going to save that title for a different project. other possibilities include the space john b soars again, the final ballad of mary jane and molly and the infinite problems with zip.

...i'm certain something better will pop up.

Monday, September 10, 2012

return of the ronin

yes. i've been away. adventures were had. whiskey was drunk.


and like many adventurers, i return with an asian wifey in tow.
words will be posted soon. in the meantime, i hang my head in shame as this place has gone to the cats. and who knows what kitteh haz been downloading...

Thursday, June 21, 2012

Digby- International Man of Mystery



I understand that I've been away for a while now. All apologies and respect due, I've undertaken an immense project in the personal arena of my life. It's put a lot of my other priorities back just a bit but, ultimately, it should prove to be hugely gratifying. I may write about it later. I may not. If I don't, I don't think anyone will suffer for it.

In the meantime, I want to spend a moment discussing one of my favorite people: Digby Wolfe. Digby was a co-creator for Rowan & Martin's Laugh-In. He once opened for the Beatles as a standup comic. He wrote for everyone from Bill Cosby to Bob Hope. He had a tense standoff with a well meaning redneck in Texas at the height of the Vietnam War. He was also a professor for many years at UNM. As such, for the better part of eight years, off and on, he was my mentor.

Digby passed away in the last few months. I'm only now at the point where I can be coherent about the joy he brought to my life (and many, many others).

I'm not sure that it's fair to blame Digby for the writer that I turned out to be. But he certainly taught me just about everything I needed to know about crafting stories. The few (and I mean feeewwww) things he didn't teach me, he certainly put me on the road to discovery. The first day of the last course I ever took with him, he asked me to open up shop by sharing a few words about writing with my new classmates. It was the kindest of gestures and to this day, still means the world to me. I covered a few of these points but, really, this is what I wish I had said.

1.Keep a notebook/pen with you or be prepared to dictate/type thoughts and ideas to your phone. Lightning in a bottle is lightning in a bottle. You catch it when its there or regret it later.

2.Be open to inspiration. It’s everywhere. That older couple passive aggressively arguing in the cereal aisle at the grocery store? They were young once and made decisions that brought them to this point and who knows, their story now may be more interesting.

3.Write everyday. Treat your brain like a muscle. It needs the discipline and responds well to routine. One hour is a nice round number, but treat that as a minimum. Even if you're just sitting there staring at a blank screen, you still put the time in.

4.Don’t suffer in silence. When you’re stuck, it helps to talk it out with others- even to just blow off steam. As such, workshops and roundtables are golden opportunities. Never take that for granted.

5.The difference between comedy and tragedy is the speed at which you tell the story. Nothing is sacred. Additionally, there is no such thing as victimless comedy. Somebody always has to pay. If there’s no victim there’s probably no funny.




Thanks a million, Diggers. You were a true original.

Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Clear Heart Full Eyes by Craig Finn

When Craig Finn sings "I suppose you thought I'd be gushing blood" in "No Future," I have a small confession to make: yes, the thought had occurred to me. As the singer/lyricist for the Hold Steady, Finn's had the better part of five albums to perfect his vision of the car wrecks, brain injuries and hot messes that litter post Meth Lab America. That vision, fueled by beer and punk, has always sounded like an epic Steinbeckian narrative that just happens to touch down on the Replacements as often as Springsteen. Here, that epic boozy swagger has been slowed down and, as a result, the songs probably share more with Neil Young and his Stray Gators (see Harvest and it's sequel Harvest Moon).

Slowing the beat down does little to diminish the potency of Finn's self destructive protagonists, though. Instead, there is an innate sadness on display here and it betrays what would almost surely be the heart of a joke in the blustery hands of the Hold Steady. By allowing the comedic to fester into the tragic, Finn has effectively portrayed his characters as "rotten and bruised- the soft part of the fruit."

And what sad, bittersweet fruit it is. "Apollo Bay" opens the album with a Harvest era Neil Young flavor. Lurking beneath that country melancholia, however, is a menacing and paranoid guitar solo stolen straight from Young's other gig, Crazy Horse. It's almost as though Finn is getting his Neil Young's mixed here and it's a compelling listen. Played with a steely reserve before unleashing all manners of hell, the solo commandeers the song away from Finn's lyrical subtexts.

The subtext being, of course, the implications and innuendos that hide beneath Finn's usual lyrical motif: religion. While he's never had a particularly reverent take on the subject, he's never wielded it like an axe to grind either. Instead, he's used it as an observational litmus for the obsessed, the depressed and the desparate. Drawing a fine line between the righteous and the wicked, he uses religious fervor to coax equal amounts of horror and humour from occupants on both sides. Whether it's the pseudo-pious fake of "When No One's Watching" or the newly rehabbed head case with his "New Friend Jesus," it's obvious that any religious undertones here have little to do with being religious. More than anything, these are full blown addicts who have moved on to the opiate of the masses.

Finn has stated in interviews that Clear Heart Full Eyes was simply an excercise in songwriting for him, a project designed to hone his skills and contributions to his regular gig. That shouldn't imply, though, that there aren't thrills to be had here. Certainly, there's a dark paranoia that courses through songs like "Apollo Bay" and "Western Pier." Additionally, "Not Much Left of Us" may be one of the prettiest songs that Finn has written. But songs like "Jackson" and "Terrified Eyes" could easily be punched up into boozy Hold Steady regulars if you replaced their sad sack country tinges with rifftastic guitar heroics. None moreso than "Honolulu Blues," however, in which an epic bender is set to a blustery and bluesy barroom swagger with enough sardonic glee for a Cohen brothers movie. It's the good ol' Hold Steady fun you'd expect from Finn. More than that, however, it brings his split lip songwriting to the fore- you're never quite sure what's happened except for the stories and except for the bloodstains.



essential listening
Apollo Bay
Terrified Eyes
Honolulu Blues

Thursday, March 15, 2012

I'm Not Sleeping


I'm only dreaming.

And listening to lots of music. I feel it's a fairly safe bet to say that reviews are pending for Polica, Sleigh Bells, Ingrid Michaelson, Die Antwoord, Craig Finn, Goldfrapp, the Mighty Mighty Bosstones and possibly a few other things. If that seems disparate, imagine what it sounds like in my head. In any event, I needed a week off and a little more time to live with the music and let it digest.

With that said, don't wake me- I'll be back soon.

Friday, March 2, 2012

The Dark Side of Scroobius Pip: Distraction Pieces

Forget the Scroobius Pip who bullied the pulpit in 2007's "Thou Shalt Always Kill." And forget the one that wanted to "Get Better" in 2010. The Pip of 2011's Distraction Pieces comes off more like his indignant doppleganger- the raging anarchist that lurked beneath Pip's usual pragmatic optimism has been released and boy, is he surly. When he says "if the bad times are coming, let 'em come," he's not posturing with a stiff upper lip. He's spoiling for a fight. Whether it's the defiant "Introdiction" or the anti-military industrial complex rant of "Soldier Boy, Kill 'Em," the question must be asked: is there a better hip-hop superhero for these Occupied times?

Taking a break from the usual sound of Dan Le Sac vs Scroobius Pip, Distraction Pieces flaunts a new sonic palette for Pip to toss his wordplay off of. Dan Le Sac and his bouncing electro soundscapes are nowhere to be found here, giving way instead to an elemental guitar aesthetic that seems to fuel the surliness. It urgently propels the insurgency that pulses beneath the surface of songs like "Let 'Em Come," "Try Dying" and "Domestic Silence." But when "Death of a Journalist" is armed with an old school 808 drum attack, the realization sinks in: Scroobius Pip has delivered an old school Run-DMC/Public Enemy record that most hip-hoppers claim to love but have forgotten.

Musically, Distraction Pieces doesn't necessarily suggest a musical break from Pip's partnership with Dan Le Sac. In fact, if it suggests a break of any kind, it's a schizophrenic one from his past lyrical self. The trenchantly disturbed "Introdiction" reinforces this notion when Pip recasts himself as the lead from television's Quantum Leap. "Ziggy says if I keep writing this shit, there's an eight percent chance that Al can make it a pop hit," he raps before turning it around with "But Al's an alcoholic and I'm a fucking schizoprhenic." Produced by NIN's Danny Lohner, it's the perfect opening track with Travis Barker's claustrophobic drumming and Milla Jovovich's best Resident Evil backing vocals adding to the eeriness.

Moving from television to the theatre, cinema seems to looms large on Pip's mind. Whether it's a Goldfinger reference in "Domestic Silence" or the inspiration of Secret Window in "the Struggle," he's doing his best to make good on "Introdiction's" promise to be the "soundtrack to your fucking movie." In particular, "the Struggle" recasts Pip as a new kind of American psycho taking his place in the new American dream, one in which a celebrity obsessed culture allows the best of the beautiful to indulge in the worst of atrocities. "My name is Johnny Depp and I kill people" he states rather plainly over bluesy guitar licks and Bo Diddley toms.

Any concerns over the veracity of the narrator's reality in "the Struggle" are immediately confronted by the successive "Broken Promise." The spectacularly murderous whims of the former are juxtaposed by the sober failings of the latter. As a moment of clarity, it's more lucid than dream and the bitter taste of reality is reflected in the somber guitar line that echoes in the back. For all his talk of replacing the Heartbreak Hotel with the "Fuck You, Get Over It Bed and Breakfast," it's obvious that Pip is the sole occupant. It's a place of ugly repose, but one in which the listener can let go before the ethereal jump off of "Feel It." Whether this is indicative of whatever twisted reality Pip dreams of next, only the future will tell.

Even though it's never name checked, there's a pervasive element of Fight Club that looms large over this record. It's an anti-social element, murderous even, that eschews all formal societal boundaries and structures while simultaneously celebrating the human spirit. "Introdiction" sets the agenda early on when Pip raps "You see a mouse trap, I see free cheese and a fucking challenge." So make no mistake, this is not the Pip of 2008's Angles that conversed with Lloyd Dobbler in his dreams. This is the Pip that turns into Tyler Durden when he sleeps and he's welcoming us to his nightmare.


essential listening:
Introdiction
the Struggle
Let 'Em Come

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

A Murder of Counting Crows: August and Everything After- Live at Town Hall

Eighteen years after their debut album was released on Geffen records, Counting Crows return to the scene of the crime with August and Everything After- Live at Town Hall. Their first release free of major label obligations, Live at Town Hall is an inspired effort that reconnects the audience to some of the band's most beloved songs. It's a deft move for the band and a great way to celebrate their newfound independence. It's also a great opportunity to reflect on why August and Everything After was so resonant in the first place.

Originally released in 1993, August and Everything After was hailed as an instant classic as it built off the enormous success of it's lead off single, "Mr. Jones." The album's success was hardly a revelation, however, as the band arrived with enormous expectations attached. Prior to August's release, they were tapped to fill in for Van Morrison who decidedly missed his own induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Proving to be well worth the hype, Counting Crows went on to deliver the feel bad album of the decade that everybody felt pretty good about. At a time and within a genre that celebrated it's most unlikely heroes, they also managed to deliver one of the feel bad albums that defined a generation.

Produced by T-Bone Burnett and not Butch Vig(Nirvana), Brendan O'Brien(Pearl Jam) or Steve Albini(the Pixies), the album was a different beast in the alternative jungle altogether. It was flush with mandolins, accordions, piano and acoustic guitars. As an alternative to alternative, it shamed the unimaginative drums-bass-guitar combo that defined the fuzzbox fury of everyone from Nirvana to Helmet. Additionally, it set the stage for left of everything bands like Wilco while still managing to honor the rock and roll traditions of everyone from the Band to R.E.M.

Armed with lush instrumentation and reliable songwriting, Counting Crows seemed like heavy contenders for the few markets interested in alternative but wary of it's "grungier" components like Pearl Jam. Similar to Pearl Jam, however, Counting Crows saw a meteoric rise in their fortunes and a large amount of this success was attributed to a troubled but charismatic lead singer. There was an undeniable gravitas to Adam Duritz' voice that seemed tethered to the same pained place as the ubiquitious Eddie Vedder. And despite the sonic differences of their bands, both delivered albums haunted by souls lost and isolated. As a result, the Crows legitimized alternative in a way that Pearl Jam, Nirvana and none of their peers could. They were angsty enough to romantically hypnotize my teenage brain and yet, they still delivered emotionally resonant music that favored talent over stylish gimmicry. It was the only time you'd find my father stealing my* albums.

In the time since that first album, a lot has happened. Duritz quit music- it was rumored he tended bars for a year before coming to his senses and returning with Recovery of the Satellites. Following that, Counting Crows would go on to release three more studio efforts, two live albums, a best of compilation and the inevitable re-release of the debut that started it all. In the process, they also managed to galvanize a sterling reputation as one of America's best live acts (alongside, who else- Pearl Jam).

Duritz, despite the myopic nature of his songs, has always entertained the public as a live wire singer full of warmth and humor he'd never get credit for otherwise. Additionally, the band has always seemed to delight in the malleability of their songs and arrangements as they'd take them from acoustic to blisteringly loud and back again. By focusing on substance over style, Counting Crows managed to build a catalog of work that translates easily from large arenas to small stages without sacrificing the emotional impact of their songs.

As deft as the band's performance is on Live at Town Hall, however, it's that emotional impact that fuel it's songs and it's success. Time has not dulled the wounded isolation for the protagonists that haunt Duritz' narratives. The heartache and sorrow that defines Maria in "Around Here" is still pulpable as is Duritz' exasperation and despair over her. The desperate need for validation that fuels "Mr. Jones" resonates as true as ever despite the narrator's oblivious irony to the song. The confounding "Anna Begins," the broken "Time and Time Again" and the plaintive "Murder of One" all still ring true in the hands of this band.

Ultimately, Live at Town Hall serves as a nice recognition of the benchmark that August and Everything After set not just for the band but for alternative music as well. By the current standards of music and technology, it's a singles market with not much room to spare for albums. But August and Everything After was released at a time when historic albums were released at a dizzying clip. Undeniably, there was a uniformity to the songs that rivaled only the best of their contemporaries, regardless of whether it was Nirvana's Nevermind, Pearl Jam's Ten or Red Hot Chili Peppers' BloodSugarSexMagic. And it's not beside the fact that Counting Crows have lived up to the standards of their early work with far more consistency than the majority of their peers. Late night pub talk could commence forever on which of their albums were classic and which were subpar. But the odds are that if you're a fan, you'd count at least three classic albums in their catalog.



*A total lie. August and Everything After was still a cd that I stole from my father. I just happened to hear them first.

Friday, February 10, 2012

Walking the Line with Chris Isaak: Beyond the Sun

From his pompadour to his mirror ball suit, Chris Isaak has never been shy about standing on the shoulders of rock and roll giants. Beyond the Sun finds him moving from their shoulders to their living rooms as he takes up residence in Memphis' Sun Studios and tackles the legacies of Elvis, Roy Orbison, Jerry Lee Lewis, Johnny Cash, Carl Perkins and more. This double disc set* allows Isaak a place in which he can embrace, without restraint, all the things that make him an American institution in his own right. His rockabilly swagger might be short on innovation here but it's steeped in reverance and really, who needs innovation with a songbook like this?

The definitive songs of three great American originals are here as Isaak covers Roy Orbison's "Oh, Pretty Woman," Jerry Lee Lewis' "Great Balls of Fire" and Johnny Cash's one two punch of "Ring of Fire" and "I Walk the Line." Compared to the possessed insanity of Jerry Lee Lewis or the unassailable gravitas of Johnny Cash, however, Isaak's vocals seem more suitable to Presley. Elvis' songs account for more than a lion's share of the tracklisting here and, unsurprisingly, his mellifluous vocal taste and refinement is golden throated honey on "Can't Help Falling in Love." All the other Presley tracks that follow suit (particularly the idiomatic "Love Me" on disc 2) can only hint at the impact that a young Elvis had. In the hands of Isaak, though, it's easier to imagine.

There's a certain joy, though, in listening to Isaak throw such vocal restraint to the wind. The Jimmy Wages song "Miss Pearl" sees the man and his band ripping loose: he howls his vocals like a man possessed through a clamor of frenzied guitar work and booming organ solos. It's a welcomed reminder of what a crack band Silvertone is and what they're capable of- rave ups with blistering guitar work and impassioned solos. It's a passion that carries over to Isaak originals like "Live It Up" and "Lovely Loretta." Undoubtedly, Beyond the Sun offers some of the best guitar work of the last year that, guaranteed, you won't hear from anyone else.

Beyond the Sun feels like such an obvious stroke of genius, it's amazing it hadn't been attempted before. Certainly, it's not Isaak's first cover on record: Heart Shaped World featured Bo Diddley's "Diddley Daddy" and San Francisco Days closed out with the ultimate rendition of Neil Young's "Solitary Man." 1996's Baja Sessions, anchored by Roy Orbison's "Only the Lonely," featured numerous covers. But none of that mitigates the sheer joy of listening to (or recording, I imagine) this collection of American originals. Jerry Lee Lewis' "Lucky Old Sun," the number that closes disc two, is as stirring a song as one could hope for from Lewis. But here, sung with all the cool heart and soul of Isaak's tenor, the song becomes more of a benediction as the listener starts to feel like the lucky one.


*Sure, there's a one disc edition of this but why would you want that? Disc 1 may have "Ring of Fire," "Great Balls of Fire," "Can't Help Falling in Love," "Miss Pearl" and "I Walk the Line" but disc 2 has "Pretty Woman," "Love Me," "Lucky Old Sun" and a number of other unlikely songs that are every bit as incredible as the obvious hits.

Friday, February 3, 2012

Leap Year: Ronin Rock's 2011 Bitchin' Mixtape



As we settle into February, it's more than obvious (and overdue) to recognize the new year. December was a prodigous whirlwind of creative energy for me and I tried to carry as much of that over to January as possible. The result: numerous short pieces focusing on a handful of albums from 2011 and a few (much) longer pieces on music that holds great value to me as an artist, consumer and fan of music. It was a great opportunity for me to stretch out as a writer and test my personal limits. Hopefully, this revealed more efficient methods in which to deliver content as well as shortcomings that can be addressed in order to make me a stronger writer all around.

Thank you to everyone who has stopped by to read. I hope you found something here that touched your hearts, minds and/or memories. It's a crazy thing to realize that someone out there is receiving what you thought were just random messages, bottled away for distant shores. But, like I said, thank you for reading. It's nice to be validated on occasion.

December is always a cross between self congratulations, holiday marketing and hopeless nostalgia when it comes to creative industries. We read all the grandiose best of lists, which are about as subjective as subjective can be, and buy large for Christmas. Screw that noise. Very little comes out in January because most of the good stuff was released in December and even then, it's not like we throw 2011's baby out with the bathwater. With that in mind, I present my bitchin' mixtape for 2011. Because new stuff (Craig Finn, Ingrid Michaelson and who is this Lana Del Rey person?) is starting to trickle in and because there are a few things I'm only now managing to wrap my head around (the Mighty Mighty Bosstones, the Roots).

Because really. You were still listening to the best that last year had to offer anyways.
So enjoy.

"The Devil is in the Beats" by the Chemical Brothers- My favorite piece of audio acid from the Chemical Brothers' warped score to Hanna, this is the sound of that soundtrack as heard through the looking glass. Bouncy, catchy and weird, this song is an amalgamation of everything I loved about the soundtrack.

"Gucci Gucci" by Kreayshawn- Undoubtedly the strangest thing I've heard in the last year, this little slice of hip hop weirdness is as infectious and memorable as it is offputting. This has me concerned for and excited about the state of hip hop in equal measures.

"Milkman" by EMA- Industrially poppish, this song is probably the most accessible piece from EMA's Past Life Martyred Saints. Incredibly naive but fearless, it was equal parts Pink Floyd, Nine Inch Nails and the Cureit and probably the most compelling thing I heard all year.

"Pumped Up Kicks" by Foster the People- Combining Danger Mouse's lo-fi Gorillaz production sense with the whistles of Peter Bjorn and John? Genius! Pathologically violent and adolescent lyrics? By the time people notice, they'll already be hooked. And am I the only suddenly nostalgic for Reeboks?

"Sail" by AWOLNation- I have no idea what this song is actually about, but it's paranoid, dark and funky enough that I don't mind. It's incredible what a laptop and a little adderall can do, yes?

"Immigrant Song" by Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross, featuring Karen 0- Opening up David Fincher's Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, this Led Zeppelin classic seemed to be a bit *points to nose*. But Fincher, returning to his roots as a video director, makes such a thrilling opening that the Stockholme Syndrome is instantaneous.

"Breaking Down" by Florence + the Machine- Defying sophomoritis, Ceremonials rocked the face off its predecessor despite no obvious "Dog Days"like single. This song was equipped with just the right amount of drums, piano and a lilting melody from Florence that evokes the most graceful and powerful of Siouxsie Sioux comparisons.

"Cold Comfort Flowers" by Fountains of Wayne- There's always been a whistful side to Fountains of Wayne, but Sky Full of Holes placed it front and center. That doesn't mean they skimped on the psychedelic harmonies or singalong melodies, though, and the intro to this song alone will be stuck in your head for weeks to come.

"Uberlin" by R.E.M.- There's an innate tension to this song that suggests a narrator hiding behind the facade of routine. There's also a sense of impending finality as the song's transcendent choruses take flight. A change is taking place, at the very least internally, and only the listener bears witness. This makes me miss R.E.M. that much more and they've barely left.

"Introdiction" by Scroobius Pip- Scroobius Pip returns without Dan LeSac and boy, does he sound grouchy. Produced by NIN's Danny Lohner with drums by Travis Barker and backing vocals by Milla Jovovich, this is the most compelling rhyme Pip has dropped since "Thou Shalt Always Kill."

"Give Up the Ghost" by Radiohead- Hidden behind an unassailable collection of digital audio madness, Radiohead starts to deliver actual songs halfway through King of Limbs. This haunted lullabye is the prettiest song they've made in years and well worth the wait to hear Thom Yorke actually sing a melody.

"The Beginning of the End" by the Twilight Singers- Nobody makes music more cinematic than Greg Dulli (in any of his groups) and this is no exception. Explosive, longing and remorseful, Dulli opens the song big before settling into hushed crooning and back again. This is one last blast before the curtain call and it's everything I love about this band.

"Your Past Life is a Blast" by Okkervil River- Okkervil River, typical of the weird that is Austin, has always been too literate to be easily defined. They're not loud enough, fast enough, catchy enough, country enough or anything enough to be anything but Okkervil River. That being said, I Am Very Far caught me off guard- not just by how good it was but by it's sheer existence. And this song stands out as a particular sentimal favorite for me.

"Map of Tasmania" by Amanda Palmer featuring Young Punx- Yes. It is a song about... well, pubes. But it also happens to be a helluva lotta fun. So just let it all hang out,... as it were.

"Under Cover of Darkness" by the Strokes- While Angles lacked the cohesion of their last three albums, this song was a pretty damn good reminder of why we all loved them in the first place. With everyone in their right place, this was the Strokes proper- Julian Casablancas' crooning, Albert Hammond's inimitable rhythm style and a searing lead from Nick Valensi. Just don't make us wait so long for number five, guys.

"Open and Honest" by the Mighty Mighty Bosstones- It's amazing what the Bosstones can do when they put their minds to it. This is from their third release (Magic of Youth) since they reconvened a few years ago and it's got all the Mighty Mighty hallmarks. From Dicky Barrett's cheery Henry Rollins via Joe Strummer everyman vibe to the reverb drenched guitar skank, this is magic indeed.

"This is Home" by Blink 182- From the triumphant return of Neighborhoods, this song is a perfect evocation of youth in all it's follies. Unfettered, fearless and hungry, this song is a great reminder about what it feels like to be young and free in a dangerous world.

"Rolling in the Deep" by Adele- Sure, Adele's got a powerhouse of a voice but it's all the old school stomping going on in the background that's really got me excited. The quarter note piano hammers and the floor toms are all brilliant but it's the handclaps that sealed the deal for me.

"I Walk the Line" by Chris Isaak- Chris Isaak covers all of the Sun Studios greats with Beyond the Sun but it takes a certain gravitas to take on the Man in Black. And here, Isaak delivers in full and then some. I mean, really, it's Chris Isaak covering Johnny Cash. What the hell else do you need?

"Norteno Lights" by Mariachi El Bronx- Most of Mariachi El Bronx (II) comes off like the soundtrack to a Robert Rodriguez movie (which is great if it's your cup of tea). This little love song, on the other hand, is everything that you love or hate about mariachi: that worldly polka beat with a frenetic accordion and horns. I love it to death and want nothing more than to turn it up to full blast at three in the morning, thus pissing off the rest of the neighborhood.

"All the Sand in the Sea" by Devotchka- This is the sound of Lorca scored by Ennio Morricone and spiked with red wine. That's not the first time I've said that and it won't be the last. But I certainly will never say it better. In a perfect world, this would be a starmaking song for this little Denver band.

"Down All the Days" by U2- I know what it sounds like (and you will too if you get the chance to hear this song). But what this song really is is the perfect summation of U2's gravelly throated desperation and exuberant sonic ambition amidst the studio sessions that made Achtung Baby. Pound for pound, the band has never sounded better than at this point in time.

Friday, January 27, 2012

Reflections From 2011 the Pearl Jam Edition: Vs./Vitalogy/Live from the Orpheum Theater/20

2011 was a year of numerous anniversaries. U2 celebrated Achtung Baby's twentieth anniversary. BloodSugarSexMagic by the Red Hot Chili Peppers should have. The Strokes' Is This It is offically ten years old. But one band seemed to be more celebratory than the others. Pearl Jam released 20, a documentary with an accompanying soundtrack and book as well as the re-issues of Vs., Vitalogy and the heretofore unreleased Live at the Orpheum Theater, Boston, April 12, 1994. As such, that's a lot of material to cover and material that should be covered wholesale, not piecemeal. As a band, they took the longview and in order to truly appreciate it, you should too.

I myself saw Pearl Jam live four times over the course of their first ten years. I can easily say that two of those shows were brilliant- better, even, than most bands have a right to be. The other two were quite possibly some of the most incredible experiences I've ever witnessed. One because of the fans. The other because it changed my life. That was October 1993. I was a freshman in high school. Vs. had just come out and I, like a lot of my peers, would start a garage band not much later.
At times, it's hard to explain the view we held of Seattle. You kind of had to be there and even if you were, chances were good you couldn't stand me or my ilk. Still, Seattle came to be a cultural mecca for a generation of us garage brats as we were convinced that it was natural, a right even, to have local scenes. Additionally, we were convinced that scenes were built to be co-ops in which all bands took an interest in seeing it succeed. Competition was encouraged, sure, but so was solidarity and brotherhood and communion.

It's close to twenty years later, and even though I spend less and less time in the garage, I'm still clearly affected by this time in my life. I hear it in the isolated but gleeful ennui of James Murphy's LCD Soundsystem. I feel it in the kick drums of Gogol Bordello's gypsy punk. I drink to it with every beer soaked chorus by the Hold Steady. For better or worse, Pearl Jam and their comtemporaries fixed an ideal in my head and my heart as to what music was supposed to be. For better or worse, they made music my religion and I, for better or worse, am still devoted.

Unlike my other obsessions (see U2, R.E.M., the Clash), I witnessed the construction of the mythology from the ground floor up. There was no catching up to the current album or navelgazing about missing the band after the fact. Pearl Jam was, by comparison, a contagion for which we had no anti-bodies and I caught the fever for the first album just in time to get excited about the second one. With twenty years hindsight, it seems more like being on hand to watch a controlled demolition in reverse. With Vs. and Vitalogy, of course, being the dynamite and blasting caps.

Given the monolithic enormity of Ten's impact, it's easy to forget what a fireball of an album Vs. really was. Looking back, though, it's easy to see how this album reperesented any number of things; a band on top of the world but uncomfortable with their position, a band unwilling to sell out or compromise, a band determined to grow something sustainable out of a fleeting opportunity. More than anything, however, this was a furious and defiant reckoning for the lost souls that populated Ten. Where Ten sought guidance, Vs. offered only retribution and a settling of scores. The old ways didn't work anymore and the only way forward was armed with youth and hope. Eddie Vedder would go on to say as much on "Leash."

"Delight in our youth," he snarled just breaths after screaming "Drop the leash, we are young, get out of my fucking face." As missions statements go, it was less than taciturn. But as anthems go, it was the feathered cap for an album full of anthems written by a band at war with everything. From the first invocation of Nemesis in "Go," the band rails at each other ("Animal"), conservative politics ("Glorified G"), the establishment ("WMA"), our parents ("Daughter"), the media ("Blood"), human nature ("Rats") and the past ("Rearviewmirror").

None of this would have been possible if not for the addition of drummer Dave Abbruzzese. His style was more refined than predecessor Dave Krusen and more explosive than successor Jack Irons. Only (current drummer) Matt Cameron has ever offered so much potential and, even then, it's impossible to imagine another drummer who could have filled the kit so capably when Pearl Jam lived with their backs to the wall.

The addition of Brendan O'Brien as a producer is also worth noting here. He brought a clarity and focus to these records that was missing from Ten. Whereas Ten opened with the murky "Music for Cows" before exploding into "Once," Vs. started immediately with a muscular hi-hat/snare workout by Abbruzzese. Propulsively taut, it clearly defined the agenda for the next twelve tracks.

Lyrically, however, the old modus operandi of Ten would still rear its head from time to time. "Daughter," certainly the biggest song from the album, underscored the wounded isolation of adolescence with a knowing sense that liberation comes with time. Given the longing regret of "Elderly Woman Behind the Counter in a Small Town," however, one had to wonder if that sense was wrong. But the most compelling character of the album had to be Vedder himself as he defined his agenda (and that of the band's) in "Indifference."

"How much difference does it make," he asked repeatedly to no consequence. The question was rhetorical as "Indifference" was not an ode to apathy. It was a clear manifesto that no matter what he endured, he would not be stopped, he would be heard. It was as defiant as "Leash" before it in the knowledge that youth's optimism trumps all if you demand it.
Vitalogy arrived doggedly on the heels of Vs. at little more than a year later. In this time, Kurt Cobain's body was found dead from a self inflicted gunshot wound. With Nirvana effectively ended, expectations from the media and fans grew to epic proportions and nobody bore the brunt of this more than Pearl Jam. Vitalogy delivered a lyrical meditation on mortality, suffused with religious and historical imagery that bore heavy implications of temptation and personal loss. It was impossible at the time to ignore the spectre of Kobain and, to a large degree, Seattle as a scene.

Despite being Pearl Jam's strongest debut yet, the album was deemed more dour than usual and the band seemed more miserable. One couldn't help but start to wonder if the engine was throwing rods. Initially, what seemed like a creative struggle between Stone Gossard and Jeff Ament on Vs. soon turned out to be friction between Vedder and Abbruzzese. And while that conflict defined Vs. in combustive ways, it was starting to wear thin.

It was starting to become clear that this wasn't a band. It was a creative warzone with the largest conflict taking place between Eddie and the world at large. Pushing back against the demands of fame, Vedder's lyrics centered around individuality and self determination. Musically, he was just as determined to confound when he pushed the band's hard but radio friendly sound straight into hardcore abrasiveness.

The effectiveness of "Spin the Black Circle" and "Tremor Christ," a split lead-off single, invited scrutiny. But as a harbinger of the weirdness to come, their efficacy left no doubt. "Spin the Black Circle" was a hardcore thrash anthem to the lost love of vinyl and "Tremor Christ" was built around serrated guitar chords, martial drum beats and Mephistophelian imagery. Nevermind that there were actual ballads on the album like "Betterman." Who needed a hit when you had song sketches like "Pry To," "Bugs," "Aye Davenita" and "Foxymophandlemama?"

Unlike later experiments that would reveal Vedder as a hidden Talking Heads fan, these songs were solely disruptive- they were the sound of the band pumping the brakes on their rocket to stardom. Had theses songs actually been excised, Vitalogy could have been a truly dynamic modern rock masterpiece. Balanced between their "man" ballads ("Better" and "Nothing"), their full throttle rockers ("Spin the Black Circle," the pro-choice "Whipping") and their anti-fame anthems ("Not For You" and "Courdoroy"), Vitalogy could have easily lived up to the 1-2 punch of their first two records.

Internally, this was the true emergence of Eddie the guitarist. The possibility of Pearl Jam as a three headed guitar monster had been suggested on Vs. with "Rearviewmirror" but Vitalogy made that a reality with Vedder deciding more of the band's direction. Morose, anti-social and just plain weird, his agenda seemed clear: find another bandwagon, posers, this one is being circled by the pure of heart, the punk rock faithful, the kids. And as erratic as his direction may have seemed at the time, he revealed it to be more than petulance in album's defining anthem "Not For You."

"All that's sacred comes from youth," he sang half pleading, half testifying, "dedications, naive and true... I still remember. Why don't you?"

The fifteen year old in me took this to heart and still remembers. As a result, this is the Pearl Jam that I remember most fondly- the one that took herculean efforts to keep the world at bay while simultaneously shouldering all of its burdens and occasionally bitching about it. This is the Pearl Jam that changed my life, that set the expectation to be young and daring. And while I mean no disrespect to the group or their subsequent artistic visions, this was a dangerous, unpredictable and inspirational Pearl Jam. Which is why, of course, they couldn't last. Abbruzzese was fired, Jack Irons was hired, Jack Irons quit, Matt Cameron joined and a few albums were made that never came close to selling what they used to. But for a time, they got to be the Who.

Live at the Orpheum Theatre is a pretty accurate reflection of that band. It's also a pretty accurate reflection of how I and many other music obsessed, angst riddled teens remember that band in our hearts. As teens, we voraciously traded bootleg after bootleg amongst ourselves and the inclusion of both "Sonic Reducer" and "Fucking Up" is a gracious mea culpa to that. They may not be studio versions, but beggars can hardly be choosers, especially when those beggars have rubbed the heads off their old tape decks.

Pearl Jam has always been a phenomenal live experience and there are numerous live albums that will testify to that much. But this is the crucible that made them so. And while most bands aspire to playing as if their lives depend on it, this is one of the few bands that I actually believed were. Certainly, they were the only ones that I worried about afterward. Their playing was violently cathartic, like kids pushing their joyride into the red and beyond. They pushed on regardless of whether or not they could turn the corner, forget about what was beyond it. As high wire acts go, they were the most thrilling one out there and, now, all the more so for having survived the experience.

As such, Live at the Orpheum Theatre is a nice postcard from the bootlegs that defined my adolescence almost as much as the music that was on them. Recorded between Vs. and Vitalogy, it covers a period of the band that has never really been captured on their live releases to date. Pearl Jam's major label live release was more like a greatest hits package live and the band was still a few years away from recording and releasing bootlegs of their own shows.
When they made the decision to record and commercially release their own shows, they effectively legitimized the bootleg culture in a way that not even the Grateful Dead had managed to. As a result, Cameron Crowe's love letter to the band, 20, had an incredibly deep well to draw from for live recordings.

Crowe's love affair with the group goes way back to their beginning. He interviewed the band for their first Rolling Stone cover and this was after he cast them as Citizen Dick in Singles. Emotionally invested from the start, Crowe makes 20 more than a soundtrack to its namesake documentary and book. Stocked with live performances and demos, it could easily be seen as the ultimate insider's bootleg. But Crowe, their biggest and oldest fan, goes beyond that to lovingly deliver the ultimate mixtape to his brethren.

As an overview, 20 becomes the Mother Teresa of lost singles as it makes compelling case after case for songs that may have fallen flat or just to the side on previous records. In particular, Binaural's live take on "Nothing As It Seems" opens up in a smoldering fashion. "Faithful," "Thumbing My Way" and "Just Breathe" show a mature band capable of functioning without the sturm und drang that they once made so fashionable. Every fan has a favorite that never got the proper time or attention and Cameron Crowe has compiled them all here.

It would be cynical to suggest "Crown of Thorns" as the obvious selling point for 20 but, then again, it would be naive not to. There's a certain mythological wish fulfillment that arrives with Vedder singing the most celebrated song of the tragic MotherLoveBone. Frankly, they were never my cup of tea to begin with as I was too young to see the irony of Andrew Wood's GnR rock poses. That being said, "Crown of Thorns" is the obvious sellling point here. It's the only performance you'll find of Vedder singing the song and it serves as a nice reminder of what a nuanced singer he is.

The other song that jumps out on this collection is "Black" from their appearance on MTV Unplugged. It's opening chords are instantly memorable as that specific performance is well weathered and burned into my brain. What was Michael Stipe mumbleese on record became very clear and real in performance if not absolutely gutwrenching. Here was a man, ripping his heart out and baring for all to see as he wailed "we belong together." In one heartbreaking performance, he brought a sincere if not cathartic pathos to a whole generation. The ideal of how not to sell out was congealed in our hormone addled, confused and collective consciousness.

I imagine it was a turning point for them as artists as much as it was for me as a listener. The eventual payoff of playing Unplugged is easy to hear in the anthems of "Daughter," "Elderly Woman in a Small Town" and the Sweet Relief rarity "Crazy Mary." This was grunge?

Looking back on the records that I loved as a teen makes me think back to the joy of discovering my father's old records. It makes me wonder if there's a comparable joy to teens today. And I don't mean to gloat, but then a part of me wonders if they're capable of handling our old records at all or if their little teenage hearts would be atomised by the rampant emotion of it all. Mine was. And because I remember the power of hearing those records for the first time, it still is.

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

BLACKOUT


Hi. I know today is a pretty contentious day for a lot of us that live here on the internet. So let's speak plainly for a moment.

I like stuff. A lot of stuff. A lot of weird stuff as some of you who have been reading here can probably attest to. And I pay for all of it. All of it.

Why? Glad you asked.

Because I like my weird stuff. Let me use a recent subject as an example: the Twilight Singers. Chances are, a good portion of you are here because you followed a link to my page from their Facebook feed (for which, I thank you Twilight Singers and thank you internet for all the love). I anxiously look forward to every release Greg Dulli and company put out- whether its the Twilights, the Gutter Twins, the Afghan Whigs or some other project. I know its going to be an enjoyable allocation of my resources. And because I made my contribution to the cause, its a little more likely that everyone doesn't have to go back to a shitty dayjob. They get to make music a little longer and I get to enjoy it and so on and so forth. Its like the opposite of a vicious cycle. Its like, let's say, an awesome cycle.

So. Do it. Buy the download, buy the album, buy the t-shirt. You're investing in something you love.

End of lecture.

As for the government: please, do not be so disingenuous as to think that any of us believe you're doing this for anybody other than big money interests. Nobody believes, for a moment, that this is going to be beneficial to the "artistic" class (or any other class for that matter) that has garnered so much attention with Occupy Wall Street, et al. You have stacked one more card in favor of those that already have unimaginable amounts of power. You have turned our country into a "battleground." You are legislating the populace to death. And you have been lucky that the populace has been patient.

But I have to ask, what have you done FOR us, lately?

More Reflections from 2011, the R.E.M. Edition: Part Lies, Part Heart, Part Truth, Part Garbage 1982-2011

I hesitate to start off by committing assault and battery on a dead horse but, honestly, digression has never been my strong suit.

The manner in which R.E.M. broke up earlier this year has yet to cease shocking and amazing me but, more to the point, it horrifies me beyond belief. It's the music nerd equivalent to the existential crisis that is watching one of your parents die peacefully after a long and happy life. As opposed to the usual acrimony that is a band's breakup, this is not the long and drawn out divorce that takes place long after the homefires have cooled and the knives have been drawn. Even in the face of diminishing sales, we always assume that our most beloved of bands will simply fade into the ether at some point, returning only to release a new album once or twice a decade before they trot out "Satisfaction" for the umpteenth time on the road.

The truth is, it never even occurred to me that bands can amicably shake hands, call it a day and have dinner later without the impetus of a business disguised as music. It's a gutsy thing, to be sure, and all the more daring because it doesn't involve holding out to the last breath when nobody cares and everybody hates each other. But more than that, it sets a troubling precedent for this fan who likes a number of bands with longer careers behind them than in front. One can only imagine that U2 is somewhere in Dublin releasing a huge sigh of relief.

"That's it," Larry Mullen is exclaiming as he wipes the sweat from his brow, "They've done it. We can quit now!"

Admittedly, R.E.M. failed to pack the punch they used to both commercially and creatively. But even their duff albums had more gems than most and it's a sad reality now that I can no longer look forward to discovering them. As sad as I feel about this, the far reaching implications are even more grim. R.E.M. paved a number of paths in their career. People forget that they're the band that made it cool to be indie, made it okay to sell out and made sense out of touring only when they wanted to. Now, they're the band that have made it okay to call it a day for no reason other than wanting to. Could U2, who have blazed a very parallel path, be far behind? Could Radiohead and Pearl Jam, both bands that took notes on the self determination of the Athens Four, also see the point in calling it quits? As a music fan who came of age in the Alternative market boom, R.E.M.'s retirement looms apocalyptically large over my record collection.

As a lovely parting gift, however, they've left us with Part Lies Part Heart Part Truth Part Garbage 1982-2011. It spans forty tracks, thirty-seven of which have been previously released and three that have not. It follows them from their independent days at I.R.S. to their last hurrahs at Warner Bros. And as hard as it is to sum up their career succinctly, seeing the YouTube promo alone gave me hope. All the familiar guitar riffs, drum fills and hooks are there with the appropriately iconic imagery. As such, the respective collection turns out to be a well rounded look back at a career full of hits, near misses and left turns.

What follows are forty thoughts for forty songs. Numbers respectively represent tracklisting placement and disc one or two.

Part Lies
7/1. "Driver 8" - Fables of the Reconstruction has long been reputed to be an album of Southern legends. Recorded in London by a homesick R.E.M., this song proves it to be less Dixie mythology and more the sound of a band lost at sea.
9/1. "Begin the Begin" - Singing "the insurgency began and you missed it," Stipe may as well have been addressing audiences which were beginning to swell beyond their college demographic. Truth was, with producer Don Gehman's mainstream studio polish, the insurgency was just beginning.
10/1. "Fall on Me" - Accompanied by a video in heavy rotation, this was often credited as the first big environmental song. This is most likely apocryphal, even if global warming is just the new acid rain.
11/1. "Finest Worksong" - Known mainly for the jangly sound of his early playing, Peter Buck turned in a heroic punk rock effort with the neo-liberal angst that filled Document. As manifestos go, few bands could do better and this was the first shot fired across the boughs.
13/1. "The One I Love" - Proving that people don't actually listen to lyrics, this was a wedding reception staple for years. I'm guessing they missed that part where Stipe refers to his love as "a simple prop to occupy my time." Or maybe people did listen to they lyrics, you never know.
18/1. "Losing My Religion" - Universally misunderstood, conventional wisdom pegged this song as a crisis of faith. Apparently, it's just a southern expression for an infatuation so bad that it seems to test your faith.
19/1. "Country Feedback" - The sour that defines the sweet on R.E.M.'s true mainstream breakthrough, Out of Time. Layered in waves of pedal steel guitar, Stipe's sublime and mellifluous voice rings through with the desperate exasperation of love's failings.
20/1. "Shiny Happy People" - Long since dismissed by the band as a fluffy piece of pop naff, I endured childhood through the Reagan eighties and still refuse to frame it in my mind as anything other than a riposte to such superficial times.
2/2. "Man on the Moon" - Forget the drummer jokes, Bill Berry was a large contributor to R.E.M.'s songwriting process. Both "Man on the Moon" and "Everybody Hurts" were said to be instigated by Berry and his departure in '98 made reinvention essential, not preferable.
9/2. "Imitation of Life" - Imitation of R.E.M. was more like it. Building off of the classic formula set by "the Great Beyond," this was the obvious single for Reveal. In retrospect, the album bore more sonic resemblence to the Beach Boys' Pet Sounds than anything in R.E.M.'s catalog. And as obvious as this single was, there's still a gloriously symphonic beauty to all the electronic bells and whistles added here, especially that low synth sound in the bridge.

Part Heart
3/1. "Talk About the Passion" - Curious after Out of Time and hooked after Automatic for the People, I became obsessed after my best friend in mid-school gave me the I.R.S. retrospective Eponymous. I gorged on it during a visit to my grandparents place not long after. As a result, this song always sounds like traveling through the Ozark countryside of Arkansas to me- it sounds like a distant home.
5/1. "So. Central Rain" - Even though the rest of the song makes little to no sense for me, there's that chorus of "I'm sorry" that comes through clear as day. Like most angst filled teenagers, I'm sure I felt that deeply even without any idea of what I had to be sorry for. Kids.
6/1. "(Don't Go Back to) Rockville" - We used to cover this in one of my old bands years ago. We replaced the honkytonk piano with a dirty Social D sorta guitar sound, so I guess our redneck requirements were met. Which means, for a few years, friends thought we wrote it. I wish.
8/1. "Life and How to Live It" - One Christmas, shortly after Automatic had come out, my brother gave me a copy of Fables of the Reconstruction. Good thing, too, as I'm not sure my high school self would have bought it. And then I would have missed out on this and "Wendell Gee."
1/2. "Everybody Hurts" - Based on the video for this song alone, this song quickly became parody bait. But still, it was a sweet thought from Stipe to generation angst and, lest you forget, John Paul Jones (the bloke from Led Zeppelin that didn't play guitar, sing or die) arranged the strings for this.
3/2. "Nightswimming" - Haunting, beautiful and simple, this song dwells on the threshold of the past. Listening to it always creates a sense of phantom nostalgia for me and I really wish, a band or two ago, we'd learned to cover it.
5/2. "New Test Leper" - This song, which revolves around love, decency and hypocrisy, sums up every anxiety and personal conflict I've ever felt about being religious (or not) that I've felt in thirty plus years. And it does so gorgeously in five and a half minutes.
11/2. "Leaving New York" - An ode to post 9/11 New York City, there's a mournful quality here that recognizes grieving, even in the face of futility. And even more brilliantly, it does so without mentioning 9/11. This song came to me at a time when I really needed it.
13/2. "Supernatural Superserious" - Between those bare Joe Strummer-like guitar chords and Stipe's lyrical waxing, it's too easy to think of this song as the sound of adolescence. But really, it's the sound of how we wished were in adolescence- articulate, heartfelt and hungry.
14/2. "Uberlin" - One of my favorite songs to come out this last year. Period. And I'm very glad they chose to include it here. I'm not sure if the narrator in this song is falling apart from the inside or just needs a nap, but I imagine the sight of his exhausted reflection in the mirror before he heads out into the world for the day.

Part Truth
1/1. "Gardening at Night" - People forget, assuming they knew in the first place, that R.E.M. carried the torch for American music in the eighties. Of course, there was always Bruce, Madonna and Prince but they were the emphatic part of the eighties. R.E.M. was the part that inspired a bazillion garage bands with jangly guitars and poor enunciation. That starts here with this song.
2/1. "Radio Free Europe" - Along with "Gardening at Night," this was the face that launched a thousand ships. More than any other song in their catalog, this brought R.E.M. as close to actual punk as they would ever be. At the same time, this also solidified numerous characteristics that became synonomous with R.E.M.: indecipherable lyrics, Byrds on speed guitars and staccato bass lines.
12/1. "It's the End of the World as We Know It (and I Feel Fine)" - Like every other high schooler who was an R.E.M. fan, I knew every single word of this at one point. It didn't help me in karaoke, though. They had the wrong words! Still, I never change the radio when this comes on.
17/1. "Orange Crush" - Using a call and response vocal attack, they took what could have another one of Green's memorable pop songs and dipped it in menace. This was the end result: an agit pop indictment of the military industrial complex that poisoned its own forces with Agent Orange. Of course, I'm not sure how many people remember that now.
4/2. "What's the Frequency, Kenneth?" - I remember the first time I heard a backwards guitar solo. It was in "London Calling" and I found myself wondering what the hell had just happened to my ears. A close friend explained that the guitar solo had been written and then recorded in reverse. That way, when they flipped the recording, it sounded like an underwater missile. Knowing that, I still find myself wondering what's happened to me every time I hear this song and. that. solo.
6/2. "Electrolite" - As the closing song on New Adventures in Hi-Fi, Stipe's last refrain of "I'm outta here" always seemed more cheeky than prophetic (drummer Bill Berry would not return for the next album). Still, that little moment has always been one of my favorite vocal moments ever and was my voice mail greeting for a good year or so.
12/2. "Living Well is the Best Revenge" - After Up's sullen ambience and the midtempo sunshine of Reveal, surely the arrival of Bill Rieflin (of Ministry fame) on Around the Sun meant a rockin' record, right? Well, at least they got there on Accelerate and nowhere was that more apparent than this opening shot. Still a thrill to hear, even amongst all these other hits.
15/2. "Oh My Heart" - Apocalyptic landscapes have long been a recurring theme in Stipe's lyrics. It wasn't until Hurricane Katrina that he had a real one to write about. And he hardly seems fine.
18/2. "We All Go Back to Where We Belong" - A look back filled with memories, dreams and other imaginings. It's unclear if this is simply reminiscence or an actual parting of ways but Stipe's voice is so sweet it hardly matters.
19/2. "Hallelujah" - It would be all too easy to record another version of Leonard Cohen's classic via Jeff Buckley via Rufus Wainwright. Instead, the band throws everything they have (acoustic and electric guitar, strings, Mike Mills' backing vocals and whatever other weird sounds they can find) before one final chorus that soars. "Amen" is more like it.

Part Garbage
4/1. "Sitting Still" - Due, I'm sure, to the numerous qualities they share, this song has always seemed to be eclipsed by "Radio Free Europe." That being said, I still get caught up on that chorus of "Up to par and katie bar."
14/1. "Stand" - I was still a few years away from being a fan when I first heard this and I remember, even then, finding it quite odd. Even at that age, I could recognize something different taking place. By the time they used it as the theme song for a Chris Elliott sitcom, I was devoted. But I still regret it's association with Chris Elliott in my mind.
15/1. "Pop Song 89" - This tests even my love for R.E.M. cheese. It's so embarassingly catchy it makes me uncomfortable. But I guarantee you'll still catch me singing along if I'm not thinking about it.
16/1. "Get Up" - Another one of their unabashed pop songs, this one seems to somehow skirt the cheese factor. I'm not sure if its the way Peter Buck counterbalances his guitar hits against the backing vocals or the deliriously daft chimes in the bridge. Either way, this song has always seemed criminally underrated next other singles off of Green, such as "Stand" or "Orange Crush."
21/1. "The Sidewinder Sleeps Tonight" - Featuring one of the band's more interesting chord progressions as Stipe apes the classic "Lion Sleeps Tonight." There's talk of black eyed peas, the cat in the hat and a phone booth and... wha...? The sidewinder is a homeless woman?
7/2. "At My Most Beautiful" - Off the incredibly underrated and unfairly maligned Up. Had that album been by a new band, it would have been huge. This is the one song I skip when I listen to that album as it's straighforward arrangement makes it a little out of place on a lo-fi electronic record. But here, it fits in perfectly.
8/2. "The Great Beyond" - A redux of Automatic's "Man on the Moon," this was written for the Andy Kaufman bio-pic of the same name. As such, they straddled the line between Up's ambient beauty and Reveal's sunny melodicism. In doing so, they defined a "classic R.E.M." sound that many found lacking from the rest of their output at the time. To their credit, however, it would have been easy to write a dozen of these every four years and cash in on the tour but the band resisted.
10/2. "Bad Day" - As a throw-away single for their Warner Bros. retrospective In Time, this gave fans hope that the next album would be all furious fists and memorable hooks. Sadly, that was not the case but it was fun for the four minutes that this song lasted.
16/2. "Alligator_Aviator_Autopilot_Antimatter" - One last blast of the whirling dervish word vomit that R.E.M. did so well, with Peaches on the backing vocals no less. If they'd been this much fun on Monster seventeen years prior, I would not be explaining to younger friends why this band is such a treasure.
38/2. "A Month of Saturdays" - Sometimes, the sillier this band is, the more I love them. Their silliest song since "Chance," an Automatic for the People era b-side. When Stipe sings "I wanna take all the Saturdays, I wanna stay up late," I imagine this is the sound of retirement and it sounds like fun.

Friday, January 6, 2012

The Story Thus Far 2011 Edition: Dynamite Steps/Live in New York by the Twilight Singers


Long gone are the days when the Twilight Singers seemed like a consolation prize to fans distraught over the dissolution of the Afghan Whigs. Originally conceived as an outlet for Greg Dulli between records, it became the singer songwriter's focal point immediately following the breakup of the Whigs. Five albums in now, Dynamite Steps presents a seemingly small but significant shift in artistic vision. If Dulli's modus operandi has been, up to this point, to create audio equivalents to indie crime flicks, then this is his most accessible effort yet. It's popcorn Dulli writ large: a widescreen cinematic vision that's everything you ever loved about the Twilights and then some.

Elements from throughout their multi-faceted career can be found here: the smoky electronic ambiance of Twilight as played by..., the bleak nihilism of Blackberry Belle, the reeling introspection of Powder Burns. More than any of that, however, there' s the virtuostic soulman swagger of She Loves You. Dulli's trouble man punk rock persona is pushed up to eleven here but only for affectation. Instead of being the usual clearinghouse for Dulli's demons, Dynamite Steps really comes off much more as a celebratory showcase for his band. Road tested, rock hard and true, a genuine band seems to have emerged after years of going out and touring these songs night after night. Even though the usual suspects (Mark Lanegan, Petra Haden and Ani Difranco) all still abide, the true glory belongs to this crack team of musicians that have evolved into a fit and trim fighting unit over the last decade.


And while Dynamite Steps is a vastly effective diorama of the Twilight's strong points, their road tested cohesion translates better to Live in New York. Unlike the smouldering to incendiary performances that backed 2006's Powder Burns, this is a band on fire. Punching like a boxer running out of time, they play as if their lives depend on it with the knowledge that any fight may be their last. If Dynamite Steps was an implied threat then Live in New York is their roiling suckerpunch.

"Whenever you're here you're alive," Dulli coos over the simple piano refrain that starts the album, "the devil says you can do what you like." It's "the Last Night in Town" and the simplest sort of exhortation that lies at the heart of his career: do what you want, damn the consequences, damn the torpedoes. And like that, they're off for the next nineteen tracks. It's a marathon sprint through their career, played with more ferocity and deftness than most young bands muster these days. Almost as if to say, they're the motherfucking Twilight Singers and they're not above reminding you every chance they get.

Such self assuredness hardly comes as a shock to anyone familiar with Dulli's career but here it carries over to more than the recording. The sound quality, raw and lacking studio polish, brings a feeling of actually being in the club. And while the lack of overdubs guarantees that flubs are preserved forever, there is a more genuine feeling of who this band is- blemishes and all. That is the epitome of self assuredness.


essential listening:

Dynamite Steps-
Last Night in Town
Blackbird and the Fox
The Beginning of the End

Live in New York-
She Was Stolen
Candy Cane Crawl
Teenage Wristband