The Name Of This Blog Is...Gumption Centers

Star Wars: The Old Republic...a short story.

2011-09-07T13:02:00.002-04:00

“We were in shambles. Our intelligence had surely let us down in this regard. The surprise Republic offensive caught us completely off-guard. A rookie move, if I had the courage to say so myself in this hour. The fallback order came as Republic troopers began to raze the outposts closest to us, and as they made their final approach towards the headquarters, we saw that there were Jedi assisting them in their savage offensive, just as the rumors had told. As our headquarters began final defensive preparations, an imposing hooded figure walked up to me with his companion. His hood gracefully slipped off his head as he came to a full stop. His massive frame was, perhaps, more machine than human. A breathing apparatus seemed to make his breath more labored, but if it intimated a weakness it was lost in the fear that such a breath inspired.

It was a brief moment before he began speaking. I was, understandably, in a state of sheer anxiety over the progress of battle, and his presence did little to settle me. Eloquent yet terse, his questions were short and to the point. After receiving the report of the bleak situation, his only words were, ‘Nothing of what you have just told me will make a difference. The battle has already been won. Your defeat is now my victory.’ With a turn, he restored his hood to its place, and strode off. His companion turned and issued a stern glare as the pair disappeared past the bend of the hallway.

It was not a few moments later when the furor of the battle grew to deafening heights; I turned to the window overlooking the land to see the Sith walk towards the Republic assault force with only his companion by his side. Despite the impression I was left with when I met him, it seemed to be a bitter, reckless, and foolish sacrifice.

But I was swiftly proven wrong. The Sith’s full grasp of the Force was on full in a beautiful and elegant painting of hatred and rage. He charged at will, dispatching troopers in quick bursts. Blaster shots fired at him mattered little: those that he chose to not block during his assault seemed to hardly affect him. Drawing from the Dark Side, his Force attacks were unstoppable, and none of the troopers could contend, and by the time their Jedi counterparts entered the fray, the Republic battalion lodged a hasty retreat for the Jedi to convert into victory.

It was, by all notions of the term, a losing battle. One Sith and his companion against three Jedi Masters. But yet the battle raged on. His skill with the lightsaber was apparent, but unlike the Jedi who relied on their graceful speed, the Sith relied solely on his strength. His rage was an ever-flowing pool into the Force, and after a Jedi erred on an approach, the Sith grabbed hold of the Zabrak in a chokehold through the Force; within seconds, the Jedi was dead, and his body cast aside.

Blows seemed to glance off of him, and the still uneven odds seemed to begin to wear on all parties. In a moment of relative peace, the Sith drew upon the Dark Side of the Force and renewed his assault. The Sith was unstoppable: the Jedi were forced to parry quickly, and soon another Jedi had fallen. There now remained only one Jedi. The duel resumed, and the Sith’s companion attempted to turn the tide by rejoining the fray. A reckless move, indeed, as the lone Jedi Master incapacitated (at the very least) the companion, removing them from the battle.

But, perhaps, that was the Jedi Master’s worst mistake. Losing his companion angered the Sith to the point where nothing, not even pain, could stop him. He had, in most if not all senses of the word, become invincible. The Sith let out such a cry that all felt the sheer weight of his pain, suffering, hatred, and vengeance...it was then all hell broke loose. The Sith’s barrage was unstoppable, and the Jedi Master was forced to resort to evasive maneuvers to stay alive. The Sith’s assault ended, and so the Jedi Master countered, but the blows that the Sith absorbed seemed to not phase him in the least.

Their lightsabers clashed, and locked into what proved to be a duel of the fates. The Sith, after a tense moment, gained the upper hand, forcing the Jedi Master back. Sensing his advantage, the Sith pressed on, and after trading attacks, the Sith won after impaling the Jedi Master with his lightsaber. Our battle had been won by a lone Sith, an unstoppable force, a juggernaut that could withstand any and all opposition.

His victory cry shattered the silence, but I sensed that his victory was filled with just as much pain as it was with rage. He recovered his companion, and without a word left the battlefield towards, presumably, another ship...perhaps his own. I did not think much of it then, but I doubt that I will ever see that Sith warrior again.

It was the most brutal and efficient display of the Force I have ever seen, a stunning image of what true mastery of the Force is. For all intents and purposes, I am glad that I have not seen the Sith warrior since, for I am certain that our next encounter would be less pleasant than the first. But I have him to thank for my life. If this day of battle had ended in defeat, the retribution enacted on me would have been swift and merciless, and I would be here no longer.

Right now, however, I have no more energy to dedicate to the matter. What I need right now is the stiffest drink that I have in my collection.”

-Journal of Moff Nossus, 3638 BBY, recovered in 1586 BBY

Record of the Moment, Record Review: Bon Iver - Bon Iver

2011-06-29T16:18:00.002-04:00

Where to start with this record? It's absolutely stunning. I know that gets thrown around a lot (I have, after all, ranted and raved about many records here), but this record simply is that. It's a record that is unlike any other, something that seemingly can't come from this world...but yet, it rings as completely heartfelt, warm, and true when at first it seems that such a record would be impossible to make.

I am going to opt against discussing at length the legend and the myth that surrounds the ethos of Bon Iver, with the whole "cabin in the winter writing songs of heartbreak" thing that everyone else seems to think is paramount to understanding Bon Iver. Partially because I could copy and paste any Bon Iver-related review which will most assuredly host a painstaking analysis over Bon Iver's roots, thus saving me work. But the bigger thing is that for Bon Iver, it's totally unnecessary for understanding or enjoying the record (no backstory should be required to make an album "good," that's for sure).

The one word I would use to describe this record is: ethereal. It seems to exist in a plane of living outside of ours, but the record speaks with a warmth and sincerity. A peculiar way to describe the record, sure, so let me use an analogy even more peculiar which may shed some light. If a dream could be physically represented, I'd personally characterize it as silvery stuff, which is not a very helpful description at all. In many ways, it's sort of reminiscent of the physical manifestation of memories in Harry Potter, but fluffier, perhaps. Either way, it represents something that seems to us as entirely real but isn't exactly real. This bizarre feeling is perhaps the best way I can describe Bon Iver.

The record is essentially structureless: songs fail to adhere to traditional structures, being more abstract landscapes of places ranging from the real ("Perth") to not-so-real ("Hinnom, TX"). But it's not as if that each track decides to take the "Perth sound" or "Tex-Mex" and make a song about it as if creating a pastiche (for that matter, I'm not sure what "Perth sound" would sound like, and the thought of Bon Iver going into "Tex-Mex" is frightening in that it would be odd, but I wouldn't be surprised if Vernon made it work). Each locale on the record has its own mood, style of sound that is evoked during the track, giving something as location-less as an emotion a place to stay, develop, and grow. Each location's emotion is part of a whole and (rather ironically) contributes to that holistic sense of being place-less; Bon Iver essentially asserts that though there are places that generate emotional responses in us, the constant things in life, our emotions, are boundless. The record sounds warm, at home, and pastoral while expanding the horizons of sound and music-craft to dizzying heights bordering (and oftentimes achieving) the epic at the same time.

And I suppose I should mention that perhaps what holds the record together is Justin Vernon's voice. At the same time earthly and beyond this world, his voice is the extremely pliable tool with which the emotional heft of the record is solely based upon. Without its capabilities of a divinely-given and inspired falsetto through to the earthy tones of the lower octaves, the record's emotional base would not exist; given the scope of the music around it, the entire record would have likely collapsed into an overly trite heap of scrap. But Vernon's voice holds it together and creates a record that is far beyond the sum of its parts, creating something truly inspired and beyond here with things of this world.

This is a record is what the world has been waiting for, for a long time. So much of music now and from before is "dated" and bound to a specific time or a specific place. Bon Iver, though, manages to elude such trappings of space and time to contribute something absolutely beautiful, meaningful, and stunning in both beauty and scope. A record truly timeless that will likely stand tall when not only the music of this year is reflected upon, but in the scope of eternity when all things are considered.

100/100

ed: Sure, this review is late. Whoops. But in my defense, like this record, I'm not bound to human systems like "time."

An Apology

2011-06-05T08:55:00.000-04:00

I do sincerely apologize for the apparent lack of rock verbiage being said on this blog here recently, and I thoroughly blame my last quarter of university ever. I have some new topics to write about this summer, and hopefully they'll be coming at a normal rate. Some record ravings (x's Los Angeles comes to mind at the very least), and some other stuff too.

But a little tidbit...how utterly bizarre is this?

Weezer covering Radiohead. You ask someone to define good 90's music, and 65% of people would probably either mention Weezer or Radiohead. The voices of Rivers and Thom covered different spheres but they both totally represented the 90s. So for one to cover the other is absolutely inane. And I mean that in a good way. You expect Thom's voice to slink and and Rivers just charges it and so the song is given a whole different feel. It's complete accurate outside of the whole Rivers v. Thom thing and some of the guitar solos. I personally dig it even if it's totally not the original. It's just...different. The only way to accurately describe it is bizarro. And that's all.

Getting the Party Started...Right

2011-03-04T15:56:00.000-05:00

There's many ways to start a party...but there's only one way to start it right. And when I say "party," I actually mean "record."

The observant will note that I sort-if-did rail on The King of Limbs for having an extremely weak opening track. While coincidental that this entry follows, there is no cause-and-effect to it, as I've been thinking about this issue for awhile.

So...how does one start a record off right? It's a few things. Personally, I think the key ingredient in a good opening track is a sense of direction, a sense of momentum. It's got to pull you in and get you hooked, and nothing does that like imbuing the listener with a sense of direction. It doesn't necessarily have to be, you know, a song that blazes at 250bpm with only power chords or something (i.e. punk), but it does have to feel like it moves and it has to move you.

Which brings up the second point. It has to move the listener, and at least imbue the listener with a sense of feeling. You've got to identify with it...you've got to FEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEL it. Or something like that. On the whole, though, I think the former criteria of direction is more important than feeling/catharsis. The best songs have heaps of both, but there are some cases where catharsis can trump direction as the go-to effect. So to discuss some examples:

1. Bob Dylan - Highway 61 Revisited

So it probably figures that my favorite record ever also has the best starting track to ever grace mankind? Yep. No coincidence there. I don't need to elaborate on the title track. Because if I do, there is a serious problem. "Like A Rolling Stone" is the best song ever. Period. But why is it so good? Because, quite simply, it changes your world. It says "HERE COMETH I, THE SPIRIT OF ROCK" or something cheesy like that. It executes a bombing raid on your brain and leaves it in ashes and rubble. And after it completely resets your brain, the rest of the album continues the blitz. And that's why this record is the best ever. But of course, you don't believe me. But let Bruce Springsteen convince you:

"The first time I heard Bob Dylan, I was in the car with my mother listening to WMCA, and on came that snare shot that sounded like somebody'd kicked open the door to your mind ... The way that Elvis freed your body, Dylan freed your mind, and showed us that because the music was physical did not mean it was anti-intellect. He had the vision and talent to make a pop song so that it contained the whole world. He invented a new way a pop singer could sound, broke through the limitations of what a recording could achieve, and he changed the face of rock'n'roll for ever and ever."

-Bruce Springsteen

2. Ramones - Ramones

There are a lot of punk records that start off with a bang (The Clash and Never Mind the Bollocks, Here's the Sex Pistols certainly spring to mind), but I have to tip my hat and use the Ramones as an example. How ubiquitous is "Blitzkrieg Bop"? You tell someone to name off a punk song and anyone who's anyone has a 64.37% chance of saying "Blitzkrieg Bop." That's the sort of effect it had. As a title track, it's a blunt instrument that serves as the rallying call of all punk rockers everywhere (of course, it likely attracted more nihilists than activists, but on the whole probably they're one and the same). The insistent beat, the chugging chords all embody the force of nature, the armament of sheer simplicity and the power of punk music at its finest. It sets up the breakneck pace of the rest of the record, alongside the sheer brilliance of the Ramones as a whole.

3. Funkadelic - Maggot Brain

This record most closely embodies how catharsis can easily trump direction. The opener and title track is simply a Eddie Hazel solo over some solemn and arpeggiated guitar. Which is weird, because Funkadelic is a funk band (obviously). But the track simply is a masterwork, and it sets the stage for the revival that occurs on the rest of the record. The legend is that Eddie Hazel was told to play the solo as if he had heard his mama just died, and then at one point to change it so that he found out the rumor wasn't true. What resulted is the stuff of legends, completely face-melting, cathartic, barn-burning goodness that can only come from true feeling. I can't explain the song more than that. Listen for yourself. But then notice how "Maggot Brain"'s sense of doom finely segues into the feelings of revival evidenced by the rest of the record, and be wowed.

That's all I have the energy for today. There are modern examples (namely, "Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)" on Arcade Fire's Funeral and "Everything In Its Right Place" on Radiohead's Kid A), but they're hard to come by these days, which breaks my heart.

Radiohead - The King of Limbs [Review]

2011-02-22T22:05:00.002-05:00

And...here we go. The King of Limbs. Let's face it: Radiohead never make an easy record. To prove my point, I first thought this record was absolute trash except for three songs. Now? I think it's pretty damn brilliant outside of the first and last tracks. Perhaps it's one of those things with Radiohead; their records require time to mature, like a fine wine, for example. To try to make a snap judgment is to dismiss it too quickly (and then you'll be a fool when you're proven wrong). And when Radiohead try something different? That's the norm, but when "different" doesn't sound like what you thought "different" was, it's also way too easy to dismiss when it should be embraced.

The record is a brisk eight songs long (or short?), coming to a short length of less than 40 minutes. To talk about the sequencing, I think if you lopped off "Bloom" and maybe re-slotted "Separator" somewhere else, the record would be a tight-knit bomb that would explode everyone's heads off with its sheer awesomeness. I think "Bloom" is a little far too off-kilter and doesn't really get moving anywhere, trading direction for ambient texture. And, in my most humble opinion, the thing you need the most in a song is direction, especially for something as critical as the pole position on a record. "Separator," to me, is a little too lazy. If there was a little "more" to the track, a little more energy than what there currently is, I think it'd be good, but as it is the job seems "unfinished" when it boils down to it.

And now I'm bloody done griping about the record, because the rest of it is pretty amazing. "Morning Mr Magpie" has that off-kilter, demonic sense of urgency, while songs such as "Lotus Flower" and "Little By Little" have that trademark groove workout that Radiohead have recently employed to great effect (see: "15 Step" on In Rainbows). But I think the change-of-pace tunes, "Codex" and "Give Up the Ghost" that almost close the record (and if I had any say, would have closed the record) showcase the real power of Radiohead.

Radiohead, at least to me and to basically almost everyone who's anyone, marked a new era in rock music. Especially with Kid A: they looked at the book of what rock music was, said "what's this?," then tore it up to bits and pieced it together to come up with a new definition of rock music, where electronic and acoustic perfectly merge to form a more perfect whole. Given this, they've always been masters of texture. And so on "Codex" and "Give Up the Ghost," the texture is slowly piled on until each track reaches a point of absolute catharsis and beauty. If you aren't moved by those moments, you're probably either dead, a robot or a zombie (take your pick). Texture has largely been Radiohead's calling card and the real reason to listen to them, and on "Codex" and "Give Up the Ghost" they prove once again why, on the whole, they're probably the best rock band out there today, bar none. And I say this with sorrow as I begin the demoralizing task of deciding where Wilco goes on my list of "the best out there today."

That being said, what score can I give this record? I find it hard to give it much higher than 88/100 given the general mess that "Bloom" is and how slightly underwhelming "Separator" is. But that's to say that this record went from "absolutely brilliant" to "almost brilliant" thanks to those two tracks.

And its place in Radiohead canon? Yeah, another great entry. It's pretty much impossible to compare to Kid A and OK Computer and probably In Rainbows, but beyond that it's fair game. My guess is that The Bends still holds major sway, but I'd say The King of Limbs is at least on par with Hail to the Thief and Amnesiac while remaining miles better than Pablo Honey (wait, Pablo Honey was actually Radiohead? What?!?). If you look at that numerically, it looks terrible because it's fifth or sixth on the list of Radiohead records, but think about it, folks, this is Radiohead. They've only made one record that's not to the level of "really damn good" (Pablo Honey, as noted above, was "basically" not Radiohead anyways so you could claim that they've never made a record worse than "really damn good"). So, shut your pie hole, put on a Radiohead record and bask in their brilliance. I sure am.

So there you have it. Radiohead - The King of Limbs. Almost brilliant, which by current standards means "better than almost anything else out there."

The Kinks - The Odd Man Out

2011-01-17T13:01:00.003-05:00

Well, I eventually got around to it, right?
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Quite simply put, the Kinks have always been the odd man out. When you look at the big boys in the British Invasion, you have to include the Kinks in the same group as the Beatles, the Stones, and the Who (at the very least because of "You Really Got Me"). But when the invasion had, for all intents and purposes, stagnated, where did they all look to for inspiration? The Beatles looked to India and all over, the Stones delved even more into the American rhythm and blues, and the Who went for broke by creating modern rock operas. The Kinks, however, looked back towards where they came from: England. This was particularly odd, because so much of the 1960s was predicated on the new and looking for new things, bigger and better things. But to use England for inspiration was decidedly the opposite: they drew their inspiration on the old and the familiar (and for all intents and purposes, the dying) to create (still, folks...still) some of the best music out there today.

I'm not really going to consider much of their British Invasion period. Great? All I can say is "duh." But it's the British Invasion, and it's been beaten to death by others, and I'm not going to beat it to death unless I feel like doing something futile. I did however, want to consider the aftermath: to see how bands reacted to a virtually post-apocalyptic landscape is far more interesting and telling (and at least to me, I certainly prefer the post-Invasion music, period).

Some say that Ray Davies searched for his new identity in the old, familiar, "smaller" and "common"as a result of the stress that being in the Kinks necessarily entailed (I use quotes here to imply that while perhaps the descriptors can be used, they are not always completely accurate). It also was, of course, the opposite response of almost every other British Invasion band: the rest went for newer, bigger, and "better" (I use quotes here because newer quite obviously did not imply better...but that was the idea behind their transformations). But the Kinks forged an identity consisting of old England, of times leaving and dying, of the common people all around, and created some of the most poignant, catchy, and satisfying music ever. Case in point:

In many ways, the Kinks are the Village Green Preservation Society was to the Kinks as Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band was to the Beatles...their apex, their brightest moment in the history of rock music and quite obviously a concept album. But, of course, both are quite different. Sgt. Pepper was a record based in timelessness, without any "home," made from the universe and one with it (so to speak). VGPS was a record steeped in the time period, lamenting the passing of old England as it made way for a new one. I'm not saying that VGPS is quite nearly as good as Sgt. Pepper, but the distance is closer than one would normally think. I currently do not remember where I rank the album in my own personal top 30 list, but chances are I ranked it far, far too low.

The Kinks are the Village Green Preservation Society is a stone cold classic. This album is a "lighter" one with very few (if any) tracks that could be considered "heavy," but instead of creating imbalance, it creates balance. Instead of making it hard to believe the Kinks, it lends authenticity to their treatment of the concept. But it still is a rock record and it's brilliant. From the twinkle that kicks off the record (the title track), the "oohs" and "aahs" that punctuate "Picture Book," the music hall that marks "Starstruck," and the overall sense of nostalgia that permeates the record, such as the laments of the passing of the few remaining customs that older England had held onto ("Last of the Steam-Powered Trains" is particularly indicative) that makes the record so good. The record is wistful, witty, poignant, and moving, all at the same time.

The Kinks were always good at that sort of stuff. Of all the British Invasion Bands, they were probably the smartest, and were just as good as any other band at the time. They just chose to look in a different direction. Perhaps there is a slight chance that I overvalue the Kinks: after all, I spent six months abroad in London, and though London epitomizes the culture that the old England gave way to...they're the most British band I know. But don't let that get in the way of the music of the Kinks, because the music carries so much meaning and worth that letting any preconceptions cloud your trip through the Kinks would be a disservice.

Giving Thanks: Songs I'm Thankful For

2010-11-25T14:55:00.000-05:00

I was going to write about the Kinks, but since it's Thanksgiving, I wanted to just write a brief entry about the songs I have been thankful for since, like, ever (the Kinks do cameo here, however). I'm going more or less in chronological order of when I found them, or rather when they finally took on special meaning with me. I'm limiting this list to ten songs, I think.

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1. The Clash - Lost in the Supermarket
2. Wilco - Theologians
3. The Beatles - Hey Jude
4. Bon Iver - For Emma
5. Arcade Fire - Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)
6. Pavement - Here
7. Big Star - I'm in Love with a Girl
8. The Velvet Underground - Pale Blue Eyes
9. LCD Soundsystem - All I Want
10. The Kinks - Strangers

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Have a great Thanksgiving, all ya'll.

Sex, Drugs, and Rock & Roll: Why They All Go Together

2010-11-22T20:37:00.001-05:00

So why do sex, drugs, and rock and roll seem to come hand in hand, kind of like how it's almost impossible to order the B without the L and the T, or any combination thereof? The most drugged out rockers seem to be most blessed with the gift of rock and roll: Keith Richards and Jimi Hendrix were infamous with their use of the horse (i.e. heroin), while others such as David Bowie and Iggy Pop were all about the blow (i.e. cocaine). But the drugs, in addition to sex, seem to always take precedence or even define the very nature of rock and roll: without the sex and the drugs, rock and roll would not exist at all today, in any way, shape or form. While hypothetical situations such as that can be debated, the bigger question is "why?" Why have sex and drugs shaped rock and roll as much as they have? I think the answer lies in the concept of euphoria.

Sex and drugs are able to foster the highest highs and the lowest lows in a person. Whether it be a most innocent affection or love (i.e. the Herman's Hermits classic "I'm Into Something Good"), a straight-out depiction of a trip (i.e. "Tomorrow Never Knows" by the Beatles), or something utterly raunchy (like Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get It On"), they all evidence the same feeling of euphoria, the same complete happiness with one's state. See also their flip-sides, those moments of pain due to the realization of lost love (Joy Division's masterwork "Love Will Tear Us Apart") the need for drugs (another masterwork, "Heroin" by the Velvet Underground), the evidence for why sex and drugs have been a vital part of the rock and roll livelihood and the basis for its mystique is because that sex and drugs typically bring out the happiest and the saddest in human beings. Euphoric joy when everything is going right thanks to love, sex, and drugs, and crippling depression when those things leave the rock and roll man with nothing left to live for.

The easiest full-blown examples of those highs and lows lie within the breakup albums: the best examples are Sea Change by Beck, Blood on the Tracks by Bob Dylan, Layla & Other Assorted Love Songs by Derek and the Dominos. Ok, so perhaps the last one is a stretch in that order, but if you were in love with your best friend's wife, I'd say that's about equivalent to a breakup, if not worse. They all evince the same themes: sheer joy, the throes of despair, it's all there, plain to see. While not really relating completely to the notion of drugs in rock and roll, the emotions they generate are inherently the same.

All the highs and lows would be useless if it weren't for the narrators who reveal the story, reveal the triumphs and the downfalls, and make us feel. Rock and roll is (usually) about wearing your heart on your sleeve, so we as listeners 100% identify with the narrator of the song, to live with (or through) them during both the good times and the bad; without the capacity to generate empathy, rock would be as cold and forbidding as electronica. Every emotion is completely represented in the rock and roll psyche, from hope for the best to the realization of dread, from the best party the night before to the raging hangover after: if it were not for the sex and drugs, then those emotions would not be as easy to channel into a rock and roll song, and today we would be left with a most infantile rock and roll genre of music, which would honestly be terrible, not only to say that this blog would likely be nonexistent if that were true.

That is not to say that sex and drugs are the only things that go together with rock and roll. Virtually anything could go together with rock and roll, given that it makes those rampant emotions easy to generate, bottle up and unleash in a rock and roll song. Sex and drugs are simply the easiest ways to tap into that reserve of our emotions and connect us to them, because they're things many of us have to grapple with. For example, gospel/worship music (I have somehow referred to them very often the past couple of entries when the previous year I'd not mentioned them at all) derives all its euphoric highs and debilitating lows from the relationship between the singer/listener and God. But for the non-religious, it's certainly harder for one to relate to their plight; whereas most everyone battles with sex and drugs, not everyone battles with the nature of their relationship with God.

For the rest of rock and roll's existence, it will probably still be forever bundled with sex and drugs. Probably for the better, sex and drugs more easily made emotions easier to access for rock and roll: the barest confessionals, the unabashed statements of love and the hilarious tales of hangovers or adventures would simply not exist without them. Am I implicitly condoning the rampant use of sex and drugs? I hope not, as excessive use of either is simply self-destructive. I'm merely pointing out that the history of rock and roll shows that for better or for worse, sex and drugs were tightly interwoven into the fabric of rock and roll, and perhaps in some ways as rock and roll glorified and brought out the best in sex and drugs, sex and drugs glorified and brought out the best in rock and roll.

The Power of the Rock Anthem

2010-11-15T19:54:00.004-05:00

In my typically fine form, I'm choosing not to write about what I said I would write earlier. I chose to write this one instead because I can't get the chorus of Paul Stanley's "Live to Win" out of my head...the verses kind of suck, but the chorus sticks in your head and suddenly you yourself LIVE TO WIN!!! (no lie)... I suppose the fact that it's in South Park doesn't hurt its cause at all. That song just screams "rock anthem," and so here we are.

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Yeah, you can name 'em. Everyone recognizes them. From virtually every song by Bruce Springsteen to David Bowie's "Heroes," from "Hey Jude" by the Beatles (moreso the last mantra section) to "Sweet Virginia" by the Rolling Stones, rock anthems are powerful tools that are amazing because they inspire the listener and create such intense emotions in the listener so much as to create action, usually. Sometimes to even relate in music you need a rock anthem because their "sound," their energy, their spirit is a great unifier of people. This is why when a song like "Bohemian Rhapsody" comes on, everyone, and I mean everyone (unless you are so hipster that you choose to non-conform to such a tradition) goes full throttle into the song all through the end. True rock anthems are, quite simply, uniters and not dividers. So really, what distinguishes the rock anthem and what makes it so good?

The main ingredient in a rock anthem is usually the "sense of the epic." While this sounds broad, nondescript and generally useless, it's the best term to use. What may help illustrate my point, however, are examples of the "sense of the epic." Bruce Springsteen, as mentioned before, is essentially the king of the rock anthem, and one of his most widely known tracks, "Born to Run," illustrates the point. It sounds big. It goes for broke. The power in the song rattles you to your bones. His lyrics also display of a "sense of the epic, " painting desolation around but lo! the eternal ray of light that is worth pursuing prevails! For Bruce Springsteen's characters, it's quite simply a "do or die" moment and this sense of utmost importance and urgency imbues the song with a strong sense of power, direction, and purpose, not to mention an overall "sense of the epic."

Therefore, is there a sound that defines the rock anthem? I'd argue that there isn't, though the evidence seems to suggest the contrary. Tracks like the aforementioned "Heroes" (by Bowie), "Bohemian Rhapsody" or even "Wake Up" by Arcade Fire all have extremely ornate production. The layering of such a large quantity of instruments (an offshoot or spinoff of the "Wall of Sound") generates a large sound, hence the "sense of the epic" and hence a rock anthem. However, I would also posit that anthems such as "Sweet Virginia" by the Rolling Stones, "Hey Jude" by the Beatles, and other tunes like "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down" all suggest that the rock anthem as a dense and layered concoction brewed in the studio may not be necessarily true, though the trend is evident and typically suggests otherwise.

For a rock anthem to truly succeed, the necessary portion is that of the chorus. If the chorus is not rally-worthy, then the song is not a rock anthem. It's the power in the chorus that makes the rock anthem such a uniter: who doesn't sing "BORNNNNN IN THE USAAAAAAAA-EAAAAAAA!!!!!!!" when it comes on? I rest my case. The chorus has to be easily accessible: even the layman must be able to get around to remember it, so that perhaps even in his drunkest hour he may be able to belt out the chorus when prompted. But it has to be catchy, it has to be powerful, or else it would not be able to resonate with everyone, from even the most snobby of hipsters down to the guy who doesn't even really like music all that much and could really do without it. Just take a look here at some rock anthem choruses and see all of the above:

"Come on up for the rising/Come on up, lay your hands in mine/Come on up for the rising/Come on up for the rising tonight."
-Bruce Springsteen

"We can be heroes...just for one day."
-David Bowie

"Na, nah nah, nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah nah, hey Jude!"
-The Beatles

All instantly recognizable, all instantly hummable. If you've heard the song before (I suppose liking it would help some), you can instantly belt out the chorus. They're all anthemic. All epic-sounding, all-relatable, all-inspiring, all-encompassing...that is what a rock anthem is.

A Short Exercise: Top 25 Records, Ever?

2010-11-09T02:42:00.002-05:00

In my very very first entry, I already determined the top five records of all time based on whatever barometers I came up with...and this is what I did come up with:

1. Highway 61 Revisited

2. Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band

3. Music From Big Pink

4. London Calling

            5.      Pet Sounds

Do I still agree with these top five? I think so. No record has come out within the last 20 years that could get close. But as an intellectual exercise for myself (and for you to see, I suppose), I present to you what I would consider to be the top twenty records of all time:

            1. Bob Dylan - Highway 61 Revisited
            2. The Beatles - Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band
            3. The Band - Music From Big Pink
            4. The Clash - London Calling
            5. The Beach Boys - Pet Sounds
            6. The Velvet Underground - The Velvet Underground & Nico
            7. The Beatles - The Beatles
            8. John Coltrane - A Love Supreme
            9. The Beatles - Revolver
            10. Bob Dylan - Blonde on Blonde
            11. The Rolling Stones - Exile on Main Street
            12. Marvin Gaye - What's Going On
            13. The Beatles - Abbey Road
            14. The Rolling Stones - Beggar's Banquet
            15. Bob Dylan - Bringing It All Back Home
            16. Patti Smith - Horses
            17. Television - Marquee Moon
            18. Joy Division - Unknown Pleasures
            19. Sonic Youth - Daydream Nation
            20. Bruce Springsteen - Born to Run
            21. David Bowie - Low
            22. The Velvet Underground - The Velvet Underground
            23. Jimi Hendrix - Electric Ladyland
            24. Led Zeppelin - Physical Graffiti
            25. Bob Dylan Blood on the Tracks

Looking over this list, there could be some changes, i.e. dropping Zeppelin off the list, but overall it provides a solid start, as I never have tried to completely rank 1-25 of the best records ever. The records I'm especially high here that show up in the top 25 whereas they normally wouldn't be are The Velvet Underground, Low, and Physical Graffiti. I perhaps have underrated Revolver, Blood on the Tracks and Marquee Moon, but I am rather satisfied with the list at the moment. Do note with some hilarity that no record released after 1988 made this list (and if you discount Daydream Nation, no record was released after the 1970s...). I think it quite clearly indicates a trend that "old school" is "good school"...if I were to use the vernacular.

Next up will likely be looking at culture appropriation in rock music. That is likely to say, the entire history of rock music, since much of it has just been stealing culture unique to sections of society and incorporating it into the general framework of rock music.

Rapid Reaction: Patti Smith - Horses

2010-10-27T18:16:00.000-04:00

I suppose the good question is this: how did it take me so long to get to this record? And my answer is this: I sincerely don't know. It's got all the connections that would put it on my radar: John Cale produced this, it counts as proto-punk, Tom Verlaine played on the record and you can connect Van Morrison and the Smiths to this. I realize that my position pretty indefensible...there is no real excuse for not hearing this until now, but at least I've now rectified that mistake.

I've listened to it once and am currently working through it the second time as I write this, and I can honestly say it deserves all the cred it gets: it's a masterwork. It's one of those records that will blow your mind open; it blasts your brains, picks up the pieces and reforms your brain into something new. All from the first note.

Aside from the intro to "Gloria" that slinks in before it makes its presence known, the record is a ball of fury and energy, and if you're not getting blitzed by the energy in the proto-punk sound, you're getting blitzed by her lyrics, which are part beat poetry and part stream-of-consciousness not unlike the master himself, Bob Dylan. The sound has a proto-punk roar that hangs around the big guys like the Velvet Underground, and Patti Smith sounds like an extremely angry cross between Lou Reed and Iggy Pop. The passion in this record doesn't just seep out and let you "sort of" feel it: the amount of passion in this record is explosion-inducing and you feel it. And if you don't, you're not alive. Plain and simple.

I don't know how else to put it. This record is a force of nature. And it's one to behold. I'm sure a lot of others have been able to wax more poetic about it than I have, but maybe that would do the record an injustice, as it's so stripped down and bare in its proto-punk approach, that to speak more about is contrary to the spirit of the record. It's one that has to be heard to be believed.

Spirituality and Music, redux

2010-10-15T16:34:00.001-04:00

Two entries in two days?!? I am finally starting to get back into the swing of things, apparently. Homework beckons, but my thoughts beckon more...

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You can search for my old entry (about a year old) and see that I railed quite heavily on the genre of Christian rock music for its faults. It was because quite frankly, it is still true to a great extent. I still find Christian rock to be rather pedestrian and unimaginative, but as I've recently been trying to live out the penultimate words of George Harrison ("Everything can wait, but the search for God cannot wait."), I perhaps may have judged the genre too harshly. It is worship music, and despite my perception of it, people still connect to it and through it to that higher plane, so it must therefore hold some value. And as everyone knows, music is one of the most subjective fields, so when it comes to trying to organize it and present it in a remotely academic manner there is bound to be some oversight, and I am "being the bigger man" in admitting to some of that.

But that does not mean that I am totally recanting my statement. It just means that I previously undervalued it. What made me reconsider my stance was something the legendary Mavis Staples said when interviewed on the Colbert Report. When asked about her reasons for moving from gospel to soul in the 1960s (and her thoughts about the cries of "traitor" it generated from the community), Mavis essentially said: "All music glorifies God." While I'm unsure if she is familiar with Slayer, one realizes it is essentially true. And it simply goes beyond any religious notions. Whether or not one believes in the vehicle of God or otherwise, music is inherently powerful and it showcases the unique power that humanity has, in weakness and in strength. Whether it is worship music or gleefully skewering religion (see: "Highway 61 Revisited" for a particularly delightful roasting of the Abraham story), it all essentially carries infinite power and meaning. That is what makes music, well, music.

I still think that Christian rock has quite a-ways to go if it wants to be considered as proficient in the "academic" and "quality" sense I have been trying to impart. If I may continue tooting this particular horn, it is so pre-occupied with presenting the message of Lord without realizing that the music itself is already the message! Music already glorifies the Lord, so if you simply strive make good music, you are already completing your objective! Now, this is not obvious to most people, so I understand that perhaps in needing to spread their message they are tempted to brandish a big stick, but that is what makes the music so pedestrian to me. The music becomes clumsy and unimaginative when the only thing music has is to be graceful and imaginative! I don't necessarily mean this in the technical-playing sense (thus punk would be ruled out, and we all know punk has too much heart and balls of steel for that), but in the artistic, striving-for-quality sense. As evidence, I present the best "worship" record of all time, in my opinion:

A Love Supreme is beyond a masterwork: it is a monolith of the power of music, standing tall as a man among boys. Far and away the best jazz record of all time (it would most certainly rank in my top 20, if not top 10 records of all time), it is a testament: to Coltrane's power, to Coltrane's skill, to Coltrane's faith. Coltrane made the record to demonstrate his faith and his love for his Lord. The devotional poem in the liner notes is "recited" via his saxophone in the last movement, with the final lines in that poem showing his love for God:

"Elation. Elegance. Exaltation. All from God. Thank you God. Amen."

The record is overbearing only in that it is overbearingly perfect. It does not wield its faith like a stick to beat home the point, but the faith is implemented like a fine knife used to carve the most detailed of sculptures. The search for quality in the music mirrors Coltrane's search for God, and in both Coltrane finds what he had been looking for. It doesn't matter if you aren't a believer or not in Coltrane's faith. The music contains so much of that often-sought "soul" that by the end of the record you believe: if not in his faith or his skill, you will at least believe in the power of music.

And it reinforces the point I have been trying to hit home in this entry: the power of music is the power of that higher plane. Take care of the first and the rest will follow. It is something that Christian rock would do well to heed if it wants to reinforce its connection to the Lord and actually serve as quality music. Under the "Mavis Staples assumption" (as I'll call it from here on out...assuming I ever refer back to it), any music is inherently worship music, so quality music is the highest worship music attainable. So strive for it. Music is a microcosm of life: if one stops searching for meaning and quality, then all is hopeless and futile.

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If one needs proof that Christian rock needs to strive for quality once more, one only needs to realize that it was skewered rather successfully by South Park in the Season 7 episode "Christian Rock Hard."

What's (Not) Wrong With Electronica

2010-10-14T00:44:00.000-04:00

Once again, supremely late, but once again I find myself unwilling to commit myself to sleeping (despite a severe lack of it) and so I finally now have the time to commit some of my thoughts once again...

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Yes, I've always considered older music to be infinitely better than what's out now. You get a true sense of soul from it, from Sam Cooke (i.e. Live at the Harlem Square Club 1963) to the wistful sighs of Richard Manuel and the way he, Rick Danko, and Levon Helm combine to tug at your heartstrings, there is always the sense of "soul" found in the recording. It speaks, it breathes character, exudes emotions. Those feelings are what let us connect to the music, and at least for me I find that older music fosters that in a much more meaningful way (let alone connect at all). Modern music just always seemed to lack that "soul" that would draw me to it. Until, perhaps, now.

Perhaps I had judged it incorrectly. Electronica/dance is a different beast compared to rock and roll (though it can certainly be an analogous construct): it must be evaluated on separate parameters. It's unlikely that electronica/dance will provide the payoff that, say, a Staple Singers track may provide with goosebump-causing moments, where Mavis and co. just pull off that moment of release with utmost mastery. However, electronica/dance still can contain soul, but it's not in the same way rock and roll often stakes its livelihoods in those climaxes (ahem...Sigur Rós). Electronica/dance contains "soul" once it establishes a beat: but it has to grab you from your "inner core," so to speak, and drive you to simply feel it. A true track would likely simply cause you to want, or even need, to dance.

Case in point? Daft Punk. They can be classified as French house, which is apparently separate from Detroit house, from all other sorts of electronica, but at least when it comes to mainstream/crossover appeal, no one has had more success than Daft Punk. And it's not especially difficult to see how and why.

Perhaps moreover known for being sampled by le Kanye West in his track "Stronger," it is impossible to deny that Daft Punk craft excellent tracks. From "Da Funk" to "Around the World," "Face to Face," "One More Time," and "Robot Rock," Daft Punk essentially have mastered their form of art. Their beats are uncomplicated, and perhaps therein lies the charm. They utilize basic beats but the layers above add the character to the track, allowing for someone to simply be "grabbed" and pulled into the song (and, perhaps, into dancing). Oftentimes, unlike other artists, they tend to emphasize the groove and tend to delve into "funk"-ier areas of existence, such as "Da Funk," which is essentially a clinic on how to groove like a master.

But it's really their live material where they shine. On Alive 1997, they essentially DJ for 45 straight minutes, rolling through such prime cuts like "Rollin' and Scratchin'," the oft-mentioned "Da Funk," among other tracks. The tracks are stretched, altered, and fixed up to match the length, with interludes and other bits providing perfect segues in between the more recognizable sections. Then, on Alive 2007, Daft Punk essentially provide a "Greatest Hits" DJ-mashup attack, smartly and cleverly combining tracks to provide new glances at them and give them a fresh context and meaning. "Television Rules the Nation" kicks off one track, and when combined with "Crescendolls" off of Discovery, gives both tracks strange new life as the tone of "Crescendolls" gets dramatically altered with "Television Rules the Nation" thumping under it. "Face to Face" is also a prime example of such as the disco feel in the backbeat is replaced by the "Harder Better Faster Stronger" theme, giving the song a fresh backdrop and also a subliminal meaning that gels quite nicely with the intent of "Face to Face" before it segues into "Short Circuit."

While I certainly love Discovery, Homework, and Human After All to death, it is impossible to say that Daft Punk aren't a better live machine than a studio machine. And that is saying quite a lot given that Discovery is at least a "masterwork +," Homework is a "masterwork" and Human After All is "reasonably good" (tracks off of Human After All benefit considerably on Alive 2007 with the mashups providing new context and life).

Regardless, after waxing at length about the prowess of Daft Punk, the point is this: after listening to them for awhile and finally getting into it, their records made me realize that perhaps electronica/dance could perhaps contain what I have always sought in music, that being "soul." It's not the same sort of "soul" as I had been searching for prior, and that is the likely reason why I hadn't found it; I simply wasn't looking in the right place for the "soul" of the work. Amidst all the rigidity in structure, form, and instrumentation, the "soul" was indeed possible in the energy of the work, that it infiltrates you and makes you unable of doing anything else but enjoying the work present.

I am no electronica/dance expert, but the existence of Daft Punk disproved my "technological advancement is bad for music" theory. I had figured it was a sure way to wipe the soul straight out of a work, but I was apparently wrong, as a compelling counter-argument has revealed itself. Daft Punk could perhaps be a rare exception to the rule, but an exception's existence makes the theory likely wrong. Further examination will likely have to follow. But that still doesn't mean that I prefer modern music to old-school music, it just means that I undervalued it.

PS. I have an odd question: is there EVER an inappropriate time to listen to Daft Punk? I thought so.

The Art of the Pastiche

2010-09-09T14:27:00.000-04:00

Tremendous oversight, perhaps, or just post-(re-)moving, I have neglected this vehicle of thought for far too long, probably. But here I am, again, and now I am ready to hit the road again (as far as writing on here is concerned). I've actually been meaning to write this entry for awhile now (a very long while, come to think of it), so here it finally is.

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All music is derived. Yes, it's true. No artist is completely original. Not even the Beatles. Shocking? Perhaps to some, but it's the truth. Most artists try to brand themselves as entirely unique: after all, if you're the first one there, you're at least going to get the title of "progenitor of ______ genre," if not "Godfather and King of _______ genre."

But what of the musical pastiche? Surely no one would ever consider engaging themselves in the art of the pastiche if it got one nowhere. Utterly useless. However, music is luckily one of those things where as long as it's good, it's good.

I suppose I should clarify as to what a musical pastiche is. A pastiche is basically an artistic work which borrows heavily from themes present in earlier works. So a musical pastiche is simply some work (song, obviously in the context here) that borrows heavily from other themes.

How does one make a pastiche not come across as a trite, meaningless wankery? Well, the obvious key is that it simply has to be a good song. While not very helpful in the sense of getting to the heart of a good pastiche, it's true. It has to be a good song more than anything else. However, a few identifying characteristics:

1. As a musical pastiche, you can borrow heavily from a certain style or genre, but please, never make it a complete ripoff. Not only would you get your bum sued in a second (lawyers are prone to do that these days) but you'd also be derided in critical circles as nothing but a copycat...which may or may not be true given the circumstances.
2. The song should attempt to align with the genre's characteristics as much as possible. While this sounds exactly like the first point, it actually travels a lot deeper than that. Say you're doing a music hall pastiche (will come back to this later, too...). Do you write lyrics that would befit a Joy Division song? No sir, music hall is lighthearted. Singing about how the world is a heartless place like that would do no good for your song. Do you make your song sound like music hall? Of course, or else it wouldn't be called a pastiche of music hall. It would be just some derivation of music hall, and who knows...you could be credited with a sub-genre if you do so. But that's not the point.
3. The pastiche is usually outside of the grasp of the artist's usual work, but by no means should the genre pastiched be too far out of the ordinary. This means someone, like Arcade Fire, for example, cannot dabble into rap-rock and get away with calling it a pastiche.
4. Every pastiche is essentially a tribute to the source material, and should thus do it proud in some way.

There are few rules to the art of pastiche, but it's incredibly hard to pull off without coming across as meaningful and honest. A couple that come to mind are explained below:

The Beatles is chock full of pastiches, but McCartney is probably the most willing (or perhaps guilty, depending on your attitude towards the man) when it comes to pastiches. "Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da" was a sendup of reggae, while "Martha My Dear" and "Honey Pie" were the sendups of music hall (see? It returns). "Honey Pie" is perhaps the best example. Stealing everything from lyrical plot to soundscape, it is unmistakably music hall. Yet, it is a whimsical tune that stands well and still sounds unmistakably like a Beatles song. While perhaps sticking out like a sore thumb on other records (other Beatles records, even), it integrates remarkably well into the record (perhaps because the album itself is essentially many different pastiches, it blends into the woodwork, being one itself).

A more modern example of effective pastiches:

James Murphy has been sticking pastiches on most of his LCD Soundsystem records. "Never As Tired As When I'm Waking Up" was a straight send-up of the Beatles in their the Beatles era, drawing heavily from tunes like "Dear Prudence" and "While My Guitar Gently Weeps." However, James Murphy as LCD Soundsystem never pastiche-d as boldly as they did on This Is Happening.

"Drunk Girls" is as it sounds: a song about drunk girls. Musically, it's almost indistinguishable from the Velvet Underground's "White Light/White Heat." Spiritually, they're the same: the omnipresent theme of self-discovery and self-fulfillment, one via drugs and one via getting it on. Out of the two major pastiches on the record, this is perhaps one the more "shameless" pastiches of the three on the record (the third, not discussed here, is "Somebody's Calling Me," a song that essentially cops Iggy Pop's magnificent "Nightclubbing"), but the song is too raucous and joyful to submit to cheapness.

"All I Want" is the true pastiche on the record. If you've listened to David Bowie's track "Heroes," you know it's probably one of the greatest songs, ever. "All I Want" is Murphy's attempt at distilling what makes "Heroes" so damn good and make it his own...and Murphy does find success. It's a somber affair overall in "All I Want," but the feeling of catharsis that is somehow pulled off makes the song one of the most affecting in LCD Soundsystem's catalog, and is what allows "All I Want" to even hold a candle to "Heroes."

With such blatant callbacks to particular songs on the record, James Murphy certainly put those songs in danger of being completely meaningless and underwhelming. Perhaps it's a testament to his skills as an artist and songwriter that he managed to avoid frivolity from happening at large.

Different Mixes, Different Mindsets

2010-05-04T18:54:00.003-04:00

One of the strangest bits of rock music is the fact that even some of its most heralded documents can be heard in startlingly different mixes. This mostly occurs because two different people mix the same set of tracks in two different ways: one dude this way, one dude that way. It's a rather peculiar thing. But the problem that I run into (and others may too), is that when multiple distinct mixes of the same thing appear, which is considered to be the "real" mix? Can we even identify a "real" mix, or are there just simply multiple legitimate ways of hearing a record?

My contention is that there isn't a particularly good way to say that there's multiple legitimate ways of hearing a record. This is mostly because there one important thing to consider: artist intent. For many of the most important records, the artist was not involved in one of the present mixes. I will discuss three cases below. The first containing a whole swath of records (but with a focus on one in particular), the second being a particular instance with less variation than imagined, and a third which has had the roughest time of all when it comes to getting mixed right.

Multiple mixes case #1: The Beatles - Revolver

While I could have used any Beatles record up through the Beatles (and I may even refer to them), I chose Revolver because it shows the starkest contrast of all their records. Why are there multiple mixes of the Beatles? You'd sort of assume some band as big as the Beatles would have all their business together and just have one set. But that's hardly the case. It's a rather ludicrous reason to go and release another set of mixes, but it happened. And there's one reason why:

Stereo. Stereo was a newfangled thing back in 1968-1969. It was never really around before that, and it took the Beatles Abbey Road to utilize stereo even one bit. So what was before? Mono. And all of the prior records were mixed for mono. Everything from Please Please Me through the Beatles was mixed in mono. The Beatles themselves took care of the mixing in this format, and they had every control over the process to make the records what they were back in the day, staggering monoliths in rock music. But when the stereo craze hit, something was realized: re-release all the previous records in stereo! More money! Alas, none of the Beatles were involved in this. While I'm pretty certain George Martin was helping with these new stereo mixes, many things happened:

1. Straight up different takes were used. So between mono and stereo, a totally different vocal take was used, or a different version of a guitar solo. While it doesn't sound like a big deal at a first glance, it matters a great deal because a different vocal or instrument line can change the way a song feels to a listener.
2. Sometimes with going back and forth, songs ended up in different keys. For example, "She's Leaving Home" off of Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band is in different keys on stereo and mono versions.
3. Spreading some of the tracks over two ears (i.e. vocals in one ear, instruments in another) makes the entire mix of the song really thin and not as full as it should.
4. A lot of the songs just didn't come off as well in their stereo mixes. Revolver is my case in point.

I'm going to be honest. So even in its stereo mix, it's still a truly perfect record...that's undeniable. But listening to the stereo mix and comparing it to the mono mix, there's no choice involved. The mono mix is simply the best. It's how the Beatles wanted the record heard, and they used up all the best takes in creating Revolver, leading to the re-mixers appropriating the unused takes for the stereo mixes (they were probably unused for a reason...). The way the backwards guitar creeps in on you when you're drifting to "I'm Only Sleeping" is positively supernatural. Revolver just sounds more alive when it's in mono.

Multiple mixes case #2: The Velvet Underground - The Velvet Underground

This record does, in fact, exist in two mixes. The first was done by Lou himself, and was only released on the initial pressings of the US vinyl. It's famously known as the "Closet Mix"...because it sounds like everything's in a closet when you listen to it. Everything is bracing and immediate, with vocals brought straight to the foreground. The other was done by Val Valentin, and so it's known as, well, the "Valentin Mix"; it's a little more even-handed with all the material, as the vocals aren't as overpowering as they are in the "Closet Mix," in addition to some takes being entirely different: "Some Kinda Love" on the "Closet Mix" is a much slower version of the tune in comparison to the "Valentin Mix."

On the whole, though? The picture is a bit fuzzier. Nowadays, if you went out and got this record (and if you haven't, DO IT, it's a command), you'd get the "Valentin Mix," not the "Closet Mix." But if you went and sought out the Velvets box set, Peel Slowly and See, you'd end up with the "Closet Mix." Is there a right answer? Largely, no. Outside of "Some Kinda Love," which still fits perfectly in each of the records regardless of the mix, there are no glaring differences between the two mixes that firmly place one mix worse than the other (unlike the Beatles stereo mixes). Some people may prefer one mix over the other. Personally? I prefer the "Closet Mix." Perhaps it's because I (perhaps too) highly value artist intent: if there's any case where I can choose the artist mixing it themselves versus an outside source, I will choose the artist's mix. It's really just a case of preference more than anything in this instance. The record is far too perfect for a minor mix issue to come into the way of enjoying it.

Multiple mix cases #3: The Stooges - Raw Power

This is another very famous case of "multiple mixes." I very briefly referred to it in my Punk Primer entry, but perhaps it's time to address this record's mixing woes more in full. First, Iggy wanted to mix it. He produced a rough mix, but the label hated it. So they brought Iggy compatriot David Bowie in to mix it, and outside of "Search and Destroy," Bowie's mix is largely what pervades the first edition of the record. But no one liked it. Haters be hating, but no one liked his mix.

Then in 1997, when everyone realized that the Stooges were actually brilliant and deserve whatever kudos they want (their recent induction into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame was long overdue, damnit), Columbia told Iggy he could come in and remix the record. And then, suddenly, when his mix came out, many (including former Stooges) cried foul over this new mix of the record (thus referred to as the "Iggy Mix"). Some of it is perhaps a legitimate claim. This record is mixed very, very, loud. It's obnoxiously loud. In probably an attempt to mix the loudest record ever, Iggy pushed all the levels up as far as they would go. It turns out that Iggy's Raw Power mix is likely one of the loudest records, ever. And for that reason, the record suffers some. The rumor is that the original producer failed to get enough volume off of the instruments, so pushing the instruments to the levels on the Iggy Mix introduced the distortion heard. And so, some elements of the record became uncomfortably distorted. Of course, I hardly think that this record was meant to be "comforting" in any way, shape or form.

So really, since everyone is hating on every version of this record, there still, to this day, is no real good mix of Raw Power, and it's really unlikely that we will ever hear the "real" version of Raw Power. Which is rather unfortunate. However, I'm inclined to think that the lack of a legitimate mix of Raw Power means very little. Just look at the name of the record. Raw Power. This record is supposed to be raw. Maybe that's the way the record is supposed to be, forevermore: raw, rough, with no "glossy" or "perfect" mix for it. As the adage goes, "some stones are better left unturned" and a good part of me believes that applies to Raw Power, no matter how much "the perfect mix" of it may tickle the audiophile in me.

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So there it is, three different records with three different mixing crises, some more than others, some making big differences to what you hear and some making very little difference. Largely, the mix matters, but in some cases, if the differences are minor enough, it really doesn't matter what mix you choose because they're all good. Sometimes, these problems occur because the studio can be considered as a precise instrument that can add or detract so much to a recording. Sometimes, it's there to capture the moment, whether done well or, um, rather poorly.

Spiritual Successors #1: The Clash

2010-04-25T17:06:00.001-04:00

The purpose of the "Spiritual Successors" entries is to figure out one thing about an artist/group: will another similar artist ever come along after that achieves similarly to the original group.

This requires a few things:

1. Spiritually similar. Are they both trying to achieve the same thing? This could be from being highly political to highly introspective/spiritual. As long as they are the same or similar, then we can consider the later the successor of the former.
2. Following from 1., but also of import: being a spiritual successor does not mean they have to be stylistically similar...not at all. For one, being overly restrictive limits options, and two, the nature of music has been dynamic, with different things "in" and different things "out," which means that what's good one era is not good in another (ahem, punk). To apply an analogy, if you expect yourself to be reincarnated, you wouldn't be reincarnated as "yourself," no? You would be reborn in a different vessel and do things in a unique way.
3. Similar music "methodologies." This mostly concerns the approaches that both the predecessor and the follower take to the music. Are they both generally eclectic and incorporate all sorts of elements into their music? Or do they both prefer to ply the trade they have perfected? The general consensus is here that the sorts of spiritual successor strains will be of the "eclectic" variety; most artists tire of continually "plowing their own field" (to use the vernacular of a bygone era) and choose to try something new, or to at least incorporate something new.

That being said, this does not imply that there will always be a spiritual successor for a group before. The Beatles are a good example of such. While perhaps I can discuss this at a later date and prove that no group has been able to recreate the Beatles with any degree of success, the point to make is that the Beatles were so good, so unique, so diverse in what they achieved that no artist has ever come close to the creative burst that powered their years. It really was a perfect storm for them.

Now that I've outlined the guidelines for the "Spiritual Successors" series, let's begin...

---------

The Clash were regarded as "the only band that matters," as said by pretty much everyone. Roaring along in the 1970s, they were the distinctly political side of punk. With anthems such as "White Riot" which promoted action (i.e. violence) and even the dirges such as "Straight to Hell" (hint...this song will come into play later), they lamented their lot in life much like the rest of the punk movement, but what separated them from the rest of the chaff was their willingness to try to change it.

And they were simply good. When you put on the Clash and hear "Clash City Rockers" explode out of your speakers for the very first time, the riff is quite simply embedded in your head for the rest of your life. In typing that last sentence, the riff just came bubbling out of the blue, a sort of semi-conscious recall that implies a sort of timelessness to their work (no matter how dated the punk movement became). And yes, before purists cry out, when I refer to "Clash City Rockers" playing from the Clash, I am, in fact, referring to the U.S. version of the record that came out post-Give 'em Enough Rope, as the U.K. version was never available in the United States...and, well, I'm from the United States.

Then there was their seminal record: London Calling. There is no need to defend the record. But it's important to point out how eclectic the record is in comparison to their previous ones (and to basically most records in existence). They started incorporating reggae, they dabbled in parlor jazz, noisy blues-rock, and the like. Nothing was off limits, because punk was about "no limits," not the power chord. The pop of "Train In Vain." The sinister crawl of "The Guns of Brixton." The apocalyptic march of the title track. Need I go on?

While perhaps Sandinista! was a strange choice, it pushed the boundaries of what "eclectic" meant. If you want an explanation (and don't want to trudge through 3 LPs, which at times is hard to manage), then look no further than the children's chorus version of one of their more famous "old school punk" songs, "Career Opportunities." It was already a highly political message in its first form, and given the new dressing, gained an especially vicious edge to its commentary.

As I said earlier, it was their political stance that separated them from the rest, the men from the children (so to speak). No one dared to get explicitly political, because there was always a sense of fear given that if you were outside the box, you would never get anywhere. Of course, given the Clash, getting anywhere was not really the issue, because they started nowhere, so somewhere was better than there. But most of all, they were simply bold enough to insert themselves into the political issues of the time (see the title of their fourth record: Sandinista! and you see).

So we see two trends from the Clash: while at first content to stew their own pot, they later became quite eclectic in their approach. They were also highly political (and generally great people to boot, but that's a separate entry), unafraid to confront their lot in life, and to make a stand and send a message. Is there anyone who, perhaps, can be viewed as their spiritual successor? I say yes. It is, in fact, this artist/person:

M.I.A., as she's known, is essentially a rapper from London, I believe, who traces her roots back to Sri Lanka. Her two records, Arular and Kala, are dizzyingly eclectic, with noises and sounds, thick and dirty beats flying in and out, all tied together by her verses. Stylistically, the two are far apart. Rap vs. punk, and you see a stark contrast, an uncrossable rift between the two. But neither artist treated their respective genres as a chafing categorization, but moreover a springboard to something new. The Clash incorporated reggae primarily, alongside almost every other genre into their songs, while M.I.A. has been fearless in her sampling of tracks that make her songs unmissable (in fact, "Straight to Hell" was sampled in M.I.A.'s "Paper Planes," which was her mainstream hit...it all makes sense now, no?). While the methods of each artist's eclecticism are different, that seems to be a product of the dynamic state of music, rather than an inherently different approach to their music.

While she does not dedicate herself to political material (not even the Clash did that), the amount of it is staggering and is likely comparable to that of the Clash. Of course, M.I.A. has probably been better off than the Clash have ever been in a financial sense, but M.I.A., like the Clash, took one issue to heart (the Clash's was essentially the poor standard of living in London, though usually more general than just London). Her core issue relates to her ancestry in Sri Lanka, specifically concerning the Tamil uprising and the conflict that enveloped the region (and, I would hazard to guess that it's probably not as over as some people like to think).

The comparison seems fairly apt. Both highly political, both highly eclectic. While perhaps I have not treated the "issue" (though I don't consider a faux-academic examination of an aspect of rock music to be much of a pressing "issue," much less an actual "issue") with as much depth as it may deserve, I think in general, the point has been made and brought up for discussion.

Also, M.I.A.'s new track, "Born Free," is ridiculously awesome, which partially inspired me to write the first entry to this series (I had the idea for the series already, just hadn't gotten around to it yet).

Lost Albums

2010-04-12T19:30:00.002-04:00

Since it's been a long time, this entry is like a "lost entry" and so I feel like it's fair to discuss "lost albums":

Lost albums in rock lore are pretty much legendary. Sometimes they surface soon. Sometimes they surface much later. Sometimes they don't. Sometimes it's just a bunch of tapes that are compiled later, or sometimes they are completely re-imagined from the ground up. Here's a look at the more famous ones (and some personal favorites)

Cases in point:

1. The Beach Boys - Smile

This is probably the most fabled one of the "lost albums" bunch. This was supposed to be Brian Wilson's "teenage symphony to God." It was supposed to eclipse, yes, eclipse Pet Sounds. How the hell is that supposed to happen? Make another record more perfect than one of the most perfect pop records ever? But for one reason or another, this album became lost. Brian Wilson went a bit bananas, battling various sorts of not-very-good mental states, group conflict, and the ilk, all causing the project to fall to the wayside. This record was bootlegged heavily, with fights all over, trying to compile the definitive statement regarding Smile. But all that was, for most intents and purposes, settled in 2004 when Brian Wilson, finally returning to peak form, completed the record (now with strange capitalization schemes) we all know and love as SMiLE:

Who knows if this is as good as the original was supposed to be? I prefer to not think about that and just rejoice in the perfect pop that the record is. In some sense, with age changing Brian Wilson's voice, the songs take on a new meaning, one of wizened (and therefore sly) reflection rather than the youth and innocence that so starkly characterized Pet Sounds...but it gives the record a second meaning. And as I said, it's neither here nor there, as the album is as good as it gets (and I consider it one of the best entries of the previous decade).

2. Bob Dylan & the Band - The Basement Tapes

Another ubiquitous "lost album" that found its way to shelves when its commercial power was realized. And what a powerful set of songs this is. Down home folk, rolling blues, and the like, all casually tossed off as if recorded over breakfast or during a brief period of downtime in the middle of the day. The songs ooze cool, nonchalance, a folksy wisdom that only Bob Dylan and the Band have been able to replicate (the Band moreso than Bobby D, but I think Bob Dylan made the conscious choice to avoid the same path).

Dylan was recovering from a motorcycle accident that had nearly ended him, and just recording by himself and the Band. No one knows the particulars and the details, and various forms of the set of tapes exist. In some ways, this album is still lost because there is no definitive statement on this time period outside of either going whole-hog with the entire complete set of the Basement Tapes (something like a five-disc set with at least three takes of most tracks) to the very short two-disc version missing some tracks. The debate will always continue, and I honestly think Bob Dylan prefers it that way.

3. The Velvet Underground - VU

So perhaps this not necessarily a straight up "lost album" like Smile or just a smattering of tapes all thrown together like the Basement Tapes (despite similar origins), but the record has been compiled from rough mixes and demos into a finely tuned, muscular beast. Mostly from the end of their career at MGM records, these tracks were supposed to be the last record on their deal there, but for reasons no man can fathom, they were unceremoniously booted from the label. These demos and rough mixes were recorded for MGM before they left and recorded Loaded, but these tracks were left undiscovered until the 1980s when the Velvet Underground underwent a bit of a renaissance in terms of sales and opinion.

The record may seem to be a sort of outtakes and demos compilation that seems pre-solo Lou Reed more than anything else, but the (obvious) secret is that Lou Reed's best outfit for performing his songs had been and will always forever be with the Velvet Underground (i.e. John or Doug, Moe, and Sterling). So yes, "Andy's Chest" shows up on Transformer, but the lazy beat on his solo work is replaced by a bouncing giddy-ness here that is superior. "Stephanie Says" became "Caroline Says II" on Berlin, but to be frank, "Caroline Says II" is not great whereas "Stephanie Says" is perfect...a slightly cruel, very melancholy ballad that was likely directed at their manager at the time.

The record was prepared with as much care and consideration as, to a great extent, any other Velvet Underground record. I consider it more or less canon, placing it in its recorded-chronological place rather than its release-chronological place (i.e. between the Velvet Underground and Loaded rather than post-Loaded). The urge to wax more eloquent on this record is tempting, but I will prevent myself on doing so because it's quite contrary to the point of this entry.

There are other examples, both great and not so great, but given these case studies (Smile being the famous one, the Basement Tapes being the pretty famous one, and VU being the personal favorite), it is clear that at some point, a lost album will always be found. As the myth indicates, "all that wander are not lost," and perhaps the idiom applies to a great extent for records in rock music.

Rest in Peace, Alex Chilton

2010-03-17T22:31:00.002-04:00

December 28, 1950 - March 17, 2010

But guns they wait to be stuck by, and at my side is God
And there ain't no one goin' to turn me 'round
Ain't no one goin' to turn me 'round

At this point, I would like to forward you all to this blog entry here for my entry on Big Star, which is what Alex Chilton was best known for. And then this is the part where you go put on some Big Star, and quite frankly, it really doesn't matter which record you put on because they're all fucking masterpieces, and Alex Chilton was (and will forever be) the fucking man. Everyone knew Big Star was the real deal, one of the few consummate bands of the entire history of rock and roll. It is virtually impossible to compete with what Big Star achieved.

I'm going to let other people say these words:

Big Star's "impact on subsequent generations of indie bands on both sides of the Atlantic is surpassed only by that of the Velvet Underground."

-Jason Ankeny, allmusic

"We've sort of flirted with greatness, but we've yet to make a record as good as Revolver or Highway 61 Revisited or Exile on Main Street or Big Star's Third. I don't know what it'll take to push us on to that level, but I think we've got it in us."

-Peter Buck, R.E.M.

---

"I'm constantly surprised that people fall for Big Star the way they do... People say Big Star made some of the best rock 'n roll albums ever. And I say they're wrong."

-Alex Chilton

Let's be frank...Alex Chilton was way off the mark. Big Star made some of the best rock and roll albums ever. He's either way too modest to admit it or way too much of a genius to see it. I choose both.

But the Replacements, I think, said everything about Alex Chilton and the work he'd done with Big Star (and, truthfully, in general) the best:

"I never travel far without a little Big Star."

Rest in peace, Alex Chilton.

Record of the Moment: Black Sabbath - Paranoid

2010-03-09T15:38:00.001-05:00

You may say, "WOAH THERE, what happened to this guy? He now listens to heavy metal?" The answer is "This record," and this record only. Let's be honest, this record isn't heavy metal in the modern sense. It's like Led Zeppelin but jammier and heavier. But at the time, that was way heavy metal. No one really dared to go that heavy before.

But that's not the point. This is a one-of-a-kind record. I'm no expert on metal, but sources I've gathered say that it simply is one of the finest, ever. I don't listen to metal at all, but the songs on this record are pretty sick. "War Pigs" is, according to a friend of mine who's more metal-inclined than I am (though he is of the Grateful Dead vein more than anything else), the best heavy metal song of all time, and one of those flawless rock songs. The second I can definitely agree with. "War Pigs" is both a flaming indictment of warmongers in power and a maelstrom of sheer muscle and power. Iommi's guitar charges along, while the rest of the band acts like they are, perhaps, dogged on by the hounds of hell.

I know that heavy metal and Black Sabbath in particular gets a rap as Satanist, but look at these lyrics, from "War Pigs":

"Now in darkness world stops turning
As the war machine keeps burning
No more war pigs have the power
Hand of God has struck the hour
Day of judgment God is calling
On their knees, the war pigs crawling
Begging mercy for their sins
Satan laughing spreads his wings"

What is Satanist about that? There really isn't a whole lot of Satanism going on there. It really is a whole bunch of talk about the end of the times, which is not very Satanist to me. Especially when the song calls on the Hand of God to render judgment unto the war pigs. Of course, I'm not really familiar with later Black Sabbath, and we all know Ozzy Ozbourne is a loony, so I could be wrong. But back then it doesn't seem like that.

Other dudes like Christgau make fun of the hokey lyrical themes that Black Sabbath use, such as all the sci-fi, horror-film talk, but in the end, it's the same application just of a different theme. In the sense that, for example, David Bowie plumbed the Ziggy imagery. It's a little different, but you get the gist. If all the faux-horror and sci-fi imagery was not artfully applied to the music they had, I'm sure Black Sabbath would deserve that rap. But once, again, look at the above lyrics. They're not too shabby, are they? Look to basically the first side of the record and prepare to have your face blown off.

But yet, it is heavy metal. I'm not going to put this on a whole lot. But it is a great record. It shows a definite Zeppelin influence in the same sense that both adapted blues styles and played it as heavily as possible. The guitar work on the record is killer, the bass and drums are tight, and Ozzy sounds a bit like Iggy Pop, but in a much different mindset. Invariably, from what I can tell, the Black Sabbath strain of heavy metal is dead.

This is my discussion on the genre itself. Black Sabbath, while still trying to sound demented in only the way heavy metal can, always seemed to base itself a bit off of the Zeppelin model, relying on old blues forms, a stiff pair of balls, and a bunch of gusto to make the songs heavy metal. While certainly Iommi shows his chops a whole lot, it's not exactly slavish in the way metal sounds now. He doesn't take a whole lot of solos on the record, mostly just chilling and creating a mean rhythm track for Ozzy.

But look at metal now. It has sort of degenerated into a bunch of people trying to outplay one another, becoming a showcase of technical skill rather than an art form related to the spirit of rock music. Which is why I consider modern metal disowned from the rock tradition. Metallica was the rare band, from what I can tell (another friend of mine is much more Metallica-inclined than I am), that straddled the line between embracing the tradition while still sort of being as "technically excelling" as possible.

But all these phonies running around trying to outplay one another miss the point of rock music. I would make the claim that they actually are moreover descendants of the classical music tradition, where technical displays are actually encouraged and written into the music. Because, to be honest, classical music is dying out. Hardcore. It pains me to admit it (having been an orchestra dork in high school), but it's true. It's dying. And somehow, a bunch of metalheads are the ones concerned enough with the extremely technical sides of music to save it.

Sorry for the divergence. Seriously, this is a wicked record. And I mean "wicked" in the sense that it's good, not in the Satanist sense, mind you.

Ragged Glory: the Art of the Double-Album

2010-02-25T19:05:00.001-05:00

Every artist has thought about making a double album. Few have done it, and even fewer have even met any sort of success doing it. Why has the double album been so appealing, and what determines the success (or failure) of a double album?

I think that the reason why the double LP has been so popular is that it gives artists a great amount of artistic lenience with what they want to pursue. If they don't have a particular direction in mind, they can make a double album going every sort of direction! It's actually a pretty convenient solution. This sort of smorgasbord approach is likely the most common approach when it comes to double albums: there's too much to cut out to make a single LP, either due to egos (i.e. the Beatles, perhaps) or because maybe there's just too much good material there (also i.e. the Beatles). Basically, the problem (too much stuff) is resolved by keeping the problem (too much stuff? keep it)...like throwing everything and the kitchen sink at a problem. Sometimes, the extra space is needed to expound on an album concept (closely intertwining with the art of the concept album), like the Who's Tommy. This last iteration is much less common, but its validity cannot be dismissed.

It's necessary to break the double-LP into two categories because each has to be graded on very different forms. While all albums should still follow the general criteria I outlined much earlier, double-LPs gain some leniency in some quarters but generate some extra rules in return. The first, which we'll call the "sprawl" double-LP:

1. The "sprawl" double-LP must cover enough ground. If it doesn't, it's what we'll call the "under-sprawl" double-LP. If you do not have enough variation to cover two LPs, then don't do it. It may be bearable to go through the same shtick for one LP, but two is overkill. Simply put, you have enough room to tinker around, so do it! Don't waste the space on the same genre the whole time!
2. That being said, there is such thing as "over-sprawl," where you just cover way too much ground without stylistic focus and a core to what you're going for. This is typically the worst version of the double-LP, too much of everything, not enough of something. The "over-sprawl" double LP uses the extra space as room for experimenting. Do that in the studio! Don't release that if it's only use was to mess with that random studio effect! You're hurting the album in all quarters by going with the "over-sprawl" approach!
3. All Criteria established in my Mission Statement still apply, no questions asked. However, given the nature of a double-LP, flow can oftentimes be broken up LP by LP, or side by side, depending on the record. That rule requires the "double-LP exception," which I actually hinted at there.

The concept double-LP has a different set of criteria:

1. Does the concept deserve to be on two LPs? Is it really that expansive to require that second LP? Do you really need an extra 40 minutes to expound on your hero's walk from his garden to the grocery store? Probably not. But do you need an extra 40 minutes to talk about key events, themes, and motifs? If yes, then you need the second LP! Yes, this can apply to instrumental segues on a double-LP, which oftentimes are very capable of providing respite or a connecting piece to another section of a record.
2. Are all tracks thematically relevant? Related to the above rule but sort of distinct. It can musically fulfill the concept, or lyrically fulfill the concept, but if it doesn't, throw it out! It doesn't belong at all! This is basically a corollary to the "over-sprawl" rule with a specific application to double-LPs.
3. Same as the "sprawl" double-LP rule. Everything still applies. But with a concept double-LP, there simply is less room for flow problems, and flow separation (or lack thereof) becomes a much bigger issue.

Given the criteria, it's simply quite easier to craft a good "sprawl" double-LP than it is to craft a good "concept" double-LP. Here's a list of masterful double-LPs, and it's actually quite short (no order):

The Beatles - The Beatles
The Rolling Stones - Exile On Main St.
The Jimi Hendrix Experience - Electric Ladyland
The Clash - London Calling
Led Zeppelin - Physical Graffiti
Bob Dylan - Blonde On Blonde
Bob Dylan and the Band - The Basement Tapes
Miles Davis - Bitches Brew
The Who - Tommy
Derek and the Dominos - Layla & Other Assorted Love Songs
Bruce Springsteen - The River
Sonic Youth - Daydream Nation
The Minutemen - Double Nickels on the Dime

It's by no means the definitive list, but it's a good compilation of the good stuff when it comes to double-LPs. Each record I listed I would probably consider a must-listen at some point. Yes, it's going to be a full 70-90 minutes of your life to work through it, but I'll be damned if it won't be a 70-90 minutes very, very well spent. While it's definitely hard to apply my criteria to the Miles Davis record, really...who doesn't love that record (except the traditional jazz cats)?

I did want to mention what I consider to be the outer frontier of the double-LP: the triple-LP. Until this week, I was only able to think of two musicians who had even dared to compile a triple-LP: George Harrison and the Clash. And, coincidentally, they're both ridiculously good records...

George Harrison - All Things Must Pass
The Clash - Sandinista!

The only person since then that had even dared to venture into that territory just joined the field this week - Joanna Newsom - with the record Have One On Me. Maybe it should have been called Have Two On Me, because there's two extra LPs (and in this instance, yes, in the LP sense because the album spans over three LPs...meaning it is two hours long). Time will only tell if Joanna Newsom joins the ranks of the Clash and George Harrison as the only people to ever successfully produce a triple LP. Even daring to do it deserves many accolades...at least in my opinion.

Punk Primer

2010-02-04T10:50:00.002-05:00

It seems rather useless to write about punk, to be honest. Punk is about the gut feeling. Punk is about harnessing feelings. So what is the use of writing about punk? You put on punk, you get lost in the masses. But, as usual, the scholarly side of me (though there is not much that is scholarly about rock music) wants to break it down and present my theories and concepts with regards to punk music. So here goes...the nature of punk music says that what I'll be saying is useless and that you should ignore it (see: the "Ignore Alien Orders" sticker emblazoned on Joe Strummer's guitar), so do what you will:

Punk music essentially started with, well, proto-punk. Quite obvious, really. But where does proto-punk begin? I would argue that it began with the Velvet Underground. "I'm Waiting for the Man" and "White Light/White Heat" (to just name a few) move forward almost recklessly, propelled forward by some supernatural force. Trademark punk sound (which, as I will argue, hardly defines punk) is not there, but certainly the aesthetic was bred (reckless abandon) by the Velvet Underground (the White Light/White Heat record in its entirety is a pretty damn good lesson in proto-punk, but it's not for the faint of heart).

But, when most people envision proto-punk, it's not the Velvet Underground. It's the Stooges. These guys, for the unfamiliar (shame on you if you are unfamiliar):

That's the cover of what's arguably the most influential record in the development of punk music. It's strikingly simple (a classic hallmark of "punk" but not necessarily true), it's angry, it's mad, but it exhibits what I think is the classic "feeling" associated with punk music: alienation. The guitars bite, the guitars snarl, the bass is sinister, the drums insane, and everything just sounds like it's barreling forward only to self-destruct (another classic hallmark). Raw Power is simply one of the finest records around. I'm not sure where I would rank it, but it's really damn good. Ironically, everyone involved with Raw Power says that no mix of it is good (there are "Bowie Mix" haters, "Iggy Mix" haters, "Rough Mix" haters, and all). But that's not the point, because irrespective of the mix, this record shows proto-punk at its finest (and it actually outclasses many, many, punk records).

But onward to punk. The aforementioned feeling of alienation drives punk. Disillusionment with the establishment, the loss of connectedness to the world around, those are the feelings that drive punk. Alienation typically leads to either apathy or the outright rejection and revolt towards the offenders, and those choices are a very good approximation of the punk dichotomy. Naturally, I would hesitate to offer strict dichotomies when it comes to punk music, because artists can easily dip back and for, to and fro from one side of the dichotomy together, but it presents a stark view of the way punk music was an outlet for frustrations towards the alienation they faced. To put it in a more or less succinct manner, if you were punk, you were either a nihilist or an activist.

Nihilism is generally regarded as the not caring about anything. This camp is the apathetic camp, who have chosen to not care about their situation: they are essentially to disillusioned to even care about much at all and would much rather self-destruct than deal with it. I would argue that the Sex Pistols embodied this nihilistic side the best. The easy thing to do is point to the implosion of Sid Vicious, but I'm going to instead point to the track "No Feelings" off of, well, their only record. "I got no emotions for anybody else, you better understand...I'm in love with myself" is an example of pure nihilism.

The activists in the punk movement are your politi-punk bands, who choose to care and try to change their situation, and if they can't peacefully, well, force isn't out of the question. The Clash are the prime example of this. "White Riot" speaks, well, of itself, calling for drastic action because they have been sidelined and ignored (not in terms of race, mind you, but it's a class struggle). It's inherently possible to say that these groups were a bit Marxist, but when you're the lower class, a lot of things become an issue of class conflict.

But punk, after the feeling of alienation, is an aesthetic or mindset more than anything else. It's not "three chords and a sneer," which is apparently how most people define punk. Punk knows no limits. How else can you examine the fact that London Calling is so much more than just a punk record? It mashes anything and everything together to create a supernatural experience, but you still always know that they're all about the issues, but they just take care of it more than anyone else. Perhaps the blame can be put on punk itself. Punk prided itself on its simplicity, and so it became associated with less when it wanted to say more.

Joe Strummer, as I recall, said that punk is what you want it be, what you make it out to be, and you better damn well believe him. Even with the Mescaleros, his later output, such as Global A Go Go, I still saw that as a punk record. Just punk with an ear towards world music. You look at punk groups who have also seen "righteous" success (I'll deal with my usage of the term "righteous" here in a bit) and you see the Minutemen, whose Double Nickels on the Dime record stretches punk's sound to crazy limits while still definitively carrying the punk spirit.

And I come to my use of the term "righteous." There was a neo-punk movement in the 1990s powered by the likes of Green Day and blink-182 and the ilk. Let me just say that none of it is very good. They mostly capitalized on the "three chords and a sneer" and tried to run with it. And those groups got popular by abusing the spirit of punk. Dookie was probably the best of the crop, but in terms of where it belongs, it still doesn't rank very highly (it's a rather nihilistic record, and in that area, you can't come within a universe's length of the Sex Pistols there). Still, it's damning to see the way punk has been despoiled and stained. There are a few groups carrying the spirit of punk, but I'm not sure that I could call them completely punk bands.

I'm not sure we will ever see another truly punk band out there. I think our last chance left with this guy:

He was the last great punksman (if such a term could ever exist), the last shining light of hope where all was dark. Rest in peace, Joe Strummer (1952.08.21-2002.12.22). Every time I think about punk, I think about this angelic figure. The unlikely revival of punk kills me, because "righteous" punk music was the first thing I'd ever gotten into.

Chameleons in Music

2010-01-21T19:02:00.000-05:00

Ah, the chameleons in the world of rock music. Chameleons in the best sense preempt environment changes. If the winds of music are going one way, the chameleon was, in all likelihood, there first. But they ceaselessly reinvent themselves to the point where to try to describe the artist in one word, or even a sentence (or a paragraph, or so on and so forth...) is a fruitless exercise. There are only a couple of chameleons in rock music that are of note, and I think it's necessary to at least examine each chameleon in some sort of detail or length. These two are Bob Dylan and David Bowie, and they both have led stellar careers where each milestone coincides with some sort of reinvention and/or landmark work that either pioneered a genre or proved to be that genre's finest work.

But really, which image would best describe "Bob Dylan" as the man? You'd be hard-pressed to pick one picture and say "That there is everything Bob Dylan was."

He was a folk revivalist, a neo-folkie who brought the genre back into the popular consciousness pushed its boundaries in form. He then forsook folk for more fertile territories by going electric, infusing the ferocity of rock with a lyrical inventiveness that has never been replicated since. But then he became "the lonesome hobo" and then a country crooner. And then, in the wake of his marriage, became the epitome of lovesick and in one fell swoop created the "confessional singer-songwriter" genre, all while penning a classic album that simply is the best breakup album of all time, if not standing tall as one of the greatest records, ever. Next he found himself and became born again. That didn't last, though, as he changed his colors and became the world-weary, grizzled old wise man that he is today.

In every sense, he either invented the genre (neo-folk), or proved to produce the finest records in whatever genre he happened to be in at the time (Highway 61 Revisited, Blonde On Blonde, among the rest of them). Perhaps you could make an argument that in strict terms of music, you'd be hard-pressed to find a genre that Bobby D actually invented for himself. But I think that there's almost no such thing as a completely "new" genre: it's built from the blocks of older genres and appropriated and given a fresh new light, which is what Bob Dylan did.

Regardless, just by looking through the previous paragraph that condenses a 40 or so year career into a paragraph probably does Bob Dylan oodles of grave injustices. No man has ever been as slippery as Bob Dylan. Hard to get a hold of, because he is, and hard to get a hold of because he has changed too many times to account, to keep up with the times as they changed around him.\

Now, I could have also picked from a ton of possible photos for David Bowie, but of all the ones I could choose, I prefer this photo, as I wanted to avoid using the album cover for Low at every turn (because really, I would have no problem with that). But David Bowie has led almost as long as a career as Bob Dylan, with almost as many twists and turns, which were arguably more drastic than Dylan's.

First plumbing psychadelic folk, Bowie later turned to glam rock, which later became a brief foray into soul and R&B before he went entirely experimental and avant-garde with the so-called "Berlin Trilogy," a classic landmark. After "retreating" a bit into more accessible music for a long while, Bowie turned to electronica before basically spending his time reinventing his legacy.

While at first it doesn't seem like as many twists and turns as Dylan's career was, Bowie's were undoubtedly more revolutionary. Bowie essentially invented glam rock with Hunky Dory and the Ziggy Stardust record. He also pioneered the use of electronics in music and essentially helped form post-punk and New Wave with his "Berlin Trilogy." Those achievements alone are astounding, but when taken in the context that it was all basically done by one man, who had either the wits or just the fleeting sense of creativity to change his musical appearance so drastically, then this proposition becomes mind-blowing. Most artists spend their lives daydreaming about inventing genres and becoming a pervasive influence in music; David Bowie spent most of his time, well, inventing genres and becoming a pervasive influence in music.

-----------

And so, there you have it. They're a little brief, but I hope you get the gist of it. Dylan and Bowie were both quintessential chameleons: they never remained in a state of stasis for very long in their careers, as either they just kept on changing to their environment or actually creating a new environment around them. Because of their successes in their changes, they both have had lasting influences in rock music and have both created, together, at least 50 records that must be heard before a person dies. That's pretty damn impressive, right?

This Record Probably Should Have Been Released...

2010-01-16T13:05:00.001-05:00

...33 years ago. So, released 2008 shoulda been 1975.

This record is like, Bruce Springsteen. No, really. The frontman, Brian Fallon, sounds like the Boss himself, except minus the growl and tear that develops in the Boss's singing.

But that's not really only it. Both the Gaslight Anthem and the Boss utilize the same themes, perhaps recycled a whole lot, but still just as powerful: songs about late night films, old cars, the whole bit. So why am I writing about this record, when I could be writing about the Boss himself?

Well, first off I don't feel like addressing the Boss himself yet. That'll be later. But this is a damn good record. One reviewer put it this way (credit is due, yeah?):

Bruce Springsteen went and saw the Ramones once, and was inspired to write his hit, "Hungry Heart," which he was going to give to them. But his manager, I think, wanted Bruce to keep it, because Bruce had often given away #1 hits. Lo and behold, he kept it, and his first #1 hit. But what if he had went ahead and given it to the Ramones?

And if the Ramones were doing Bruce, that's sort of what the Gaslight Anthem would sound like. They're technically a punk band, but they don't sing "punk" in the typical sense: not like the Sex Pistols with the nihilism, not like the Clash with their activism. They channel the furious roar of Bruce Springsteen, who rides a middle-class vibe. Bruce's characters are sad and/or mad with their current position in society: they care about the situation they're in, but they're not going to create a riot over it...they will just cope the best they can and get the hell out of town. Stories are carved through the stories of middle America. That's what the Gaslight Anthem go for here. So while they apparently play the whole Warped scene, they don't really fit at all.

And for all the imagery and lyric material that they plumb fearlessly, for all its almost cheesy language and abuse of clichés, it is not they are improperly applied. Clichés are at their worst when applied poorly, or done without good intentions. When Fallon sings on this record, you get a true sense of sincerity. There's no sense of triteness, no sense of being sly, just all serious, all there. When you hear him lift straight from Springsteen's "No Surrender," it feels like it belongs there.

For being such a modern record, its construction implies a much older age than, well, two years, give or take a bit. There are no indicators of any sort of modernity: just the old way of going about it, pure muscle, feeling, integrity. All the parts are simple enough, which also evokes those days closely following and around Springsteen's Born to Run era. So that's why this record should have really been released back then. But since it's here and not there, it's a brilliant and nostalgic trip back to those days.

Record for the Ages: David Bowie - Low

2010-01-10T19:18:00.003-05:00

When most people think of David Bowie, they think of the Ziggy Stardust character he created, or him just being a weird guy. Like, a really weird guy. I don't blame them. Ziggy is by far his most popular record, and David Bowie was weird back then (I am actually of this opinion too, but in a more...accepting manner). But when I think of David Bowie, I think of this work of staggering proportions, Low: masterful, and groundbreaking.

That is not really to say that Low necessarily blazed the trail; in fact, Iggy Pop's the Idiot did it first. But, for those familiar with the album, David Bowie had a heavy influence and guiding hand in the musical direction of the record. In fact, outside of a couple of cuts, Bowie wrote the music to the Idiot. Bowie's work on his friend's record allowed him to pursue his goals on Low with greater courage, dexterity, and awareness, therefore making this the far superior selection.

Much of Low's success can be attributed therein to his collaborator on the record, Brian Eno. Eno has always been one of those unique figures in rock and roll. Few know of his existence, but his influence is beyond widespread. Besides his solo records which are avant-garde and experimental, Eno's producing and collaborative work itself reads like a best-of list of all the artists, such as:

Talking Heads - More Songs About Building and Food, Fear of Music, Remain In Light

U2 - The Unforgettable Fire, The Joshua Tree, Achtung Baby

Devo - Q: Are We Not Men? A: We Are Devo!

David Byrne and Brian Eno - My Life in the Bush of Ghosts, Everything That Happens Will Happen Today

among countless others.

For one reason or another, working with Eno seems to elevate the quality of everything he touches...perhaps his challenges to rock conventions challenge the artist to be more, or maybe it is some insane sort of coincidences that align the full blossoming of an artist and their collaborator/producer in Eno towards one goal. Regardless, while Bowie is still Bowie here, we can say that Eno probably pushed the record further into greatness than what could have been expected without him.

Low is also a peculiar beast in its sequencing. Side B is entirely instrumental, while the songs on Side A are actually sandwiched between two instrumentals. Side B is also cold, bleak, and desolate while Side A cultivates a brighter, warmer sound as it gleefully bounces around from thought to thought. In a great sense, the songs present on Side A are not really songs, per sé, but more or less similar to the "art songs" of the classical genre of music. Though instead of painting a story within the span of a shortened song (all less than four minutes long), Bowie instead often improvised lyrics that paint surreal pictures rather than clearly illustrate a story: how else can the bizarre lyrics to "Breaking Glass" be interpreted?

Side A, beginning with "Speed of Life," is filled with these "art songs," whose length per track is actually beneficial to the organization of the work as a whole. While some tracks seem like strange cast-offs given their short length, if fully fleshed out and given length, my impression is that they would also lose their power. The strength of Side A is the way it flits from picture to picture as if time is precious. To move through Side A is to move through a powerful set of songs that pull at the gut and strain the brain as they all come by in quick and dizzying succession. The strangely glittering parts to "Sound and Vision" is a particular delight, with its main recourse, "waiting for the gift of sound and vision," alluding to Bowie's search for both musical and artistic zen (as he was getting back into art once again).

Side B is the other side of the coin, the other half of Low. Whereas Side A plumbed a brighter existence, Side B was the barren half that more closely resembled a futuristic leap into the depths of space (though I would argue that the tracks would fit very well with the plight of the commoner in the USSR, as evidenced by the titling of "Warszawa"). Through four dirge-like and languid instrumentals, Bowie paints a dark image: sometimes funeral-esque, sometimes sounding almost lost; but in a sense, as the saxophone finally drifts off at the end of "Subterraneans," and the outcome is unknown, the end is somehow fitting. Bowie was just escaping the icy clutch of an addiction to cocaine, and his sense of insecurity about the future is somehow reflected on Side B.

Low is a record that stands tall with the best of them. In my personal opinion, this record is an easy shot within a top fifty records of all time list, and I'd be even more inclined to include it on a top twenty(-five) records of all time list. And while initially I scoffed at Pitchfork's placement of this record over London Calling as the best record of the 1970s, after many plays, I can see why they chose Low: it's quite simply a groundbreaking record, whose incorporation of avant-garde and electronic influences was unprecedented, forward-looking and still familiar at the same time.

Apparently, much of the instrumental material that appears on Low was written (at least primitively) by Bowie as the soundtrack for a movie he acted in, the Man Who Fell to Earth. They were rejected by the director, as the rumor is that the director wanted a more folk direction with it. I wonder how that guy feels now, knowing he passed up a masterpiece.

Debut Records...Debuting the New Decade!

2010-01-01T15:55:00.000-05:00

Debut records from bands have always been given a sort of free pass; if it’s not fully formed, or if their sound isn’t quite discovered and is rather cliché, it’s passed off as the band simply not being there yet...and the band gets a bit of a freebie in that area. A decent debut is considered about equivalent to a good second or third record (perhaps only the latter, as the second record is always, always the hardest to create, so in that sense a slightly less than decent second record is equivalent to the decent debut and good third record).

But me? I’m better than that. Sort of. When a record is presented, that is the perfect time to present a cohesive vision branded with a group’s unique sound. Any sense of derivation is perhaps allowed, but looked down upon with some degree of severity. A group’s debut is not as if the band just formed yesterday and are recording immediately. Most group’s debuts come a couple years down the road, so the group does have enough time to put something reasonable to release as a record.

This is not to say that the development of a group’s sound must have occurred only before their debut. Change is necessary in a group’s sound; stagnation throughout a career is a surefire way to make an early exit. Bands, groups, or artists with chameleonic careers (i.e. the Beatles, Bob Dylan, David Bowie, Talking Heads) have always been the most interesting, most groundbreaking, and the best catalogues.

The impression is that a debut record should be treated differently than a record farther down the line. In some sense that is true, but on the greater whole, a record is still, well, a record. So it must be good, first off. Then the rest of the process is merely just making sure a record is just their first record. In compiling a “best debut records” list, one can promote or demote good records beyond the normal criteria of a “good” record, to include the elements described above, strictly concerning cohesiveness of sound and lyric. In addition, a good debut can be groundbreaking: forging a new sound that is copied earns that particular debut record brownie points in my book.

And, well, this is what I’ve done (surprise, surprise). Without further ado:

1. The Velvet Underground - The Velvet Underground & Nico

Did you seriously expect any other result? As a record, it stands tall as a titanic feat of achievement. Absolute perfection in every facet of its existence, from the childish sounds of the celeste ringing in “Sunday Morning” to the cacophony that ends the record on “European Son.” The same raw sound permeates the record, both forecasting punk as the first proto-punk record and the avant-garde experimentalism that would become the norm for any band seeking some sort of “credentials.” For what it’s worth, this record is fast becoming a personal favorite of mine, and if I were to definitely construct a top records of all time (eventually, I will get around to it), this would be in the top ten, and perhaps even shaking up what once was, in my mind, a top five list (which has been discussed earlier at length).

2. The Sex Pistols - Never Mind the Bollocks

No, you have not heard me talk about this record before. But yes, it is necessary to hear. The Sex Pistols were the opposite side of punk compared to the Clash. The Clash were activists in every sense, aiming to right the wrongs of the world with violence, if perhaps necessary. The Sex Pistols, though, embodied the rampant nihilism of the genre, which acknowledged the dour state of affairs but simply refused to do anything about it, choosing to self-destruct rather than destroying the existing system. This record is ranked above my beloved Clash mostly because the rampant nihilism had wider implications on the whole of rock music; while certainly there were a good amount of politi-punk bands running around, the lion’s share of the punk bands chose to be nihilists rather than activists. That is not to say that this record is not as good as the Clash’s debut or, given argument, as good as London Calling. Never Mind the Bollocks is quite simply one of the two finest punk rock records of all time. And, mind you, one of the finest records of all time.

3. Television - Marquee Moon

I’ve talked about this record at length. But it is incredible to note that the feat of achievement that Marquee Moon is it is a debut record. It sounds as both a coming shot of perhaps what is to come but it also sounds like a final salvo of virtuosic bliss and the potential of post-punk, which, unfortunately, did not last as long as it could have. The guitars weave in and out like swords in a dance of death, both perfectly moving in unison and creating a force perfectly complemented by the propulsive force of the rhythm section, which still recalls punk in many ways.

4. Joy Division - Unknown Pleasures

And another record I have talked about at length already. This record is not only brilliant, but its application of atmospherics can be considered key to a whole host of genres, both in and out of rock music: dubstep, alternative rock, among others, owe a great deal to the path that Joy Division paved with this record. Part of it is that you feel the record to the greatest degree; the application of such atmospherics means that the fading in of the album itself chills to the bone, and until the final track fades, you are in the merciless grip of Joy Division’s melancholia that is truly affecting.

5. The Clash - The Clash

As I mentioned earlier, this is the flip side to the Sex Pistols. The activism and desire for change here are contagious, and undoubtedly around the time this record was released, many did probably go out and start their own “white riot.” They saw the decay in their country and wanted to change it. This record is considerably more raw than the Sex Pistols’ record. That was likely a conscious decision by both parties. The fact is, though, the Clash’s record perhaps embodies more of the “simplicity” inherent that had defined punk: keeping it simple...stupid. The Clash seems to essentially be a live record: a testament to the righteous fury that punk was capable of. The Clash perhaps chose the right route through activism, as the Sex Pistols combusted soon after their debut record, concerning “career opportunities” (I am terribly sorry for these puns, so I will blame it on the jet lag). Regardless, this fact is a masterpiece of raw power, and it undoubtedly went on the influence many.

From there, the list really goes nowhere at all. You can list them, but from this juncture it degenerates into an absolute mess of arguments without a clear set of rankings, unlike above. What I would consider as other great debut records:

Pavement - Slanted and Enchanted
The Beatles - Please Please Me
Elvis Costello - My Aim Is True
Arcade Fire - Funeral
The Strokes - Is This It
R.E.M. - Murmur
Tom Waits - Closing Time
The Replacements - Sorry Ma, Forgot to Take Out the Trash
Weezer - Weezer
The Avalanches - Since I Left You

Immortality in Rock Music

2009-12-21T16:42:00.007-05:00

There are certain figures regarded as immortal in rock music. To name a few:

Jimi Hendrix
Jim Morrison
John Lennon
Bob Marley
Ray Charles
Marvin Gaye
George Harrison
Kurt Cobain
Joe Strummer
Johnny Cash
Stevie Ray Vaughn
John Bonham
Elliot Smith
Keith Moon

and the like. I don't necessarily agree with some inclusions (I'm not sold on Morrison and Cobain, for starters), but for all intents and purposes those are commonly known "immortals" in rock music. What holds these together? They're all dead. And this leads me to my first Immutable Law in Rock Music:

"
To be truly immortal in Rock Music, one must die.
"

Of course, this makes zero sense at first. If you're dead, how are you alive? You're no longer making music. But take a look. Posthumous careers for many of these careers have either overshadowed or recharged some careers. I'm going to pull a different example than some of the people I listed above to prove my point: Ian Curtis of Joy Division.

Joy Division were not really well known when Curtis died. They were on the rise, but not really at that point yet where they got it "good." And then, poof! Ian Curtis, gone from the world. And then everyone discovered "Love Will Tear Us Apart," and the landmark records Unknown Pleasures and Closer. Then, all of a sudden, Joy Division were kind of a big deal. This allowed New Order (the rest of Joy Division) to get a head start, and has furthermore led to reissues, reprintings, and box sets of Joy Division's work. If Ian Curtis had died, would Joy Division have been big? Sure. Would they have been as big as they are now had Ian Curtis died? Arguably, no. Ian Curtis' death casts a long shadow over the melancholia that permeates every Joy Division song. In light of his depression and epilepsy, Joy Division records and songs gain a whole backstory and a whole new meaning. Divorced from their meaning, the songs are quite obviously powerful, muscular, and constantly effecting, but with this meaning every Joy Division song becomes a tour de force that simply obliterates the listener when heard.

The context of death makes everything about the artist more striking, granting the band/artist an aura that is impossible to penetrate. To elaborate on the above example, Ian Curtis, on his dying day, watched a Herzog film, put on Iggy Pop's the Idiot, and then hung himself. Curtis has attained a sort of mysticism due to that. Marvin Gaye was shot by his father, John Lennon was assassinated, while Kurt Cobain and Jimi Hendrix died due to overdoses. They're all now seen with a sort of reverence, an air of the mystic thanks to their deaths.

Each person who has died in the midst of their career has, in a sense, gained a sort of "impenetrable fog" that protects them from any sort of heated criticism and guarantees them a favorable standing in the world of rock music. I'm not saying it's undeserved. Lennon obviously deserves the "impenetrable fog"; his work with the Beatles, Plastic Ono Band and Imagine are all stone-cold classics and monoliths in rock music, and as an activist his edge has been unmatched. But Walls and Bridges? Some Time In New York City? Neither record is much better than mediocre, in my humble opinion. But his death erased any sort of criticism that could be levied against him.

This is why I'm inclined to believe Paul McCartney often suffers in critic circles: he's still around, he's still pounding it out, but either because he's been oft considered as the "soft" Beatle or because of his long career which has led to a fair number of duds to go alongside his many, many studs, he's likely the least respected Beatle (though perhaps Ringo also is given this same title). Now of course, saying someone is the least-respected Beatle is saying the fourth-most respected artist of all time, but that's neither here nor there. John Lennon has two (to three, depending on your level of scathing) duds to go alongside his studs. Granted, it's folly to extrapolate a career and look at sample sizes to examine careers of rock musicians, but it should be duly noted.

I'm also not ragging against John Lennon. Let me make that clear. John Lennon is the fucking man. I observe his birthday and his dying day every year. I don't take the day off, but for that whole day, John Lennon, everything he did and everything he stood for is always on my mind. But his death has granted him a place in the hallowed hall of rock immortals, perhaps given a slightly easier screening process than others. As have countless others, for better or for worse.

If you look at the ripples caused by a musician's death, the effect is pretty obvious. At least nowadays, the artist in question is rewarded with many, many posthumous awards and accolades. George Harrison was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame shortly after his death. Ray Charles won a whopping eight Grammies from his record, Genius Loves Company, which was released two months after his death. Johnny Cash's American IV won a few CMA's and his rendition of "Hurt" absolutely slayed everyone and reaped some rewards soon after he passed (myself included...but his rendition of "Hurt" is great regardless of the circumstances).

The general rule? In rock music, sometimes it's better to die than to live. It doesn't make any sense, really, but it's true. It's truly a peculiar phenomenon. But it's observable. To refuse to acknowledge its existence is shortsighted. It's not talked about a lot...but it's there. Sort of like a dirty little secret. It's also something that should never be wished on someone. Death for the profit of afterlife. Perhaps it is the manifestation of "what could have been?" had they continued to be around; continued to be the great musicians they were.

Key, though, is to enjoy the careers that these immortals have brought us before their dying breath. In this sense, each album is worth more because there are less albums around. So it's therefore to critical to enjoy each landmark work each immortal brings us, to listen and bask in its eternal glory.

Record of the Moment: Iggy Pop - Lust for Life

2009-12-20T22:41:00.005-05:00

Somehow, it is hard to imagine that the cheeky young fellow who appears on this record cover to be the same gaunt-faced man who gave the death stare on the cover of Raw Power. It doesn't seem to add up. Here, the dude is happy. Look at that smile. The man on the cover of Raw Power looks like he wants to tear your throat out and eat it in front of your children. And just look at the title of each record: Lust for Life against Raw Power. One implies positivity, the other implies negativity.

But that's where Iggy Pop ended up. After the royal collapse of the Stooges, and a stint in the hospital, Iggy Pop was back in business. He'd cleaned up, essentially (though this probably isn't totally true). But the glaring difference between the cover of the last Stooges and the cover for this record sort of perpetuates that myth. And in some sense, the music is a little lighter. By no means does this mean Iggy Pop went "lite" on the populace. Nope. I don't think Iggy Pop would be caught dead going "lite," because that is simply the way Iggy Pop is.

Compared to the Idiot, the previous release, Lust for Life is a return to form for Iggy Pop. Personally, in my historical pursuits as a rock scholar, I consider the Idiot to be a sort of half-Bowie, half-Pop record. It's obviously still Iggy. But the music is obviously a predecessor to Bowie's groundbreaker, Low. Therefore, the Idiot is sort of the lost brother to Bowie's trilogy (I'd argue that the Idiot should be included in the "trilogy"; thus expanding the concept into a "quadrilogy"). Some people disown the Idiot for its Bowie-ness. I refuse to do so, personally. Regardless, Lust for Life showed that Pop still not only had his own lyrical edge, but his edge as a musician.

The drums that kick off the record instantly blow open your mind. It's big, it's huge, and instantly memorable (and apparently easily sullied and stained: I'm looking at you, Jet). And then it kicks into gear. The younger and angrier Iggy Pop is largely missing; here instead is an older, wiser Iggy Pop, who knows better now that he's escaped his vices. But of course, he still acknowledges their existence (see: "Some Weird Sin"), because who couldn't? Your vices haunt you forever. Iggy captures it perfectly; after all, of all the people who are familiar with self-destruction, Iggy Pop pretty much tops the list.

But this Iggy Pop is largely over that hill and out of that Hell, and he knows it. The way "Success" gleefully careens along, almost teetering on the edge of collapse but always steady...it's infectious. "The Passenger" is similarly enchanting, but not because it's necessarily a "happy" track; it's an Iggy Pop seemingly at peace. The barroom rock of "Turn Blue" is indicative of Iggy's still-present edge, both morbid and scathing in its attacks, but almost sarcastic in its musings. The track is a reference to Iggy Pop's previous struggles with drugs, as easily discerned, but for all anyone knows the implications are much wider.

While the music itself is nowhere near as ear-bleed-inducing as Raw Power is (which was intentional), that is not to say that Lust for Life is toothless. Tracks such as "Neighborhood Threat" prowl along menacingly, with Iggy Pop's voice of "doom," so to speak, going from its tremble-causing baritone to shattering screams and yelps in a heartbeat...all constantly affecting, if sometimes slightly grating (or very grating, depending on your disposition towards the singing abilities of Iggy Pop). The funk-tinged (most Bowie-like) romp, "Fall in Love with Me" stomps along in a marvelous fashion, with Iggy half-crooning the title line over a contagious groove that is hard to deny.

I could speak at length about every track, but I will stop here. Needless to say, Lust for Life is essential. Standing alone, the record is perfect. Its influence is widespread. Lust for Life is a perfect example of proto-punk. Perhaps not as "punk" as what is typically evinced (see: Sex Pistols and early Clash) but indicative of the spirit of punk...ever-restless. Not necessarily experimental or groundbreaking, but essentially free-spirited at its core.

The Man #4: Tom Waits

2009-12-12T22:52:00.003-05:00

When I refer to "The Man," I refer to titans in my music world. Perhaps later they will warrant their own "The Man" entries (as you may have noticed, I am terribly ineffective when it comes to maintaining series outside of "Record of the Moment"), but there are three people who currently rank ahead of Mr. Waits:

1. Jeff Tweedy
2. Bob Dylan
3. Lou Reed

and one who ranks behind:

5. Joe Strummer

Given that this is my current list, it is subject to flux. However (and this is a potential next entry if I get around to it), Jeff Tweedy will always be my number one. See my second "Records of Great Influence" entry here for the tip of the iceberg regarding the debt I owe Mr. Jeff Tweedy. Or, if you prefer Stephen Colbert's name for the guy, Geoffrey Velvet. The rest are obvious. Dylan, Reed, and Strummer are immutable figures in rock music, gods among mortals like you and I. But Tom Waits is the oddball in this group.

And that's the way I'd describe Tom Waits to someone if they had never heard of him. He is a total oddball. But he's also far and away one of the best songwriters in the 20th century and beyond. But beyond that there's a necessary chasm between "early Waits" and "later Waits."

"Early Waits" is the barroom, lounge music Tom Waits. Pretty jazzy, a little simpler, heavily piano-based. "Later Waits" is probably the longer, more prolific period of Waits. Heavily based in old-school blues, delighting in peculiar instrumentation, peculiar percussion rhythms, it's basically the darker cousin of "early Waits." My description of later Tom Waits would go like this, since otherwise my description doesn't help:

"Imagine like walking into a real seedy bar in like the 20's or 30's and there's some bar band playing some strange burlesque, vaudevillian music. It sounds familiar, yet because of the way it's constructed, it sounds like the bastard child of Howlin' Wolf and the Devil."

The most obvious thing, though, is the voice. Early Tom Waits maintains a light barroom croon that sounds youthful and full. Later Tom Waits sounds world-weary, war-ravaged, dogged by the devil; ranging from a sort of sinister growl to a furious and explosive roar.

But that is not to say that "early Waits" is better than "later Waits" or vice versa. It's more of a "which Waits do I want to hear right now?" and it's there. Boom. Early Waits? I'll put on Closing Time, his superb debut. Later Waits? I'll put on his landmark Rain Dogs, his Grammy-winning Bone Machine, or even put on his mega-package Orphans: Brawlers, Bawlers, & Bastards. Or if I'm looking for a sort of "here is all of Tom Waits" sort of deal, I'll put on his most recent live record, Glitter and Doom Live.

Why is he one of "the Men"? Partially because he is such an oddball. How has the guy maintained a career playing this sort of music? Not because it's bad, because I love it all to death (or why else would I be writing this?). But commercially, it at first seems totally, totally suicidal. Totally anti-commercial, letting his music exist without being sullied by the post-industrial landscape that so often stains music through commercialism. It's a perfect recipe for disaster, when you look at the landscape now. Still, like the vagrants, the homeless, and the drunks that Tom Waits often writes about, he persists in spite of the changing tides of music. The man does what he wants, and that's one of the other things I love about him. Not about to bend to the will of any man. He plays what he wants. And, well, if you mess with him, he'll probably sue you too (Waits has a long history of suing people for wronging him). Well, if I messed with Tom Waits I'd probably deserve to be sued, too.

That's why I love Tom Waits. That's why he's my Man #4. This favorite quote of mine sums up Tom Waits extremely well, via Tom Waits himself:

"My kids are starting to notice I'm a little different from the other dads. 'Why don't you have a straight job like everyone else?' they asked me the other day. I told them this story: In the forest, there was a crooked tree and a straight tree. Every day, the straight tree would say to the crooked tree, 'Look at me...I'm tall, and I'm straight, and I'm handsome. Look at you...you're all crooked and bent over. No one wants to look at you.' And they grew up in that forest together. And then one day the loggers came, and they saw the crooked tree and the straight tree, and they said, 'Just cut the straight trees and leave the rest.' So the loggers turned all the straight trees into lumber and toothpicks and paper. And the crooked tree is still there, growing stronger and stranger every day."

Record of the Moment: R.E.M. - Automatic for the People

2009-11-28T13:59:00.004-05:00

Recently I have gotten into R.E.M., and I'm honest in saying that I never really heard them (in the way of placing a song to a band) before I somehow got the urge to pick up some of their records. Listening to them, I realize that I'd somehow heard many of these songs before, though I had never really associated them with R.E.M. Of course, that's changed now. R.E.M. is excellent stuff. I could have picked any assortment of records here (Murmur, Reckoning, Document could have been chosen), but I went with Automatic for the People in this instance.

This record is probably comes out as my favorite R.E.M. record thus far. Perhaps it is because ths record is a little more mid-tempo, and little more "folksy" than the others, but I connect to this record more than the others. But it's also easy to argue that R.E.M. were on the top of their game with Automatic for the People. R.E.M. wanted to change their musical direction, away from what they had done on the previous record, but it didn't happen. Perhaps it was just the residual of what they were doing previously, but the fact of the matter is the batch of songs on this record could not be expressed in any other way. Tracks like "Sweetness Follows" prowl along majestically in melancholy, while "Everybody Hurts" portrays a more personal, reserved melancholy.

Of course, the word repeated here is melancholy. This record is a lot slower, much more ruminative on "life" topics like love, life and death. Typically every songwriter's staple topics, but Stipe and co. execute much more effectively than your average dude. In some ways, this is a perfect alt-country record. No, R.E.M. were not an alt-country band, but this record shows those qualities and proves to be pretty damn catching and gripping. That is not to say that R.E.M. don't have a connection to the alt-country scene, as guitarist Peter Buck produced Uncle Tupelo's folk-revival masterpiece March 16-20, 1992. But this record sounds the part.

Drawing heavily from the folk tradition, most of the numbers are essentially ballads. "Nightswimming" and the like, you know. While this record has a copious amount of sadness and melancholy interwoven into it, those subject matters are never treated without dignity. And that is key. Too many groups "embrace the sadness" and become sappy affairs. At some point, take it too seriously and the whole thing becomes a massive caricature of itself. R.E.M. deftly avoid this problem, even as many of those ballads are accompanied by string sections written by John Paul Jones of Zep fame.

I can talk and talk about this song and that song and the way this part in the one song does this particular thing, but it's really the whole album experience that makes it. Something you just have to hear. And for that, R.E.M.'s Automatic for the People is my record of the moment.

In Defense Of: The Velvet Underground - Loaded

2009-11-26T00:05:00.007-05:00

You may be confused as to why I am choosing to defend this record. This is already a perfect record. I mean, it's the Velvet fucking Underground, right? But in this first entry for the In Defense Of: series, I choose to defend this record in comparison to the other Velvet Underground records.

Because let's face it, every Velvet Underground record is a masterpiece. The Velvet Underground & Nico? Please, let's move on, because A. I've already discussed it at length previously and B. if you don't like the record, you are doomed for an existence in the Hellscape of rock and roll. White Light/White Heat is an experimentalist's dream come true, with all the avant-garde elements finally coming to fruition in a hectic and chaotic wall of noise surrounding the disarming beauty of "Here She Comes Now." The Velvet Underground is a much quieter affair, focusing much more on that same unguarded beauty in "Here She Comes Now," with just as good results. It's still a visceral record, but it's a quiet sort of visceral, one that silently pulls at your heart rather than just sort of tearing it out.

But Loaded? It's sort of the black sheep in the VU canon. Lou Reed's voice was deteriorating at a fairly alarming rate (Doug Yule had to often pick up Lou's leads on tour when his voice gave out). And for the recording of Loaded, Moe Tucker, the percussionist, was out on maternity leave, basically. So you see, the original Velvets were losing it. The drummer gone and the lead man perpetually listed as "Questionable" on every day of touring or recording (this is a pro football reference, for those who do not understand)? Not a great recipe for success.

And since the Velvets had finally secured the funds to make something even remotely polished, this subjected them to the thumb of the record label (whereas before they were allowed to really roam as free as they wished). Hence the title, Loaded, 'cause all the label wanted was a record loaded with hits...get it? It's probably a behind-the-back jibe at the label, knowing Lou Reed. But with those extra funds to achieve a bigger sound came the risk of having to sacrifice artistic freedom for commercial viability (the crux of the issue for any self-respecting artist).

Loaded proved a couple of things: the first is that Lou Reed could write anthemic, truly catchy pop songs. "Sweet Jane" is as anthemic as it gets. You just want to scream "Sweet Jane" along with Lou. "Who Loves the Sun"? I don't, thanks to Lou (and Doug for the vocal). And so on and so forth. The second thing is that (at least in those days) it was possible to perfect art without sacrificing it for commerical viability. "Sweet Jane" and "Rock & Roll" were fairly large hits (and still receive play today) while still being legitimate songs in their own right, and being able to form those tracks and the others into a legitimate album.

While Loaded is already a virtual masterpiece, the "What could have been?"s that plague the development of this record lead us to figure that, man, if most of it could have been, how much more awesome could this record even get? Numerous Velvets have sort of ragged on the record itself. Morrison wanted all the vocal leads to have been done by Lou. Doug Yule himself thinks he may have been a little overused on the record (he even stepped in on drums in Moe Tucker's absence).

I am of the opinion that all this "What could have been?" talk sort of diminishes the view that people have on the record. Let's focus our eyes on the prize. Evaluate what you have, not what you could have had. You're better off that way. And when you take that, what you have is a record of pure pop perfection. The other thing that always puts a downer on this record is the past record of the Velvets. Pioneers in art-rock, proto-punk (and therefore punk), experimental, and avant-garde, where does this fit in? It really doesn't. Loaded is simply a pop record. But when disassociated from the rest of the Velvets' legacy, well, it turns out to be a fantastic record. And that is why I chose to defend Loaded in this entry, though it shouldn't need defense. Loaded is regarded as inferior because of its associates. That is no way to treat a masterpiece.

Double-Header: The Gumption Centers Mission Statement

2009-11-22T23:49:00.005-05:00

I have not done too much substantive with regards to music this month, so I present to you a double-header today in a currently successful effort to put off whatever schoolwork I should be doing.

Now, my very very first post introduces everything, but a bit of thinking has led me to some interesting things:

1. I think it would be awesome if I eventually could teach a History of Rock and Roll class. Like at any University. Like, you know, MUS 252 at OSU. That would be cool.

2. I can already expect that I would do better than whatever scrub is teaching it right now.

3. But here's the rub, and where we get to my Mission Statement: with regards to "rock and roll" as we know it, the ALBUM is the highest form of music. There is nothing better. No A-side/B-side can ever conquer the sheer artistic perfection that an album can.

So here, let me restate that. The Mission Statement of Gumption Centers:

"
Rock and roll music is an esteemed form of popular music and, on the whole, music. In this genre, the masterwork comes in the form of the album. There is no greater joy to the ears than putting on the perfect LP, to be taken away to a different realm of existence for the duration of that LP. The LP, the record is the barometer with which all albums and any so-styled rock and roll artist should be measured. Any rock and roll artist who does not take the album seriously should therefore not be taken seriously.
"

The album is the greatest chance any artist has to make a real statement. While albums inherently haven't always been treated as total and coherent works (see: the Beatles' Please Please Me, With the Beatles, Beatles For Sale, Help!), it is still of paramount importance that the album projects a clear, coherent image of the group - how else do albums like the Beatles, Exile On Main St. hold up in all their splendor? The Beatles is a severely fractured record, with Lennon's searing confessionals, McCartney's dalliances with music hall styles, Harrison's increasingly successful forays into spirituality, and Ringo's general playfulness, so how can it hold up? Well, it's because the Beatles simply provided a coherent sound and existence as the group, no matter how far they were drifting at the time. It all sounded like the Beatles, and it all was good.

And so we come to this...what makes a good album? Heretofore, I list my criteria:

1. The album must be largely void of weak tracks. One exceedingly weak track severely hurts the album as an entire form. There is no forgiveness for a weak track, but there is always forgiveness if there is no "#1 World Single For The Next 50 Years" on the record.
2. The album must present a cohesive view of what the artist is trying to achieve.
3. The album must maintain proper flow. The artist should be mindful that in playing a record the entire way through that they do not want to put the listener to sleep with seven straight slow tracks nor pound the listener's head in with seven ear-bleeders (usually excepted in this instance: punk). But it is also of great importance that tracks flow into one another, with a minimal use of "reset buttons" to suddenly adjust the flow of a record (and excepted in this instance: switching sides on an LP or switching an LP).

Those are really the three criteria. It doesn't seem like a lot, but it actually is. And if it seems exceedingly harsh, I'd like to think that it is because that I take the album as an art form very seriously. Heretofore I will go through what I consider the top five records of all time and grade them based on my criteria (I am using my list from my very very first entry, which I still find correct):

1. Bob Dylan - Highway 61 Revisited
Weak tracks? Absolutely not. From "Like A Rolling Stone" through "Desolation Row," Bob Dylan is at the tiptop of his game. Every track is utterly visceral and totally gripping, as Dylan weaves words, stories, myths and dreams around the listener about such fantastical characters as Cinderella and Casanova in "Desolation Row" to Sweet Melinda in "Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues." And as a bonus, there is the "#1 World Single For The Next 50 Years" so coveted by everyone, and its name is "Like A Rolling Stone." Is the album cohesive, in that it presents a unified view of the artist? Yes. Dylan is at his most obtuse here, but that doesn't mean whatever hazy view lyrically is supported by some hazy combination of instrumentation. The backing band here is on fire, providing Dylan a perfect and consistent backdrop with which to paint on. Listening to this record, you realize that Dylan paints in a similar fashion with each song, which ensures cohesion in the record. Proper flow? Check. Every track seamlessly flows into one another, with the proper amount of pacing from the open to the close. Done. No need to explain any more. IF you think I do, you have head issues. Not to offend, but seriously. This record is perfect in every way.

2. The Beatles - Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band
You really can't write anything original about this record because it's already been said. It's an immaculately crafted concept album, thus satisfying every criterion. Next.

3. The Band - Music From Big Pink
No, no weak tracks here. Super-hit (and therefore maligned for its pervasive appearance in popular culture) with "The Weight." "Chest Fever" grooves just as good as James Brown, while the ballads like "In A Station" and "Lonesome Suzie" are impeccably powered along by Richard Manuel's angelic singing. This record is cohesive in that it essentially is representing America and its rural and core values (see my previous entry on the Band, titled It Must Be the Beards: "America" and "Common Sense" in Rock Music). And it flows lazily from one track to another, never hurrying but never lulling the listener into stupor with impeccably timed more upbeat tracks, but since the Band's sound and vision is so united, the flow is never "off" ever during the record.

4. The Clash - London Calling
Weak tracks? No, you can't really say that there are any exceedingly weak tracks. While "Koka Kola" isn't exactly "Rudie Can't Fail" or "London Calling," it's certainly not chaff, because it's an essential pastiche that plays an integral role in the record. You also have the major hit factor with both "Train In Vain (Stand By Me)" and "London Calling," so there's that criterion checked off. A cohesive view? I would argue that. It seems stylistically all over the place. There's heavy reggae influences in "Guns of Brixton" to the roar of the blues rip-off "Brand New Cadillac" to the light bar jazz of "Jimmy Jazz" (I swear that wasn't intentional). But the cohesive view? Punk has no boundaries. Punk is an aesthetic unbounded by genre and style and sound. The claim is that punk is capable of everything. And I think they accomplished it. The flow is certainly there, with enough energy to instill fear into the hearts of the ignorant and enough "downtime" (though I wouldn't really call it such) to allow for recharging before taking up the crusade once again.

5. The Beach Boys - Pet Sounds
This is also one of those records that is almost impossible to write about now. Flawless, stunning, and perfect in every way, it is an encapsulation of the innocence of youth, growing up (but sincerely not really wanting to), and the fond reminiscence of those youthful days where all that mattered was "you" and "me."

So there you go. There are countless albums that can be considered pretty perfect, but these five stand tall, heads and shoulders above the rest. Always and forever. It is highly unlikely that any record from here on out will conjure up the same effects on listeners that those five records have had on the rock and roll soundscape. For better or for worse, those records cast a shadow on everything else that has ever been and will ever be released.

Recent Record: Serge Gainsbourg - Histoire de Melody Nelson

2009-11-22T23:24:00.006-05:00

Let me begin by tracing the extremely long and convoluted path that I took to finally listen to this record. Pitchfork has been gleefully documenting some strange Beck vs. Matt Friedberger vs. Radiohead fight thing. And then there's this whole Beck doing stuff with Charlotte Gainsbourg. And being curious I consulted everyone's friend, Wikipedia to find that she's the daughter of crazy Frenchman Serge, who I'd heard a bit about but had never been inclined to listen to. And voilà! Here we are. I've listened to this record, and with a little bit of backstory, here is my opinion on it:

This record is straight up funk-sounding. It grooves especially hard, trying to get you to feel it too, and groove along with it. And it does get you to groove along rather tastefully. This funk element is married to swooping string portions, which in some strange way works well on all levels. It's quite rare to find that strings and "funk"-based sound work together (if anything, it should join funk and horn sections), but Serge Gainsbourg deftly combines the two in an enjoyable manner. These funkier tunes are artfully balanced with softer, more traditional "pop" songs that accordingly play to Serge's strengths.

I will admit I have no understanding of French. But my research indicates that the lyrical material is quite racy. The general plot is that a much older man, in his fancy car, unexpectedly hits a girl on a bike. Said older man seduces said girl (Melody Nelson, hence the record), they do their sexual things (hear "En Melody" and her, uhm, cries of pleasure), and then she inevitably dies in a plane crash. For one reason or another.

What I get from my zero understanding is that this guy that Serge is portraying is a total player. And he sounds like it. He comes off as slightly sleazy, in some strange manner, and I'm going to guess that was the intended effect. And when taken on the whole with what is going on, it works. While on the "funkier" tracks Serge sounds like a total seduction-machine doing his thing, he sounds rather genuine in his affection. And this is through virtually no change in inflection. Perhaps it is a simple indicator that it's really the music behind the vocals that can change a mood entirely, but taken on the whole the feeling that something deeper is responsible is present.

I do like this record quite a bit. It's insanely catchy, and though I do feel oddly sleazy and/or dirty while listening to it, Histoire de Melody Nelson is, quite obviously, a very accomplished record. While those without experience with the French language (i.e. me) cannot really decipher what is going on story-wise (as the record is essentially a concept record), it really takes no time at all to get a sense of the goings-on just through what the band and Serge Gainsbourg himself are doing, whether it be affecting pop-crooning or funky seduction. The record is a great example of pop perfection, and as such I highly recommend getting around to this record if at all possible.

Greatest Game of All Time: A Temporary Divergence

2009-11-15T01:55:00.010-05:00

...and your first question is, no music discussion? I say, read my very very first entry, not everything is about music. I'm actually quite surprised that it took me this long to write a non-music topic. BUT I found a discussion of "greatest game of all time" as an entry on the Relevant website ("Question of the Day" a little while back) and I was astounded by the amount of, well, terrible responses. Gaming has always been my little secret hobby (not too secret, I suppose). I play a lot of Call of Duty: Modern Warfare (NO, I HAVE NOT GOTTEN MODERN WARFARE 2 YET, THANKS FOR ASKING >;( ). A whole lot. Back to the main point though, I sincerely love the Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time as much (actually, probably more) as/than the next person. It is, in fact, my second favorite game of all time. But it still stands miles and miles under this masterwork:

Resident Evil 4 is quite simply the greatest game of all time. No questions asked. Don't even worry about it. But to indulge you:

Perhaps in the context of the Resident Evil franchise, the fourth installment completely changed the game. The problem was that with the third installment, Nemesis, the side-shoot Code: Veronica, and the prequel ø, the franchise was beginning to stagnate. The pace of play was way too slow. The gameplay really dictated that. The puzzles were sometimes frustrating. I mean, you're getting chased by zombies, and it seems strange that you need "Ruby Jewel" to stick into a statue to proceed. But that is not meant to denigrate the previous entries, as they were all fantastic in their own right. Those problems weren't only a part of the Resident Evil problem, they were a part of the problem for the survival horror genre (see: Silent Hill series).

But something had to change, and change it did. Gone were the tank controls (and if you've played with them, oh, dear, how terrible), replaced with much more capabilities for smoother interactions with the environment and your bad guys. The puzzles? Not really there anymore. Sometimes you find some keys and pieces, but it's always a straightforward application rather than a long moment to ponder where "obscure piece A" is supposed to go. What happened? The gameplay was sped up. Enemies moved faster. You moved faster. It changed survival horror for the best (or for the worst, depending on your feelings for the genre).

The point is, the gameplay is intense and visceral. There are the small spaces where you freak out because a zombie guy (though in this particular Resident Evil entry, "zombie" is certainly a stretch on the normal term) has caught you in a corner. Or maybe because a crazy potato-sacked head man with a chainsaw is out to get your butt. Or maybe because you face severely long odds. Resident Evil 4 is essentially an action game. Everything is flawless.

There were several revolutionary points in the game, some meant for the franchise, the genre, but some even for gaming on the whole. For the franchise and genre, it meant the death of the slow pace of play. Given the clime (hello, Halo!), a slow pace of play wasn't really suitable. The controls were updated to suit the genre and franchise while still retaining the elements that made survival horror, well, survival horror. Small, enclosed areas, dark rooms, lots of zombies, insane plotlines, all those were still there. You were just walking the path perhaps a little quicker than imagined. But the game itself is so rich that even the fastest players still take 15 hours to complete it (I've played this game enough to be counted in that category).

On the "global" level, though, Resident Evil 4 introduced the "QTE," or "quick time event," into the game designer's arsenal. The essence is that any action can yield a QTE, wherein you get a cue for an event, and the player must quickly respond and press a button to continue on. This ranged from a cue to suplex a zombie and smash his face off, to surviving cinematic sequences (that was the real clincher). The cinematic sequences with QTEs really expanded the game atmosphere. It's sort of difficult to make the game interactive when your camera is normally stuck behind the character but the whole point of an event is to run away from a boulder coming from behind. So you flip the camera, make it a QTE, make the player frantically mash buttons to survive. Your problem of an entirely uninteractive scenario quickly became something not only interactive, but also engrossing and actually quite freaky.

The key here is that you involve your gamers in the cinematic sequences. In the majority of games, cue cinematic sequence, and boom! you lose your gamer, because a good percentage of players just want to play the game. They frankly don't care if some peripheral character dies, it's no big deal. "Just give me the controls and I'll just kill them all," they'll say. Well, the QTEs correct this problem. Quick-time events force the player to pay attention throughout the cutscene, because if they don't, the player won't get a chance to revenge because guess what, they lost their head too. So it forces players to keep their wits about them, gets the player invested in the storyline and keeps them involved (your ultimate goal as a game designer, anyways). There's a particular cinematic sequence in Resident Evil 4 that is absolutely flawless in design with regards to QTEs, and you will know it when you get there, so I won't spoil it.

By no means was this game shabby in the graphics department. It was cutting edge for the time, and cutting edge for the Gamecube. I'm not the kind of gamer who particularly cares really for graphics unless it drastically affects gameplay (and it usually doesn't), so I won't discuss this too much, but it's really the details that count here too. From the little textures to the nice touches to your gruesome deaths (oh, trust me, they happen to everyone when it comes to Resident Evil 4), graphics were still given a lot of consideration.

And for the record, despite all these changes to the franchise, 4 is still unmistakably a Resident Evil game. For one, it still is involved in the same universe, but the same sort of goofy plot (and the dialogue, for those fans of the terribly cheesy Resident Evil dialogue) is still there. Let's face it, the whole "zombie" phenomena is unlikely in and of itself, so there's no point in reducing the problem to be something as realistic as possible. So people are injecting themselves with viruses, mutating into crazy stuff. It makes the bossfights larger-than-life, downright gross (the point), and when necessary, downright scary. To reduce the whole point of "zombies" into something realistic would have been terrible, and wisely, Capcom avoided that problem here. The problem seems just plausible enough for you to be involved, but it's so fantastical and outrageous that the game becomes fun, in a sense, because you're transported to some wacky world (also a goal of game design). So, a win there.

The problem with the game might just have been the distribution. It was Gamecube only before it got ported because they realized it was good enough to make boatloads of money (because it was that good). And even then it was just PC and PS2. It was around this time when everyone was getting on the XBox trend, and so few to no players in America, at least, played it. There were very few reasons to pick up a Gamecube, not only because of its "family"-oriented mindset, but because there just wasn't a great selection of games (Super Smash Bros. Melee, The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker come to mind as the two most worthy titles on the 'cube at the time). But for those who got to it (me, although supremely late and first on the Wii edition of the game) in some way, shape or form, can acknowledge this masterwork.

Now, there's always different strokes for different folks, but for those informed, this is typically a consensus top-20 of all time pick. For me, I definitely consider it the best game of all time. From the moment I started playing, I was transported into a different world. Gripping, intense, with utterly visceral, intuitive, and engaging gameplay, Resident Evil 4, in my humble opinion (as primarily a man of music), should really be crowned as the best video game of all time.

Revisited: Top 20 Albums of 2000-2009

2009-11-12T21:47:00.008-05:00

No, my good friends, there is no rest for the weary. Even after initially publishing my list in August, I was still out on the hunt to make sure I constructed a good list, and alas! I did not. But most of the placements were right. With more research, I have been able to compile an even better list. However, this time I have chosen not to write blurbs about each entry, mostly out of sheer laziness (I call it nihilism for the whole process of journalism, mind you). But you, the reader, should use it as an excuse to listen to any of the records that you have not heard of. The majority of entrants in the previous entry suffered a drop in the rankings given an expansion to twenty albums, but the harshest fall was Loretta Lynn, bless her soul. But there were better records of the decade than that (and it doesn't age as well as I'd previously imagined), so I therefore must accommodate. Here goes:

1. Arcade Fire - Funeral
2. Wilco - Yankee Hotel Foxtrot
3. Radiohead - Kid A
4. Brian Wilson - SMiLE
5. OutKast - Stankonia
6. Bon Iver - For Emma, Forever Ago
7. Daft Punk - Discovery
8. Joe Strummer & the Mescaleros - Streetcore
9. The Avalanches - Since I Left You
10. Jay-Z - The Blueprint
11. The Strokes - Is This It
12. Animal Collective - Merriweather Post Pavilion
13. Modest Mouse - The Moon & Antarctica
14. Bob Dylan - "Love & Theft"
15. The White Stripes - White Blood Cells
16. Kanye West - Late Registration
17. LCD Soundsystem - Sound of Silver
18. Sigur Rós - Ágætis byrjun
19. Sufjan Stevens - Illinois
20. Fleet Foxes - Fleet Foxes

Note: There is a special Thanksgiving edit, because I forgot Daft Punk - Discovery, and I remembered.

Music Progenitor: The Velvet Underground

2009-11-11T17:39:00.004-05:00

There are a few things certain in life: the Beatles are likely the best band to ever exist in rock and roll, but the Velvet Underground were likely the most influential band to ever exist in rock and roll. Now "hold on!," you might say. I admittedly have only recently come of this opinion. I still am of the belief that the Beatles invented most forms of popular music today. But a lot of their territory is gone in my mind because the Velvets simply did it better. Because, let's be frank: the Beatles were master popsmiths. If it didn't have a good melody, it wasn't worth it to them. And thank God for that, because they had a fucking ear for melody. But the seedy underbelly, the counter-culture, the reverse flow of music, that oft-forgotten side...that was the area the Velvets held tightly in their grasp.

If you thought the Beatles were already sort of counter-culture, boy, you're in for a surprise. The Velvets, with their first two records, pushed every boundary imaginable. No topic was left untouched as a lyric. "Heroin" was a literal description of, well, doing heroin, while the cryptic "Venus In Furs" documents a tale of sexual deviance. "The Gift" was a spoken word tale of a boy mailing himself to his girl only to get killed waiting to get out of the box. This wasn't your normal stuff...no way. This was 1967, and even the Beatles never dared to venture this far with their lyrical exploration. The Velvets initially got a lot of crapola for their exploration of social deviance, but in retrospect it sincerely opened the door for virtually any artist to explore deviance in a meaningful way.

But on the music side, they pushed the envelope in many ways. The most striking thing about the Velvet Underground & Nico is the use of the viola. John Cale's experimentalism really drove the band forward within the first two records, and on the first record, it's through that viola. Instead of crafting elegant lines or whatever most people think a nice old viola should do, John Cale used the viola to create drones and a prickly bed of thorns for the rest of the band to play over...on the aforementioned "Heroin" and "Venus In Furs," those drones set the tone for the music and bring an intensity that could not have been constructed otherwise.

On White Light/White Heat, their experimentalism came from what John Cale had once called a quest for "anti-beauty." On the 15+ minute epic "Sister Ray," the apparent goal was to simply play louder than each other, with John Cale's organ fighting with Lou Reed's and Sterling Morrison's guitars, Moe Tucker's drums, and Lou's vocals, all the pieces (sort of) eternally locked in a battle to be the loudest. Previously mentioned "The Gift" is a spoken word piece, with the voice panned to one side and the instruments to the other, and in its strange way if you wanted to listen to an audiobook, you listened to the left channel, but if you wanted a jam, put in the right channel. Or you could, you know, put in both and enjoy it. But it was those little bits of experimentalism that made the record.

But the noise, oh, the noise. "I Heard Her Call My Name" is the prime example. Lou Reed's guitar runs wild like a depraved animal, squalling, sometimes off-key, deranged and self-destructive. But that was the point. It's so visceral, it rips you and forces you to listen, to be as raw as they were then. The sort of "guitar squalling feedback crazy weird solo" pops up time and time again in rock music, and it started here. You know, though, no one ever exerted less restraint with their solos than the Velvets did, and for that they proved to be the most dangerous and perhaps the most affecting.

I have vouched for the Velvets for their experimentalism, but they were not to be completely outdone on the pop front. Lou Reed knew how to write a good song, with catchy hooks aplenty. He just never indulged in it. They're seen early on in the Velvet Underground & Nico tunes "I'll Be Your Mirror" and "Sunday Morning," but until their third self-titled, it was never apparent. The Velvet Underground is a disarmingly quiet record, with not even a bit of feedback in sight. Every song except for "The Murder Mystery" (which is strikingly similar to "The Gift" but with many more interacting parts in it) is a bona fide pop masterpiece, from the mantra-like "Jesus" to the Factory-dedicated "Candy Says."

And then there's Loaded. Finally recognized for his pop sensibilities, Lou Reed was given a budget to sound like a pop star, and finally given a bit of production muscle, the record is, well, loaded with (potential) hits, with "Sweet Jane" and "Rock & Roll" actually becoming quite popular. It's a classic pop record, meaning that the Velvets were actually quite impressive pop auteurs...they just chose to not take the beaten path to get there.

Those familiar with Velvet lore know that Cale left the group ("ushered" out, whatever, it doesn't make much of a difference) after White Light/White Heat, thereafter replaced by Doug Yule. The word on the street is that this change from an experimentalist to another pop auteur changed the balance in the band. No one knows if this is true, but if it is, so what? The Velvets were an all-around damn good band regardless of form (mostly). Take it for what it's worth. They paved the way for experimentalists with the first two records and showed how anyone can write a good pop record with the last two...and no Squeeze IS NOT, IS NOT IS NOT a Velvet Underground record. It's just not. Don't even bother.

The argument then is that Lou Reed was the heart and soul of the Velvet Underground...and I'd have to agree.

But on their influence? The Velvets were proto-punk. See how "I'm Waiting For The Man" churns along, with Lou's sort of sneer-ish voice providing a groundwork for the nihilism of early punk. Their lyrical exploration empowered punk to do the same. While in a sense with all the instrumental experimentalism brought forth by the Velvets was dismantled by the punk bands, the point is still there. Post-punk titans Joy Division covered "Sister Ray" in some of their shows (not as long as the Velvets' original version, sure, but still a daunting task regardless). David Bowie loved the Velvets (and Lou Reed) so much that Bowie single-handedly revived Lou Reed's solo career with the Transformer record (a damn good one, when you think about it).

And the Velvets' influence is still around today. The Strokes have cited the Velvets as a key influence, and you can hear Casablancas do his best Lou Reed impression on their debut album, Is This It. The raggedy guitar solos done by Reed back in the day show up now and again, in works by Neil Young (his guitar-playing style is highly Velvet-ish, I would argue) to even Wilco (the cacaphony that surrounds the postlude to "At Least That's What You Said," with it's scraggly guitars and tense atmosphere can be traced to the Velvets at its core). Though they were decidely left-field, it's pretty obvious that the Velvets had a most widespread impact, creeping in and never letting go.

Convinced yet? I would hope so.

Post-Punk: The (Once) Wild Open West

2009-10-28T18:06:00.006-04:00

In 1977, punk had basically already been declared dead. This was a strange claim to make, because the best of punk had yet to come (The Clash had not begun to flourish yet), but for whatever reason, the claim was made and essentially accepted. But this left a gaping hole in music at the time. Who now to guide music? Where would it go? This was answered by post-punk first, being particularly framed around the late 1970s to early 1980s, where it experienced the most success.

Punk was a format essentially thriving on (perhaps excessive) simplicity. If the construct was elaborate, it was torn down until it became uncomplicated. This allowed punk to serve as a format for political banter, fully embraced by many. But when punk was declared dead, this left many questions for those who came after. They wanted to remain true to those roots and be uncomplicated, but it was done before and, well, done as a genre. So where to go? A composite look at three bands answers that question. Talking Heads, Television, and Joy Division all together form basically the whole picture of the post-punk movement, with each band taking post-punk in a unique direction. What they all really had in common was their origins: they all loved punk, but when punk had died they all were left with no guide, and each forged their own unique identity to enter rock lore.

Talking Heads came from New York, fueled by the peculiar styling of David Byrne. As with all the groups, they began playing primarily derivatives of rock music, but even then they showed flashes of greatness, from "Psycho Killer" on their debut disc to the grandiose "The Big Country" and the sly reading of Al Green's "Take Me To The River." But with their next disc they began to explore what made them great (and different from the other post-punk groups); their love and therefore application of African polyrhythms led them to their creative peak, culminating in the masterful and essential Remain In Light record.

While Fear of Music represented a great stride forward with regards to generating their "sound," it was not until Remain In Light when it all came together. Drawing heavy influence from African music-making, from the unique polyrhythms to even the way they wrote and constructed the music, Talking Heads, with the guiding hand of Brian Eno, created an entirely new sound. The music was about the composite experience, not just the individual parts, utilizing only one chord throughout the song and let all the rhythms set by the percussion, the bass, the guitars, and even Byrne's voice do the lifting...in unison. What makes the record so disarming is its restlessness, from Byrne's wandering, stream of consciousness lyrics to the undulating rhythms that drive each track to both everywhere and nowhere at once. Parts weave in and out, interact with each other as they float into the mixes for periods of time before mysteriously fading out. Suffice to say, this was one of the three peaks of post-punk, but to belabor the point on Remain In Light and Talking Heads in general seems to be a disservice.

The other great American post-punk band was simply named Television, hailing once again from New York City. While Talking Heads found their mine of gold through the integration of African polyrhythms, Television found their "sound" through the use of clever guitar interplay. The term "clever guitar interplay," however, really demeans and downplays what they accomplish on their flagship record, Marquee Moon (pictured above).

The album is basically the guitar player's Bible. There is not a note wasted, not a note poorly spent. It essentially made the claim that technicality in guitar playing was, well, merely a technicality. Dismissive of the pervasive "über-playing" of flashy blues players, Television successfully said that a bunch of fast notes played together hardly makes a solo or even a song. Each riff is meticulously planned, with each guitar weaving in and out of each other in perfect unison, complementary yet totally unique. There is a genuine sense of shape and melody with each line that each guitar plays, from the gradual buildup into epic moments on masterwork "Marquee Moon" to the cascading riffs that permeate "Friction."

But because Marquee Moon is the guitar player's Bible does not mean that any of the other qualities are readily discarded. Tom Verlaine is at his most mysterious here, and the geeky (and nifty) interplay between him and his band-mates on tracks such as the rollicking opener "See No Evil" and its follower "Venus" give the record the many little moments that can still shine on an album dominated primarily by the fantastic guitar work presented. Before Television came about, guitar playing was primarily about virtuosity and the ability to be technical, but in one fell swoop, the game was utterly rewritten.

The only Brits to significantly affect post-punk were a quartet of lads from Manchester known as Joy Division. Joy Division encountered a stranger route to success. Originally a rather blasé and not very unique band that played with the typical punk-influence, Joy Division did not come upon their style until they detached themselves from the time-honored tradition of playing at ludicrously fast tempos and slowed down. Only then did Joy Division find their niche and become wholly intense, visceral, and become, well, Joy Division. And what resulted were two of the most essential records in any person's music catalog.

Frankly, I don't wish to elaborate too in depth on each record, but the reason why Joy Division really separated themselves from the rest of the post-punk pack was the emphasis on ambiance and atmosphere, leaving space rather than filling it. While live they displayed none of the "ambiance" parts (instead becoming particularly ragged and aggressive in a live setting), their use of ambiance and atmosphere in the studio essentially defined genres to come. Perhaps primarily attributed to their choice of producer, Martin Hannett, Joy Division were pushed to entirely new levels of art. Combining the unique "cold" production (and if that term does not make sense, listen to the record and within one second of the record beginning you will understand) with the sheer muscle of the band, two masterpieces, Unknown Pleasures and Closer were born.

The only downer point, ever, on Joy Division is that, well, Ian Curtis was a bit of a downer himself. The lyrics are essentially depressing, and without a doubt they forecasted the bitter end that Ian Curtis would face (for those unfamiliar, he committed suicide before Closer was ever released). But Ian Curtis was a lyrical genius endlessly battling the depression that came from crippling epileptic attacks and a failing marriage. His lyrics, as surely as anything, reflect this, but never were his lyrics your typical "depresso" lyric style; never wallowing in self-pity as most often do, he altogether emphasized alienation and a genuine sense of loss that came as real. One can really only imagine what Joy Division would have been capable of if Ian Curtis were still around.

------

Taken together, Talking Heads, Television, and Joy Division all came to symbolize what post-punk did quite right, though none lasted very long. It would be inherently easy to dismiss each group, perhaps, on their short existences as groups, but to simply call them "flashes in the pan," given the work they did, is a gross oversight and misunderstanding. Perhaps through tragedy or strife, none of the groups (and the genre itself) made it beyond several years. But the relics they left behind, those records, all serve as time-worn monuments to the genre of post-punk that would go on the become a pervasive influence in alternative rock.

The Best Kept Secret In All of Rock and Roll

2009-10-19T22:47:00.007-04:00

Big Star are, quite simply, the best kept secret in all of rock and roll. Others have espoused on the history of this great band in more detail than I have, but it seems prudent to run through the generalities. Big Star were a 4-piece from Memphis. They produced magnificent pop records (#1 Record, Radio City, Third / Sister Lovers). But they were entirely sabotaged by poor marketing and distribution (does this sound like the best TV show ever, Arrested Development, to anyone else?). Alas, it was not to be, but let us not mourn overmuch and rejoice in the legend that is Big Star.

Big Star was essentially a power-pop outfit (I mean that in the traditional sense, not in the current Hellscape that power-pop has become these days), with big guitars, great harmonies, and the like. The group, through the decidedly Lennon/McCartneyesque interactions of its core duo, Alex Chilton and Chris Bell, respectively, created a unique identity that took the pop sensibilities of all the 1960s greats - the Beatles' penchant for melody, the Beach Boys' ear for harmony, among many other things and distilled it into one sound. This made Big Star the perfect band to represent the time they were in, but it obviously never came to be.

Though the Bell/Chilton dynamic only existed for the first release, it is hard to say that the departure of Bell severely weakened Big Star. In much the same way John Lennon thrived in a post-Beatles apocalypse, Alex Chilton's wanderings proved far too genius to be kept out of the game. Even as Bell still left his mark on Radio City, Chilton became the driving force behind Big Star. And though perhaps Radio City isn't the pop-perfect record that #1 Record was, Chilton's abilities are in full force.

And the last record. Big Star was mostly done, for one reason or another, but the last record produced, Third / Sister Lovers, can be considered as "ragged glory." It's a strange, hot mess, but there are too many good songs to discount the record and Alex Chilton. From the searing "Holocaust" to the airy "Femme Fatale," Chilton shows that power-pop in all its abilities can still be intensely creative and emotionally gripping. While it isn't necessarily the strongest of the bunch, the songs here still hold extremely well to previous efforts.

But enough about me waxing eloquent. Let the scores of artists who have looked up to Big Star speak for me. The Replacements (the leaders of American punk in the 1980s) idolized Big Star, even penning a track dedicated to Alex Chilton ("Alex Chilton"). Peter Buck, of R.E.M. fame, admitted this: "We've sort of flirted with greatness, but we've yet to make a record as good as Revolver or Highway 61 Revisited or Exile on Main Street or Big Star's Third. I don't know what it'll take to push us on to that level, but I think we've got it in us." Countless covers of Big Star songs (check this personally intense cover of "Thirteen" by Elliot Smith here). There have been Big Star tribute albums. Big Star has gotten its due credits after its disunion. And rightly so, even if it Chilton has said this about his own group: "I'm constantly surprised that people fall for Big Star the way they do... People say Big Star made some of the best rock 'n roll albums ever. And I say they're wrong." I say that Alex Chilton is looking from the wrong side of the glass.

On a personal note, if I had to tell you my personal music tastes, it'd all center around Big Star. How? Big Star draws on all my 1960s pop loves such as the Beatles, Bob Dylan, the Beach Boys, and has influenced all my favorite contemporary artists such as Wilco, the Replacements, among others. And it's strange to think that I did not discover them until a mere week ago. It appears that I'd been traveling around the center of the circle for the longest time...and I've finally reached center.

And one more thing...

2009-10-17T23:37:00.003-04:00

Call me blasphemous, but you could make the argument that music has united people in ways religion has only aspired to.

Music and Spirituality/Spirituality in Music: A (Semi-)Intense Discussion on the Matter

2009-10-15T18:29:00.009-04:00

This came about when I was thinking. Before I give my views on the matter, let me define a few things:

Spirituality: The way in which any person connects to any sort of higher state (or to a higher power, if that's your belief).

Faith: The connection you have with the higher state that most usually dictates your mores and ways of being.

Religion: How a person connects with others over similar faiths or spirituality.

Spirituality fuels faith and religion and the "connection," faith dictates the way you go about religion and spirituality, and religion is how you interact based on your spirituality and faith. All interrelated.

Given those, let me say this: music is a form of spirituality. Put on a record, a damn good one, and it takes you somewhere else. You connect with something else. A higher power, something more than yourself. You feel...different. Everything sort of clicks when that record starts playing. All sorts of problems melt away and it's just you, the music, and that strange plane you find yourself on. This is what every good record does. It takes you somewhere else, it connects you with something bigger than yourself. A record doesn't have to deal with anything supernatural to connect you in this spiritual manner. Sigur Rós is a good example. Who knows what they're saying? It doesn't matter. Because it's stark and beautiful and when you put it on, you connect to something else. You put on the Beatles (i.e. Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band) and you are literally transported to somewhere else. And because of how the Beatles were so damn good, the music itself connected you to a higher power. It doesn't matter that they weren't preaching anything. You don't have to preach it to be spiritual. Connecting to that higher plane or being is just as easy (if perhaps more easier) without all that preaching.

Music doesn't have a lot to do with faith, unless you're talking about those who tend to preach the art. Then you're getting dicey. Bob Dylan and John Lennon are pretty good examples of "faith" artists. Their faith fuels their music and vice versa. When done right it's extremely powerful, but when not done right it's downright pitiful. I don't care if you don't agree with John Lennon on the whole, but when he starts singing "God is a concept by which we measure our pain," don't you fucking believe him for a second? And that you're like "Well, shit, maybe..." before you reconcile your views with his and continue on your merry way. It's kinda like that.

Religion is a strange beast, because anything could be religious. Going to a concert, let's say Pavement (my current dig. Also...REUNITED! At least for a bit). You connect with others over the same thing (Pavement's music or whatnot) and by listening to their show you connect with that higher plane/power. That's just as religious as going to church, connecting with others over communion or the gospel and then connecting to basically Jesus or God, depending on the extension.

Let me get back to a previous point, "you don't have to preach it to be spiritual." This is why Christian rock sucks. I'm going to be honest. It is terrible, it's un-listenable. Even as a non-religious guy (but note that this is separate from faith and spirituality) I would be more inclined on exploring the more Christian aspects of existence if it weren't for the fucking terrible music. Call it really slight, really conceited of me, but pardon me for thinking that music has limitless potential in influencing people, and for that potential to be misused or not used at all kills me. It in no way facilitates any connection to any higher power. Part of this is its extreme gaudiness in whatever lavish praise it hopes to lay on. This is the analogy I would use:

Remember Indiana Jones & the Last Crusade? The almost final scene where they finally find the Holy Grail? All the greedy ones thought that the Holy Grail was the most lavishly ornamented, gilded cup, but guess what? They sucked it up and died...because they were dumb. But look at ol' Indy. He picks the least convincing cup. The most humble cup. And hiyo! Success.

Christian rock, in some extension (and probably exaggeration) is like that lavishly ornamented, gilded cup. It's unfit to be a proper vessel for spirituality. Laying on the praise in the way Christian rock does seems to me to be extravangant, unnecessary, and altogether detrimental to that spiritual process. It's un-intuitive, un-imaginative, and everything. If you concede (as I do) that there is a higher power out there, you have to think that he/she/it'd be pretty pissed and/or disappointed if they figured out what sort of janky vessel their "holy water" was being offered in. And if you believe that said being made us, they'd probably be still more pissed that all our creative energies (given that we are likely the only species that has developed this unique power of art) were terribly going to waste. And, if it's your kind of book, you figure that as the humble carpenter does his work, he is rewarded accordingly. Not in any way like it is now.

If you want to explore religion and faith in song, there are better ways of doing it. Tell a story with some meaning, put your characters in between a rock and a hard place and see where their faith takes them. That's more interesting and worthwhile. Challenge them and test their faith because if they aren't challenged, where do they go? Nowhere at all. Your characters do nothing, and by extension you aren't doing anything either as the listener or the creator. What use is that, really? You're not connecting yourself to that higher plane or that higher being. Then what are you even doing listening to music? You shouldn't be if that's your goal.

Alright, I'm getting off the soapbox now...

Happy 60th, Boss

2009-09-23T18:11:00.001-04:00

One of a kind...one of a kind.

Alt-Country: An Introduction

2009-09-10T23:52:00.007-04:00

Alt-country has always had some peculiarities associated with it. Is it country? No, not really. Then what the heck is it supposed to be? The broader term that easily encapsulates the "genre" as it stands is Americana. Moreover based in "roots-rock," and I use the term liberally, Americana strives to describe the rustic life. So what are its roots?

Alt-country as a genre can be classified as a subgenre or offshoot of Americana, but let's take the broader look at Americana and its evolution. The essential argument that could be made is that Americana was born with Gram Parsons. Begin with the Byrds's Sweetheart of the Rodeo. That album is typically considered to be the first in the genre. If the Byrds didn't hire Gram Parsons, who basically steered the ship in that direction (away from Roger McGuinn's planned jazz-psychadelia-rock-pop fusion hybrid first hinted at with the Notorious Byrd Brothers), then this album would have never happened. This record is watershed for two reasons: A. it's not psychadelic, as was the current trend, and B. because it based itself heavily in folk, with a total of seven folk songs (out of a grand total of eleven tracks). This album is probably the easiest to pinpoint as a root of Americana.

Tracing afterwards the path of Gram Parsons shows what he was essentially gunning for the whole time, his whole entire goal of the "cosmic American sound," as he put it. Listen to the Gilded Palace of Sin, by the Flying Burrito Brothers, and it's a mish-mash of folk influences, searing pedal steel (provided by the absolutely brillian "Sneaky" Pete Kleinow), as well as developing its own sense of a rollicking good time. Continue along and you find these influences well-developed on his solo efforts, GP and Grievous Angel. But after that, Americana seriously dropped off the radar.

The other possible root of Americana that must be discussed is the Band (as per usual). Music From Big Pink and the Band both serve as case studies of the genre. The love for storytelling, the appropriation of rustic themes have long served as springboards for the Americana movement. And the distinction that the Band carries is that their music was somehow timeless and boundless, because you could figure it could from anywhere, from anytime. The "Gram Parsons Americana thread" can be considered dated in the sense that it sounds like it comes from a time period; the Band have no such issue at hand. Play the Band for someone unfamiliar and see if they can pinpoint it to a particular time period or a particular place. They probably won't get both. I've already given a lot of manlove for the Band, so I'll avoid that here, but it is important to note what they did for the genre (and for rock music and general).

So fast forward to the 1990s. In the midst of 80s pop and all its glamour and extravagance, America (especially Middle America, i.e. the Midwest) was, for the most part, left out of it. Same old life, same old town. This scenario is where "alt-country" was born. The most obvious root of this genre was a band by the name of Uncle Tupelo.

Based largely in Illinois, Uncle Tupelo originally channeled the sort of suburban/rustic discontent associated with the Midwest, primarily through a particularly strange fusion of folk and punk (also regarded as "cowpunk" by some). This is evident on their first record, where only a couple of folk songs appear as mere stopgaps between the fiery blasts of punk. But, for whatever reason, Uncle Tupelo mellowed out and made the defining album of the alt-country movement, Anodyne. Though from there they split up into the resulting entities of Son Volt and Wilco (commence common bickering of who's better and etc.?), the mark they left on the genre is indelible. Without a doubt, Uncle Tupelo created the alt-country genre. Their first album even spawned the genre's flaghsip "magazine, " No Depression. If you only had to listen to one alt-country artist, it would be defnitely be Uncle Tupelo, no exceptions.

The other commonly-referred champion of the alt-country genre is the Jayhawks. Largely based in Minnesota, they chose to more rather approach alt-country by taking the folk elements and filter it through a more "pop" (I hate to use this label, but I have not found anything better) lens. This makes for lighter listening compared to Uncle Tupelo. Hollywood Town Hall largely evinces their successful approach to the genre.

In some perverted way, the easiest way to determine the existence of some sort of genre is to assess the existence of any "supergroup," and by golly, there is one...Golden Smog. Featuring many of the titans of alt-country (i.e. Jeff Tweedy of Wilco/Uncle Tupelo, Gary Louris of the Jayhawks), they certainly hold their water in their efforts, consistently plumbing that "classic" alt-country sound (more akin to the Jayhawks line of work) into good songs and good records.

Since I have been in a list-making mood recently, I decided to compile a sort of top albums in alt-country. This means that I'm purposefully excluding the broader Americana genre. Without any further ado:

1. Uncle Tupelo - Anodyne

As I stated earlier, this is simply the greatest alt-country record around. Purposefully constructed, it presents all sides of the genre. But the greater achievement is that though it displays many sides of the genre, it sounds greatly holistic...always alluding to a greater sound. That was the only discernible weakness of Uncle Tupelo's previous efforts. More often than not, there were only two types of Uncle Tupelo songs: the raucous punk songs and the obviously softer folk numbers. It wasn't really until after that where the band managed to unify those disparate elements into one sound, from the rollicking romp of "Chickamauga" to the easier sitting "New Madrid" that Uncle Tupelo became truly great. While entirely different, those two styles seem to be cut from the same cloth. While Jay and Jeff couldn't have been farther apart, they couldn't have sounded more similar.

2. Son Volt - Trace

And so we essentially solve the "who is the more alt-country?" out of the pair. Trace also serves as a quintessential alt-country album. Jay Farrar had never written better (and arguably since) this record: the typical themes of road and essentially rural existence are never overused and overwrought. The sound that Jay whetted during his Tupelo days are here in full force...and the results from combining his writing and his songs are quite serendipitous. The case in point is the opener, "Windfall." You could argue that Jay has never written anything quite has good since. You can also argue it took Jeff Tweedy (forever pitted against each other, though unwillingly) a whole lot of time to ever write at that level. But that's how it panned out. Can't complain, though...how could you?

3. The Jayhawks - Hollywood Town Hall

And the "other" alt-country band. I suppose that's a dubious title, but let's not kid ourselves, this is a good record. Like, really good. While the aethestic recalls the music of yesteryear, the filter its cast through makes this a perfect alt-country record also. It hints at the timeless Americana that the Band achieved, but considerably more modern (and so not so timeless).

Gary Louris and co. work together full-time to provide a consistently warm existence that makes this album an easy selection for this list.

4. Uncle Tupelo - March 16-20, 1992

Now I really normally don't like to put two of the same artist in any list, but as is obvious, the list of good alt-country artists (and good alt-country albums) is, well, pretty short. But I violate my cardinal rule moreover because of the record's significance. The most obvious comparison is that this is alt-country's Sweetheart of the Rodeo. Whereas Sweetheart of the Rodeo combatted the rampant psychadelia of the time, March 16-20, 1992 combatted the rampant Nirvana-ness that pervaded popular music. It was a masterstroke, both to affirm their folk/Americana roots and to out-punk and to out-sleuth the rest of the music world (the rumor is that this record led to MTV's Unplugged series). To go the straight opposite way was brilliant. Consistingly primarily of old folk tunes, Uncle Tupelo showed great maturity and essentially showed that they were ready to integrate the diametrically opposed punk and folk parts of their existence.

5. The Bottle Rockets - The Brooklyn Side

The Bottle Rockets are technically an offshoot of Uncle Tupelo: Brian Henneman was a swingman for Uncle Tupelo, but later split off (earlier than the actual breakup) to form the Bottle Rockets. To sum the band up quite simply, they channel alt-country through a sort of Creedence Clearwater Revival swamprock meets Lynryd Skynyrd sort of deal. It's rollicking good fun. The guitars are smoking, the music rousing...it sets the stage. Therefore, it's simple to rank them here by just picking their best effort.

The cream of the crop is thin, and so we stop here, leaving the records that went beyond alt-country (i.e. Wilco's Being There and the Jayhawks's Tomorrow the Green Grass) and the almost-haves (i.e. Ryan Adams in general).

2009-09-07T14:59:00.004-04:00

I think John Lennon described listening to this the best:

"It's been too long since we took the time
No-one's to blame, I know time flies so quickly
But when I see you darling
It's like we both are falling in love again
It'll be just like starting over, starting over"

Record for the Ages: Arcade Fire - Funeral

2009-09-02T18:42:00.007-04:00

And I'm serious, folks, this is a Record for the Ages. As the top record of the past decade (see previous entry), it inherently lends itself to some sort of distinction, but it's much more than that. This is simply one of the best records to ever grace the press. Others may disagree, but this would definitely be in my Top 50 records ever, if not Top 20. What this record achieves is boundless...Arcade Fire, on Funeral, achieved something entirely rare in music which must be commended.

On a broad note, most reviews classify this record as "art-pop" or some other derivative. But at the core, this record is has a strong, strong punk influence. See the way Neighborhoods #1-3 barrel along, the pure emotion, the strain of life bearing heavy weight upon Win Butler's voice, and the way the rest of the band responds, and then we see the punk. Even many of the slower tracks ("Une année sans lumière," "Crown of Love") eventually up the speed and the ante as they continue along. Pure feeling. Just because there is a certain lack of distorted guitars does not discount a record for being "punk" in influence. The Clash started out in the prototypical mold but quickly disproved that with their increased incorporation of reggae into their punk music without losing what they were.

While inherently punk has been increasingly political, the sad trend is that punk has become less personal, but it is in that realm where Funeral is armed to the teeth. Deaths in the family, along with happiness (Win Butler and Régine Chassagne, the two main members of Arcade Fire, had gotten married), lend themselves to existential ponderings on growing up ("Wake Up"), leaving your homeland ("Haïti"), and (perhaps obviously) death in the family ("In the Backseat"). The most remarkable aspect of the existential nature of Funeral is that it fails to become trite. Exploit the tack too much, and your record becomes far too contrived, . Perhaps the record avoids that with its inherently compelling backstory, but to me, the band plays with such urgency and feeling that it is impossible to not give them the benefit of the doubt.

It's true that the album is essentially indie-pop (whatever that means) despite its punk bent. Strings swirl around the band as they quest through existence, and the grandoise and precise arrangements tend towards the efforts of the genre. This is, however, a record that relies much more on the entire sound collage to work its magic, with no real instrument or player commonly taking command outside of Win's or Régine's vocals (and at points, the backing vocals).

And it's that singular sense of bodiment that allows the listener to buy wholeheartedly into the record. A sinister sense of desolation permeates the record, which leaves just you and the record you're listening to (and perhaps whoever you're listening to it with). Perhaps for that reason alone when you hear the record you get pulled in. But perhaps moreover it's that the record tugs at strings that all humans carry, and by pulling those strings each and every listener gets pulled into this record.

Top 15 Records of 2000-2009

2009-08-27T23:36:00.007-04:00

As this decade winds down, it reaches the time where you have to start looking back on this past decade and music and see who did the best. This All-Decade list is a little more than that, though. The top of the list is pretty damn cluttered with all sorts of amazing records, so it becomes more and more imperative to look at the broader picture: given this decade, what can embody this decade the most? So records I can call best of 2009 so far (I'm looking at you, Bitte Orca) can fall on an all-decade list. As we all know, this 2000-2009 set of years was a real peculiar one, with great highs and lows, death, war, etc. etc., stuff you can hear everyone else elaborate on. Important, yes, but not really my business as it is. So, here we go:

1. Arcade Fire - Funeral

From the twinkling of the keys that start to the record to the climatic finish, Funeral grips you and doesn't let go. Every single moment on this record is heartfelt, and there is not one moment that won't snare you and give you the chills, because it is that good. Funeral barrels along its path like a rebel without a cause; Win Butler and co. certainly create the music with a sense of primacy and urgency that has been missing from music. And they certainly felt it. The much-repeated backstory about how various family members of the band members passed during the making of this record. It's all been documented in great detail, but the point is that few artists can embrace the sadness and create pure light from it. You believe Arcade Fire when you listen to the record. The record essentially alludes to the entire human condition, which is a level of depth virtually unattainble for any artist to achieve, and for that, Arcade Fire's Funeral is my record of the decade.

2. Wilco - Yankee Hotel Foxtrot

Regardless of my Wilco fan-ness and all, this record is perfect. This may be second only because Funeral might have the "better" story to tell, a broader and more compelling allusion towards the entirety of the human race. Obviously, this record sort of embodies the whole David vs. Goliath, small band vs. big label deal before it went crazy in 2007 with Radiohead's self-released In Rainbows...which inadvertently means that in some ways, with this album the CD as a format had begun to die. But in a sense, the more startling thing is that for America, at least, this album was unusually reflective in a post-9/11 atmosphere even though the material was written before (see "Jesus, etc.," "Ashes of American Flags" and you'll understand).

3. Radiohead - Kid A

Surprised to see this record this far down? Perhaps in the view of pure innovation and destruction of a group's traditional "identity" (power guitar-rock) and depending on who you ask, pure musicality, then yes, this has been the best record, because it deconstructed rock. Thanks to Nirvana, rock became a sort of "loud-soft" ordeal where you had to play your guitar or you were toast. Thanks to Radiohead, that's not the case anymore. Oh, no, it ain't. You could definitely argue that this record really blew the field wide open for magnificent exploring by many, many other groups. However, this record has been the polarizer. In indie circles it's hailed as a coup de grace of epic proportions, but to some it has been regarded as just far too weird to be worth anything. I'm more of the former, but I see the latter (and at times Radiohead is far too moody), and so Kid A is relegated to the third slot.

4. Brian Wilson - SMiLE

Who would have thought that this record would ever come out? Virtually everyone resigned themselves to the fact that the Beach Boys masterpiece that was owed to them would never come. The public was resigned to making their own cobbled-together versions of the record, hotly debating which versions of demos was the "right" version for it, and all that sort of business. But that was settled when Brian Wilson also settled himself down and completed what he had started all those years ago. And my God, what a record. Classic pop, grandoise arrangements, omnipresent optimism...this is as close as it will ever get to those sunny 60s ever again. Brian Wilson is one of the few remaining bastions of the 60s era, and when he "speaks," you listen, because he is that good.

5. OutKast - Stankonia

If I haven't surprised you so far on this list, you should be surprised now. Because if you know me, I think rap and hip-hop generally suck. But this record proves singlehandedly that the genre is not a bottomless black hole of death and destruction. Stankonia was light years ahead of its time, which is why it didn't do as well as it should have. Credit is due, because OutKast threw out the playbook. No stone was left unturned, from stabbing, angular guitars weaving on the title track to the balls-to-the-walls pacing of "B.O.B.," which is really the key track here. The duo, with the eclectic approach, made a record that appeals to a large swath of people (me included). Dizzying with its brilliance and its total construction, Stankonia is a hip-hop album for the ages.

6. Bon Iver - For Emma, Forever Ago

"And in our next installment of the little record that could..." The backstory has been talked about as much as the record. Cabin + winter + sadness = great record. It's not just the music, the endlessly beautiful voice of Justin Vernon, but it's the mood that is evoked that makes this record spectactular. You can feel the winter, and you can feel the "emptiness" (though I suppose that's not the particularly perfect word I'm looking for). As a listener, you begin to empathize with everything you hear, and for that it is a near-perfect (if not perfect) record. I cannot say enough good words about this album, which makes it slightly strange that I put it down here, but on my criteria, this is where it belongs (sadly).

7. Joe Strummer & the Mescaleros - Streetcore

Joe Strummer once said, ''People have told me songs I've written have changed their life. That's remarkable. That keeps your faith.'' The man is damn right, because I can say that he changed the way I existed. But enough about that banter. This is a pure rock record, in every sense of it. Even with the hints of the world music that he explored on Global a Go-Go, this is still rock, this is still punk. It's what punk should be, because in his own words, "I will always believe in punk-rock, because it's about creating something for yourself." Punk is what you make of it, not a bunch of power-chords and a snotty attitude. It's the worst thing in the world that Joe Strummer was getting his groove back when death struck. When I hear him say "Ok, that's a take" at the very end of the record, I just sit in wonder of this man who not only changed my world but in all cases the entire world.

8. Loretta Lynn - Van Lear Rose

I'm no country man myself, but when I hear a good record, I hear a good record. Produced with Jack White and backed by him and what would be the Raconteurs, Loretta Lynn gets fresh life breathed into her career with a rollicking good album. It seems peculiar at first...the militaristic and hard-rocking "Have Mercy" sounds altogether strange upon the initial listen, but then the realization hits, that it works, and that it's absolutely great. Working with Jack White really did wonders for the album, with his epic skills at life (I guess) but the greater story is that Loretta Lynn became relevant again. Brilliant writing and that classic Loretta Lynn singing cast in a raucous Jack White musical setting: what could be better?

9. Animal Collective - Merriweather Post Pavilion

Animal Collective always had a serious issue of being weird. Not only because they were always a little weird, wired a little differently in their approach, but because weird was almost branded on their calling card. But when they realized that they could ditch that calling card and let the unique wiring show off their abilities, you end up with the most accessible record of 2009, and when it comes down to it, flat out one of the more accessible indie efforts this decade. Avey Tare and Panda Bear have rarely worked together in the fashion shown on this record: in some sense, it's slightly Lennon/McCartney-esque in its brilliance (nothing can ever come close to that partnership, but to evince some sort of cooperation in music-crafting is always something to applaud). It's slightly a downer to see them temporarily pick up that calling card again near the end of the record, but it seems that Animal Collective realized it and recovered nicely to produce their greatest classic (probably ever, but I'd like to be wrong, you know).

10. Bob Dylan - "Love & Theft"

Late Bob Dylan is also great Bob Dylan. With another peak in his career, it's something virtually every musician would die for...to become relevant once again. Beginning in the late 90s withTime Out of Mind, Dylan returns in full force, with lyrics becoming even spookier, his voice even more sinister. I don't think anyone figured that Dylan didn't have it in him to write good records, which is pretty obvious, but I don't think anyone had figured that it would be this late, that he would have to show those young punks how it is still done. And no one does it best like the one and only Bob Dylan. I don't think you can say anything else.

11. The White Stripes - White Blood Cells

Putting yourself on the map critically and commercially is no easy task, but that's exactly what the White Stripes did on this record. This was more than just garage rock; it was also post-punk, "dirty" blues revival, and alternative rock all wrapped into one neat little package. It's evident from the start of the record that White Blood Cells is a different beast. It struts, it swaggers like few records have done in this decade.

12. Kanye West - Late Registration

This record is Kanye's masterpiece, no doubt about it. No one has ever denied that the dude has had balls or swagger or an ego the size of seven suns, but when you look at it, he's sort of got the goods to back it up. But the real masterstroke here is Jon Brion producing. Kanye got his beginning cred from producing, but Jon Brion pushes his boundaries when Kanye steps up to the mic. Even for a guy who doesn't like rap, I admit that this crazy record is a great one.

13. LCD Soundsystem - Sound of Silver

Perhaps more originially known for having Daft Punk playing in his room, James Murphy knows how to do. On this album, he shows his best stuff, from all-decade song "All My Friends" to the just-as-good "Someone Great," proving that he has the goods to not only get people listening but to get people dancing. But it's more than that. James Murphy not only that he could himself be a mature and talented songwriter, but also that electronica/dance was capable of being that mature and talented.

14. Sigur Rós - Ágætis byrjun

Of all the skills that Sigur Rós are accomplished at, of particular import is that of building up to that moment. The point in a song where you just get hit by it all: it becomes simply emotional, heartfelt, and relatable, even though the great majority of Sigur Rós listeners probably are not aware of what they are saying. That skill of theirs is no more apparent than on this record. It's languid in nature, though that's not a bad thing on this record (sometimes however leading to an adverse reaction of deep slumber if sleep-deprived), because it allows Sigur Rós to do what they do best.

15. Fleet Foxes - Fleet Foxes

The lovechildren of the Beach Boys and the Band, Fleet Foxes created a sound on this record that is essentially timeless and placeless. To be able to craft such a boundless aesthetic is alone a great marvel, but reinforce it with the fact that as a first effort there is remarkable maturity and strength to the songwriting, you find yourself with a winner of an album right here. The best part about this album? If it's any indicator, Fleet Foxes are going to join the hallowed halls of the great bands of our time.

The Art of the Cover

2009-08-16T22:39:00.006-04:00

Covering is the easiest way for any band, using the parlance of the current times, "to get their shit together." Something already released is there for the picking, to be (sometimes) easily adapted and played, allowing the band to gel in many ways. But it is a fickle art. Why? Because 99.9% of the time, the original is that much better. The prototypical cover wishes to faithfully address the original: alright by any means, but unless the original was poorly executed, leaving way for the cover, there is not too much to offer. The not-so-standard cover wishes to cast a song in a new light: daring, but there is a strong chance of the cover severly backfiring. A recast cover can be considered pure brilliance, or it could just be a flaming pile of garbage.

Inherently, though, there is the problem of "first version heard." Let me use the example of Paul McCartney's "Live or Let Die." This is the version I first heard of the song. I love the song to death, even with the really hokey "spy movie music" middle bits that sound really dated and sort of stupid at times. My good friend heard the Guns 'n' Roses version first. He thinks that version is a lot better than the original. So we reach the problem of "first version heard," where the first version heard is the one that sticks out. You could consider it musical tastes, but more often than not it's the version you heard first.

Another good example is that of Bob Dylan's "All Along the Watchtower." This is the version I heard first, the one I love the most. The majority of the public has likely heard Jimi Hendrix's version first. My opinion? I hate Hendrix's version. To me, the original has a sense of urgency, immediacy and primacy (something like the devil chasing him, etc. etc.) that is substituted with some sort of frilly pomp and circumstance in Hendrix's version. Certainly a strong stance on the cover, but I truly feel that way. All covers and further occuring instances pale in comparison to the original.

Here, however, are examples of some good covers that I have located recently:

The first is the Faces doing Paul McCartney's "Maybe I'm Amazed." If I have discussed music at at any real sort of length with you, you probably know my position on this sort of thing. Anyone who dares to tarnish anything Beatles or Beatles-related deserves all sorts of fiery death rained upon them and etc. etc. Only real exceptions are Beatles playing other's Beatle songs (i.e. Paul McCartney doing Harrison's "Something" or "A Day In the Life/Give Peace A Chance") or other super-gods doing them (i.e. Neil Young's version of "A Day In the Life," Bob Dylan, Ray Charles, Frank Sinatra doing "Something"). And somehow this version defies my rules entirely. Let's face it, Rod Stewart and co. aren't really "super-gods," though Ronnie Wood comes close. But just listen to it, and you can't help but acknowledge that this faithful reproduction is pretty damn awesome. It's got more of a rockin' feel too it, with the solos hitting you a little harder than the original. Though the keys are a bit hokey and not as well-fitting as I would hope, but still to find something pretty good is damn impressive.

This second one is a recasting, by David Sandström and co., whoever they are, and their dramatic recasting of Wilco's "Jesus, etc." It's a dramatic turn from a shuffle to a much, much slower sort of "hymnal" deal, and I use that word loosely. This version sure ain't a dirge, but who knows what the heck it is. Regardless, the translation to Swedish was really well done, and the cover is beautifully done. I have been sort of listening to this one a lot lately, so call me biased...maybe.

And the last one is a recent one, and it's another dramatic recasting, this one by Antony and the Johnsons. Antony and the Johnsons have turned the, er, "bootylicious" Beyoncé song "Crazy In Love" into a virtual elegy, slowed to a "Moonlight Sonata"-esque pace and all. Personally, I like this version better, but you can call me biased because I am not a fan of the "popular music" climate at the moment. It features trademark Antony piano, chilling strings backing right now, and obviously the trademark quivering Antony vocals. It works. It really does. Kudos to this guy.

When I Claimed Earlier This Year...

2009-08-14T12:38:00.004-04:00

That no releases could ever come close to matching the Dirty Projectors or Animal Collective releases this year, I may have been wrong. And I may have to eat my words for the second time this year. Evidence this:

The Flaming Lips - Embryonic. With the few tracks "Silver Trembling Hands" and "See the Leaves," it appears that the Lips have gone back to what they do best. But this time it seems to be much less of the Soft Bulletin formula where the brightest of sheens covered darker meanings - the sinister beat of "Silver Trembling Hands" and the apocalyptic krautrock stylings of "See the Leaves" already indicate something much, much darker than anything they've done since they made it "big" (i.e. Soft Bulletin). Fine by me, all I want me is some good old Flaming Lips. It's out October 13th.

Also, evidence this:

Volcano Choir - Unmap. Sure, there's only "Island, IS" that's been leaked, but who could ever think that Justin Vernon, Bon Iver mastermind, could ever do anything wrong at this point? The released track is some strange amalgamate of organic loops dancing around while Justin Vernon sings over it. It's a rather cryptic experience, so it's hard to describe. But this one has high, high hopes. Out September 22nd.

Some Thoughts on Johnny Cash

2009-07-25T21:45:00.003-04:00

Oh once I was an angry man

until this prison term finally began

but now that I'm here I've been changed

me and all the people I estranged

Well I shot my woman in a jealous rage

And ran far away as I set the stage

Well the cops, yeah they got me good

so I took the fall as every good man should

And I called the judge a coward there

well he decided to rule on me unfair

And the guards, well they took me away

and beat me into my place

And if I ever get out of this hellhole

oh if I may ever leave here whole

I'll kiss the ground at my feet

and praise God for his mercy on me

But there's still two life terms on this head

I'll be lucky if I make it out of here dead

And maybe the wind will blow my bones

Damn, there's many long years till I'm gone

Dirty Projectors -- 2009.06.21 Wexner Center for the Arts, Columbus, OH

2009-06-22T00:27:00.009-04:00

Dirty Projectors
2009.06.21
Wexner Center for the Arts
Columbus, Ohio

Setlist--
1. Two Doves
2. Cannibal Resource
3. Remade Horizon
4. Useful Chamber
5. Gimmie Gimmie Gimmie
6. Thirsty and Miserable
7. Rise Above
8. Stillness is the Move
9. No Intention
10. Temecula Sunrise

Encore:
11. Fluorescent Half-Dome
12. Knotty Pine

To be really honest, I didn't like the opener, Skeletons. For me, there is a clear difference between having music being "weird" because it is and having music that is trying to be "weird." To me, it's a problem that plagues a lot of bands, and one many don't shake off very easily. Prime examples are the Flaming Lips shedding off the "weird to be weird" with the Soft Bulletin, Animal Collective with Merriweather Post Pavilion and, coincidentally, Dirty Projectors with Bitte Orca, so perhaps that's something they can work towards.

I am unsure about no.s 5 and 6, it was just the four "core" members: Dave Longstreth, Angel Derdoorian, Amber Coffman, and the drummer, whose name I don't really know. From what I could glance from the setlists people instantly started grabbing the entry was "Gimme/Thirst," so those two are my best guesses as to the tracks played. It was a great show, if rather short, but that was sort of expected. Despite a fairly deep catalog it seems that with their recent success and countless lineup changes means that they can't dig into the back of their catalog (of which I have never heard, really). I only came in knowing the Bitte Orca tracks, Rise Above and Knotty Pine, which apparently was enough to know most of what was going on. So all in all, a great show. There were some funny moments, like when they talked about their van breaking down in St. Clairesville. It's on the border of Ohio of West Virginia, pretty much, and I was just there like a weekend ago so I knew what they were talking about. Pretty good. So if you like them, I would highly suggest catching them at some point soon.

Checkpoint: The Year Thus Far In Music

2009-06-17T19:05:00.006-04:00

We're basically at the halfway point for the year, so it's time to do some ranking. I hate ranking, but it's convenient for the layman, and so I will do it. I'm going to cut it off at the end of the month, as technically A. June must end for it to be really halfway and B. it allows me to rank Wilco (the Album).

You could essentially swap the second-place record and first-place record on most people's lists and you wouldn't find any disagreements. Hell, on a given day you did that to my list, and I probably wouldn't complain. And, you could color me surprised if any record coming out later this year even came close to deposing either record.

I decided to do Top 5 records thus far because I haven't been able to get some of the other records I should have, and if I will present a top 10 later, it makes sense to present half as many at the halfway point through the year.

And here we go:

#1. Dirty Projectors - Bitte Orca (96/100)

For those unfamiliar with Dirty Projectors, the closest comparison is to the Talking Heads, except that the frontman, Dave Longstreth, is about 1000x stranger and that they're a six-piece with three gorgeous-voiced women (and probably plain gorgeous, but that's neither here nor there), with less of an emphasis on rhythm and more on arrangement and experimentalism. But perhaps for all the experimenting they've done, this record is so not that experimental, and it's a better record for that. The record is still entirely unpredictable, with more left turns than you could ever make, but each track remains a coherent whole. Current single "Stillness is the Move" and the following track "Two Doves" would have been total double-A-side material back in the day, and there is honestly no weak track on this album. From the opening guitar chiming that kicks off "Cannibal Resource" to the last fluttering notes of "Fluorescent Half-Dome," there is no moment that ceases to hold me. I could elaborate a lot more, but then you'd be reading a record review dedicated to Bitte Orca with the above grade, 96/100. Let me tell you, that's a damn accomplishment because I'm a man who believes being weird for the sake of being weird is a load of hogwash, and for all the weirdness in the record it feels too at home to be a bad record in any way.

#2. Animal Collective - Merriweather Post Pavilion (93/100)

And to think when this year started off, I didn't think anything would top this record, but hey, shit happens. That's not to say that this is a poor record; by far, these two are the top two records of the year. There's virtually no space between the top two, but there's a glacial chasm between the two and the rest, God save my soul for such a claim. From the opening of "In the Flowers" to the end "Brother Sport," but likely excepting "Lion in a Coma," this record exhibits the same strength across the board that Bitte Orca has, but "Lion in a Coma" strikes at the heart of the problem for many groups, and one that ultimately leads me to place this second: bands who get their branding as "experimental" or "weird" feel the desire to maintain this cred, when it is totally unnecessary and utterly superfluous. "Lion in a Coma" is that weird moment. While perhaps not an entirely weak track, it certainly represents the weakest point on a record with so many great moments, from the cyclical hymnals in "My Girls" to the fun-time romp of "Summertime Clothes" to Avey Tare's love-lust in "Bluish." Bitte Orca maintained the trademark while doing away with all the weird stuff put in for the sake of being weird...and Animal Collective likely felt the need to maintain that. You can't fault an artist for doing so, but it certainly made the album weaker. But me griping overmuch about that track in particular should not be indicative of my perception of the record - after all, I triumphantly claimed to my friends that this was the record of the year, folks, and this was back in February (perhaps a little early) - it is Animal Collective at their (collective) finest and likely stands tall as one of the best albums of the decade.

#3. Grizzly Bear - Veckatimest (88/100)

And so starts the rest of the records. One could ordinarily call these ones a bunch of saps, but no, that is not possible. 2009 has been stellar for music, certainly a lot stronger than 2008. Grizzly Bear's Veckatimest would have likely contended for "album of the year thus far" if this was released last year, for example. But this is certainly the best Grizzly Bear effort yet, and it's a fantastic one. The record kicks off with the groovy "Southern Point," and then goes into the star track, "Two Weeks," which gets the record off to a good start. However, it starts to lag in the middle. Perhaps this is the nature of Grizzly Bear, because it happened too on Yellow House, but for one reason or another the inherently languid tracks start to meld together too much, and slowing down, it comes harder to bear. That is not to say, though, that they are poor tracks...the slower tunes tend to play in the court of Grizzly Bear to begin with, but when they start getting sequenced one after the other...you see where it goes.

#4: Wilco - Wilco (the Album) (86/100)

And...Wilco's at it again. I am a professed Wilco lover, so you wouldn't be off-base if perhaps I rate this higher than others do because of the love. But it is possible to adequately defend this record. This record is probably the most akin to Being There, in that there is not necessarily a coherent theme to the record. Wilco (the Album) gives you a smattering of everything, from the chamber-pop of "Deeper Down," the bright, old-school Harrison/Petty sort of pop in "You Never Know," to the hard-edged rock of "Bull Black Nova." Personally, I can easily select "One Wing" as my favorite track of this record (and challenges for track of the year thus far), but I can see how anyone can like any track on this record. Which also inherently means that someone can not like a particular track on the record. Of course, the lack of "focus," but not "flow," means that the record suffers a bit from this lack of a "thematic quilt" that can tie the record together. But this lack means that Wilco get to happily play where they may, and for that it is a great record. Sometimes, there is no real need to present such a thing; let what may be be, and you will be satisfied.

#5: Phoenix - Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix (85/100)

The average Joe is a sucker for a good pop song. The not-so-average Joe sees that Top 40 is not a place to find a good pop song. This not-so-average Joe looks for the Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix's for his good pop songs. Phoenix have produced what can be considered a pure pop record: filled to the brim with catchy hooks, lyrics, the whole bit, it is impossible to not really like this album as a creation of pop. After kicking off strongly with the two singles "Lisztomania" and "1901," the album doesn't leave your head until you put something catchier in...that is to say, not many other records. While the instrumental section of "Love Like a Sunset" does get to be a bit of a sleepy track, with gently wading synths and etc., it gives welcome relief before the band kicks in again with the all the pop power in the world. The record title is perhaps a bold statement, but Phoenix meet the challenge well.

-----------------

And so, there it is.

Wilco - 2009.06.12 Aronoff Center, Cincinatti, OH

2009-06-13T13:41:00.004-04:00

1. Wilco (the Song)

2. I Am Trying to Break Your Heart
3. Company In My Back
4. Bull Black Nova
5. You Are My Face
6. One Wing
7. Handshake Drugs
8. Side With the Seeds
9. A Shot In the Arm
10. At Least That's What You Said
11. Sonny Feeling
12. Jesus, etc.
13. Impossible Germany
14. California Stars
15. You Never Know
16. Hummingbird
17. Misunderstood >>>
18. Spiders (Kidsmoke)

Encore 1:
19. The Late Greats
20. Hate It Here
21. Walken
22. I'm the Man Who Loves You
23. I'm A Wheel

All I can really say is, "Wow." What a great night. The band looked incredibly happy to be there, and the crowd was pretty good with responding to it. Some notes: Misunderstood "nothin'" count was around 29, though I could be inaccurate, and Hummingbird was great, especially with Tweedy's rock frontsmanship (i.e. the running in place routine with the Daltrey mic whirl). This was my favorite Wilco show (of two, albeit) thanks to the setlist which was beefy with Wilco (the Album) entries. Bull Black Nova was a beast live. My natural assumption is that they were cut short by an 11:00 curfew, which entailed minimal commentary (Jeff only spoke for more than 10-15 seconds once, if my memory serves me) and only one encore, which was the only stinky thing, but it's hard to get everything, right?

So yeah. It's hard to describe. But that's what I can think of right now, perhaps more later. Also, I couldn't find any image form last night that was sort of the right size for the layout.

Records of Great Influence (#3): The Beatles - A Hard Day's Night

2009-06-01T21:31:00.004-04:00

You may wonder why I didn't select the more "consummate" Beatles records, the more obvious choices like Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, Revolver, The Beatles, or even Rubber Soul. The simplest explanation for this particular selection is that this was the first Beatles record that I "got," in the weird sense where it all clicked for me. There are other reasons, but first things first...

As you may have read previously, I was the epitome of "late bloomer" when it came to the genre of "rock music." It took London Calling to save me from the dark, and it took me Being There to grasp at perhaps what rock had to celebrate. But I was missing something, more, you could say. The "roots of rock." Where did it all begin? Where was the "peak" that I had heard so much about? That was the Beatles. And it took me my freshman year in college to realize that greatness. And that's where this record comes in to play. This was that first Beatles record. And, yeah, for all intents and purposes I got Beatlemania, though 45 years later. Better late than never, right?

The question arises: "How did it take so long for you to like the Beatles? Like, really?" And I have no good answer to that. My only real snippets of pre-Fab remembrance are my dad singing "Yesterday" as he would do work around the house, and maybe hearing "Hey Jude" playing now and again. But I don't know why I didn't pursue that line for so long. Blame it on all my classical music training, my lack of curiosity, whatever, but finally I got it. And that's the first reason for selecting this record.

But in another sense, this was the Beatles at the top of their "early pop" game: there is nary a not-catchy song on this record, and coincidentally, nary a really un-danceable track (some tracks lend themselves to slow dancing, which is still dancing, for all ye heathens). Their first all-original album holds strong. There really isn't a weak track on this record, which is surprising since even the most enthusiastic Beatles fans (myself included) acknowledge that many a Beatles record contained filler (i.e. not one, but two Carl Perkins covers on Beatles for Sale). That doesn't mean I don't love the filler, but there was often an obvious quality difference, and with very few exceptions you can tell when you hit those lower points.

The most obvious musical point that most think of when this record is brought up is the first note, a mix of God-knows-what (though likely just a couple of pianos and guitars) that rings in a pop masterpiece. And, it followed a ragtag adventure of a movie. But I really shouldn't have to defend this record, or the movie, or any song on it (that point is more arguable, but still, don't try me).

So this was the first Beatles record that really got me. But in some ways, it lay dormant until the end of that freshman year in college, and then I finally, finally, realized the Beatles, if that makes any sense. And then I couldn't get enough of the Beatles. Within the span of a couple months I racked up an ungodly amount of Beatles airtime (my last.fm proves this), which rocketed them to the top of my artist list, where they have comfortably been since usurping Wilco that long time ago.

More importantly, I realized, that in some strange, kooky way, the Beatles invented almost every genre in popular music today. Metal? Hah, the Beatles did that "Helter Skelter"...even though Lennon liked to argue that "Ticket to Ride" was the first metal track thanks to a Ringo drumline. They birthed the psychadelic genre (though I would argue that the genre is largely meaningless), among virtually every other genre while still perfecting their "home genre," so to speak, that of pop. Only two genres can conceivably be considered un-Beatled: punk, which was colonized by Elvis Presley, and rap, which Bob Dylan started ("Subterranean Homesick Blues" started it all).

Therefore, for the reason of uncovering the iceberg, I put The Beatles' A Hard Day's Night as a "Record of Great Influence." I originally intended to sort of do one record per artist, but it's clear the Beatles will violate that rule, among a couple of other artists.

In other news, too, the Beatles Rock Band trailer was unveiled earlier today. To regrettably use the parlance of our times, I am so sprung for this game. I am going to preorder it. Almost now.

Jay Bennett Done Gone, At the Age of 45

2009-05-24T22:59:00.007-04:00

Jay Bennett, best known as the former multi-instrumentalist of Wilco, has passed away just this past day. While I wrote earlier about the guy being kind of a big prick about suing Jeff Tweedy, this is still a major blow to not only the Wilco camp but to generally musicians everywhere. He was a consummate musician, multi-faceted in what he could do, as a composer, an arranger, and a musician. The guy could play any instrument you threw at him. That rarely ever happens.

When you consider modern bands today, you never really think anyone goes. When Johnny Cash died, while a distressing event no one was particularly surprised. The guy had as full of a career as any man could hope to experience. But so many have had their lives cut short. Jay Bennett is one of them. He was only 45. While perhaps in the scheme of "popular music" he might as well have been on life support, in the "regular music world" you still have 30 years on you if you're good. Hell, look at Bob Dylan.

But this guy hasn't left that shabby of a record either. Titanic Love Affair, and probably most notably his Wilco contributions. Being There was a great record that Jay was involved in. But probably his crowning achievement in music came with Summerteeth, virtually holing himself into some strange world with Jeff Tweedy, crafting some surreal pop that is both expansive, mindblowing, and just damn good. He even contributed "My Darling" to the record, which is one of the more underrated songs in the catalog.

Of course, everyone knows what happened during the Yankee Hotel Foxtrot sessions, but his probable douche-ness should not detract from him as a person. Jay Bennett was a perfectionist, and perhaps he and Tweedy just didn't agree anymore on what their vision was (as opposed to Summerteeth). The film obviously puts him in bad light, but the word is that the man was generous and a nice man to be around.

I have put on Being There and am working through Summerteeth as I write this. I plan to put on Yankee Hotel Foxtrot and then his last show with Wilco (2001.07.04 for all you keeping track) to honor this man. One of the few consummate musicians of his era.

Rest in peace, and may God bless your soul, Jay Bennett.

Records of Great Influence (#2): Wilco - Being There

2009-05-20T19:11:00.003-04:00

Ah, yes, step number two. This is the first record, period, that grabbed me when I was "reborn" in the musical sense. London Calling was like the nine months in a pregnancy. Life first starting, everything was new to me. I had thrown out all previous (mis)conceptions as to what rock music was, and I was ready to really understand it. Being There is like a general roadmap to the world of rock; breathtaking in its scope, able to draw from all corners while being able to still remain an ultimately personable album for the ages.

Shame on you, if you have never heard this record before. In my truly honest opinion, this is still Wilco's crowning achievement. Not that Yankee Hotel Foxtrot wasn't an accomplishment. That record was straight evidence that rock could evolve, that it could adapt to a modern world with funny sounds and the like. Yankee Hotel Foxtrot represented what the "Americana" genre could bring to the table in the 21st century without coming off as old-school. But Being There is different. Perhaps because it came close to the end of the 20th century, or whatever, but it celebrates where rock music has been, what rock and Americana brought to the table in the 20th century and celebrated it to the greatest extent.

In a way, you could compare this album to Exile On Main Street by the Rolling Stones. Objectively, Exile is still probably a better record, I do not think anyone is denying this, but in my books Being There ranks higher because it fits my music tastes much better than Exile does. That's not the point, however. They both are double albums. That's the first thing. But the other thing is the scope of the records. They do everything. No stone is really left unturned. You can fault both records all you want for this, but for one thing I love it, and for another thing such ambition is remarkable and should be commended on every level.

Since this record is hardly as universally recieved as my previous "Record of Great Influence," I felt the need to perhaps defend the record from all ye naysayers. But now to the more important part. This record was probably the one thing that most greatly shaped my existence. Since the first time that I popped this record in, I have been a diehard Wilco fan ever since. If you know me in real life, you know what this is like. I have an extensive Wilco bootleg collection. I tracked their tours for a long, long time, looking at and grading setlists, however much of a fruitless practice that is. As an aspiring songwriter I threw out songs because they sounded too much like Wilco and because none of them could do justice to my main inspiration for many years. The only stain on the record is that I have only seen Wilco as a band once. I passed up a Jeff Tweedy solo show opportunity because I had no transportation, though I was able to see Glenn Kotche and Nels Cline perform solo and together. Now, I'm a little less diehard, which is likely a good thing...

But the fact that Wilco was able to shape my behavior like that isn't what made the band (and this record) part of such a crucial point in my development. I gained an awareness for the world. In those "dark days," I had no awareness of what was going on around me. This record has a remarkable sense of awareness about it, and in many ways I've tried to be like that, too. It was also, essentially, was my first "experience with the light." I finally became a person, and this record symbolizes that to me. Expansive, ambitious, and all over the place. Messy, sure, but that is inevitable. But that is part of the charm of the record and, in its own way, has become a part of me.

Record of the Moment: Danger Mouse & Sparklehorse - Dark Night of the Soul

2009-05-16T11:26:00.006-04:00

So this is my record of the moment. Outside of the stories that surround this album, i.e. Danger Mouse can't release this record without getting his butt sued by EMI, and just as the record itself, I consider this a fine release. Now, I'm in no way familiar with previous Danger Mouse or previous Sparklehorse or even previous David Lynch, who served as a supervisor or something like it. So you're actually going to get a (gasp) pre-disposition free assessment, which for all intents and purposes is a pretty good record in my eyes.

This record largely consists of Sparklehorse and a whole boatload of guests, ranging from the Flaming Lips, Frank Black of the Pixies, James Mercer of the Shins, to Iggy Pop and even David Lynch makes some appearances on the record. Most of the songs are sort of languid, as in that they don't really hurry to get where they are going, which establishes a sort of melancholy vibe (combined with the theme, of course). The tracks that break from this trend, aside from the track that features Julian Casablancas (from the Strokes) are somehow the weakest ones, though perhaps deviating from the trend of the record only naturally perpetuated that. It can also be said that those two tracks (with Frank Black and the other with Iggy Pop) try to be edgier and generally more metal, which doesn't fit the vibe of the record. Perhaps my dislike for these tracks is a mere indication of my dislike for the metal genre, but that can't be helped in any particular way.

However, every other track does a swell job of fulfilling the vibe of the record. The Flaming Lips track is delightfully haunting, as Wayne Coyne croons about how pain might as well just be some sort of sensation, and James Mercer of the Shins makes a fine appearance on "Insane Lullaby." The best track, in all likelihood, is "Daddy's Gone," which features Nina Persson and Mark Linkous. It's the simplest track on the record, which allows the song to simply breathe on its own, rather than try and layer effects. The track is almost more haunting and more fulfilling because of its stark simplicity (though I mean this in a Danger Mouse producing sense, not in a strict instrumentation sense).

Overall, I really like this record. For the sake of listening to the album as an album, I put up with the two psuedo-random metallish tracks in the middle because the payoff before and after is more than worth that price of admission. Also, for the sake of Danger Mouse not getting his butt sued by EMI, it's worth at least listening to. Did he ever want anything besides people listening to his works? I would hazard to say that he has no real other intentions.

Record Preview: Wilco (the Album)

2009-05-13T23:05:00.005-04:00

Ah, yes. This puppy leaked yesterday evening. So here goes:

Let's be perfectly honest, this one is better than Sky Blue Sky. Not that Sky Blue Sky was a bad record, but in any case that was a record of a whole band trying to find its groove. It's only natural. Just as A.M. was Wilco finding its legs post-Tupelo, Sky Blue Sky was Wilco re-finding those legs after a long period of instability. And by long period, I mean a really, really long period of instability. But that's not the point. The band has now found its groove, and it's finally shaping up to be what it could always be.

I don't want to spoil the album too much, so I'm just going to disclose some general thoughts. Standout tracks, in my opinion, include "Deeper Down," "One Wing," and "You Never Know." Opinion on that matter has been all over the place, but those are the ones that are the best in my eyes. "Deeper Down" recalls the Soma version of Hummingbird (for all of you with the Wilco book CD from Learning How to Die, you will know what I'm talking about). "One Wing" fits in the mold of "Impossible Germany" off of the previous entry, but it's more compact with a slightly darker feel. "You Never Know" is basically George Harrison's "My Sweet Lord" with extra fuzzed out guitars and a different main break. This is what disturbs me most about the track. There's even straight up replication of some of Harrison's slide work on this track. I love and adore George Harrison, and so "My Sweet Lord" gets its love too. So yeah, "You Never Know" is a great track, and it wears its influence on its sleeve.

But as such a big fan of George Harrison, man, if I was Harrison (and alive, for that matter) I'm not sure if I would be pissed or honored with such an obvious take on the tune. For Wilco's sake, I hope nothing happens with regards to any lawsuits. I doubt anything will, because A. Copyright law is too stringent to protect everything and B. not enough of the track is exclusively replicated to justify any action, in my eyes. So yeah, that's kind of my weird rant on the track. So I love this "You Never Know" tune a lot, but I'm also sad that it takes to heavily from "My Sweet Lord." It's one of the best tracks on the record, regardless.

The only real down point on the record "occurs" with "Country Disappeared," but in its own way it's a charming little number. It has to A. follow "You Never Know" and B. pull the album back from a more expansive sound, so it satisfies its function pretty well, but on the whole it's probably the weakest track. The other tracks are all solid to begin with, "I'll Fight" and "Bull Black Nova" are super groovy, while the Feist duet track "You and I" has a pretty well done backwards guitar part (though "I'm Only Sleeping" by the Beatles takes the cake with best backwards guitar parts).

With regards to "album album" things, like flow and coherency, it really does its job. No sudden, unjustified turns, and at a crisp length of slightly less than 45 minutes, the record flows well while letting some of its more disparate ideas ("Bull Black Nova" and "Sonny Feeling" come to mind) stick out.

So, yeah. There is nothing overtly wrong with the record. It's a really good listen. Once I (and you, if it really bugs you as much as it bugs me) get past the fact that a track is more of a recasting of "My Sweet Lord" musically than perhaps a homage, then it goes from good to pretty great.

76/100 (before forgiveness for the "My Sweet Lord" recasting)

I mean, I think I should be able to get over it, so:

84/100 (after forgiveness for the "My Sweet Lord" recasting)

Perhaps, though, I'm reading "You Never Know" too negatively. Harrison tribute, perhaps? If it is, then man, major marks in my book:

88/100 (if "You Never Know" is supposed to be a Harrison tribute)

God Save the Bootleg!

2009-05-10T13:03:00.011-04:00

Bootlegs have a special place in the history of rock music. On the most personal level, acquiring a bootleg of the show you were at is pretty sweet. For example, I went to a Flaming Lips show in 2006. The show was awesome. Well, it was more than a show...it was a spectacle. I have the bootleg of this particular show. Now, if I want to relive that night (in some capacity), I can listen to that show. Good bit. Of course, I wish someone had bootlegged the Sonic Youth set too...

If it makes a difference, I am currently listening to a bootleg of Wilco, 2003.06.28 at Penn's Landing in Philadelphia. For those who are looking for a good Wilco bootleg, I would not consider this a bad place to start.

But enough about personal stories. Bootlegs have preserved many a historic event. Take, for example:

To start an argument for another time, I would argue that this was possibly the most important night in the history of rock music. More important than the Beatles on Ed Sullivan? I would say so. But that's for another time. The point it, the moment of "Judas!" would have been a lost legend except for hearsay if it were not for the dudes who took up the noble mantle of bootlegging and, well, bootlegged this show. In some ways, bootleggers are the scribes of rock. They see, and they "write." An external source that can "see it as it is." Thus, they do serve some sort of function. Perhaps it's even vital. The most special moments are not always those (publicly) documented, so it's up to the concert-goer to take matters into their own hands and save it for posterity.

To be truthfully honest, there are those bands that are junk in the studio, but when they step onto the stage, they morph into some sort of extraterrestial being and play the lights out. Bootlegs become the primary way to show the stuff to those who can't attend concerts. A band can play a lights out show, and a friend can rant about how good it was, but if your money's tight (as it probably is for everyone right now), you're not gonna go with true proof. And with a bootleg, you got your proof in the pudding. Bootlegs can do wonders for those sorts of groups who are limited in what they can do in the studio.

The argument against bootlegging is that it takes money away from artists. Supposedly a bootleg will prevent people from buying the real records. There are two problems with this. The first is the nature of the bootleg. It's not a studio record. It's not going to sound as good. It can never replace a studio record. A bootleg is not designed to replace studio records, it's supposed to document a particular event in time. Given that perhaps a bootleg has the capacity to displace potential buyers, it's going to probably attract just as many potential buyers as it will scare them off. A person impressed with a bootleg will be more likely to buy those records. So really, the net change of people buying is not really going to extravagantly change.

The other issue with that argument is that the nature of the music business has changed. For the typical band, the majority of the revenue for the group actually comes from touring and live shows. Perhaps in the distant past this was more of a problem as groups would rely on record sales, but nowadays it's not a problem. A bootleg will attract people to shows, and as a main source of revenue the tour will get minute boosts from those who choose to attend based on those...and there won't really be a loss in sales, since a concert-goer will likely not only buy a ticket but also some merchandise. Thus the potential loss is minimal if not negative (meaning a net gain). You get the gist of it. I think I may have gotten a little to economical on that one, but such is the life of an economics major.

Artists have caught on to this bootlegging deal. As with the legendary Dylan show, among others, have attempted to outbootleg the bootlegger, using them to get sales. Perhaps it's reasonable to do so, but then when it's packaged from the artist, it's not really a bootleg anymore, it's just a live recording issued by the artist. Bootlegging has a sort of romantic, adventurous quality about it. Defying the odds, or simply being able to do it because the artist lets you, bootlegs gain a sort of charming roughness to them for one reason or another. They're recorded by a fellow fan, which means they likely love this band as much (or likely more) than you do, and so it becomes a special gift from a fellow fan, not some "gift" from management. This is no rag against live albums released by the band, but those are entirely different beasts that give and receive their own dues.

So all this repackinging by artists comes off as a little douchey to me, because theoretically I should be able to acquire it in its true bootlegged form. As someone who is familiar with bootlegs, I do not particularly care if there are hisses or cracks in audio sources. They give the bootlegs their charm. And I don't want to pay money for hiss/crack removal. Case in point: Neil Young at Massey Hall, Toronto on January 19th, 1971. I got this as a bootleg. A year later, the dudes marketing Neil Young take the bootleg, spruce it up and perhaps clean it up to later sell it. I like my hissy bootleg, thank you very much. I give you your critic manlove, Neil Young, because you more than deserve it, but this "de-bootlegging" reeks and I can't condone that.

Perhaps I am some sort of "bootleg elitist" (?), but bootlegs are a fickle and idiosyncratic things that must be respected as they are, and any attempt to not is virtually criminal (and no, bootlegging itself is not criminal).

Wilco (the Album)'s New Groove

2009-05-08T15:00:00.001-04:00

Nothing more needs to be said.

(More or Less) Breaking News: Jay Bennett sues former compadre Jeff Tweedy

2009-05-05T19:16:00.005-04:00

I heard about this when it first broke, but I mean, read here. For those of you familiar with the film I Am Trying to Break Your Heart, Jay Bennett was kind of a colossal asshole in that movie. But that's not the point. It seems unlikely that the case will get very far, because a lot of the claims Bennett makes seem to be very strange, and you can find the brief here. So yeah. I'm not going to hate on the guy who had some hand in making Being There, Summerteeth, and Yankee Hotel Foxtrot what they are (extremely good albums), but something is fishy here.

For one, Jay is going after Jeff on royalties associated with the documentary I mentioned earlier. Besides Jeff being in this movie, I'm certain that Jeff really has nothing else to do with it. So for one, Jay is going after the wrong dude here. Sam Jones is the guy responsible for that movie, so if Jay is really looking to do this, he's got his guns pointed at the wrong man.

Then, you have to wonder a little bit about the timing. Those who kind of keep up with former Wilcomen (is that the proper term?) know that Jay Bennett actually needs hip replacement surgery. His hip has degraded and it's to the point where it's no longer salvageable. These procedures are expensive. And as a not prominent musician...he's probably lacking in medical insurance. I mean, have you, the most-likely average music listener, even heard of Jay Bennett outside of the context of Wilco? So yeah, I really feel bad for the guy. Nobody should have to go through this kind of stuff, especially without medical insurance. Such is an artist's life.

The kind of thing I'm thinking is that he is, in a way, suing now, of all the years he could have sued post-documentary because he needs the money for his surgery. But to really sue Jeff Tweedy? Sure, things went sour and he fired you, but in another regard he A. employed you, B. let you become part of something bigger which C. has inevitably defined your legacy. It's almost as if the guy is biting the hand that fed him...and I don't like that at all. Not one bit.

Plus, I'm sure if he had approached Wilco management, Wilco could have probably thrown something together for an old compadre (however bitter the ending was). Always gotta pay dues. From as little as a note and a donation link on Wilco's website to even a charity show for Jay Bennett would have probably gone a long way towards covering the procedure.

I'm forever grateful for what Jay Bennett brought to Wilco during that era, but man, this here stinks a bit of douchebaggery.

In the non-legal world, Wilco is putting out a new album cunningly titled Wilco (the Album) on June 30th, and they will be kicking off a tour on...gasp, June 12th in Cincinnati, Ohio. Hey, that's my birthday (and hey, I'll be there!).

Record In Motion: Ornette Coleman - The Shape of Jazz to Come

2009-05-04T16:41:00.008-04:00

This "Record In Motion" segment is primarily for when I am listening to a record "in motion" (so basically for the first time) and will thus dish the dealio as it comes to me. So without further ado...this record, Ornette Coleman's The Shape of Jazz to Come.

I picked up this album today because it was 99cents at the Amazon music store and because they crowned it "the best jazz album" ever. Tall order, to say the least. I'm no jazz buff, though, but regardless it gives any album a lot of pressure on its first spin. I've heard some of the "more necessary" ones, like Miles Davis' Kind of Blue and Birth of the Cool, John Coltrane's A Love Supreme and Blue Train. I liked all those, though I would rank A Love Supreme and Kind of Blue as superior works to the other two. So being no real jazz cat, this album proves to be interesting.

From what I can understand, this record is the first avant-garde jazz record. No piano to ground it down in chordal structures, so basically Ornette Coleman and his cornet-toting partner get to roam free, often playing the same lines or settling in implied harmonies. There are slower moments on the record where the two saunter around in that strange, classy manner in which only a jazz cat can evoke, but there are those times when Ornette Coleman or his compatriot spew out fire at lightning speed. Technically, it's really grabbing, and Coleman's skill is simply undeniable on this record. Of course, being technically good at an instrument doesn't grant you "jazz cat" status immediately, in my opinion, so I must look towards more intangible aspects.

As this is free-form, avant-garde stuff, the (most) important aspect of it is to maintain flow. To continuously play at 100 miles a minute for the whole record is not tasteful, nor elegant nor praiseworthy. Neither is a record that simply sits on its harmonies without exploring melody, which is simply boring. A player in this setting, from what I can tell, has to be able to adapt to all circumstances, to know when to indulge in virtuosity or when to delve deeper into harmonies and melodic exploration. That seems to be key to me. From what I can tell, Ornette Coleman and company do a fine job with this. Coleman is obviously the leader, and he communicates his melodic ideas well, and to give major due props to the other members for being able to support and complement the guy's sax playing with deftness and grace, neither encroaching too much when Coleman takes center stage but more than capable to fill in those sonic holes when they need to be filled.

That's my general first hunch about this record. To me, jazz is more or less an acquired taste. It's not for everyone. There are the typical jazz records, then there are the weird jazz records, and then there are the even weirder "jazz records" (I'm looking at you, Interstellar Space Revisited). I know this method of classifying jazz records is in no way academic or near scientific, but to be honest jazz classification has almost gotten out of hand, so I'm simplifying it for my own use. To me, this particular record fits in between the "typical jazz" and "weird jazz" for me. But even at a first listen I do give this album its credit and my gratitude; perhaps this guy really knew what jazz was going to be "shaped" like and every other cat was just copying his groove. I'm not able to conclude that so quickly, though. So there comes with that a need for continued listening before I can place this in my favorite jazz albums list, however small that list may be...and so perhaps it's a list worth expanding.

It Must Be the Beards: "America" and "Common Sense" in Rock Music

2009-04-29T16:33:00.016-04:00

Not to do a dishonor against Johnny Cash and folks, but the real representation of America in rock music was basically a bunch of Canadians. America, you should be slightly (and by slightly I mean entirely) ashamed of this...am I wrong? No American can come close to representing America but these guys. I wouldn't disagree with someone who would make the argument that Johnny Cash was basically the "voice of America." That voice exemplifies the Southern man more than anything else, but his music is distinctly country, and thus suffers from getting pigeonholed into the realm of country music, disqualified from represented the greater America as a whole. But the Band? The Band was the best vehicle for America that America has ever had. Let me state my case:

If you consider the human body to be some strange amalgation of artists in rock music, one could easily make the argument that Bob Dylan was the brain. The Beatles...well, they could be basically everything else but one thing: common sense. Gumption, if you will. Were the Beatles too good to delve into common sense? Who knows, but that's not quite the point. But gumption? Well, the Band is that. No frills rock and roll. None of that psychadelic junk. They exhibited a rustic attitude that embraced the American way of life. All business, but not city business...more of a "business of living," delighting in the more worldly ventures life presents. No tricks, no lies, just their stuff, straight and true. "The Night They Drove Dixie Down" serves as the prime example, a candid retelling of the end of the Civil War, so achingly beautiful yet so simple. The American way of life back then was admittedly simpler then too, mostly defined by its small towns, cohesive family units, and miles and miles of farmland. A simple living, and the Band's arrangements exemplified this rustic life.

Beyond their normal setup of guitar, bass, keyboards, organ, and drum with some violin, mandolin and horns sparsely integrated, they exemplified the working American. Touring on an incredibly intense schedule, there was no rest for the weary, until they went back into the studio. This obviously took a toll on the band, eventually leading to its first and "real" demise. That first lineup was magical, and it's virtually impossible to really consider latter-day Band as anything close to old-day Band. But those studio albums...they changed the face of rock music, too.

Music From Big Pink is still their crowning achievement, despite all the crap it gets since "The Weight" showed up in Easy Rider. Drawing heavily on old American folk themes, they spun strange stories about the things that mattered the most in small town American life: your faith, and your family. Richard Manuel plays the distraught father in "Tears of Rage," rueing a recalcitrant daughter, while biblical images roam free on Robbie Robertson's "To Kingdom Come." Everything centers on these few things, giving the loose yet articulate album a cohesion that few albums could ever hope to have. This album changed rock music. But I'm not really here to elucidate about my third favorite album ever...so to continue on:

You could argue that the Byrds got there first with Sweetheart of the Rodeo, but the Band did it better, and so they get the nod. Rock music was an insanely drugged up affair at this time, delving wholeheartedly into psychadelia and pure rock star lifestyles, rich yet empty lives. But then the Band came and, for all intents and purposes, said: "Here's the way. Come, and you will be (mostly) healed." Now, it's understood that the Band wasn't wholeheartedly immune from the rock star lifestyle, but at least at face value their music projected simpler things that could probably "heal" a hurt soul. Regardless, this was the counter-counterculture movement. Away from all the pomps and frills, back to the living where most people got started...a simpler time, a simpler music that was no less heartfelt (if not more heartfelt) than whatever was going on at the time. This place was the "real America," where one could consider its heart and soul to be: in the countryside. The Band exemplified the country; there was no way that it wasn't planned, but it comes off as uncannily easy. It's a ragged, scrappy music, like the people who had to make do with what they had in the countryside.

And everyone followed. The Beatles dispensed of their psychadelic freakouts and returned to good old-fashioned rock and roll on the Beatles. Even the best group in rock music found something they couldn't ignore. The Rolling Stones returned to their R&B roots with Beggars Banquet. Eric Clapton wanted to be in the Band so much, but he had not the guts to ask, and so had to "settle" in his own right with Derek and the Dominos's Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs. In some strange twist of irony, you either followed the Band with this roots movement, or you risked falling out of sight in the landscape of rock. It's not necessarily the fact that they got the greater part of the world of rock to follow them, it's that in the sense that they pushed rock music farther forward by basically going as far back as possible, to its roots...though not its British but its American roots in rockabilly, folk, blues, and country.

Granted, the Band had an impressive pedigree already, as the Hawks behind Ronnie Hawkins and as Dylan's backing group (minus Helm) for the infamous world tour in 1966. But that doesn't make their achievement as the real voice of America, of gumption in rock music any less awe-inspring. There are few better ways to describe it than as simply an "American" sound. It just sounds American, enigmatic in that it can't be pigeonholed, yet so firm in its stance that "Yes, this is American." Or, if you will, "Americana." No fancy adornments, like the people they essentially represented. All you needed was a little elbow grease and some common sense to get something done in American society, and the Band was the personification of that.

They were America...placeless yet grounded in the American way.

Record Review: Bob Dylan - Together Through Life

2009-04-28T20:25:00.006-04:00

I'm going to be honest, the first time I listened through this I was underwhelmed. I'm a massive fan of Time Out Of Mind, "Love and Theft", and Modern Times. I consider those great masterworks of Dylan. They don't compare to the 1960s triumvirate of his, but they come damn close. I expected another entry into that saga. What I got, and what you get when you listen to it, is something quite different.

To be fair to Bob Dylan, me expecting a masterwork every time the man puts song to tape is absurd, but when he releases masterwork material every time, what am I to expect? Another masterpiece? I wouldn't call this record that, but on its own it stands up particularly well. To grade this record by comparing it to his previous releases is unjust to the artist. That being said, the shtick, at first glance, is essentially the same as Time Out Of Mind, "Love and Theft", and Modern Times, but I get the feeling that this record is a different entry entirely. It sounds similar but the essence and stuff of it is distinct.

They say it's all based on those 1950s Chess Records. I can kind of hear the resemblance, and Dylan's growl comes off like Muddy Waters at times, but beyond that the resemblance becomes fuzzy. The songs here tend to sit much more plainly and loose. They also don't roll as tightly as they did on Modern Times or "Love and Theft", more or less idly working their way through at a slower pace. There are fewer straight up ballads on this record, the notable one being "Life Is Hard." The "box," provided by Los Lobos man David Hidalgo pops up all over the record, making his mark known, while Mike Campbell provides some pointed guitar lines that work well in the songs. It's a simple album musically. No frills, no nothing, just straight up music. The record flows reasonably well, without any perturbing turns of mood or extremely weak songs that allow the record to consistently survive multiple sustained listens.

Perhaps in some ideal world the album's production would have been handled by someone else. Time Out of Mind really excelled as a record (moreso than "Love and Theft" and Modern Times) because of different production values. I can particularly imagine this record becoming on par to his 1960s output with some Lanois, Time Out Of Mind-esque production. Dylan is by no means a bad producer (there are worse producers, that's for sure), but perhaps the songs could have been brought to that "next level" with a good old-fashioned producer at the helm. That's the only major knock on this record. The production is good, not great. Everything sounds lively and it all works in the end, but perhaps in its plainness some latent quality that could emerge to push the record beyond the barriers still remains lost behind the simple production.

What had initially bothered me were the lyrics. They were so plain, so simple, so...un-Dylan. Where did the trippy imagery, the whacked out Bible references, and general pissiness go? They're not really there in the typical quantities. Perhaps due to working with Robert Hunter, the lyrics have become much plainer than usual, moreover embracing life rather than sneering and growling at it. Once you get past the fact that Dylan is purposely not writing in typical Dylan fashion, it becomes a lot easier to accept and to thus embrace. Dylan serves up great lines on this record, and if they're not as kooky as they used to be they still prove that Dylan still has the stuff for lyric-writing. He's always had a knack for words, and it's no different on this record. You'd be suprised at the depth here, but I won't spoil those moments on the record when you hear them.

Dylan has always been a shapeshifter. Blues singer to folkie, to pissed off rock auteur to lonesome hobo, to Nashville-esque country star...he has evolved too many times to be pigeonholed once more. Most people probably had the guy pinned down after Modern Times, which is strikingly similar to the two works preceding. So naturally a guy like him has to change again. It's necessary, it's vital for his existence. A different form, a different time, a different album, a free-floating entry into the complex Dylan life and canon. It is what it is, nothing more and nothing less.

86/100

Record of the Moment: Derek and the Dominos - Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs

2009-04-27T19:54:00.006-04:00

By God, I dare you to find me a more emotional moment in rock music than this part "Bell Bottom Blues":

Do you want to see me crawl across the floor to you?
Do you want to hear me beg you to take me back?
I'd gladly do it because
I don't want to fade away.
Give me one more day, please.
I don't want to fade away.
In your heart I want to stay.

To put the album in perspective: you're Eric Clapton, resident blues guru. Cream and Blind Faith didn't work out, but that's no real deal, you're highly successful, you can go solo. Then, the worst thing happens. You're Eric Clapton, and you fall in love. Not a bad thing, right? But it's not just anyone. The girl you fall in love with is married. Bad enough? Nope, she's married to a Beatle. A Beatle, man. Can it get worse? Yup. She's married to George Harrison. But guess what. You're best fucking buddies with George Harrison. You supplied heartrending guitar to his "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" and he reciprocated by helping you write "Badge." Yeah, things are pretty bad. And so you take solace in an old tale involving a woman named Layla...and the album is born.

This album is a blues album, plain and simple. The ripping blues solos, the slow grooves and the fast-paced boogies, they're all here. Wow, how it grooves, boogies, and how it just "feels" like crazy. The rumor is that Eric Clapton wanted to be in the Band so bad, and it shows. The songs sit loose, and it does wonders compared to the airtight production that has recently made Clapton's efforts almost lifeless. Finally, Clapton has some foils to work off of, both lyrically and musically. Clapton is normally genius enough, but he has had issues getting too carried away at times...Duane Allman and Bobby Whitlock provided brilliant foils both with the guitar work and songwriting, respectively, and the album pays off so much more thanks to them. Many of the songs, too, reach past the five minute mark in slide-fueled jams, but they never get old, remaining fresh and worthwhile with each listen.

It has astounded me that I had never heard this album until approximately four days ago. Of course I had heard "Layla," and of course I have thought it was a good rock tune (at some point, I could play it in some regard on the ukulele). It had no context for me then, and now it does. The song itself becomes a much more emotional event, but it moreover becomes part of a heart-wrenching whole. You've got to feel so bad for someone if drugs don't even help. But to think that Clapton poured everything out in this album is astounding. This is an album for the ages. I can't believe that it took so long for me to hear this album. Shame on all of you for not making me listen to this album sooner.

With regards to regular blog business, I'll probably review the new Dylan record in detail next. It'll be the first record I grade here. Oh dear, right?

Records of Great Influence (#1): the Clash - London Calling

2009-04-24T17:15:00.000-04:00

I shouldn't have to defend this record for its artistic merit. It's an utterly useless exercise (because it shouldn't need to be said), and if I honestly have to defend it I will go bonkers. That being said, this was the record that changed my life. I'm really not going to lie about that. Let me state my case:

When I was in high school, for better or for worse, I got caught up in what I consider to be the "neo-punk" movement. Green Day, blink-182, the works. Not only is this not really what can be considered "good" to "great" music, it started me down a bad road. I'm not saying I got to the point of drugs or anything, but I started hanging out with less than savory crowds and who knows what would have happened if I had stayed there. To me, punk and "neo-punk" was a sound, pure aggression, little else. There was a bad guy, and a worse guy. Fight the power with any means necessary, while languishing in the recesses of society. That's the kind of view I was surrounded with. Perhaps in retrospect I'm simplifying the situation or casting my situation in the early high school years as worse than they actually were, but at least now in retrospect I see that period of my life as close to a dead end as I could have ever been. But this record changed every single thing that I thought was true, and changed me.

I realized after this record that punk wasn't a sound. Punk was not about heavy distortion and power chords. It wasn't the balls-to-the-walls, blow-shit-up, or the backed-into-a-corner-and-about-to-explode mentality that I had thought it was. Thanks to Joe Strummer, I realized punk was an aesthetic. More or less, it was a do-it-yourself mentality. No one gives you your breaks; you make them yourself. But moreover, punk music is more or less what you make of it. This point was hit home on another record I might talk about down the road, the Minutemen's Double Nickels on the Dime. There were things in this world that you could change, and that should be the driving force in all you can do. It's common sense, but music often doesn't promote it. But the Clash were common sense, in their own way. In some ways they exhibited the tenets of "neo-punk" that I've railed against thus far, but the Clash differs in that they actually meant what they said. They meant change. "Neo-punk" loves staying in their corner, singing about how they'll explode and change the world, but doing nothing about it. Utterly useless. The Clash? They meant what they said, and their word was good.

They meant good...they meant to change what they could. Tales of generosity about the Clash are many, but the best (and funniest) concern the sales of their records at outrageously low prices. To sell London Calling as a double album for the price of one, the story says they managed to con the record company into attaching another EP record (or similar short-play format) to their standard album by saying they were including a B-side when in fact they were including another disc entirely. Reportedly, the Clash forwent the royalties on Sandanista! to sell the triple-album for the price of one. And perhaps the most telling, Joe Strummer would wait and talk to every fan who wanted to talk, after every show. These were real guys. Fame didn't get to them. They were real dudes, but they had a mission. They weren't just malcontents, they were malcontents who knew they had every power in the world to make things right. And that's the crux of the record. And that's the crux of how I changed entirely. Small changes can yield great results.

A Little About Myself

2009-04-22T18:07:00.000-04:00

About the Golden Age of Rock Music:

The first real thing I learned in high school was that the credible source is the best source. So, in order to provide you my “credentials,” I present below:

The Best Bands Around:

1. The Beatles

2. Bob Dylan

3. The Band

4. The Clash

5. The Beach Boys

The Best Albums Around:

1. Highway 61 Revisited

2. Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band

3. Music From Big Pink

4. London Calling

5. Pet Sounds

Rock and Roll Credentials:

1. Played some live shows in bands

2. Economics Major in Undergraduate

a. The major of choice for the frontmen of great bands, i.e. Mick Jagger

3. Avid music listener

4. I love live shows, and thus bootlegs.

and so on and so forth. Now that you know who I am, your first question likely regards the “Golden Age” of rock. When was it? I consider it to be the 1960s and the 1970s, primarily. While the 1950s did serve great importance with regards to the genesis of rock, the real Garden of Eden (to use the image kindly) did not really burst forth until the 1960s with the rise of so many great artists. While beginning primarily as a sort of rockabilly or blues-based movement, it quickly outgrew its roots and moved into entirely unseen territory, yielding what we now know as the Golden Age of rock. This lasted for over a decade, into the mid-to-late 1970s. Why do I stop there?

I only need to present one word: synthesizer. While synonymous with the 1980s, the synthesizer began to take hold in the 1970s, endangering the electric guitar and driving it to the brink of extinction. This isn’t to say that the electric guitar is the only thing that separates a band from being rock and something else; it simply means that, for better or for worse, the electric guitar became more or less the everlasting icon of rock music. Nor does it mean that the synthesizer is the antithesis of rock music. The Who’s “Baba O’Riley” is probably the most well known example of great synthesizer use. The decline of the electric guitar in rock music meant that its golden age would soon follow. Thus, the Golden Age was over in the late 1970s.

So throughout the forthcoming blog series (is that the technical term?) I'll be addressing, or rather tire-ading (tirade, but I'll get tired of it, hence tire-ade...gotta love Ringo-isms) through a whole slew, nay, a plethora, of utterly meaningless quandaries relating to rock music. Will there ever be another Beatles (probably not)? Is there someone as self-referential and therefore awesome as John Lennon (surprisingly, yes)? Who best represents "America" in the world of rock music (not an American group, I'll tell you that). As these things come to me, I'll address them in some fashion.

If I don't feel like discussing them, you'll either get an "Influential Record" segment or some tire-ade on some actually current and therefore much more important events. For example, records that have come out more recently than, say, 1990. Or, I might even talk about something a normal blogger might, like the current political clime, or even just the clime of the earth and how everyone thinks the world will self-destruct soon (...something like that).

To address some basic blog things, I did steal a Talking Heads thing with the title. Yes, the Talking Heads are awesome. Currently, "The Name of This Week Is Talking Heads," but that's neither here nor there. I'm trying to keep this from becoming Tweet-esque (or whatever that new-fangled technology is), so the entries will actually be A. fairly long and thus B. require you to actually sit down and read it, rather than let you walk willy-nilly staring into your Blackberry and thus either A. trip, B. fall, C. spill your coffee on yourself or D. negligently cause grievous harm to yourself. See, I'm only looking out for ya.

May you always find gumption in all your daily activities,
-e.