This article isn't a review or current news. It's just an article about a man I have a lot of respect for and feel should be better well-known. I love this man. He built many metal sound sculptures with his son, Val Bertoia. He played these sculptures or let them play themselves. He recorded hours and hours of these performances in his Sonambient Lab and it's utterly one of the most beautifully man-made sounds I've ever had the pleasure of listening to. Taken from Harry Beroia's biography page written by Val, who has much more articulate and interesting things to say about his father than I:
It was Harry's input-energies that made his sculptures great enough to radiate endless amounts of enjoyment and encouragement for living life.
His input-energies, of course, were positive extensions of natural forms, textures, colors, miracles. What Nature could do in small living forms, such as the growing of dandelions, shrubs, grasses, Harry would magnify in metals for the observer to be surprised with shimmering beauty that may have been overlooked in (Nature's) small scale. On the other end of the human scale, what we see as clouds, ocean-waves, or erupting volcanoes, Harry would capture glimpses of these miracles in metals to show that we are god-like in our abilities to observe.
So his idea of metal clouds consisted on many, many rods, each coated with molten brass by hand to give lustrous and tactile qualities not found in milled extrusions. Building up large nets of these rods brazed together to give an effect of multi-layered space and time. Why was Harry doing this?
Don't ask; just do it. He was on a self-expressive trend that was defined by Nature Herself. What Nature did not do, Harry did, as a human extension of Nature. The human trend of this man (or let's say Super man) was to bring together every way possible in metals, all aspects of human existence.
I cannot find the words to say how incredible this man's vision and tangible output is. It's very unfortunate how virtually unnoticed he goes on to be when he left such wonderful works for us to feel, play, and listen to. I don't know what else to say.
Below are a few clips of some of the different sculptures he built and the sounds they created:
Here's, also, a very poor short video shot at a University that demonstrates one of Mr. Bertoia's sound sculptures. It gives you a small idea of how talented the man was:
Who could have thought that the son of Psycho would turn out to be the epic voice of my respective yet beautiful generational ideal? This young man makes Bob Dylan look like Bob Saget! He makes Beck sound bleak! He makes Ryan Adams sound even more like Ryan Adams! And ultimately, and in time…he’ll make Donovan sound like, well…Donovan! Now just how fucked is that, my sweet little toasty bun? This chap has got some stories to tell. The songs are long diary entries from Hell. Sure, he’s an ultra creepy Hippie who’s probably cried his way through one too many Cat Stevens albums, but most importantly he is not Freak Folk or Anti-Folk. No erratic Joanna Newsom nonsense coming from this chap, no fraudulent jerk-qualities, such as is the case with a nightmare known as Devendra Barnhart. No super wimpy overproduced rubbish, such as is the case with our good friend Sufjan Stevens. And finally, no tasteless humor or laughable pretty-boy qualities like one would bump into with the likes of Adam Green or Ben Kweller.
Dig, Thurston Moore was a hero to most but he never meant shit to me! That sucker was flat out racist, fuck him and Kurt Cobain! Elvis Perkins and his mates in Dearland are doing something super special, and that is putting genuine thought and heart back into Pop, albeit Folk-Pop in this instance. The production is minimal on the "Ash Wednesday" album, which is the debut released earlier this year. The cut “While You Were Sleeping” is both earnest and interesting, which is no easy task. Perkins, having grown up on the mean streets of Hollywood, much like fellow Hollywood brat Beck Hansen, is a chap that has breathed the same air as phonies since his birth, so it is interesting that his musical outings are not layered with irony or any blatant hipster chic. Elvis knows the score and he really seems to be in it for the music, since he personally does not exactly need the money. This can be a good place to work from, and it is nice to observe contemporary Folk stylings that are both related and unrelated to a genre that holds such diverse ancestry. Although, I would not call it music of the moment…but rather, something that is slightly out of time or sort of in limbo.
Dig the following Elvis Perkins propaganda films and read Kerouac’s “On the Road” yet again you ugly little failures…
I am from the future and I am the king of Funky Psyche. I party like a Robotic Lord sucking waste from your bowel. Kathy Diamond is the man, right? Nothing wrong with a little Disco revival, is there? But her music is so much more than just a flawed creation that exists so naturally on the planet according to the teachings one can ultimately glean from Biomimicry. I take a chariot to work in the morning, I bump skulls with gods on my coffee breaks, all the while, my respective generational voice Kathy Diamond creates the grooves that make the whole world cum ostrich feathers. Dig into her myspace and you will get the point I am trying to make a little more clearly: A Generational Voice.
Damn, girl! Damn! How did you get so good? You making daddy sweat ancient assault weapons on a Thursday morning! A funky Disco future; a Soul house! Just think of the colors. The new generation is here and we are utterly centric and focused on how the body functions. This is more than lifestyle, it is manifesto. This is more than manifesto, this is religion. A religion based upon and around the musical stylings of Kathy Diamond and her tasty voice.
Buy this shit or I will go mad with fear and engrossed in delightful night terrors: A generational purchase.
June 22, 1999. It was eight years ago today that The Flaming Lips released their most painfully honest, yet full-on pop record yet. An album that went on to become my favorite of all time.
After the perverted mindfuck that was "Zaireeka", perhaps an album this blatantly commercial `n clean was the most radical move the band could make. If you were the Flaming Lips circa 1998, what the hell would you do? The entire equilibrium was in a state of collapse: guitar wizard Ronald Jones had left the band two years prior to pursue a life of seclusion (filled with noisy growing grass), Michael Ivins nearly died in a freak car accident, multi-instrumentalist Steven Drozd almost lost his arm due to a spiderbite/heroin needle infection (you decide!). And Wayne? His father passed away as our hero, Wayne, quickly approached the gray-tinged beard that old age brings. Such madness, indeed, and here we have the result.
Precisely how does one describe music of this transcendental caliber? As Wayne says in the band's documentary, "The Fearless Freaks", "Some fans come up to me and say this is our most depressing, sobering album yet, and I totally agree. And some people say it's the most uplifting, beautiful thing we've done, and I agree with that, too." (Paraphrased...) No sir, it's not the "Pet Sounds" of the 90's. Coyne and Drozd also fondly described the group as "Frank Sinatra meets Led Zeppelin", but no, it's not quite that, either.
Orchestral, creative meditations on mortality and perseverance, speaking directly to the subconscious. Because Wayne's been there. He knows what it smells like. The type of music that would make the world a better place had it appeared in random letterboxes that fateful day in 1999. Perhaps the Columbine Massacre wouldn't have occured, had this album appeared a few months earlier. Perhaps Genghus Kahn would become a fan had this album appeared a few centuries earlier.
If I attempted to communicate every joyful "little moment" that means something to me, this review would be years long. Like the watch beep in "What Is The Light?" (is it intentional???) Or the off-setting drum pattern in "The Spiderbite Song", an element that I remember impressing me during my first listen of my first Lips album way back when.
Instead, we can talk about the euphoric rush of adrenaline that the first smash of "Race for the Prize" brings, one of the most wonderful concert openers....well, ever. Or the raw conviction in Wayne's cracking voice when he runs through "A Spoonful Weighs A Ton", a vague story about the "they". God knows who he's referring to - "they rescued everyone", "they lifted up the sun", "the process had begun", "a million came from one". Yet, the basic premise is understood - he's singing about a struggle! Those basic, primal human emotions, the joy of perserverance! Hey, I know that! (Cue awesome drum smashes during instrumental chorus).
"I stood up and I said yeah!"("But, in reality, there was no reaction...")
Really, every track captures a different aspect of the human experience. And every song is utterly perfect, it's true. "The Spiderbite Song, a playful ode to survival and friendship, explicitly mentioning those aforementioned ridiculous situations that seem to only befall a band this ridiculous. The psychedelic and brilliant "Suddenly Everything Has Changed", which deals with the life-changing situations that seem to come at the most mundane of moments, no doubt inspired by that armed robbery at Long John Silver's. (In the words of Lloyd Christmas, "One minute yer chewing on a burger, next minute you're dead meat.") He sings, "Driving home, the sky accelerates and the clouds all form geometric shapes..." and I dare you not to shiver like a woman. Wait, women shiver?
"What is the Light?" is tuneful and raw, giant and miniscule, questioning the scientific origin of that feeling called love. You know, that place that you're drawn to. Then there's "Waitin` for a Superman", a heart-breaking piano ballad longing for a Superman-like messiah figure to save the day, before concluding that "it's just too heavy for Superman to lift," accented by some bells and two special trumpet notes.
"Is it overwhelming to use a crane to crush a fly?"
"The Gash" is another mini-masterpiece on an album full of them, as described in My Top Ten Flaming Lips Songs Evah. Bizarre harmonies, likened to a church chorus on crack, singing, or perhaps preaching on the subject of persistence despite that "gash in your leg". The song glides effortlessly into "Feeling Yourself Disintegrate", perhaps the most nakedly honest and beautiful song the band's done, stripping away all the giraffe or bleeding vagina metaphors to reveal a rather vulnerable core. Like the culmination of this band's existence comes to the forefront when Wayne finally declares that "Life without death is just impossible." Words cannot describe. It's just too valuable.
That tuna sandwich might appear a bit mundane in comparison. Don't worry. When the final blissful notes of "Sleeping on the Roof" fade out, you'll know it's real. Klaatu barada nikto.
Do u utube?
(Note: Buy this album today. But your copy won't be as lovely as my worn-down booklet with Wayne Coyne's loving signature with the terrible handwriting and black sharpie. Also, purchase the 5.1 Surround Sound edition as well. And seek out "The Soft Bulletin Companions" on the interwebs. It makes one wonder how such incredible material could possibly be born from one album. The B-sides are every bit as incredible, including "Satellite of You", "The Captain" and "1,000 Foot Hands", ranking as the Lips' most extraordinary songs you haven't heard.)
(Note number two: This'll be my last blog entry for this site for a month or two. Daddy's going away to a land free of internet. Be well. Don't eat the yellow snow.)
Cool news! For those of us who dig the awesome Stereolab-side project Monade, there is indeed an epic treat all up in the works! Listen close, my precious little bundles and I will tell a tale! Monade will be releasing a follow-up to their kick-nipple 2005 album “A Few Steps More.” Lætitia Sadier is going to be in great voice, absolutely no question about it. The new Monade release will be called “Monstre Cosmic.” YES! (Expected release date: September 10, 2007!!!).
What of that other co-founder of Stereolab; Mr. Timothy Gane? He done scored a French film! About time, wouldn’t you say? The late Mr. Henry Mancini and Mr. Ennio Morricone are going to have to take a backseat and like it! It should be made clear that the title of said film in question is thusly dubbed “La Vie D'artiste,” and the soundtrack of which should also see a September 10, 2007 release date! Get your wallets ready lads, because this is that real good kind of extra tasty shit! Yummy-yum-yum, chili dog!
You want to know about the new Stereolab album in the works, don’t you? Fess up now! No need to be shy. Rumor has it that the new album will be out early next year (Which would be the year 2008). A tour would no doubt follow. I am excited, as beats and keyboard parts are being laid down somewhere in France presumably as I type this very sentence. Who cares about Stereo Total or Broadcast when you get the real deal tinkering with ideas around the effin’ clock? Huh? Fuck you! I’m excited! I’m excited!
This isn’t exactly news, but is arguably the origins of Stereolab. Take a gander and you will see what I mean…
Finally, for those of you living in Ireland, which would include me; Laetitia’s groovy minimalist Lounge Rock outfit Monade will greet our great Island nation for the following series of gigs:
2007 june 29 Cork monade live at the liquid lounge ireland 30 Dublin monade live at whelans ireland july 01 Galway monade live at roisin dubh ireland
Be there! (So, that recent Air album was crap, no?). Tee-hee! Later guys…I’m so sexy!
Disclaimer: All information robbed from the following Communist lair; The Roy Cohn Institute
King Buzz, is that your name? Listen mate, I don’t like Metal or whatever it is called. I will admit that I like you, King Buzz. Your voice is like slow plastic burning in a fast Hell. I don’t know what to say, what is the deal with your drummer? This chap basically makes the band. Your lyrics are so underrated Mr. Buzz, sir. I can’t stand these grooves, I am just forced to shake the bottom. Why would stoners need to be stoned when your music blows their mind from here to Hawaii? This is the real stuff, so carefully put together, yet so loose that one could conveniently move their respective bowels to it in no time at all!
I don’t mean to talk in a roundabout way, and this is no love letter to a band that I know so little about, and against my better judgment, I am totally tuned into some of your grand works, Master Buzz! The musical quality that unfolds is pure and genuine, and the underline reality is that you are expressing an intense love for music that has been no doubt going strong for decades. Perhaps Melvins fans can clue me into some of their recent output, because I am out of the loop after the major label days of the previous decade. I also enjoy some of the early sludge-ridden strangeness of Gluey Porch Treatments and the like. If all Metal could sound this way, perhaps the genre would be going places or back in its prime, such as in the early days of Sabbath or good old Bon Scott era AC/DC. But I also wonder if the Melvins are perhaps onto something new, and even to this day, because what is it that they do exactly? Some have referred to it as Stoner Rock, perhaps, but the King that is Buzz looks like a rather sober and conservative chap in interviews.
I am left confused by these gentlemen and their bizarre lyrical tirades. It isn’t so much their influence that should be a footnote in the history of Pop, but rather, the inventive and invigorating love they have brought and continue to bring into the Metal genre, a genre that has sadly become a blur of supposedly scary bands or washed up pricks that we are still expected to care about. I am a Classical fan by nature, so I apologize if there is actually some good Metal out there that I am not aware of, but I am aware that Buzz and his band move me oh so intensely. There is nothing like a quality workout and a good old fashioned Melvins tune kicking on the stereo. Anyone for some motherfucking tennis?
Dig these classic tracks, and what treats they must be in a live setting…
While I've always considered The Boo Radleys to be a pretty great name for a band, it is in no way befitting of this one. Remember "To Kill A Mockingbird"? Arguably the finest American literature has to offer. The character of Boo Radley is a false alarm of sorts - Scout and friends regard him as a freak, a creep, a menace to society. As it turns out, he's friendly as balls and damn near saved her life. Just a nice man who prefers to stay indoors, you know?
Thing is, you wouldn't know it looking at them, but The Boo Radleys are a menace to society. The polar opposite of Boo Radley. "Giant Steps" is a wild, thrilling, psychedelic mess of an album, far more threatening than the minor britpop splash in North America (whereas NME readers declared it the album of 1993, which isn't too much of a stretch at all). I recall the band from the "So...I Married an Axe-Murderer" Soundtrack, which I still own. Referring to the band's delicious, if inoffensive cover of The L.A.'s "There She Goes", I asked who the artist was. I misheard it as The Boob Radleys. Needless to say, I'd not yet read "To Kill A Mockingbird".
The album steals its title from a Coltrane album, and the jazz influence even rears its ugly head once or twice. A colorful kaleidoscope collage of styles and sounds, instruments and influences, in which no one is ignored. The album begins with a vaguely trippy, drone that soon becomes the britpop beast that is "I Hang Suspended".
Yes, I said Britpop.
Yet, where Blur had their kink-sy, upbeat character studies, Oasis had their Beatles-wannabe swagger and Slipknot had their silly masks, The Boo Radleys instead tread in a sort of mash-up of My Bloody Valentine and Electric Light Orchestra, yet sounding like neither. Martin Carr's noisy guitar manipulations co-exist alongside the group's gorgeous melodies; a fantastic equilibrium. A see-saw, if you will.
Yes, I said melody.
Speaking of melody, "Wish I Was Skinny" is dripping of it. A mid-tempo ode to self-consciousness, the song wouldn't sound out of place on Radiohead's "The Bends" two years later. Or "Leaves and Sand", which balances ruthlessly noisy guitar passages with an utterly perfect vocal melody worth the cost of the album. Yes, and it's an import.
"Thinking of Ways" is just as good: "Just drop me here, I can find my way clear back to my house..." sings Sice over a sultry combination of tinkling pianos and tuneful horns, leading into an "Ooooohhh" chorus. So good.
Another highlight is "Upon 9th and Fairchild", a vaguely dub-like groove that would fit right in on Primal Scream's "Screamadelica", what with its distorted vocals and reggae guitar touch. "Rodney King" and "Run My Way Runway" tread similar experimental territory, with more guitar noise, vocal effects and electronic flourishes.
"I've Lost the Reason" and "Lazarus" are more perfect, colorful pop songs on an album full of `em. Really, my only complaint is the slightly excessive hour-plus length; surely interlude "One is For" and "Loveless"-wannabe "Spun Around" work as little more than filler.
Though, it's a minor criticism on an album this joyful and full-sounding. The finale is an utterly perfect refrain of "Hey, what's that noise? Do you remember...do you remember??" in "The White Noise Revisited". The song builds to a tuneful bliss that somehow makes me wish I own a flute.
You'll wish you owned a flute.
Do you remember? (Re)discover the Boo Radleys and you will remember! You'll want to buy a flute, too.
Approximately one month ago, guitarist Richard Lloyd announced that he was leaving Television after thirty years of genius guitar interplay (which strangely only produced three studio albums). However, before he departed to pursue brighter pastures (ie: his solo career), Television announced one final show with Lloyd at Central Park's Summerstage. A free show! Weee!
Richard Lloyd sadly wasn't present at his own final show because he went and got pneumonia (the asshole!), but some guy named Jimmy Something (not his real last name) happily learned the songs and filled in. This unexpected state of affairs did not stop us troopers from arriving at Central Park over two hours early and camping out (or "chilling", as you kids say) in sweltering heat with nothing but Fruit Roll-Ups for comfort. After all, did I mention it's free?
Anyway, the billing was advertised as "three generations of alternative rock", swiftly ignoring the fact that the 80's apparently missed the memo. The first band to take the stage was The Dragons of Zynth, a group of gentle men produced by TV on the Radio (whom they resemble visually quite a bit, as well). As the Summerstage booklet described them, "Dragons Of Zynth combine punk, dub, funk, soul and heavy metal in a way so fresh it’s been given its own name: Afrotek. Critics have described the group’s live shows as “insane” and “bonkers,” though the band itself prefers to call them “audio-physio-psychic” experiences."
Hilbert_Cheesecake prefers to call them "crap". The first song they performed managed to dick around in ambient soundscapes for at least seven minutes, culminating in absolutely nothing. While the following songs were at least more satisfying than this anti-climatic sludgefest, the band never really delivered the goods. Grating noise (not in the good way), irritatingly pointless vocal freak-outs and occasionally awesome percussion all added up to a performance that was far more fun to watch than listen to, considering the group's elaborate stage costumes. Hear the band at http://www.myspace.com/dragonsofzynth and decide for yourself, goondog.
Stephen Colbert's Favorite Band!
Next to take the stage were Elephant 6 alumni Apples in Stereo, an irresistible pop group existing somewhere in the grey area between New Pornographers and Fountains of Wayne, with a fuzzy production sheen reminiscent of the Elephant 6 heyday, yet bearing no resemblance to Finger Eleven. The type of live group that smiles a lot while performing in their colorful outfits; ultimately, the performance was ten billion times more enjoyable than Zagons of Drynth. I bounced along and somehow managed to know all the songs that I'd never heard before in my life. I'm told much of the setlist was culled from the groups new album, "New Magnetic Wonder", including "Can You Feel It?" and "Same Old Drag", both complete with addicting vocal harmonies and borderline-perfect melodies. "Energy" is another perfect pop song, with a relentless chord progression and (surprise!) more background harmonies. See, kids? Noisy and fun!
It must've been about the fourth or fifth song when Mr. I'm-A-Balding-Thirty-Something-Year-Old-Guy-Who's-Still-Hip-With-The-Hipsters Singer (I don't know his name) (Nevermind, Wikipedia says his name is Robert Schneider) (Haha! His name is Rob Schneider!) (It also says he's from South Africa, so perhaps we should ignore Wikipedia) casually pointed to the red-head guy in the back rocking the tambourine (who also lended occasional keyboards and background harmonies). Schneider says: "Alright, give it up for Bill Doss playing melodica on this next track! The one and only Bill Doss! Seriously, there's only one Bill Doss in the world. Really. And now we'll play some more...songs. As opposed to just standing here, not playing songs..."
Bill Doss?
BILL DOSS?
The Bill Motherfucking Doss?
Yes, Bill Doss of the Olivia Tremor Control was in attendance, lending his incredible skills to the Apples in Stereo live show (as he has for a while now, though no one told me). I recognized the name immediately and freaked. Of course, I spent the rest of the performance completely fixated on a middle-age man with long red hair playing tambourine, but it was the best tambourine performance I've seen since that James Taylor concert in the late nineties.
Bill Doss!
Anyway, this didn't take my attention away from the melodic and noisy "Play Tough", or an incredibly bouncy track that Mr. Schneider announced as "a new song. But not from the new album." He didn't give a name. Perhaps ten minutes into the show, the rain began to fall. The band responded with the song "Sun is Out", a failed attempt to stop the rain. In fact, the rain was refreshing and nutritious, and I hardly even noticed while bouncing around violently to Apples in Stereo. I intend on buying "New Magnetic Wonder" quite soon, after singing along to a plethora of songs I'd never heard before. Video:
"Can You Feel It?":
(Ah, did I neglect to mention the keyboard player in the space suit?)
After a short (and by short, I mean long) break, Television took the stage. Tom Verlaine announced that Richard Lloyd was in the hospital and couldn't make it. He insulted the city of New York for having bad microphones. This was essentially the extent to which he spoke or even made eye contact with the crowd the entire show.
Disclaimer: Tom Verlaine is old. His hair is turning grey. His voice sounds thin and weak (perhaps due to the sound system often drowning out his vocals with guitar). He seemed to be in a bit of a daze the entire show. He potentially even forgot some words.
The setlist was a bit more..confusing than expected. The band placed a major emphasis on slower, jammier songs, many of which I wasn't familiar with. For example, "Little Johnny Jewel" was a highlight, with its simply yet effective guitar riffing and sleazy vocal contributions. After the first two songs, both of which I enjoyed and neither of which I recognized, the band jumped into a fluid version of "Venus"; the crowd roared at the intro and perhaps this is where the concert truly began. Despite Verlaine's mumbling vocal performance, the song was right on.
(All you Television fans out there - where were all these songs coming from? Are they on the 1992 reunion album that I still haven't heard? Solo Tom Verlaine? Answer me, phantom Television fans! I summon you!)
Also worth mentioning was an energetic rendition of "Glory", the only "Adventure" track that was performed. Billy Ficca banged the skins like it was no one's business and Fred Smith stood awkwardly on the side, since that's what bass players like to do. Ya know, even if "Adventure" is obviously not quite a "Marquee Moon", it's still packed to the brim with good songs. Too bad it was so under-represented.
I'd be lying if I didn't say that I hoped they'd perform "Marquee Moon" (the album) in its entirety. Instead, they played an enjoyable version of "Prove It" (Verlaine: "Here's a...cover....of one of our older tunes."). Was I the only one who noticed that they entirely skipped over the descending guitar riff in the chorus, instead returning to a bass groove and mumbling the title? The song was pretty goddamn enjoyable nonetheless, as were Verlaine's guitar work in quite a few other songs I don't know the name of. "See No Evil" was in attendance as well, and sounded quite fine.
The show was scheduled to end at 7:00. At approximately 6:55, Verlaine and Jimmy struck the brilliant opening riff to "Marquee Moon" and the crowd went apeshit.
Duh nuh! (Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah)! Duh nuh! (Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah)!
"The cadillac...pulled up the graveyard!"
As I hoped, the band fucking nailed the song. While Verlaine was visibly engrossed in the orgasmic guitar solo (see: Great Songs entry), a Summerstage employee (security guard, perhaps?) began pacing the side of the stage and making eye contact with the substitute guitarist. Points at his watch. The international signal for "End the fucking song."
In the middle of "Marquee Moon"? No thanks, Tiger. Song rolls on past the 7:00 mark. I lost track of the time. Mr. Stage-Guard-Man continues signaling. Verlaine is 100% oblivious. The solo builds up, the crowd's enthusiasm with it. As the crowd members begin to notice the guy's increasing frustration, the more they encouraged the band, went insane. The song gets bigger and bigger as Mr. State Guy becomes visibly angry, more violent with his motions. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry; at one point, my friend and I saw him walk towards the control board and honestly though he was gonna cut the power. Seeing this occurence during the middle of "Marquee mothafuckin` Moon" made my decade. Of course, eventually the song ended. I couldn't tell you if it was eight minutes or twenty-eight. The Summerstage employees immediately came out, denying an encore. Nothing could take away my shit-eating grin after that last track. (I'm desparately waiting for a Youtube video to surface. Anyone??) Ah, the post-concert headache (From the noise? From the jumping? From the smoke?) and ringing ears.
So, to recap: -Dragons of Zynth sounds like TV on the Radio on valium...not worth my left nut. -Apples in Stereo makes me want to form a power-pop band....after I buy "New Magnetic Wonder" and marry Bill Doss. -Television, while a bit more restrained than I expected (no doubt due to Lloyd's unfortunate absence), still delivered the goods and more on aforementioned highlights. Verlaine will always be among my favorite guitarists and it was well worth seeing the legend.
Happy performance of "Venus":
"Marquee Moon" (beginning):
Part of the solo:
Goodnight and good luck!
Bill Doss! Bill Doss! OMG LOL.
Update 6/22: A commenter on the Brooklynvegan review attempted a setlist:
1880 or So (from Television '92) ? Venus (from MM) Little Johnny Jewel (first single) Prove It (from MM) ? Glory (from Adventure) Sapphire Persia (not on any studio album - yet) Marquee Moon (from MM)
Inspired by the show, I have purchased the band's self-titled 1992 self-titled album. More information and pictures can be found here: http://www.brooklynvegan.com/archives/2007/06/richard_lloyd_d.html
Chopin was an interesting artist, quite interesting indeed. A rather sickly chap on the whole, but damn fantastic at playing a mean ass piano, now then, young Chopin really had a sensitive ear for music and began playing when he was but a small lad. He was dubbed the Mozart of Poland! Can you imagine, sir? Answer me, answer me now! You cannot because the music of Chopin has enraptured the very essence of your being, hasn’t it baby tears? What can one add to the respective Chopin legacy? So much has already been said and celebrated. Suffice to say that good old Chopin was one of the greatest pianists in all of Classical music, and I would challenge any buck-tooth bloke that suggests otherwise. Not only that, but Chopin very much defined the Romantic era of Classical, at least in my cute and sassy little noodle, sweetie pants.
Dig, Chopin was a master of improvisation. That’s right, folks, it happened long before Thelonious Sphere Monk ultimately graced this planet with his beauty and truth. But Chopin was no Jazz master; and neither was his chums Liszt or Mendelssohn, you know? I can tell you that Chopin dressed like a Dandy fresh out of the Fairy Academy, and what could be better? A part-time job washing dishes at some greasy spoon down the way, pal? I think not. All Chopin needed was the air that he breathed, and that’s Frédéric Chopin to you! Miss Chopin, if you’re nasty! So, grab a book about Chopin’s life and make him your wife! Buy all that you can by good old Chopin, and maybe your ears will eventually grow as sensitive as his were, and maybe you too will become a great composer and pianist. There is no question that anything is possible in the musical universe, so give it a go my little brothers! This was a fragile chap with a fragile sound, and it is to be made clear within the context of this article that music is a thing of beauty and should never cease to be musical.
But I am not done quite yet; did you know that all of Chopin’s works involved the piano in some way? Sounds to me as if the man had a bit of a fetish, did he not, Mr. Redmond Barry?
The following is not ACTUALLY Little Miss Chopin, but please, do enjoy and excuse the coughing at the beginning (Ha! Isn’t it always like that in theatres, dear?).
I saw Akron/Family at the Bowery Ballroom in Manhattan last night.
I would love to give a detailed review of this show but I had quite a few beers. I will say that the Bowery Ballroom is an excellent place to see a show. The sound is good and the atmosphere is fantastic.
Akron/Family didn't seem to play much in the way of "songs" as I have both of their albums (although I don't have the split with Angels of Light) and I only recognized a handful of songs. Their live show seems more about surprises and an "experience" than the songs. In that way it reminded me of a more organic version of a Flaming Lips show. In a lot of ways it went out a lot farther than that though and was a lot more interactive. To be fair though the Lips do not play smaller venues like this anymore and it's easier to do this sort of thing in a smaller venue I imagine.
Really this is the worst review of a live show you have ever read. There were a lot of surprising and interesting moments at the show last night: the R&B/Hip Hop warm up music and the 4 guys singing into the mic bluegrass style opening being just a couple of examples. But I'll tell you, and you can clearly see, I cannot put much in the way of cohesive thoughts on the board about it. But I would definitely recommend seeing them if you enjoy a more experimental show and/or you enjoy their albums.
...as of Monday, the eleventh of June, two thousand and seven!
(A non-negotiable list of eight unrelated albums perfect to cure your music slump! Available at your friendly local independent music dealer.)
Brian Eno/John Cale - "Wrong Way Up" (1990) This is the first of a few albums on this last that I've already reviewed in depth on the site; I'd still like to discuss it here as well. Eno and Cale come together for the most flamboyantly mainstream record of either of their careers, but with such a rich quality. The drum machines are distinctly late 80s - early 90s, but the music goes so far beyond those textures. Listening to the harmonies and strings on "Spinning Away", you'll swear it's coming from a higher power. The entire album is smothered with a quality that only improves with age; I've owned it for six months and have only become more and more addicted. Don't neglect this forgotten masterpice.
LCD Soundsystem - "Sound of Silver" (2007) I'll go ahead and say it - 2007 is half over, and this is the record of the year so far. Straight out of left field. More than any other artist in the ball-sweat soaked indie world today, James Murphy seems so happy and conscious of the way the music sounds. He's clever as a pin, but never overly pretentious or *growl* ironic. He's creative, but never at the expense of groove. He just gets it, ya know? Why do my balls itch so much?
Menomena - "Friend and Foe" (2007) ..which would make this my second favorite of the year, also sure to pop up on my year end list. A new "experimental" group from Oregon, yet the only thing "experimental" about their biz is the computer software (Digital Looping Recorder, Deeler for short) they invented to rule the songwriting process. Drummer says:
"First, we set the tempo of the click, which is played through a pair of headphones. We then take turns passing a single mic around the room. One of us will hold the mic in front of an instrument, while another one of us will lay down a short improvised riff over the click track. We usually start with the drums. Once the drums begin looping, we throw on some bass, piano, guitar, bells, sax, or whatever other sort of noisemaker happens to be in the room. Deeler keeps the process democratic, which is the only way we can operate."
The result is colorful, to say the least. Multiple vocalists, saxophones, just pulsing with musical ideas that come and go, making me grin like a goon. At times, the raw drum sound evokes "Clouds Taste Metallic"-era Flaming Lips, with a ton of atmospheric keyboards thrown in for good measure. A heavy dose of melody, too. My favorite track is "My, My", in which the clown-voiced singer wonders, "What if all my enemies were dead? And I could forget everything they said?" over a gorgeous organ drone. Music for the sake of music, and it's wonderful. Don't pass up this underappreciated pop meal in favor of Of Montreal newest plastic-poppin` garbage or MIKA's neauseating neutured offering.
Thelonious Monk - "Brilliant Corners" (1956) You know, "Kind of Blue" still gets the position as the quintessential fities dinner jazz choice. I suppose I shouldn't argue - it is pleasant, it is generally appealing, lovely, clean and diverse overall.
And yet, I can't help but feel that "Brilliant Corners" has so much more goddamn character. A vague fifties swing feel, poly-rhythms galore. Difficult and melodic. Masterful and raw. You can have your Kenny G and eat him, too, but "Brilliant Corners" is filled with the type of jagged musical ...er, corners straight outta Compton. Highly recommended to cure that music slump of your's. Call me in the morning.
The Pogues - "Rum, Sodomy & Lash" (1985) There's something about "Rum, Sodomy & Lash" that didn't make sense to me at first. I'll confess - it's my first Pogues record, my knowledge is limited. Perhaps the accents pissed me off. Perhaps the Irish storytelling held no meaning for me. Perhaps I'm just fucking sick of the Dropkick Murphies to the point that I had no interest of figuring out who they ripped off.
I was wrong.
The punk-meets-Irish folk of "The Sickbed of Cuchulainn" is a fine (if not quite subtle) way to become initiated, though it's the slower tracks that seem the most wonderful for me. "The Old Main Drag" is a waltz, melodic and vivid with a story of one's first experience with England. With the he-males and shemales. You know. "A Pair of Brown Eyes" and "Dirty Old Town" are both similarly effective. The album closes with a drawn out rendition of "The Band Played Waltzing Matilda", which Tom Waits previously covered on the "Small Change" album; he returned the favor by placing "Rum, Sodomy and Lash" among his favorite albums and writing the liner notes.
Sinatra/Jobim - "Francis Albert Sinatra and Antonio Carlos Jobim" (1967) My interest in 99.999% of old Frank's music is non-existent at best (thought it works as a soundtrack to every Baby Boomer's conception), and yet this collaboration is just sublime. Indeed, it's perfect for falling asleep, and, mind you, that's no insult. Somehow, Jobim's gorgeous world-music backdrop and Tropican....I mean, Bossanova influences provide a perfect canvas for Frank's tales of loneliness and...more loneliness.
"What can you say when a love affair is over?"
You can say, "Start the album over again." The jazzy textures are endlessly entertaining. The whole affair (no pun intended) is disturbingly quiet and restraine. However, the best tracks are when a wee bit of swing and a pinch of pop shine through - "The Girl from Ipanema" being the obvious highlight (see: great songs blog), "Baubles, Bangles and Beads" is the "Sloop John B" of the album, and it's irresistable. Or "Quiet Nights of Quiet Stars" and "I Concentrate On You", both melodically enhanced by Jobim's silly, silly background touches. "Change Partners" is another instant classic.
Souled American - "Around the Horn" (1990) Ah, Souled American. That forgotten treasure in the dark, dark annals of alt-country history. They're from Chicago and that's all we know. The tunes are lethargic, claustrophobic and rich. I'd like to do a full-length feature on this site on Souled American when I collect some more of their hard-to-find records, so for now, I'll just discuss "Around the Horn".
The guitar is warbly and strange. Vocals are high and haunting. Bass is slippery and awkward. "I Keep Holding Back the Tears" was written by a band member's mother. The end.
P.S. The first line of the album is "Watches know their time is right, beaches know they're more than sure/shore." It's a special song, with a brilliant octave-jumping melody, followed by "Second of All", which employs rather similar ideas, to a slower, moodier effect. How about "Old, Old House", which is utterly miserable in its pace and mood.
"Rise Above It" is even more plodding and exhausted. "My sweethearts gone left me...and my little sister, too." When that singer's voice cracks, it's such a perfect soundtrack for that 3:am bottom of the barrel siesta. The song drags on with the moaning and awkward guitar picking. Some perserverance song this is! I love it.
Three strangely upbeat instrumentals, but still a tad bit awkward and twisted. A touching reinvention of Little Feat's "Six Feet of Snow", with a great vocal performance from some other dude who I don't think sings on the other songs. Fuck it, I can't capture this album, but it's a subtly addictive moan. For fans of Neil Young's so-called "Ditch Trilogy". For fans of desparate, primal alt-country. For fans of music.
Tindersticks - "Tindersticks [II]" (1995) Eh, I've already attempted and failed to explain why I love it so much. The weight of the world lingers (no, trembles) on Stuart Staples voice, yet a sliver of light shines through the string arrangements. It is a dark and rewarding journey indeed. It's a dark, samey, dreary experience but, once again, I can't get enough. "My Sister", specifally, is a wonderful piece of art. Stick these tindersticks in your pipe and smoke it! For fans of British baritones and 3/4 time signatures.
"I swear she could read your mind, your life, the depths of your soul at one glance. Maybe she was stripping herself away, saying :
Here I am, this is me.
I am yours and everything about me, everything you see...
Because what better way to pay tribute to a favorite mass murderer or two?
"Dirty Frank" by Pearl Jam: The chief inspirations for this infectious, PJ "Lost Dog" are the Red Hot Chili Peppers (with whom Pearl Jam were touring) and famed murderer/cannibal Jeff Dahmer. Dahmer's "murders were particularly gruesome, involving acts of forcible sodomy, necrophilia, dismemberment, and cannibalism", according to Wikipedia. Of course, eating the bodies is quite simply the most infective way to dispose of the bodies, a fact that Vedder clearly comprehends in this possessed vocal performance (cannibalism is the sincerest form of flattery!). Esssentially, Pearl Jam were fantasizing that their bus driver at the time was a murderer of similar methods and turn-ons, and the result is a strangely upbeat moment for a band known for taking themselves too seriously. Key lyric: "Wanted a pass. So she relaxed. Now the little groupie's getting chopped up in the back."
"Son of Sam" by Elliott Smith: It is my humble opinion, and you may feel free to disagree, that David Berkowitz (popularly known as Son of Sam) set an unreachable standard for serial killers of the past and present. Get this: He went around killing folks (generally a given for serial killers) and then blamed it on the motherfucking neighbor's dog! It's a demon dog; possessed by satan! Gave me orders! How can one outdo that? It can't be done. And you know he ain't lying with a story like that. And then he went to jail and found Jesus and all that jazz...Yes, Mr. Berkowitz is without doubt my favorite serial killer.
Anyway, perhaps dear Elliott may seem an unlikely candidate to set this drama to song, what with his Beatle-esque harmonies and poignant piano melodies, though, in the wake of his troubled demise, it's no secret Smith harboured a darker side. The song is both melodic and foreboding, depicting a "king for a day", "acting on orders from above." The climax comes when Elliott casually declares, "I'm a little like you, more like Son of Sam." The most effective serial killer anthems are the ones that manage to somehow sympathize with our blood-thirsty protagonist, portraying monsters as the humans they once were. More about that later.
"John Wayne Gacy, Jr." by Sufjan Stevens This haunting ode to a tragic madman is similar to Smith's "Son of Sam" in that it portrays the killer as an actual person, with actual emotions and jobs and families and 08uq3tqtr398408itqe9i0t90i4ojt49o-grjmo4t235...
Perhaps the most striking about the song is how absolutely lovely it is to a non-English speaking person. Rustling acoustic guitars and various string instruments make this a beautiful offering on a masterpiece filled with them.
"The neighbors, they adored him for his humor and his conversation..."
Gacy was well-loved at the neighborhood block parties he threw, dressing up as Pogo the Clown and entertaining the children. Children who knew not of the 27 boys ("with their cars, summer jobs") he buried, murdered and raped underneath the floor of his house (not necessarily in that order). Sufjan understands this horrifying reality lying underneath a harmless, even charming demeanor. He was reportedly a model prisoner, though. A blood clot in his brain caused by a swing set accident ("When the swingset hit his head..."). Possibly sexually abused by an uncle.
Also a parallel to the aforementioned "Son of Sam" is the frightening ending to the song - a haunting anti-climax in which Stevens admits that...
"...in my best behavior I am really just like him Look beneath the floorboards For the secrets I have hid" Yeah! Rock Lobster!
"Ted, Just Admit It..." by Jane's Addiction: Perhaps the most bizarre inclusion on this list, Perry Farrell and the game kick it about Ted Bundy over a midly creepy, seven-minute funk jam. Bundy sometimes followed murder with rape. Sometimes the other way around. The exact bodycount is unknown, though Bundy ha admitted to over thirty murders, all young women. Like Gacy, "Bundy was frequently described as educated and charming. His personal friends and acquaintances would remember him as a handsome and articulate young man" (Wikipedia).
"Ritual de lo Habitual" remains their peak, their chief accomplishment, yet some could argue they never quite returned to the twisted vibe and dark pleasures of "Ted, Just Admit It..." Some highlights from Farrell's manic ode to a disturbed gentleman:
"Everybody's so full of shit (everybody, everybody, everybody, everybody, everybody...)"
"Showed me everybody naked and disfigured Nothing's shocking... And then he came, now sister's not a virgin anymore Her sex is violent! Sex is vy-oh-lent!"
"I am the killer of people You loook like a meatball I'll throw away your toothpick and ask for your forgiveness"
"Charlie Manson Blues" by The Flaming Lips: Okay, so technically he wasn't a serial killer. Not a murderer at all, in fact - merely convicted of Conspiracy to Commit the infamous Tate-LaBianca murders. The "Helter Skelter made me do it!" biz is almost as wild as Son of Sam's shtick, so I figured he deserved a place here. Bite me.
"Charlie Manson Blues" is the Lips numerous 90's opus's in incubus, complete with hilarious "lalalalala" and "Hoo! Ha! Hoo! Ha!" background harmonies. Wayne moans about slipping into Charlie Manson Blues over a riff so simplistic it's almost complicated. Certainly among the highlights on the fun yet underdeveloped reverb-city of full-length debut "Hear It Is". "I'm a stupid-dressed Jesus son!"
"Psycho Killer" by The Talking Heads: Nah, I don't know who it's about either. I am a bit of a freak for Talking Headcheese and couldn't resist. Byrnes switches between English and French, vaguely assuming the role of a paranoid killer, unable to accept the implications of his crimes. The "Stop Making Sense" version is superior to the album version, by the way.
"Midnight Rambler" by The Rolling Stones: The song's about Albert DeSalvo, better known as the Boston Strangler, who molested and strangled thirteen single women throughout the early sixties. He was found murdered in the infirmary of Walpole State Prison in 1973; his killer remains a mystery.
The Stones' tribute is soaked in even more blood, sweat and Jagger-guts than usual. The guitar drips with dirty blues and the chilling harmonica helps to set the mood. Jagger vaguely describes the sneaky pusuits of a "midnight rambler, leaving footprings up and down your hall."
"I'll stick my knife right down your throat, baby, and it hurts!"
(Notice how many of these songs assume that inevitable first person tense? Eek.)
"Nebraska" by Bruce Springsteen: Ah, another first person. I'll be honest witchoo: I can't remember the last time I sat through the "Nebraska" album. It's depressing and dry, none for me, thanks. When I'm in the mood, I opt for Neil's "Tonight's the Night" ten times out of nine.
The title track remains a highlight, and pretty fucking uninviting opener. Bruce takes the character of Charles Starkweather, a disgruntled "spree killer" who murdered 11 victims during a road trip with a girlfriend (thirteen years old, no less!) in the late fifties. Perhaps it's no surprise for Charles to be a wee bit bitter - he was cursed with a birth defect, Genu varum, causing his legs to be slightly deformed, in addition to a speech impediment. In addition to this song, Starkweather inspired "Natural Born Killers", along with numerous Stephen King novels. His life motto? "Dead people are all on the same level."
Back to the song. "Me and her went for a ride sir and ten innocent people died...Through to the badlands of Wyoming, I killed everything in my path." Bruce tells it how it is over a fading harmonica moan, essentially giving an autobiographical account of Starkweather's life, from his first murders to his experiences in jail. It seems many of these serial killer songs have utterly ingenious final lines. "Nebraska"'s closing statement may very well take the cake:
"They wanted to know why I did what I did. Well, sir, I guess there's just a meanness in this world."
Depressing as balls in a coconut patch. Born in the USA! (Sorry, can't find a mugshot for this one, but this picture's quite groovy:)
"Arcarsenal" by At The Drive-In: Like Pearl Jam's "Dirty Frank", this 2000 At The Drive-In punk assault deals with Jeffrey Dahmer, though his screams seem to indicate that Cedric doesn't find it very funny. "I'd really like to meet him!" he ejaculates over drum spazzes and cutting guitar gasps, leading to an intense reprise of "Have you ever tasted skin?" Delicious homestyle taste!
Obligatory bonus song that isn't about serial killers in the least:
"Shimmy Shimmy Ya" by Ol' Dirty Bastard: I got back from seeing "Knocked Up" and immediately hunted for the name of the song playing over the opening credits and subsequently listened to it over and over and over. Best piano loop ever. Who gives a shit about songs about serial killers? It mentions "psycho killer Norman Bates", so close enough. I like it raawwww!
... the greatest outtakes/b-sides/whatevurrrrs collection that I have ever feasted my ears upon.
As I speak to you children, Ween resides in the studio, preparing a new album and tour for the latter half of 2007, hopefully a delicious treat for those obsessives waiting since 2003's "Quebec", a fine album which perhaps isn't quite as brown as Ween promised. My only question? When's the second volume of "Shinola" cumming out? Yes, it's true. In 2005, Ween delivered an oft-unappreciated, damn near perfect album without recording any new music.
So...if one were a song, precisely what would one have to do in order to be rejected from a Ween record? Think about it: The words "AIDS" and "HIV" repeated over and over, set to an utterly gleeful jingle made the cut. A nine-minute funk romp about cunnilingus wasn't too tasteless. Even that three minute start-stop computer noise entitled "The Fucked Jam" was invited to the party. And yet these twelve unique tunes, covering just about every side of Ween's mastery, are condemned to an eternity of underappreciation on a *hesitate* odds `n sods release.
Gaboo!
While "Tastes Good on th` Bun" is a solid mood-setter, it's buy no means indicative of the fun to come. The disgustingly processed drums and anti-melodic vocals would fit in on "The Pod" better than an ostrich at an abortion clinic, yet the devilishly catchy "Boys Club" steals the show, about as homoerotic Ween will get without blatantly urging the listener to "go find yourself a nice peace of ass." Or, on second thought...
"I Fell In Love Today"? Sleazy as balls!
"Big Fat Fuck"? Mischievous as tongue!
"The Rift"? Long as hair!
"Gabrielle"? Catchy* as Thin Lizzy! (*=ten times better than Thin Lizzy).
Of course, while many reviewers find themselves using the word "parody", the appropriate word here seems to be "homage"; as if Ween's sincerely digging through a bag of musical influences soaking in oatmeal that they wish to share with you, dear bi-nippled reader. "Did You See Me?" is the song I'm referring and mid `70's Pink Floyd seems to be the band in question. The song is utterly perfect at what it is - the way the layered minor chords fade in, the bubbly keyboard line, the undeniably affecting, murky vocal melody, and that big ol' build-up of love at the end. I WANT TO INVITE GENE AND DEAN TO MY BIRTHDAY PARTY.
On a scale of 1-10, how does Ween do it? And so consistently. The aforementioned "Did You See Me?" is nicely complimented by the stoner vibes of "How High Can You Fly?" and "Transitions", two other fine songs in their own right. But I'd like to devote a full paragraph to "Israel", since it's one of the most goddamn infectious Ween "songs" I've heard in eons. Reasons why this song is great?
1. That main melody constantly building up elements (flute, voice, etc.) is catchy enough to solve the Arab-Israeli Conflict. 2. Some dude is reading a Jewish prayer. He makes me chortle. Say hi to Jewish prayer-reading guy, kids! Hi, Jewish prayer-reading guy! Let me buy you a drink! 3. 50-55 seconds: siren. 4. The subtle background words at the end of each verse.
And holy shit, the last two songs are as great as anything we've heard. "Monique the Freak" is one of those satanic Prince homages (*there's that word again*) that Ween simply can't get enough of. Just lay some sly grooves and sliver with them groovy horndog funk juice. Six minutes of vocoder fun, sprinkled with guitar motifs and light pan dripping. That riff at 1:17 makes me see Jesus.
"Someday", however, is a dropkick elbow punch to the elbow-testicle of anyone who claims that Ween is incapable of beauty and sensitivity - it just so happens to be their own perveted brand of beauty and sensitivity. Those ridiculous background vocals? More perverted than the old man dressed up in a flight attendant uniform at Hooters. The spoken word repetition? Jesus Christ, don't even get me started. That Walt Disney coda? You guessed it.
"Sunday Monday Tuesday Is Pizza Day...Pizzy Day..."
Of course, the studio albums are essessseessseential, but don't pass up this hard-to-find rarities collection. Or I'll collect your rarities! Oh! That's why she said! No, but seriously.
Verdict: A worthy offering to Boognish. i/10 (square root of -1, imaginary number).
And since you've been such a good class, here's what happens when you translate the lyrics to "Transitions" into German, back into English, into French and back into English again:
"Aesthetic universal saturation in the handful of the morning sun became. The créosote that the entire odors corrode these lies of schlummernd, if the day is done. You jump take the dingle on the ferry you behind to the dimension, that began only. Go paints it contact to an union, is Harry Truman the holy son." (Copyright 2007 Jerry Falwell)
Paul McCartney's new album Memory Almost Full was released yesterday in Great Britain and today in the United States. It can be ordered at Amazon.com
His last album Chaos & Creation In The Backyard was a mostly quiet and restrained album and many said it was his best album since Band on the Run. Many also gave much credit for the album's sound to producer Nigel Godrich (of Radiohead and Beck fame.) The album felt like McCartney was revisiting his songwriting style from the The Beatles Rubber Soul and Revolver era. While I do not think there was anything as timeless as "Eleanor Rigby," "Michelle," or "For No One" there were some really fine songs on the album and it was in my top three McCartney albums (after Ram and Band on the Run.)
Now I think it's dropped to 4th because of Memory Almost Full which shows Paul back in charge and running with his musical whims. While it is not as restrained or as consistent as Chaos & Creation, it has higher highs and includes some of the most creative songs McCartney's ever written. This album sounds youthful both in voice and more importantly in ideas. It sounds like McCartney is finely doing something that I have wished he would do for quite some time which is to combine some of his more experimental side (see The Fireman and The Liverpool Sound Collage.) and his classical music side (most recently Ecce Cor Meum) with his pop music.
The album's stand out tracks include "Mr. Bellamy," "House of Wax," "Only Mama Knows," "Vintage Clothes," and "Feet in the Clouds."
"Mr. Bellamy" sounds unlike anything McCartney has written before. In fact it sounds like nothing I've ever heard before written by anyone. It's a very original and unique song. The feeling I get from it is similar to the silliness of the Ram album but it has a darker side to it and I've read that McCartney says it's about a man who is going to jump off a building. From listening to it, it sounds like it could also be about a cat stuck in a tree. The song switches back and forth from different characters perspectives in voice, lyrical content, and in musical composition. The song is just bursting at the seems with ideas and the ending is just killer. The last 40 seconds get really spacey with vocals, pianos, and horns floating all around. It could be the man jumping off the building and floating through the air? This is my personal favorite song on the album and at this very moment it may be my favorite solo McCartney song ever.
"House of Wax" is another track that doesn't really remind me of anything McCartney's done before. It's a very over the top melodramatic song with huge sounds and a blistering guitar solo played by Sir Paul himself. It reminds me of some sort of strange combination of a big McCartney ballad, Ozzy Osbourne, and Pink Floyd. Regardless of the ingredients the effect is absolutely hair raising. This song gives me chills and makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
"Lightning hits the house of wax Woman scream and run around To dance upon the battleground Like wild demented horses
Hidden in the yard. Underneath the wall Buried deep below a thousand layers lay the answer to it all"
"Only Mama Knows" starts and ends with somewhat creepy strings. In between there's the best rock song McCartney has written in about 30 years. It reminds me of "Nineteen Eighty Four" from Band on the Run and "Junior's Farm." I'm not only talking about the strings opening and closing of this song when I speak of the classical influence on this album. McCartney has always had a penchant for writing complex pop music but it seems even more complex on this album. I'm hearing more and more layers every time I listen.
"Vintage Clothes" is the best example of what I was talking about earlier with the experimental side of McCartney coming through in this album. The song starts off simply enough as a jaunty piano track (with some great bass) but then suddenly it drops off into a section with sampled Mellotron and delayed voices coming together very rhythmically making for an interesting juxtaposition. Immediately after this is a whistling section that is just as surprising as the bit before but also fits in perfectly. The second time through there are a lot of voices in the delayed section which add to the magic of the track. Perhaps most cool is the section that comes in after the second time through ("A little worn....") where it feels like a 60s rock song sort of just enters out of nowhere. This works very well musically and fits in perfectly with the idea of the song. The amount of ideas crammed into this 2 minute 22 second song is astounding.
"Feet in the Clouds" is where McCartney does his Brian Wilson thing. This is a good song the first couple of minutes but it turns into a very very very very very very good song over the last 90 seconds. I love the layers of vocodered vocals and it's another example of classical influence.
The album does have some tracks that don't work quite as well as these such as "Gratitude" which while it has some good moments (I think every song on the album at least has some good elements) is a bit awkward. "See Your Sunshine" has a cool Stevie Wonder thing going on in place but there are some bad lyrics that get in the way of enjoying the song (it doesn't help that they are the opening lyrics to the track.) Both of these songs have grown on me somewhat. The middle section on "See Your Sunshine" is in particular very cool.
"End of the End" is one of the songs that has been most talked about as in it McCartney is considering his own death. While it is a poignant track I do not think it's one of the real standouts. It has grown on me quite a bit with repeated listening though. But I think "You Tell Me" is the better ballad. I love the backing vocals on this track.
It's hard to believe that McCartney is 64 years old. His voice sounds exceptional throughout the album and his ideas are fresh and creative.
I think it's time that people get over it* and accept that Paul McCartney is one of the most important and influential musical artists in popular music history.
*it being "hip" to dismiss McCartney's contributions to the Beatles and to ignore his solo work
The lead UK single "Dance Tonight" is perhaps the least interesting track on the album. As an opener to the album it works alright but it's not a very good representation of the album as a whole. That being said I'll include the video for "Dance Tonight" below. The video was directed by Michel Gondry and stars "Gareth" (UK The Office) and Natalie Portman.
I can see little twinkly stars, like Christmas tree lights in faraway windows. Rings of brightly coloured rocks floating around orange and mustard planets. I can see huge tiger striped fishes chasing tiny blue and yellow dashes, all tails and fins and bubbles. - "My Sister"
I continue to find that the music that I gravitate to the most is that which contains a contradiction of sorts. The type of music that remains dark and claustrophobic, yet with just the right bright bright twinkles. The type of music that manages to sing about giraffes atop a backdrop of ear-bleeidng guitar noise, or the type of artists who write about the Black Plague and turn it into a children's game. Or perhaps a satan-voiced englishman describing a fifteen year old beaten by a gym-teaching husband by a bullworker, all the while grooving to a tapestry of strings, vibes and horn farts light enough for a dinner party?
Tindersticks' second (self-titled) album is characterized by Stuart Staples haunting baritone floating amid a plethora of diverse, orchestrated instrumental templates created by multi-instrumental guru Dickon Hinchliffe, grooving upon the hazy 3/4 rhythms atop a bed of iceberg lettuce and mesclun greens, lightly sprinkled Gorgonzola and a drizzle of raspberry vinaigrette. Served lightly chilled.
Of course, I could continue with such mundane descriptions of what one hears when tapping one's foot to this rich tapestry, but would it really get across what one feels?? For example, could I possibly describe the tone of Stuart Staples' voice when he breathes, "Do you ever want to take that knife and discover?" in "Snowy in F# Minor", before leading into a haunting instrumental refrain of dark strings, moaning guitars and descending horn notes?
The answer is no. Somewhere between Love and Nick Cave lies this delicate musical balance. Contradiction, as I've previously discussed.
Hey, Allmusic.com! How would you describe such brilliance?
"While Stuart Staples' songs remain as obsessive and haunted as before, he wards off his demons with fits of pitch-black humor and a more tender perspective."
Wow, good description, Allmusic! How do you feel about global warming?
"It is true that Aaron Carter's second album is slightly less creepy than his first, simply because his voice has broken and he no longer sounds as much like a child singing about things far beyond his years. Still, the basic approach hasn't really changed, and he's still singing songs that are clearly directed at kids but written with distinctly adolescent, even adult, overtones. Even songs that are meant to be light, frothy love songs are too knowing about sexuality, always hinting at things that young Aaron just shouldn't know about."
Right on, Allmusic.com!
The album starts as a whisper - "El Diablo En El Ojo" fades in with gentle guitar strums and strings so light they're barely there. "I wouldn't turn the lights down yet. `cause they're things you gotta see," mumbles Stuart as the song builds up to a dreadful cacophony of squealing strings and incoherent speaking. But then it stops. Completely.
The strangely titled "A Night In" is another highlight, characterized by a trip-hop drum beat and more trembly singing about "shoes full of hope", callouses and cots. The best song here by miles? The aforementioned "My Sister", which is an utterly haunting, spoken word ode to a cursed sister; Staples' British monotone almost fits like merely another instrument, yet remaining the only constant among that constantly evolving elevator music.
"We buried her when she was 32. Me and my aunt, the vicar, and the man who dug the hole. She said she didn't want to be cremated and wanted a cheap coffin so the worms could get to her quickly. She said she liked the idea of it, though I thought it was because of what happened to the cat, and our mum."
The last song worth mentioning in detail is "Travelling Light", an emotional duet with Carla Torgerson of The Walkabouts (the who?), an odd sliver of pop fitting between the pitch-black side two of the record.
That's not to say it's a perfect album. Seventy minutes is indeed an ambitious length for a musicalbum of this style, causing many of the slightly less memorable tracks to fade together as one slow-as-sin, dreary death ballad ("Sleepy Song", "Seaweed" and "She's Gone" are among the innocent victims here). Three instrumentals, albeit short ones, is also midly excessive, espially when one considers that: a) "Vertrauen II" and "Vertrauen III" are nearly identical. b) Both are disgustingly difficult to spell. c) "Singing" is a ridiculous title for an instrumental d) Roger killed Piggy with a boulder.
