Originally published in the Lamron (2/4/07)
Detroit’s MC5 were misfitted even by the misfits. When the band held concerts on the west coast, hippie audiences that identified with the pastel, kaleidoscopic psychedelia of the Grateful Dead, Jefferson Airplane and Quicksilver Messenger Service gave blank, perplexed stares to the hard-rocking, no-holds-barred powerhouse sound of five Motor City natives who spent their childhoods competing with each other in how many note-for-note Chuck Berry solos they could pull off. “I think they all hated us because they had to play with us in Detroit, where we kicked all their asses,” explained original guitarist Wayne Kramer in the liner notes of the band’s greatest hits compilation, The Big Bang. But these rockabilly roots are barely noticeable under the layers of feedback and vocal chord-cracking screams that scatter MC5’s critically-acclaimed debut album, the 1969 live record Kick Out the Jams.
It’s anything but conventional to choose a live outing to record your first album, but MC5’s back-breaking energy was something that simply couldn’t be contained in the confines of a studio. The band may not have been the appropriate fit out west, but back home in Detroit, they had a rabid following, and with good reason. MC5 put on a show that rivaled the two most intense live bands of the decade – Led Zeppelin and the Who. But while Zeppelin decided to venture into the intricate incubation period of heavy metal and the Who tackled elaborate rock operas, MC5 remained stubbornly gritty, helping pave the way for the beginnings of the punk rock movement.
What made MC5 unique from punk itself were their influences. Instead of drawing from the well of three-chord, two-minute outbursts like the Ramones or the Sex Pistols, they had a much more interesting muse in the soul of Berry and James Brown, and the spacey acid-jazz of Sun Ra. They even close the set with a Ra cover, the eight-and-a-half minute epic, “Starship.”
Kick Out the Jams is a glorious mess. It’s sloppy, crude and unforgiving, but infinitely rewarding. The title track expresses this terrifically with the blood-curdling wails of vocalist Rob Tyner and wall-of-sound riffs of guitarists Kramer and Fred “Sonic” Smith. The album shows that the quintet wasn’t all muscle, either. There’s a certain finesse quality to the appropriately-timed guitar solos in tracks like “Ramblin’ Rose” and “Motor City is Burning,” the latter more a departure into blues territory than anything else present on the record. It’s performances like “Rocket Reducer No. 62 (Rama Lama Fa Fa Fa),” though, that solidify the band’s reputation for pulverizing its audience, and unapologetic self-praise like “Cause I’m a natural man/ I’m a born hell raiser/ And I don’t give a damn” paved the way for years of gangsta rap artists to come. The song comes to a close with another quality unorthodox to punk – a downright electrifying harmony of Smith and Kramer’s dueling guitar skills.
What’s even more impressive is that when MC5 finally garnered the courage to take their sound to the studio, the result was an equally-striking and powerful LP, 1970’s Back in the USA, a record that injected a grimy, trouncing quality to 50’s rock & roll. But it’s generally agreed that neither the MC5 nor most any other band, for that matter, could equal or surpass both the sonic brutality and beauty of Kick Out the Jams.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Music Flashback: The Implosion of Big Star
Originally published in the Lamron (11/13/06)
Big Star began as the musical vessel of young songwriters Alex Chilton and Chris Bell, but almost from the start the two didn’t see eye to eye, perhaps a foreshadowing detail about where the band was eventually headed. On the surface, they were a band of few hits and a brief period of modest success, but their musical evolution through the 70’s provides a very deep and fascinating story. Despite their artistic differences, Chilton and Bell released a fantastic debut album, #1 Record, in 1972. That record contained one of the most enjoyable pop songs ever recorded by a rock band in “The Ballad of El Goodo.” It also included the lovable sing-a-long “In the Street,” a track most people today would recognize more easily as the theme song to the hit television series, “That 70’s Show.” Ironically, it is probably one of the less impressive cuts in their laconic catalog.
Two years later, with almost no contributions from Bell, Big Star churned out Radio City, an equally impressive sophomore effort. Those two initial releases stand out for including some of the utmost wonderfully catchy, exuberant pop songs of the era, equal parts Beatles, Byrds, and Badfinger. But despite gleeful cuts like “I’m in Love with a Girl” and “September Gurls,” Chilton’s increased influence on the direction of the band resulted in a slight resonance of cynicism.
While both of those previous albums may have ultimately been the band’s best work, their third release, 1978’s Third/Sister Lovers, is definitely the most interesting. It truly is the sonic equivalent of a musical mastermind in the midst of a severe nervous breakdown. It is no less than heartbreaking to hear the sheer rapture of their previous albums all but completely erased in turn for the contrasting misery found here. The album finds Chilton defacing all that made his music fun to listen to, to the extreme where he at one point snuck into the studio and recorded the vocals and guitar on the same track so producer Jim Dickinson had no way to separate the two and was forced to use the cut. But somehow, Chilton’s self-mutilation-through-song has the opposite effect, making Big Star’s music, as hopeless as it sounds, that much more fascinating.
The record is every bit as disjointed and haphazard as the Beatles’ White Album, but while that release was more adept musically, Big Star’s is more emotionally poignant. Even through the schizophrenic genre switches, the album retains the same feeling of despair. The upbeat songs even come off sounding quietly sardonic. Their cover of the Kinks’ “Till the End of the Day” twists the already-aggressive tune into a bullying blitzkrieg, and the bizarre “Downs” harbors a performance by Chilton that’s so destructive it’s the only track that’s actually unpleasant to listen to. The seventh song, “Holocaust,” gives new meaning to the term “swan song.” Chilton, who was never a bad singer, seems to have even given up on his voice, letting the verses in some sections droop down into an almost inaudible whisper.
It’s almost impossible to find another example of a band with so much potential implode so spectacularly, with such cinematic drama. What started as such a positive, jubilant project ended with such abrupt and acute defeat. Chilton is still alive today, enjoying a relatively unknown solo career, but what he recorded with Big Star, especially on Third/Sister Lovers, could be one of the saddest stories of emotional desolation, told with such vulnerable honesty, in rock music’s long and deep history.
Big Star began as the musical vessel of young songwriters Alex Chilton and Chris Bell, but almost from the start the two didn’t see eye to eye, perhaps a foreshadowing detail about where the band was eventually headed. On the surface, they were a band of few hits and a brief period of modest success, but their musical evolution through the 70’s provides a very deep and fascinating story. Despite their artistic differences, Chilton and Bell released a fantastic debut album, #1 Record, in 1972. That record contained one of the most enjoyable pop songs ever recorded by a rock band in “The Ballad of El Goodo.” It also included the lovable sing-a-long “In the Street,” a track most people today would recognize more easily as the theme song to the hit television series, “That 70’s Show.” Ironically, it is probably one of the less impressive cuts in their laconic catalog.
Two years later, with almost no contributions from Bell, Big Star churned out Radio City, an equally impressive sophomore effort. Those two initial releases stand out for including some of the utmost wonderfully catchy, exuberant pop songs of the era, equal parts Beatles, Byrds, and Badfinger. But despite gleeful cuts like “I’m in Love with a Girl” and “September Gurls,” Chilton’s increased influence on the direction of the band resulted in a slight resonance of cynicism.
While both of those previous albums may have ultimately been the band’s best work, their third release, 1978’s Third/Sister Lovers, is definitely the most interesting. It truly is the sonic equivalent of a musical mastermind in the midst of a severe nervous breakdown. It is no less than heartbreaking to hear the sheer rapture of their previous albums all but completely erased in turn for the contrasting misery found here. The album finds Chilton defacing all that made his music fun to listen to, to the extreme where he at one point snuck into the studio and recorded the vocals and guitar on the same track so producer Jim Dickinson had no way to separate the two and was forced to use the cut. But somehow, Chilton’s self-mutilation-through-song has the opposite effect, making Big Star’s music, as hopeless as it sounds, that much more fascinating.
The record is every bit as disjointed and haphazard as the Beatles’ White Album, but while that release was more adept musically, Big Star’s is more emotionally poignant. Even through the schizophrenic genre switches, the album retains the same feeling of despair. The upbeat songs even come off sounding quietly sardonic. Their cover of the Kinks’ “Till the End of the Day” twists the already-aggressive tune into a bullying blitzkrieg, and the bizarre “Downs” harbors a performance by Chilton that’s so destructive it’s the only track that’s actually unpleasant to listen to. The seventh song, “Holocaust,” gives new meaning to the term “swan song.” Chilton, who was never a bad singer, seems to have even given up on his voice, letting the verses in some sections droop down into an almost inaudible whisper.
It’s almost impossible to find another example of a band with so much potential implode so spectacularly, with such cinematic drama. What started as such a positive, jubilant project ended with such abrupt and acute defeat. Chilton is still alive today, enjoying a relatively unknown solo career, but what he recorded with Big Star, especially on Third/Sister Lovers, could be one of the saddest stories of emotional desolation, told with such vulnerable honesty, in rock music’s long and deep history.
New faces Annuals break through indie rock boundary
Originally published in the Lamron (11/26/06)
“Indie” is a funny word. Short for “independent,” in musical terms, it means nothing more than a band that, for whatever reason, isn’t signed to a major record label. Yet the word is thrown around like confetti when describing the style of bands like Arcade Fire, Bright Eyes and Sufjan Stevens. Clearly, there is a growing inclination as to what an independent band is supposed to sound like, which is why new arrivals Annuals are such a compelling listen. Their debut album, Be He Me, is dream pop for the new millennium; there are entrancing chants, weightlessness-inducing string arrangements and sweeping harmonies. In short, they don’t let their obscure record label limit their musical output. Not by a long shot.
One can dig deep and find roots in the surf pop of the Beach Boys, the experimental psychedelia of the Flaming Lips, and the progressive avant-garde of Iceland’s Sigur Rós. But then, just when the listener thinks he has their sound tied down, the North Carolina sextet will throw a sonic curveball, like with the fifth track, “Chase You Off,” whose wistful swooping melody is suddenly interrupted by a grizzly guitar chord and some hard rock howling by songwriter Adam Baker. And just like that, the fresh paint that spells out “indie rock” is smeared into an indecipherable blur.
The funny thing with Annuals, though, is they don’t sound like they are trying to say anything profound. Their music is layered and often complex, but not in a pretentious way, and the record gives off the impression they are just a bunch of friends that love music and are having fun in the studio. Records lacking this characteristic show the most common symptom of indie rockitus. Too often, these young kids try so hard to change the world they forget to enjoy themselves. Baker’s band will likely never change the world, but their music sure is a blast to listen to. In this respect, Baker, at 20 years of age, is a more mature songwriter than many of his older contemporaries.
From the dash of Caribbean flavor in “The Bull, and the Goat” to the Middle-Eastern sitar that highlights “Mama,” nearly all the bases are covered by Annuals. Listeners looking for the revelatory insight of Conor Oberst might be disappointed by the careless liberties the band takes with their music, but that would be approaching Be He Me all wrong. The music isn’t about elucidation or self-examination; they are one of those bands that try to create a landscape with their songs, and Be He Me is the Bahamas of the musical world. If this comparison seems strange, stop reading now and listen to the final track, “Sway.” It will make a true believer out of the most doubtful critics.
The opening of Annuals’ fourth track, “Carry Around,” has a completely delirious-sounding Baker screaming, “I got magic in my head, magic up my nose, magic coming out my fingers, magic crying out my eyes.” As nonsensical as the claim is, his feverish zeal makes it easy to believe him anyway. He shows no barrier of reticence to filter his passions, and neither does the rest of the band. This record is such a joy to the ear it makes one forget the political and cultural uses music has come to wield today and brings the listener back to a simpler time when songs were meant solely to make people happy. Did such a time ever exist? It doesn’t matter, because it’s the only world Annuals know. And if nothing else, that’s the only reason one needs to listen to this album. It makes people happy.
“Indie” is a funny word. Short for “independent,” in musical terms, it means nothing more than a band that, for whatever reason, isn’t signed to a major record label. Yet the word is thrown around like confetti when describing the style of bands like Arcade Fire, Bright Eyes and Sufjan Stevens. Clearly, there is a growing inclination as to what an independent band is supposed to sound like, which is why new arrivals Annuals are such a compelling listen. Their debut album, Be He Me, is dream pop for the new millennium; there are entrancing chants, weightlessness-inducing string arrangements and sweeping harmonies. In short, they don’t let their obscure record label limit their musical output. Not by a long shot.
One can dig deep and find roots in the surf pop of the Beach Boys, the experimental psychedelia of the Flaming Lips, and the progressive avant-garde of Iceland’s Sigur Rós. But then, just when the listener thinks he has their sound tied down, the North Carolina sextet will throw a sonic curveball, like with the fifth track, “Chase You Off,” whose wistful swooping melody is suddenly interrupted by a grizzly guitar chord and some hard rock howling by songwriter Adam Baker. And just like that, the fresh paint that spells out “indie rock” is smeared into an indecipherable blur.
The funny thing with Annuals, though, is they don’t sound like they are trying to say anything profound. Their music is layered and often complex, but not in a pretentious way, and the record gives off the impression they are just a bunch of friends that love music and are having fun in the studio. Records lacking this characteristic show the most common symptom of indie rockitus. Too often, these young kids try so hard to change the world they forget to enjoy themselves. Baker’s band will likely never change the world, but their music sure is a blast to listen to. In this respect, Baker, at 20 years of age, is a more mature songwriter than many of his older contemporaries.
From the dash of Caribbean flavor in “The Bull, and the Goat” to the Middle-Eastern sitar that highlights “Mama,” nearly all the bases are covered by Annuals. Listeners looking for the revelatory insight of Conor Oberst might be disappointed by the careless liberties the band takes with their music, but that would be approaching Be He Me all wrong. The music isn’t about elucidation or self-examination; they are one of those bands that try to create a landscape with their songs, and Be He Me is the Bahamas of the musical world. If this comparison seems strange, stop reading now and listen to the final track, “Sway.” It will make a true believer out of the most doubtful critics.
The opening of Annuals’ fourth track, “Carry Around,” has a completely delirious-sounding Baker screaming, “I got magic in my head, magic up my nose, magic coming out my fingers, magic crying out my eyes.” As nonsensical as the claim is, his feverish zeal makes it easy to believe him anyway. He shows no barrier of reticence to filter his passions, and neither does the rest of the band. This record is such a joy to the ear it makes one forget the political and cultural uses music has come to wield today and brings the listener back to a simpler time when songs were meant solely to make people happy. Did such a time ever exist? It doesn’t matter, because it’s the only world Annuals know. And if nothing else, that’s the only reason one needs to listen to this album. It makes people happy.
DiFranco’s Reprieve predictable, for better or for worse
Originally published in the Lamron (10/1/06)
Ani DiFranco opens her new record, Reprieve, with the now-nearly-cliché introductory line that sounds as if she is in mid-sentence and the listener is just now entering the conversation. “So that’s how you found me,” she declares in the starting track, “Hypnotized” – a sonically sparse folk item in a mellow tone, and also not a good representation of the album as a whole.
There is a fundamental problem in young folk singers like her, in that the niche they fall into is so inflexible, listeners know what to expect from them before they even pop in the disc. DiFranco doesn’t quite avoid this pitfall entirely, but her spin certainly does add new flavor to the typical folk-rock sound. She has a voice that is both innocent and courageous, and her acoustic guitar dances resiliently from track to track, managing most of the time to sound unsullied and authentic. This helps minimize critical dismissal of the album as just another elaboration on Joni Mitchell and Joan Baez.
DiFranco definitely has a musical theme running here. In front of the reverberating twang of her guitar and the rushing sway of the bass, she sounds as if she’s singing to the raindrops running down the window on a stormy afternoon, and she has the sensibility to make the occasional additions of harpsichord, organ, and string instruments sound subtle and appropriate. This atmosphere works best on the second track, “Subconscious,” which has certain roots in the off-kilter intro of Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young’s “Déjà Vu.”
While DiFranco sets the stage for some very good folk rock, she runs into problems with her delivery, particularly when she tries to pull off the “tough girl” image; her snarly crooning almost always comes off sounding more like a sad Avril Lavigne clone. Luckily for her, there is a general trend of placidness on the album that doesn’t call for that style too much. But that doesn’t explain some unforgivably pedestrian imagery in her writing, like with “In the Margins,” where she sings, “You are a rare bird/The kind I wouldn’t mind/Writing in the margins of my books” (which is too bad, because it mars a particularly nice acoustic melody). Even worse, the spoken poetry of the title track fails miserably at making any sort of impression on the listener.
She has a tendency – the laughably-titled “78% H20” comes to mind – to overwhelm the listener with forced subtext. And what would a DiFranco record be without reoccurring messages about sexism, feminism, and individuality. Reprieve does an admittedly formidable job of avoiding the estrogenical overload of some of her alternative-rock contemporaries but can’t help at times from falling into the sticky stereotype of the female folk singer.
Ultimately, it all goes back to that fundamental problem DiFranco faces before she even begins recording: how do you pleasantly surprise your audience? There are really no surprises on Reprieve; it will probably please the fans that have followed her since her self-titled debut over ten years ago, but does little to reveal the artist as much more than “just another face” in the folk-rock crowd.
Ani DiFranco opens her new record, Reprieve, with the now-nearly-cliché introductory line that sounds as if she is in mid-sentence and the listener is just now entering the conversation. “So that’s how you found me,” she declares in the starting track, “Hypnotized” – a sonically sparse folk item in a mellow tone, and also not a good representation of the album as a whole.
There is a fundamental problem in young folk singers like her, in that the niche they fall into is so inflexible, listeners know what to expect from them before they even pop in the disc. DiFranco doesn’t quite avoid this pitfall entirely, but her spin certainly does add new flavor to the typical folk-rock sound. She has a voice that is both innocent and courageous, and her acoustic guitar dances resiliently from track to track, managing most of the time to sound unsullied and authentic. This helps minimize critical dismissal of the album as just another elaboration on Joni Mitchell and Joan Baez.
DiFranco definitely has a musical theme running here. In front of the reverberating twang of her guitar and the rushing sway of the bass, she sounds as if she’s singing to the raindrops running down the window on a stormy afternoon, and she has the sensibility to make the occasional additions of harpsichord, organ, and string instruments sound subtle and appropriate. This atmosphere works best on the second track, “Subconscious,” which has certain roots in the off-kilter intro of Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young’s “Déjà Vu.”
While DiFranco sets the stage for some very good folk rock, she runs into problems with her delivery, particularly when she tries to pull off the “tough girl” image; her snarly crooning almost always comes off sounding more like a sad Avril Lavigne clone. Luckily for her, there is a general trend of placidness on the album that doesn’t call for that style too much. But that doesn’t explain some unforgivably pedestrian imagery in her writing, like with “In the Margins,” where she sings, “You are a rare bird/The kind I wouldn’t mind/Writing in the margins of my books” (which is too bad, because it mars a particularly nice acoustic melody). Even worse, the spoken poetry of the title track fails miserably at making any sort of impression on the listener.
She has a tendency – the laughably-titled “78% H20” comes to mind – to overwhelm the listener with forced subtext. And what would a DiFranco record be without reoccurring messages about sexism, feminism, and individuality. Reprieve does an admittedly formidable job of avoiding the estrogenical overload of some of her alternative-rock contemporaries but can’t help at times from falling into the sticky stereotype of the female folk singer.
Ultimately, it all goes back to that fundamental problem DiFranco faces before she even begins recording: how do you pleasantly surprise your audience? There are really no surprises on Reprieve; it will probably please the fans that have followed her since her self-titled debut over ten years ago, but does little to reveal the artist as much more than “just another face” in the folk-rock crowd.
Album Review: Vampire Weekend
Originally published in the Lamron (2/21/08)
Vampire Weekend’s Web site states the following declaration: “The name of this band is Vampire Weekend. We are specialists in the following styles: ‘Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa’, ‘Upper West Side Soweto’, ‘Campus’, and ‘Oxford Comma Riddim.’ Self-proclaiming names for their musical styles, especially for a band whose debut album isn’t even a month old, is so arrogant it’s actually amusing. But while a better name for their style might be “Paul Simon’s Graceland Mimicry,” this bold cockiness is what they aim for. It’s that kind of tongue-in-cheek humor that makes this New York City quartet so fun and fresh.
Vampire Weekend, the band’s self-titled debut released late in January, takes its international influences and runs with them. “Oxford Comma” sounds like the Artic Monkeys after sharing a joint and a jam session with the late Peter Tosh. “A-Punk,” alternatively, speeds up the tempo to a Ska-pace while adding “Strawberry Fields”-esque flute arrangements. The band does indulge its roots in the city, though, like when frontman Ezra Koenig (what a great name for a musician) sings on “Walcott,” “All the way to New Jersey/All the way to the Garden State/Out of Cape Cod tonight.”
But the true Weekend trip is to Africa with a lot of driving music to the aforementioned Paul Simon. “Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa” is where Weekend really start to show their adoration for Simon’s exploration into Worldbeat and South African mbaqanga music. It immediately sounds like “Crazy Love” Vol. III (the track on Graceland is already labeled “Vol. II”).
The similarities between the two albums are often enough to question Weekend’s sincerity. But it’s the strangeness of this marriage with indie rock that keeps things afloat. While everybody in the indie scene is either reviving The Velvet Underground or impersonating Robert Smith, Afro-pop, of all things, has become the untapped resource that is bringing Vampire Weekend success.
Though, Vampire Weekend isn’t perfect (how could it be?). As if the band is self-conscious of their distinctive sound, they water it down on a few tracks, resulting in some stale, cookie-cutter throwaways (“Bryn,” a shadow of an attempt at a Shins song, is nearly saved by a fun guitar riff). Additionally, there is a lingering feeling behind the songs that Vampire Weekend proposes a great idea for a band, but it will likely take a bit of maturing before that idea is fully realized. There are too many close calls and “not quites” to make this a great debut instead of merely a very good one.
Nevertheless, Vampire Weekend is America’s answer to the Arctic Monkeys. Their thrifty, city sound, while not really punkish, is a smooth counterweight to the Monkeys’ mod revival. Resourceful and adept while remaining playful partiers, Vampire Weekend are an out-of-left-field hit manifested by a culmination of blog buzz and word-of-mouth. It’s a leap out of the gates with enough promise to suggest this is not just a one-trick pony.
Vampire Weekend’s Web site states the following declaration: “The name of this band is Vampire Weekend. We are specialists in the following styles: ‘Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa’, ‘Upper West Side Soweto’, ‘Campus’, and ‘Oxford Comma Riddim.’ Self-proclaiming names for their musical styles, especially for a band whose debut album isn’t even a month old, is so arrogant it’s actually amusing. But while a better name for their style might be “Paul Simon’s Graceland Mimicry,” this bold cockiness is what they aim for. It’s that kind of tongue-in-cheek humor that makes this New York City quartet so fun and fresh.
Vampire Weekend, the band’s self-titled debut released late in January, takes its international influences and runs with them. “Oxford Comma” sounds like the Artic Monkeys after sharing a joint and a jam session with the late Peter Tosh. “A-Punk,” alternatively, speeds up the tempo to a Ska-pace while adding “Strawberry Fields”-esque flute arrangements. The band does indulge its roots in the city, though, like when frontman Ezra Koenig (what a great name for a musician) sings on “Walcott,” “All the way to New Jersey/All the way to the Garden State/Out of Cape Cod tonight.”
But the true Weekend trip is to Africa with a lot of driving music to the aforementioned Paul Simon. “Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa” is where Weekend really start to show their adoration for Simon’s exploration into Worldbeat and South African mbaqanga music. It immediately sounds like “Crazy Love” Vol. III (the track on Graceland is already labeled “Vol. II”).
The similarities between the two albums are often enough to question Weekend’s sincerity. But it’s the strangeness of this marriage with indie rock that keeps things afloat. While everybody in the indie scene is either reviving The Velvet Underground or impersonating Robert Smith, Afro-pop, of all things, has become the untapped resource that is bringing Vampire Weekend success.
Though, Vampire Weekend isn’t perfect (how could it be?). As if the band is self-conscious of their distinctive sound, they water it down on a few tracks, resulting in some stale, cookie-cutter throwaways (“Bryn,” a shadow of an attempt at a Shins song, is nearly saved by a fun guitar riff). Additionally, there is a lingering feeling behind the songs that Vampire Weekend proposes a great idea for a band, but it will likely take a bit of maturing before that idea is fully realized. There are too many close calls and “not quites” to make this a great debut instead of merely a very good one.
Nevertheless, Vampire Weekend is America’s answer to the Arctic Monkeys. Their thrifty, city sound, while not really punkish, is a smooth counterweight to the Monkeys’ mod revival. Resourceful and adept while remaining playful partiers, Vampire Weekend are an out-of-left-field hit manifested by a culmination of blog buzz and word-of-mouth. It’s a leap out of the gates with enough promise to suggest this is not just a one-trick pony.
Music Review: R.E.M., Accelerate
Originally published in the Lamron (4/24/08)
What a romantic idea: deeply-loved 80s college rock band rebounds after repeated failures with fresh new album that reinvents them. It’s easy to get lost in this fairy tale when listening to R.E.M.’s new release, Accelerate. But unfortunately for Michael Stipe and company, the band doesn’t quite get off that easy.
Ever since original drummer Bill Berry quit the band in 1997, R.E.M. has never seemed to quite pick up the pieces and deliver the next dandy of mandolin-jangle rock candy that everyone knows they are capable of. With Accelerate, R.E.M. does manage a sweet victory in that they finally sound like a cohesive band again. The album is blunt, to-the-point (at 36 minutes there sure isn’t any flab to cut off) and focused. Stipe’s voice has resisted the withering of age gallantly, and the three original members sound like they are enjoying themselves. Yet amongst all this, Accelerate simply manages to be good. No more, no less.
R.E.M. were late peakers, relatively. Their best album (among many great albums) was 1992’s Automatic for the People, a record that, in this writer’s opinion, stands as one of the greatest rock albums of all time. It took the poppy gallop of early gems Murmur and Reckoning and twisted it into a dark, sarcastic snicker tinged with themes of mortality and loss. But most of all, it was breathtakingly consistent – not a single song failed to be memorable.
Accelerate is the opposite. R.E.M. is a great band, and like all great bands, they will always be reliable to write great songs. Accelerate’s nuggets are made all the more obvious by its contrastingly sub-par tracks. They are memorable because there are less of them. Take “Sing for the Submarine,” a scarlet waltz of building momentum. It’s a beautiful song, and it’s sandwiched between the cheery yet two-dimensional “Mr. Richards” and the just plain forgettable “Horse to Water.” For another example, take the opening of the album. “Living Well is the Best Revenge” boasts the album’s one great guitar riff, and “Man-Sized Wreath” follows it up with a tumbling, gleeful, bass-led melody. But two tracks later is “Hollow Man,” which is, well, hollow.
Accelerate is a bittersweet release for R.E.M. It is, if such a thing is possible, an encouraging disappointment. Listening to it, especially at its better moments, makes you long for the memories of the band’s past masterpieces. After listening to Accelerate for the first time, I immediately popped in Automatic for the People just to remind myself how great this band truly is (or, if you’re a pessimist, was). But Accelerate is encouraging because it signals that the band is finally on the right track. It’s hardly fair to expect the band to make another Automatic or Reckoning, but if Accelerate accomplishes anything, it confirms the band is once again a momentous force. Expect its followup to be even better.
What a romantic idea: deeply-loved 80s college rock band rebounds after repeated failures with fresh new album that reinvents them. It’s easy to get lost in this fairy tale when listening to R.E.M.’s new release, Accelerate. But unfortunately for Michael Stipe and company, the band doesn’t quite get off that easy.
Ever since original drummer Bill Berry quit the band in 1997, R.E.M. has never seemed to quite pick up the pieces and deliver the next dandy of mandolin-jangle rock candy that everyone knows they are capable of. With Accelerate, R.E.M. does manage a sweet victory in that they finally sound like a cohesive band again. The album is blunt, to-the-point (at 36 minutes there sure isn’t any flab to cut off) and focused. Stipe’s voice has resisted the withering of age gallantly, and the three original members sound like they are enjoying themselves. Yet amongst all this, Accelerate simply manages to be good. No more, no less.
R.E.M. were late peakers, relatively. Their best album (among many great albums) was 1992’s Automatic for the People, a record that, in this writer’s opinion, stands as one of the greatest rock albums of all time. It took the poppy gallop of early gems Murmur and Reckoning and twisted it into a dark, sarcastic snicker tinged with themes of mortality and loss. But most of all, it was breathtakingly consistent – not a single song failed to be memorable.
Accelerate is the opposite. R.E.M. is a great band, and like all great bands, they will always be reliable to write great songs. Accelerate’s nuggets are made all the more obvious by its contrastingly sub-par tracks. They are memorable because there are less of them. Take “Sing for the Submarine,” a scarlet waltz of building momentum. It’s a beautiful song, and it’s sandwiched between the cheery yet two-dimensional “Mr. Richards” and the just plain forgettable “Horse to Water.” For another example, take the opening of the album. “Living Well is the Best Revenge” boasts the album’s one great guitar riff, and “Man-Sized Wreath” follows it up with a tumbling, gleeful, bass-led melody. But two tracks later is “Hollow Man,” which is, well, hollow.
Accelerate is a bittersweet release for R.E.M. It is, if such a thing is possible, an encouraging disappointment. Listening to it, especially at its better moments, makes you long for the memories of the band’s past masterpieces. After listening to Accelerate for the first time, I immediately popped in Automatic for the People just to remind myself how great this band truly is (or, if you’re a pessimist, was). But Accelerate is encouraging because it signals that the band is finally on the right track. It’s hardly fair to expect the band to make another Automatic or Reckoning, but if Accelerate accomplishes anything, it confirms the band is once again a momentous force. Expect its followup to be even better.
Hypunkracy!
Originally published in the Lamron (9/13/07)
There once was a time when the biggest punk band in the world could put out a record with influences in reggae, blues, and Chuck Berry and it would be looked upon as the greatest punk rock album of all time.
It’s been a long time since the Clash released their legendary album London Calling, and even longer in terms of musical evolution (or de-evolution) since then. But 28 years is only a generation’s length; have Joe Strummer and Mick Jones taught their children so poorly?
In short, what passes today as punk rock bares little to no resemblance to the origin of the twisted genre, hard rock’s uglier, bitterer younger brother. In fact, in all this time, it has more closely come to personify that which punk music so deftly fought against: the homogeny and standardization of popular culture, particularly in America. If the high school hard rockers were the ones spiking the juice at prom and scalping Deep Purple tickets, the punks were setting fires and starting riots. But what we have now are lots of eye-liner and cracked, semi-pubescent voices singing laments about lost loved ones.
In a way, early punk rock wasn’t too different in its ideals than the hippy movement. Both focused on individuality and rebellion from the common standard. But unlike the hippies, punks were intent on actually accomplishing something. The genre was more of an attitude than a style, so fringe artists like Iggy Pop or Television could appropriately fall under the category. That hierarchy has flip-flopped, though. If a dejected teen dresses in black and silver chains because he gets made fun of by the polo-wearing Hollister regulars at school, than Mr. Hollister would feel equally uncomfortable and rejected had he stumbled into a Misfits concert, say. What began as a melting pot of styles and personalities has now focused into a neat, tidy little clique no better or worse than the collar poppers.
The biggest problem is what’s on the horizon. Who are the young artists to save punk music (some say it’s already dead) from complete and utter assimilation? Heavy metal has Mastodon, the blues have Jack White and John Mayer, but punk, worse than any other offshoot of rock, is in desperate need of a miracle worker. If global unrest is the key ingredient in honest, raw punk, than the landscape is fertile. To whoever plants the first tree: there’s a lot of us waiting.
There once was a time when the biggest punk band in the world could put out a record with influences in reggae, blues, and Chuck Berry and it would be looked upon as the greatest punk rock album of all time.
It’s been a long time since the Clash released their legendary album London Calling, and even longer in terms of musical evolution (or de-evolution) since then. But 28 years is only a generation’s length; have Joe Strummer and Mick Jones taught their children so poorly?
In short, what passes today as punk rock bares little to no resemblance to the origin of the twisted genre, hard rock’s uglier, bitterer younger brother. In fact, in all this time, it has more closely come to personify that which punk music so deftly fought against: the homogeny and standardization of popular culture, particularly in America. If the high school hard rockers were the ones spiking the juice at prom and scalping Deep Purple tickets, the punks were setting fires and starting riots. But what we have now are lots of eye-liner and cracked, semi-pubescent voices singing laments about lost loved ones.
In a way, early punk rock wasn’t too different in its ideals than the hippy movement. Both focused on individuality and rebellion from the common standard. But unlike the hippies, punks were intent on actually accomplishing something. The genre was more of an attitude than a style, so fringe artists like Iggy Pop or Television could appropriately fall under the category. That hierarchy has flip-flopped, though. If a dejected teen dresses in black and silver chains because he gets made fun of by the polo-wearing Hollister regulars at school, than Mr. Hollister would feel equally uncomfortable and rejected had he stumbled into a Misfits concert, say. What began as a melting pot of styles and personalities has now focused into a neat, tidy little clique no better or worse than the collar poppers.
The biggest problem is what’s on the horizon. Who are the young artists to save punk music (some say it’s already dead) from complete and utter assimilation? Heavy metal has Mastodon, the blues have Jack White and John Mayer, but punk, worse than any other offshoot of rock, is in desperate need of a miracle worker. If global unrest is the key ingredient in honest, raw punk, than the landscape is fertile. To whoever plants the first tree: there’s a lot of us waiting.
Concert Review: Derek Trucks, Waterstreet Music Hall - November 12 2008,
Originally published in The Lamron (11/15/07)
A fog encircled the stage like an aqueous shell at Water Street on Monday as hundreds of plastered patrons crammed into the Rochester venue to witness acute talent Derek Trucks turn his Gibson SG into a child’s plaything. Rounded out by singer Mike Mattison, who sounds like a raspier John Mayer, bassist Todd Smallie, drummer Yonrico Scott, percussionist Count M’Butu and multi-talent Kofi Burbridge, the Derek Trucks Band played a seminal series of blues numbers and jam sequences over the course of a night of songs, smoke and spirits.
Built heavily around the band’s most recent (and strongest) studio record to date, Songlines, the Derek Trucks Band rocked incessantly for two strong hours of blues, eastern influences and slide guitar madness. Unfortunately, the fortitude of Trucks’ songs, themselves, just doesn’t hold up to the timelessness of his other band, the Allman Brothers. While Trucks pulled no punches, there just wasn’t quite enough variety, particularly in the middle portion of the show, to match the passionate individual performances, and at times the set even threatened to stumble into the realm of muddled instrumental noodling. That doesn’t mean the band wasn’t able to pull off some showstoppers, like the phenomenal rendition of blues legend Elmore James’ “It Hurts Me Too” as well as Songlines standouts “Volunteered Slavery” and an extended version of “Mahjoun” that showed off Burbridge’s exceptional flute-playing skills.
Luckily, the band got a shot of youthful exuberance for the finale as the opening act, Ryan Shaw, joined the stage to sing along with Trucks’ wailing electric expressionism. Shaw’s vocal talent simply has to be witnessed in person to be believed. Boasting a background in gospel, he matched Trucks’ twisting guitar lines lick for lick, drawing even more energy from the crowd with his maddening howl and staggering vocal range. Members of Shaw’s backing band, particularly his massive, lumbering bassist (aptly named “Tiny”) also added some surprising highlights to the show.
There is no denying Trucks’ talent, and as his career blossoms he proves more and more that he’s much more than just a replacement for a long-gone legend (Duane Allman). While the band’s songs themselves may have been lacking in character on Monday, the lineup found a way to compensate with a collective enthusiasm and unparalleled musical ability.
A fog encircled the stage like an aqueous shell at Water Street on Monday as hundreds of plastered patrons crammed into the Rochester venue to witness acute talent Derek Trucks turn his Gibson SG into a child’s plaything. Rounded out by singer Mike Mattison, who sounds like a raspier John Mayer, bassist Todd Smallie, drummer Yonrico Scott, percussionist Count M’Butu and multi-talent Kofi Burbridge, the Derek Trucks Band played a seminal series of blues numbers and jam sequences over the course of a night of songs, smoke and spirits.
Built heavily around the band’s most recent (and strongest) studio record to date, Songlines, the Derek Trucks Band rocked incessantly for two strong hours of blues, eastern influences and slide guitar madness. Unfortunately, the fortitude of Trucks’ songs, themselves, just doesn’t hold up to the timelessness of his other band, the Allman Brothers. While Trucks pulled no punches, there just wasn’t quite enough variety, particularly in the middle portion of the show, to match the passionate individual performances, and at times the set even threatened to stumble into the realm of muddled instrumental noodling. That doesn’t mean the band wasn’t able to pull off some showstoppers, like the phenomenal rendition of blues legend Elmore James’ “It Hurts Me Too” as well as Songlines standouts “Volunteered Slavery” and an extended version of “Mahjoun” that showed off Burbridge’s exceptional flute-playing skills.
Luckily, the band got a shot of youthful exuberance for the finale as the opening act, Ryan Shaw, joined the stage to sing along with Trucks’ wailing electric expressionism. Shaw’s vocal talent simply has to be witnessed in person to be believed. Boasting a background in gospel, he matched Trucks’ twisting guitar lines lick for lick, drawing even more energy from the crowd with his maddening howl and staggering vocal range. Members of Shaw’s backing band, particularly his massive, lumbering bassist (aptly named “Tiny”) also added some surprising highlights to the show.
There is no denying Trucks’ talent, and as his career blossoms he proves more and more that he’s much more than just a replacement for a long-gone legend (Duane Allman). While the band’s songs themselves may have been lacking in character on Monday, the lineup found a way to compensate with a collective enthusiasm and unparalleled musical ability.
Boundry-breaking Mars Volta stumble with third studio album
Originally published in the Lamron (10/17/06)
From their tenure as captains of the post-hardcore, indie vessel At the Drive-In to their recent psychedelic space-rock project The Mars Volta, the musical dynamic of Omar Rodriguez-Lopez and Cedric Bixler has always been about a sharp unpredictability, a revolving door into a musical world never before heard. And up until this year, they have been wildly successful, if a bit overlooked, at their goal. With the release this year of The Mars Volta’s latest studio album, Amputechture, the duo finds themselves in a realm they have valiantly avoided until now – familiarity. And while for any other young band this might just be the case of a group settling into their sound, The Mars Volta were never about that, and the streaks of prosaic predictability found on this disc are unsettling.
The opening track, “Vicarious Atonement” (a surprisingly straightforward title considering who we are talking about here), simply never gets off the ground. It is more of an atmospheric intro to the album than a full-fledged song, and at seven-plus minutes, this meddling is simply inexcusable. Compare this to the opening track of their last album, Frances the Mute; it opens with a mysterious acoustic melody before exploding into a gargantuan and complex guitar riff that blows the listener away. There’s no sense of urgency like that here – it’s as if the band recorded the album while in a trance, occasionally being subjected to brief electric shocks that are represented by the spattering of energy occasionally strewn about.
For a 76-minute album, there is just not enough going on. That’s not to say there isn’t the typically-superb musicianship one comes to expect from the band – the mind-bending time signatures are still there, as are the winding, careening guitar gymnastics courtesy mostly of Red Hot Chili Pepper John Frusciante – but the album seems stale at times, something all too glaring from a band bent on stuffing as much substance into their music as humanly possible. There is an overabundance of free-jazz saxophones and long sections of music that seem to have no direction. “Tetragrammaton,” for example, starts off with a wonderful melody accompanied by Bixler’s wolf-like howl, only to self-distruct into a steaming stew of distortion and white noise six minutes in. It finally picks up into a downright fabulous guitar solo later, but this is a song that is close to seventeen minutes long, and the occasional lapses of muscle grate on the listener after a while.
The only song on the album that shows that Rodriguez-Lopez and Bixler haven’t totally forgotten how to throw inhibition to the wind and just rock out is the seventh track, “Day of the Baphomets,” a musical enigma of seismic proportions, more of a schizophrenic medley of artistic genius then a single rock song. If nothing else, this song confirms that the band “still has it,” even if they have curiously avoided showing it for the remaining portions of the album. This reality is very frustrating for the listener, because everyone knows what these musicians are capable of if only they can manage to put aside their collective vanity long enough. Here’s hoping they learn to do it next time.
From their tenure as captains of the post-hardcore, indie vessel At the Drive-In to their recent psychedelic space-rock project The Mars Volta, the musical dynamic of Omar Rodriguez-Lopez and Cedric Bixler has always been about a sharp unpredictability, a revolving door into a musical world never before heard. And up until this year, they have been wildly successful, if a bit overlooked, at their goal. With the release this year of The Mars Volta’s latest studio album, Amputechture, the duo finds themselves in a realm they have valiantly avoided until now – familiarity. And while for any other young band this might just be the case of a group settling into their sound, The Mars Volta were never about that, and the streaks of prosaic predictability found on this disc are unsettling.
The opening track, “Vicarious Atonement” (a surprisingly straightforward title considering who we are talking about here), simply never gets off the ground. It is more of an atmospheric intro to the album than a full-fledged song, and at seven-plus minutes, this meddling is simply inexcusable. Compare this to the opening track of their last album, Frances the Mute; it opens with a mysterious acoustic melody before exploding into a gargantuan and complex guitar riff that blows the listener away. There’s no sense of urgency like that here – it’s as if the band recorded the album while in a trance, occasionally being subjected to brief electric shocks that are represented by the spattering of energy occasionally strewn about.
For a 76-minute album, there is just not enough going on. That’s not to say there isn’t the typically-superb musicianship one comes to expect from the band – the mind-bending time signatures are still there, as are the winding, careening guitar gymnastics courtesy mostly of Red Hot Chili Pepper John Frusciante – but the album seems stale at times, something all too glaring from a band bent on stuffing as much substance into their music as humanly possible. There is an overabundance of free-jazz saxophones and long sections of music that seem to have no direction. “Tetragrammaton,” for example, starts off with a wonderful melody accompanied by Bixler’s wolf-like howl, only to self-distruct into a steaming stew of distortion and white noise six minutes in. It finally picks up into a downright fabulous guitar solo later, but this is a song that is close to seventeen minutes long, and the occasional lapses of muscle grate on the listener after a while.
The only song on the album that shows that Rodriguez-Lopez and Bixler haven’t totally forgotten how to throw inhibition to the wind and just rock out is the seventh track, “Day of the Baphomets,” a musical enigma of seismic proportions, more of a schizophrenic medley of artistic genius then a single rock song. If nothing else, this song confirms that the band “still has it,” even if they have curiously avoided showing it for the remaining portions of the album. This reality is very frustrating for the listener, because everyone knows what these musicians are capable of if only they can manage to put aside their collective vanity long enough. Here’s hoping they learn to do it next time.
Songs of the Slave Triangle
Originally published in the Livingston County News (3/1/08)
Geneseo‘s Glenn McClure has helped turn a libretto about the “traingle of the slave trade“ into a multi-national, student-produced opera.
Imoinda, written by Joan Amin-Addo and based on the 17th century novel, Oroonoko, is set to debut on Thursday, May 1 at the School of the Arts in Rochester. It will run until Sunday, May 4. Constructed almost solely by high school students from the School of the Arts, the creation of Imoinda began with a simple conversation between McClure and Geneseo English professor Maria Lima.
Lima, who has been teaching Oroonoko to her Humanities II classes for over ten years, presented the libretto to McClure, who was immediately engaged.
“The libretto [is] so rich with history, imagery and beautiful language, that students of all ethnic backgrounds found something to get excited about,” said McClure.
Imoinda tells the tale of an African princess that is torn from her land during the Atlantic slave trade. Lima, who helped land the school a grant from The New York State Music Fund that made the project possible, said that after first reading the libretto, she “would not rest until seeing it produced.”
She lists its central themes as “the strength of the Caribbean woman, the survival of African diasporic peoples, and the creolization of the new world.”
Coincidentally, McClure was already planning a project that links students in America, England and Ghana in an attempt to study their corresponding histories in the slave trade. “It was the perfect fit,” McClure beamed. The two ideas were combined, and the opera of Imoinda was born.
The production is vastly different from typical high school plays. McClure composed the music (a mix of Caribbean, European and African styles), but writing and production credits belong almost solely to the School of the Arts community. In addition, the Rochester school has been in contact with schools in England and Ghana, and communication between the three has both shaped the progress of the project and will result in a multitude of feedback via online video.
McClure’s brother Wes Kennison, who assisted McClure on a student play in Buffalo last year that centered around the life of Galileo, described these kinds of projects as what is called “arts in education.” The term focuses on the idea of a piece of art that educates as well as stimulates the senses. While many people have a view of the artist as a “lonely isolated genius,” said Kennison, many historical artists like Michelangelo and Leonardo were actually in “constant negotiation with the community.” The idea of an artist creating for the benefit of the community is something that these arts in education projects aim to accomplish.
McClure’s Galileo oratorio, entitled “The Starry Messenger,” gained large critical acclaim last year and was featured at length on NPR’s radio segment, “All Things Considered.” It broke time barriers, which allowed famous historical figures like Aristotle, Einstein and Rosa Parks to all inhabit the same space on stage.
Student participation in Imoinda has grown extremely enthusiastic since its preparatory period. As McClure had hoped, the very subject matter of the opera has sparked conversation among the high schoolers about the importance of acceptance and the issues of racial inequalities.
Even casting the opera was not without its racial hurdles. Students struggled with the decision of either casting actors using accurate skin colors or making the roles “colorblind.” They eventually settled on a compromise, keeping the main characters’ skin tones accurate to the libretto while leaving all other spots open to anyone. As Kennison proudly described, it was a just one of the many challenges that the students recognized and solved completely on their own.
BriAnna Collier, a student at the School of the Arts who is involved with promoting Imoinda, suggested that the embracement of the opera by the students could be equated to its subject matter. “It’s really serious; not all slaves were African American. It really helps to understand the problems with different races.”
Another student, Daniel Broadus, called it “a learning experience for performers and viewers – a historical lesson.”
Kennison describes his brother as a performing musician who never wanted to move to a major city. According to the web site for McClure Productions Inc., McClure is known widely for his integration of ethnic music traditions into classical music. Among his many achievements, he offers 500-600 concerts and workshops annually and has done field research alongside Geneseo music professor James Kimball.
Imoinda will be performed at 7 p.m. from May 1 – 4, and also at 2 p.m. on May 3 and 4. Tickets can be purchased at the School of the Arts or at the Wegmans’ ticket counter.
Geneseo‘s Glenn McClure has helped turn a libretto about the “traingle of the slave trade“ into a multi-national, student-produced opera.
Imoinda, written by Joan Amin-Addo and based on the 17th century novel, Oroonoko, is set to debut on Thursday, May 1 at the School of the Arts in Rochester. It will run until Sunday, May 4. Constructed almost solely by high school students from the School of the Arts, the creation of Imoinda began with a simple conversation between McClure and Geneseo English professor Maria Lima.
Lima, who has been teaching Oroonoko to her Humanities II classes for over ten years, presented the libretto to McClure, who was immediately engaged.
“The libretto [is] so rich with history, imagery and beautiful language, that students of all ethnic backgrounds found something to get excited about,” said McClure.
Imoinda tells the tale of an African princess that is torn from her land during the Atlantic slave trade. Lima, who helped land the school a grant from The New York State Music Fund that made the project possible, said that after first reading the libretto, she “would not rest until seeing it produced.”
She lists its central themes as “the strength of the Caribbean woman, the survival of African diasporic peoples, and the creolization of the new world.”
Coincidentally, McClure was already planning a project that links students in America, England and Ghana in an attempt to study their corresponding histories in the slave trade. “It was the perfect fit,” McClure beamed. The two ideas were combined, and the opera of Imoinda was born.
The production is vastly different from typical high school plays. McClure composed the music (a mix of Caribbean, European and African styles), but writing and production credits belong almost solely to the School of the Arts community. In addition, the Rochester school has been in contact with schools in England and Ghana, and communication between the three has both shaped the progress of the project and will result in a multitude of feedback via online video.
McClure’s brother Wes Kennison, who assisted McClure on a student play in Buffalo last year that centered around the life of Galileo, described these kinds of projects as what is called “arts in education.” The term focuses on the idea of a piece of art that educates as well as stimulates the senses. While many people have a view of the artist as a “lonely isolated genius,” said Kennison, many historical artists like Michelangelo and Leonardo were actually in “constant negotiation with the community.” The idea of an artist creating for the benefit of the community is something that these arts in education projects aim to accomplish.
McClure’s Galileo oratorio, entitled “The Starry Messenger,” gained large critical acclaim last year and was featured at length on NPR’s radio segment, “All Things Considered.” It broke time barriers, which allowed famous historical figures like Aristotle, Einstein and Rosa Parks to all inhabit the same space on stage.
Student participation in Imoinda has grown extremely enthusiastic since its preparatory period. As McClure had hoped, the very subject matter of the opera has sparked conversation among the high schoolers about the importance of acceptance and the issues of racial inequalities.
Even casting the opera was not without its racial hurdles. Students struggled with the decision of either casting actors using accurate skin colors or making the roles “colorblind.” They eventually settled on a compromise, keeping the main characters’ skin tones accurate to the libretto while leaving all other spots open to anyone. As Kennison proudly described, it was a just one of the many challenges that the students recognized and solved completely on their own.
BriAnna Collier, a student at the School of the Arts who is involved with promoting Imoinda, suggested that the embracement of the opera by the students could be equated to its subject matter. “It’s really serious; not all slaves were African American. It really helps to understand the problems with different races.”
Another student, Daniel Broadus, called it “a learning experience for performers and viewers – a historical lesson.”
Kennison describes his brother as a performing musician who never wanted to move to a major city. According to the web site for McClure Productions Inc., McClure is known widely for his integration of ethnic music traditions into classical music. Among his many achievements, he offers 500-600 concerts and workshops annually and has done field research alongside Geneseo music professor James Kimball.
Imoinda will be performed at 7 p.m. from May 1 – 4, and also at 2 p.m. on May 3 and 4. Tickets can be purchased at the School of the Arts or at the Wegmans’ ticket counter.
Damon Albarn is three for three with The Good the Bad and the Queen
This piece was originally named a top-ten finalist in Rolling Stone Magazine's writing competition, "I'm From Rolling Stone" (2/18/07). Full list of the top ten can be found here
The genre-clashing turbulence of “History Song,” the first track off The Good, the Bad & the Queen’s self-titled debut, is the first indication that this latest British rock band goes against the musical grain. The song is a boiling stew of styles stirred into a thick, layered three minutes of sound that, to say the least, starts things off quite strong for the quartet.
The Good, the Bad & the Queen is the latest vehicle for Britpop mastermind Damon Albarn, who enjoyed previous success with his creations Blur and Gorillaz. Albarn is one of those musicians like Josh Homme (Kyuss, Queens of the Stone Age) and Dave Grohl (Nirvana, Foo Fighters) who have a seemingly endless stream of creativity that can transcend multiple bands and lineups. Whether it’s the Flaming Lips psychedelia and Beach Boys harmonies in “80’s Life” or the Danny Elfman-sounding Halloween gloom of “Bunting Song,” Albarn is creating his own boundaries and than perpetually destroying them.
The Good, the Bad & the Queen explores the different facets within rock, all the while throwing in such curveball styles as polka, classical, avant-garde and burlesque. Often the album feels like the soundtrack to some twisted, off-kilter cabaret. But despite the post-recording efforts – the record is produced magnificently by Danger Mouse – the set seems a bit more organic than, say, Gorillaz. Think Arcade Fire meets Postal Service, and you begin to see this distinctive marriage of sounds.
It’s simply nice to know there are people like Albarn making music in the world today. It’s not just the music he creates but the intensity and fervor that he possesses for this creation. That is why, no matter how many personas he takes on or styles he challenges himself with, Albarn’s music will always remain interesting.
The genre-clashing turbulence of “History Song,” the first track off The Good, the Bad & the Queen’s self-titled debut, is the first indication that this latest British rock band goes against the musical grain. The song is a boiling stew of styles stirred into a thick, layered three minutes of sound that, to say the least, starts things off quite strong for the quartet.
The Good, the Bad & the Queen is the latest vehicle for Britpop mastermind Damon Albarn, who enjoyed previous success with his creations Blur and Gorillaz. Albarn is one of those musicians like Josh Homme (Kyuss, Queens of the Stone Age) and Dave Grohl (Nirvana, Foo Fighters) who have a seemingly endless stream of creativity that can transcend multiple bands and lineups. Whether it’s the Flaming Lips psychedelia and Beach Boys harmonies in “80’s Life” or the Danny Elfman-sounding Halloween gloom of “Bunting Song,” Albarn is creating his own boundaries and than perpetually destroying them.
The Good, the Bad & the Queen explores the different facets within rock, all the while throwing in such curveball styles as polka, classical, avant-garde and burlesque. Often the album feels like the soundtrack to some twisted, off-kilter cabaret. But despite the post-recording efforts – the record is produced magnificently by Danger Mouse – the set seems a bit more organic than, say, Gorillaz. Think Arcade Fire meets Postal Service, and you begin to see this distinctive marriage of sounds.
It’s simply nice to know there are people like Albarn making music in the world today. It’s not just the music he creates but the intensity and fervor that he possesses for this creation. That is why, no matter how many personas he takes on or styles he challenges himself with, Albarn’s music will always remain interesting.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Interviewing actor Bill Pullman
Originally published in the Livingston County News (5/7/08)
Last week, actor Bill Pullman (Spaceballs, Independence Day) was in Rochester promoting his new film, Phoebe in Wonderland, at the Rochester High Falls International Film Festival. Born and raised in Hornell, NY, Pullman spoke with the Livingston County News about growing up in western New York as well as his long, decorated career in the film industry. In its seventh year, the High Falls Film Festival ran April 30 to May 5 and featured over 120 features.
LCN: What was it like growing up in Hornell, and how did that influence your decision to become an actor?
Bill Pullman: You know, there’s nothing like coming home to throw you into a lot of memories that you haven’t had for a long time. Just driving up here, I was thinking of things I haven’t thought about in a while, and one is that I have a lot of memories in Rochester. My mother’s family is Dutch, and they came and lived in Rochester, and they had a theater for a long time in the teens and 20s and maybe even into the 30s in Rochester, so I wonder if I kind of got something there that I hadn’t thought about until driving up here. But I grew up in Hornell, which was a struggling town at the time, and they always had a strong civic pride, you know, to try to turn things around, and I think they have now. So I enjoyed it, and I always appreciated a lot of the people around there, but at a certain point I was going on my barn fetish and I ran into a theater guy who put me in a play, and the barns were soon put aside (editor’s note: before acting, Pullman considered building and was interested in restoring old barns).
LCN: Philip Seymour Hoffman is from right over in Fairport. Did you know him or any other local actors when you lived in western New York?
BP: Well no, you know, Phil is younger than I am but definitely a great asset to the whole thing, and I’m glad to see that he’s such a big part of the festival at some point – I see his picture on the Internet. But Robert Forster I did talk to quite a bit about western New York State at different times and different parties. I haven’t seen him for a couple years though, but it’s always good to touch base with that element.
LCN: Is there any specific actor or director you worked with over your career that you think maybe had a pivotal influence on you or changed your perspective about film?
BP: Well, David Lynch, probably – and I’m not the only one. The exciting thing about him is that he somehow has maintained the same instinct that he had when he was in film school – the joy of being able to take the simplest ingredients and make something happen with it. And so people who work with him tend to come away excited to work that way.
LCN: What was it like to work with Mel Brooks?
BP: Mel Brooks was, you know, that was an amazing thing to do [Spaceballs] as my second movie, and it was a time when the industry was changing. That was an MGM film, and it was the last film to be shot on the lot when MGM owned it, and it got sold eventually to Sony. So that was a kind of movie-making that was very epic, and the makeup guy showed up with a blazer and tie and it was still that tradition, and there in the middle of it was wacky Mel.
LCN: Do you have any advice for young, aspiring actors and anyone getting into film?
BP: You know, I never really remembered any advice that was given to me, so I think they all will have to get some kind of deep appreciation for the craft and fall in love with a couple of people who’ve done it before them and understand why there’s a standard of excellence that is exciting to imagine trying to measure up to.
LCN: You’ve done a wide array of genres over your career, but you’ve repeatedly come back to fantasy and science-fiction projects – not just Spaceballs but Independence Day and Serpent and the Rainbow among others. Is there something that draws you to science-fiction?
BP: I think in these times, science-fiction is what the westerns were 40 years ago. It’s like a dominant genre for us, and I think some of it is because it’s a very imaginative world. One of the movies that I have coming out this year is Your Name Here, and it’s about Philip K. Dick. Philip K. Dick is now probably one of the most influential people because his stories are being made into movies. This started with Blade Runner and then Minority Report, Total Recall and A Scanner Darkly, and so I think those are interesting science-fiction stories because they involve a lot of psychology about what it is to be human as opposed to being a robot. So there’s a certain vein of science-fiction that I am particularly interested in.
LCN: Did you do any school plays in Hornell?
BP: Yes I did. The big one was Don’t Drink the Water, which Woody Allen wrote, which probably everybody did in high school at some time or another.
LCN: You have six siblings. Did any of them get into acting?
BP: I have never seen any of my siblings under the spotlight…I’m dying to [laughs]. A lot of my family is in medicine, and my father went to University of Rochester Medical School. My mother was a nurse that trained here, and they met at Strong Memorial Hospital; my brother John is a doctor that went to University of Rochester Med School. They’re all care-givers and doing very important work, so I’m just joking about wanting to see them act [laughs]. They better stay doing what they’re doing.
LCN: You attended school for a time at Oneonta. What did you study?
BP: Theater. Yea, I started out at Delhi, which was a two-year vocational school for building construction, and then I met this very charismatic guy who directed the plays. He went to Oneonta, he said ‘you’re gonna do what I did; you go there to Oneonta, you get a degree and then you’ll teach at a college like this one. It’s a good life, Pullman, you better do it.’
LCN: Is there a performance you did in your career that you’re most proud of?
BP: It’s funny. To tell you the truth, I really see film as a chance to exercise myself, and I don’t see it as primarily the kind of control that you need to have to make your life work – most important things in film – but I find that in the theater. And I have to say that some of my most important work, I think, has actually been in the theater. For me, my deepest, deepest satisfaction comes from doing The Goat on Broadway, from doing a premiere of a new play by someone who is one of the great American playwrights of the century. But at the same time, to work with David Lynch is an amazing honor, and to have the chance to do some movies that I think are good stories like Zero Effect or some small movies, it’s a good privilege to do those as well.
Last week, actor Bill Pullman (Spaceballs, Independence Day) was in Rochester promoting his new film, Phoebe in Wonderland, at the Rochester High Falls International Film Festival. Born and raised in Hornell, NY, Pullman spoke with the Livingston County News about growing up in western New York as well as his long, decorated career in the film industry. In its seventh year, the High Falls Film Festival ran April 30 to May 5 and featured over 120 features.
LCN: What was it like growing up in Hornell, and how did that influence your decision to become an actor?
Bill Pullman: You know, there’s nothing like coming home to throw you into a lot of memories that you haven’t had for a long time. Just driving up here, I was thinking of things I haven’t thought about in a while, and one is that I have a lot of memories in Rochester. My mother’s family is Dutch, and they came and lived in Rochester, and they had a theater for a long time in the teens and 20s and maybe even into the 30s in Rochester, so I wonder if I kind of got something there that I hadn’t thought about until driving up here. But I grew up in Hornell, which was a struggling town at the time, and they always had a strong civic pride, you know, to try to turn things around, and I think they have now. So I enjoyed it, and I always appreciated a lot of the people around there, but at a certain point I was going on my barn fetish and I ran into a theater guy who put me in a play, and the barns were soon put aside (editor’s note: before acting, Pullman considered building and was interested in restoring old barns).
LCN: Philip Seymour Hoffman is from right over in Fairport. Did you know him or any other local actors when you lived in western New York?
BP: Well no, you know, Phil is younger than I am but definitely a great asset to the whole thing, and I’m glad to see that he’s such a big part of the festival at some point – I see his picture on the Internet. But Robert Forster I did talk to quite a bit about western New York State at different times and different parties. I haven’t seen him for a couple years though, but it’s always good to touch base with that element.
LCN: Is there any specific actor or director you worked with over your career that you think maybe had a pivotal influence on you or changed your perspective about film?
BP: Well, David Lynch, probably – and I’m not the only one. The exciting thing about him is that he somehow has maintained the same instinct that he had when he was in film school – the joy of being able to take the simplest ingredients and make something happen with it. And so people who work with him tend to come away excited to work that way.
LCN: What was it like to work with Mel Brooks?
BP: Mel Brooks was, you know, that was an amazing thing to do [Spaceballs] as my second movie, and it was a time when the industry was changing. That was an MGM film, and it was the last film to be shot on the lot when MGM owned it, and it got sold eventually to Sony. So that was a kind of movie-making that was very epic, and the makeup guy showed up with a blazer and tie and it was still that tradition, and there in the middle of it was wacky Mel.
LCN: Do you have any advice for young, aspiring actors and anyone getting into film?
BP: You know, I never really remembered any advice that was given to me, so I think they all will have to get some kind of deep appreciation for the craft and fall in love with a couple of people who’ve done it before them and understand why there’s a standard of excellence that is exciting to imagine trying to measure up to.
LCN: You’ve done a wide array of genres over your career, but you’ve repeatedly come back to fantasy and science-fiction projects – not just Spaceballs but Independence Day and Serpent and the Rainbow among others. Is there something that draws you to science-fiction?
BP: I think in these times, science-fiction is what the westerns were 40 years ago. It’s like a dominant genre for us, and I think some of it is because it’s a very imaginative world. One of the movies that I have coming out this year is Your Name Here, and it’s about Philip K. Dick. Philip K. Dick is now probably one of the most influential people because his stories are being made into movies. This started with Blade Runner and then Minority Report, Total Recall and A Scanner Darkly, and so I think those are interesting science-fiction stories because they involve a lot of psychology about what it is to be human as opposed to being a robot. So there’s a certain vein of science-fiction that I am particularly interested in.
LCN: Did you do any school plays in Hornell?
BP: Yes I did. The big one was Don’t Drink the Water, which Woody Allen wrote, which probably everybody did in high school at some time or another.
LCN: You have six siblings. Did any of them get into acting?
BP: I have never seen any of my siblings under the spotlight…I’m dying to [laughs]. A lot of my family is in medicine, and my father went to University of Rochester Medical School. My mother was a nurse that trained here, and they met at Strong Memorial Hospital; my brother John is a doctor that went to University of Rochester Med School. They’re all care-givers and doing very important work, so I’m just joking about wanting to see them act [laughs]. They better stay doing what they’re doing.
LCN: You attended school for a time at Oneonta. What did you study?
BP: Theater. Yea, I started out at Delhi, which was a two-year vocational school for building construction, and then I met this very charismatic guy who directed the plays. He went to Oneonta, he said ‘you’re gonna do what I did; you go there to Oneonta, you get a degree and then you’ll teach at a college like this one. It’s a good life, Pullman, you better do it.’
LCN: Is there a performance you did in your career that you’re most proud of?
BP: It’s funny. To tell you the truth, I really see film as a chance to exercise myself, and I don’t see it as primarily the kind of control that you need to have to make your life work – most important things in film – but I find that in the theater. And I have to say that some of my most important work, I think, has actually been in the theater. For me, my deepest, deepest satisfaction comes from doing The Goat on Broadway, from doing a premiere of a new play by someone who is one of the great American playwrights of the century. But at the same time, to work with David Lynch is an amazing honor, and to have the chance to do some movies that I think are good stories like Zero Effect or some small movies, it’s a good privilege to do those as well.
Top Albums of 2007
Originally published in The Lamron (12/6/07)
1. Kings of Leon – Because of the Times: Well, these Nashville brothers grew up fast, didn’t they? Rocketing into the southern rock stratosphere from their 2005 launch pad, Aha Shake Heartbreak, the follow-up is not only better in every way possible, it is the most consistently stunning album of the year. An easy choice for the top spot.
2. Dungen – Tio Bitar: Such a sincere, accurate portrayal of 60’s acid rock may never again be done. And Dungen is led by a Swedish farm boy, no less! Bluesy guitar solos, Jethro Tullish flute sections and chameleon-like song movements make this a superbly interesting listen.
3. Radiohead – In Rainbows: The long wait for a new album was worth it, and not just for the do-it-yourself price tag. In Rainbows is dense, atmospheric and deeply emotional. Blending the digital coldness of Kid A with the lush layers of OK Computer, Radiohead remind the world they are still kings of experimental rock.
4. Queens of the Stone Age – Era Vulgaris: Grimy cock rock returns in full fashion on Queens of the Stone Age’s sleazy, slinky June release. The fuzzed-out guitars and grungy vocals make this another hit for the volatile rockers. Best track: the “Smells Like Teen Spirit”-esque riff and killer solo on “3’s & 7’s.”
5. Minus the Bear – Planet of Ice: Minus the Bear are really making a statement with Planet of Ice, and that statement is: “Listen to us, because we are so damn good at what we do!” What they do is combine Postal Service electronica with Pink Floyd prog rock for a catchy, danceable sound that also rocks out hard.
6. Modest Mouse – We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank: What a manic, delirious singer Isaac Brock is. His vocal personality alone would make a Gregorian chant interesting to listen to. We Were Dead has more of the same off-kilter fun, making them one of the more consistent rockers out there today.
7. The White Stripes – Icky Thump: Boy, do these two have expectations to fulfill with each release or what!? Icky Thump may not be as flawless as their last two records, but Jack White continues to take the band’s sound further, incorporating Latin horn arrangements and twangy acoustic guitars. And, of course, there’s the rocking, infectious title track.
8. The Shins – Wincing the Night Away: Containing maybe the best opening song all year in “Sleeping Lessons,” The Shins show once again why they continue to be media darlings and fan favorites. Noteworthy moment: when the band jams out to close out “Sea Legs,” a grooving, swaying highlight on the album.
9. LCD Soundsystem – Sound of Silver: Diversifying their sound to incorporate elements of Talking Heads, David Bowie and Public Image Ltd., band leader James Murphy acknowledges his dense musical knowledge when he references Pink Floyd as he sings, “We set controls for the heart of the sun/one of the ways we show our age.”
10. Deerhoof – Friend Opportunity: These indie oddities are hardly accessible, but than, they said the same thing about Captain Beefheart. Friend Opportunity certainly has shades of Trout Mask Replica in the strange riot of sounds, but you can’t deny the hilarity of the band’s no-barrier-can’t-be-broken approach.
Honorable Mentions:
Bright Eyes – Cassadaga
The Fratellis – Costello Music
Neil Young – Chrome Dreams II
The Good, the Bad and the Queen – The Good, the Bad and the Queen
Air – Pocket Symphony
1. Kings of Leon – Because of the Times: Well, these Nashville brothers grew up fast, didn’t they? Rocketing into the southern rock stratosphere from their 2005 launch pad, Aha Shake Heartbreak, the follow-up is not only better in every way possible, it is the most consistently stunning album of the year. An easy choice for the top spot.
2. Dungen – Tio Bitar: Such a sincere, accurate portrayal of 60’s acid rock may never again be done. And Dungen is led by a Swedish farm boy, no less! Bluesy guitar solos, Jethro Tullish flute sections and chameleon-like song movements make this a superbly interesting listen.
3. Radiohead – In Rainbows: The long wait for a new album was worth it, and not just for the do-it-yourself price tag. In Rainbows is dense, atmospheric and deeply emotional. Blending the digital coldness of Kid A with the lush layers of OK Computer, Radiohead remind the world they are still kings of experimental rock.
4. Queens of the Stone Age – Era Vulgaris: Grimy cock rock returns in full fashion on Queens of the Stone Age’s sleazy, slinky June release. The fuzzed-out guitars and grungy vocals make this another hit for the volatile rockers. Best track: the “Smells Like Teen Spirit”-esque riff and killer solo on “3’s & 7’s.”
5. Minus the Bear – Planet of Ice: Minus the Bear are really making a statement with Planet of Ice, and that statement is: “Listen to us, because we are so damn good at what we do!” What they do is combine Postal Service electronica with Pink Floyd prog rock for a catchy, danceable sound that also rocks out hard.
6. Modest Mouse – We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank: What a manic, delirious singer Isaac Brock is. His vocal personality alone would make a Gregorian chant interesting to listen to. We Were Dead has more of the same off-kilter fun, making them one of the more consistent rockers out there today.
7. The White Stripes – Icky Thump: Boy, do these two have expectations to fulfill with each release or what!? Icky Thump may not be as flawless as their last two records, but Jack White continues to take the band’s sound further, incorporating Latin horn arrangements and twangy acoustic guitars. And, of course, there’s the rocking, infectious title track.
8. The Shins – Wincing the Night Away: Containing maybe the best opening song all year in “Sleeping Lessons,” The Shins show once again why they continue to be media darlings and fan favorites. Noteworthy moment: when the band jams out to close out “Sea Legs,” a grooving, swaying highlight on the album.
9. LCD Soundsystem – Sound of Silver: Diversifying their sound to incorporate elements of Talking Heads, David Bowie and Public Image Ltd., band leader James Murphy acknowledges his dense musical knowledge when he references Pink Floyd as he sings, “We set controls for the heart of the sun/one of the ways we show our age.”
10. Deerhoof – Friend Opportunity: These indie oddities are hardly accessible, but than, they said the same thing about Captain Beefheart. Friend Opportunity certainly has shades of Trout Mask Replica in the strange riot of sounds, but you can’t deny the hilarity of the band’s no-barrier-can’t-be-broken approach.
Honorable Mentions:
Bright Eyes – Cassadaga
The Fratellis – Costello Music
Neil Young – Chrome Dreams II
The Good, the Bad and the Queen – The Good, the Bad and the Queen
Air – Pocket Symphony
Music Review: Neil Young, Chrome Dreams II
Originally published in The Lamron (11/29/08)
There’s just something about a bitter, aged ex-hippie singing the abhorrences of a Presidential administration that doesn’t quite grip a nation’s attention like intended. At the heart of every effective protest is the intensity of youth, which is why Neil Young’s ornery 2006 political statement, Living With War, didn’t exactly start any fires. Sorry Neil, but sitting on stacks of money in an air-conditioned mansion at the age of 62, preaching for the impeachment of President Bush just doesn’t have the same resonance as standing in protest marches under a hot Kent State sun at the fiery age of 25, singing “Tin soldiers and Nixon’s coming/We’re finally on our own/This summer I hear the drummin’/Four dead in Ohio.”
Obviously, it’s not Young’s fault his age plays a factor in his legitimacy. And sure, he has every right to be upset with the leaders of America. But as a legendary musician of decades past, he should observe the recent releases of his colleagues like Bob Dylan and the Rolling Stones to see how a rocker can age gracefully. And that seems to be exactly what he did for his recent follow-up to that Iraq-ignited complaint-fest. The sequel to an album Young never released, Chrome Dreams II, put out late in October, is a mishmash of lost gems and new material that is a mostly delightful love letter to country roads and blue skies, a throwback to Young’s early work like Everybody Knows This is Nowhere (1969) and Harvest (1972).
When it was announced that the album would feature two folk-rock epics (epic is an understatement), one clocking in at over 18 minutes and another that breaches 14, some critics understandably thought Young finally lost his mind. But in reality, these two songs – “Ordinary People” and “No Hidden Path,” respectively – are the colossal centerpieces of the album, not overlong but rather patiently calculated. “Ordinary People,” in particular, is a monolithic masterpiece, a pastel portrait of working class America. “Nose-to-the-stone people/Some are saints, and some are jerks/Hard workin' people/Stoppin' for a drink/on the way to work,” Young sings, and maybe he’s being too sentimental. But he’s sincere, probably more so than when he tries to stir the pot with his political banter, and the gorgeous horn section that paces behind his voice is entrancing; it’s just as affective as his use of the London Symphony Orchestra on the Harvest track, “A Man Needs a Maid.”
While those two lengthy focal points eat up a good amount of the album, there really isn’t that much memorable material beyond it, unfortunately. “Shining Light” sounds like an uninspired attempt to write the next “This Land is Your Land,” and the opening track, “Beautiful Bluebird” is at best an inoffensive nursery rhyme. “The Believer,” though, sees Young at his most playful, and it’s a refreshing feature. Also noteworthy is the heartwarming closer, “The Way,” whose deft and unpretentious utilization of a children’s choir is quite an achievement in and of itself.
It’s nice to see Young overlook his role as a voice of a generation of people so many years ago and just sit down to write some songs for himself. It worked wonders for Dylan, whose last two releases, Love and Theft and Modern Times have been his best in years, and it’s working here for Young, as well, even if Chrome Dreams II is a little uneven in the end.
There’s just something about a bitter, aged ex-hippie singing the abhorrences of a Presidential administration that doesn’t quite grip a nation’s attention like intended. At the heart of every effective protest is the intensity of youth, which is why Neil Young’s ornery 2006 political statement, Living With War, didn’t exactly start any fires. Sorry Neil, but sitting on stacks of money in an air-conditioned mansion at the age of 62, preaching for the impeachment of President Bush just doesn’t have the same resonance as standing in protest marches under a hot Kent State sun at the fiery age of 25, singing “Tin soldiers and Nixon’s coming/We’re finally on our own/This summer I hear the drummin’/Four dead in Ohio.”
Obviously, it’s not Young’s fault his age plays a factor in his legitimacy. And sure, he has every right to be upset with the leaders of America. But as a legendary musician of decades past, he should observe the recent releases of his colleagues like Bob Dylan and the Rolling Stones to see how a rocker can age gracefully. And that seems to be exactly what he did for his recent follow-up to that Iraq-ignited complaint-fest. The sequel to an album Young never released, Chrome Dreams II, put out late in October, is a mishmash of lost gems and new material that is a mostly delightful love letter to country roads and blue skies, a throwback to Young’s early work like Everybody Knows This is Nowhere (1969) and Harvest (1972).
When it was announced that the album would feature two folk-rock epics (epic is an understatement), one clocking in at over 18 minutes and another that breaches 14, some critics understandably thought Young finally lost his mind. But in reality, these two songs – “Ordinary People” and “No Hidden Path,” respectively – are the colossal centerpieces of the album, not overlong but rather patiently calculated. “Ordinary People,” in particular, is a monolithic masterpiece, a pastel portrait of working class America. “Nose-to-the-stone people/Some are saints, and some are jerks/Hard workin' people/Stoppin' for a drink/on the way to work,” Young sings, and maybe he’s being too sentimental. But he’s sincere, probably more so than when he tries to stir the pot with his political banter, and the gorgeous horn section that paces behind his voice is entrancing; it’s just as affective as his use of the London Symphony Orchestra on the Harvest track, “A Man Needs a Maid.”
While those two lengthy focal points eat up a good amount of the album, there really isn’t that much memorable material beyond it, unfortunately. “Shining Light” sounds like an uninspired attempt to write the next “This Land is Your Land,” and the opening track, “Beautiful Bluebird” is at best an inoffensive nursery rhyme. “The Believer,” though, sees Young at his most playful, and it’s a refreshing feature. Also noteworthy is the heartwarming closer, “The Way,” whose deft and unpretentious utilization of a children’s choir is quite an achievement in and of itself.
It’s nice to see Young overlook his role as a voice of a generation of people so many years ago and just sit down to write some songs for himself. It worked wonders for Dylan, whose last two releases, Love and Theft and Modern Times have been his best in years, and it’s working here for Young, as well, even if Chrome Dreams II is a little uneven in the end.
Sovereign of six strings: Interviewing Derek Trucks
Originally published in The Lamron (11/8/07)
At the age of 27, Derek Trucks has written, toured and performed more music than most musicians in their entire careers. At nine he was already commanding large audiences with his superior proficiency at the slide guitar. Nephew of original Allman Brothers Band drummer Butch Trucks, Derek joined up with the band and along with fellow guitarist Warren Haynes, gave the Allmans their freshest lineup since the inception of the famous southern rockers. He is currently touring with his own outfit, the Derek Trucks Band, who will be performing in Rochester at the Water Street Music Hall on Sunday, Nov. 11. Doors open at 7 p.m., and the show starts at 8. Tickets are $29.50.
Lamron: You played the Crossroads guitar festival with Eric Clapton back in July.
There seemed to be a real element of the classic guitar legends like Clapton and Jeff Beck sort of passing the torch down to the new generation of guitarists like John Mayer, Robert Randolph and yourself.
Derek Trucks: I think as far as that circle goes, there’s definitely some of that going on and I think Eric personally, he is really conscious of the fact that he has the ability to help out guys like myself. At least for me he was really great at getting me out there and giving me the opportunity to play in front of audiences that I would never have otherwise.
Lamron: You and Warren Haynes bring the Allman Brothers their best two-guitar dynamic since the days of Duane Allman and Dickie Betts. Do you feel like you could compare yourself to one of those two guitarists or do you think of yourself as something entirely different for the band?
DT: You know, those guys were both huge influences on both me and Warren so, if anything you’re taking something, like with Duane, gone by 25 years old, you’re hopefully extending where they would have gone, but I think there’s so many musicians that you take from, I think it’s hard to point to one person.
Lamron: Would you say at this point you would consider the Derek Trucks Band or the Allman Brothers Band your primary focus right now?
DT: I’ve always considered it to be my own group, but the Allman Brothers, it’s been a great run, we’ve had I think eight years with the band, so there’s been a lot of great music played. I’ve always known that at the end of the run I’d still be doing my thing and the Allman Brothers help me carry on someone else’s legacy, one that I’m proud to be a part of and you know, they are partly responsible for me playing in the first place so I feel a little bit indebted. I still feel like I’m putting the bulk of my energy into my own thing.
Lamron: You were known to be performing gigs as early as 12 years old. Do you remember your first gig?
DT: Yea, the first show I played, I think I was nine years old in a local blues band in Jacksonville and I toured with them at nine, 10, 11 years old (laughs). I remember a lot of those gigs. With that blues group, we played a show in Toronto and it was really the first time I did any serious traveling. I remember at nine years old sitting in front of the RV and watching the whole country go by. All that stuff sticks with you.
Lamron: How do you think that had an effect on you, touring at such a young age?
DT: I think I got a different perspective on things. You get to see the country, you get to see kind of the underbelly of life. I was fortunate to have my parents around; they didn’t exactly shield me from what was going on, so when I came of age it wasn’t such a shock to me, really, what goes on in the world. A lot of times when people are released into the world, they don’t have what it takes to deal with it.
Lamron: Did your parents take positively to your touring around the country?
DT: I think at first they were apprehensive. My dad was around the Allman Brothers early on, so he knew all the ups and downs and negativity that goes along with it too. But I think once he saw what was going on musically, he thought it was kind of his duty to allow whatever it was to grow and not stifle it. He took me around the country, keeping me safe and somewhat sane.
Lamron: Playing shows at a young age, did you feel any pressure sharing a stage with people like Bob Dylan and Joe Walsh?
DT: When I played with Dylan I think I was 11. You’re kinda unfazed at that age. I wasn’t oblivious to what was going on but you just kind of do what you do at that point. I knew who Dylan was, but it didn’t register like it does now. My dad was a huge fan of Dylan; he wrote his senior thesis on him. With a lot of those guys I was lucky that when I did run into them, I either really didn’t know who they were (laughs) or was just unfazed by it.
Lamron: You have been known to play live alongside your wife, Susan Tedeschi. Do you feel like you compliment each other on stage?
DT: Yea, it’s not often you get to share those moments on stage with people. It worked out well, we put a band together, played a handful of shows last summer and around New Years we’re doing some shows together. Maybe we’ll get an album or so out of it and maybe tour more with it down the road.
Lamron: Speaking of albums, you have this Rochester show, but what are your plans for the future? Are you going to continue touring or are there plans for another album with the Derek Trucks Band?
DT: We try to get everything in at once. The touring, up to this point, never stops. If you do a record you take 10-12 days off and knock it out. I think this year, or certainly next year, we’ll get an album in and we’re touring pretty hard between now and then. We’re doing this run in the states and then we head over to Japan for a few weeks and Hawaii on the way home, so there’s a lot of shows on the schedule.
Lamron: Thanks Derek, and good luck at the show on Sunday!
At the age of 27, Derek Trucks has written, toured and performed more music than most musicians in their entire careers. At nine he was already commanding large audiences with his superior proficiency at the slide guitar. Nephew of original Allman Brothers Band drummer Butch Trucks, Derek joined up with the band and along with fellow guitarist Warren Haynes, gave the Allmans their freshest lineup since the inception of the famous southern rockers. He is currently touring with his own outfit, the Derek Trucks Band, who will be performing in Rochester at the Water Street Music Hall on Sunday, Nov. 11. Doors open at 7 p.m., and the show starts at 8. Tickets are $29.50.
Lamron: You played the Crossroads guitar festival with Eric Clapton back in July.
There seemed to be a real element of the classic guitar legends like Clapton and Jeff Beck sort of passing the torch down to the new generation of guitarists like John Mayer, Robert Randolph and yourself.
Derek Trucks: I think as far as that circle goes, there’s definitely some of that going on and I think Eric personally, he is really conscious of the fact that he has the ability to help out guys like myself. At least for me he was really great at getting me out there and giving me the opportunity to play in front of audiences that I would never have otherwise.
Lamron: You and Warren Haynes bring the Allman Brothers their best two-guitar dynamic since the days of Duane Allman and Dickie Betts. Do you feel like you could compare yourself to one of those two guitarists or do you think of yourself as something entirely different for the band?
DT: You know, those guys were both huge influences on both me and Warren so, if anything you’re taking something, like with Duane, gone by 25 years old, you’re hopefully extending where they would have gone, but I think there’s so many musicians that you take from, I think it’s hard to point to one person.
Lamron: Would you say at this point you would consider the Derek Trucks Band or the Allman Brothers Band your primary focus right now?
DT: I’ve always considered it to be my own group, but the Allman Brothers, it’s been a great run, we’ve had I think eight years with the band, so there’s been a lot of great music played. I’ve always known that at the end of the run I’d still be doing my thing and the Allman Brothers help me carry on someone else’s legacy, one that I’m proud to be a part of and you know, they are partly responsible for me playing in the first place so I feel a little bit indebted. I still feel like I’m putting the bulk of my energy into my own thing.
Lamron: You were known to be performing gigs as early as 12 years old. Do you remember your first gig?
DT: Yea, the first show I played, I think I was nine years old in a local blues band in Jacksonville and I toured with them at nine, 10, 11 years old (laughs). I remember a lot of those gigs. With that blues group, we played a show in Toronto and it was really the first time I did any serious traveling. I remember at nine years old sitting in front of the RV and watching the whole country go by. All that stuff sticks with you.
Lamron: How do you think that had an effect on you, touring at such a young age?
DT: I think I got a different perspective on things. You get to see the country, you get to see kind of the underbelly of life. I was fortunate to have my parents around; they didn’t exactly shield me from what was going on, so when I came of age it wasn’t such a shock to me, really, what goes on in the world. A lot of times when people are released into the world, they don’t have what it takes to deal with it.
Lamron: Did your parents take positively to your touring around the country?
DT: I think at first they were apprehensive. My dad was around the Allman Brothers early on, so he knew all the ups and downs and negativity that goes along with it too. But I think once he saw what was going on musically, he thought it was kind of his duty to allow whatever it was to grow and not stifle it. He took me around the country, keeping me safe and somewhat sane.
Lamron: Playing shows at a young age, did you feel any pressure sharing a stage with people like Bob Dylan and Joe Walsh?
DT: When I played with Dylan I think I was 11. You’re kinda unfazed at that age. I wasn’t oblivious to what was going on but you just kind of do what you do at that point. I knew who Dylan was, but it didn’t register like it does now. My dad was a huge fan of Dylan; he wrote his senior thesis on him. With a lot of those guys I was lucky that when I did run into them, I either really didn’t know who they were (laughs) or was just unfazed by it.
Lamron: You have been known to play live alongside your wife, Susan Tedeschi. Do you feel like you compliment each other on stage?
DT: Yea, it’s not often you get to share those moments on stage with people. It worked out well, we put a band together, played a handful of shows last summer and around New Years we’re doing some shows together. Maybe we’ll get an album or so out of it and maybe tour more with it down the road.
Lamron: Speaking of albums, you have this Rochester show, but what are your plans for the future? Are you going to continue touring or are there plans for another album with the Derek Trucks Band?
DT: We try to get everything in at once. The touring, up to this point, never stops. If you do a record you take 10-12 days off and knock it out. I think this year, or certainly next year, we’ll get an album in and we’re touring pretty hard between now and then. We’re doing this run in the states and then we head over to Japan for a few weeks and Hawaii on the way home, so there’s a lot of shows on the schedule.
Lamron: Thanks Derek, and good luck at the show on Sunday!
Music Flashback: Primal Scream, Screamadelica
Originally published in The Lamron (11/1/07)
Primal Scream’s 1991 pastel illumination of music, Screamadelica, is either a rock-conscious techno album or a rhythmic, dance-club injected throwback to Rolling Stones blues. Lots of great albums in the past have straddled genre lines, but classic rock and dance pop? It’s almost too ambitious to possibly fail. And that’s exactly the case on the ever-evolving Scottish band’s third – and best – studio record. Exchanging Stonesy blues licks and infectious dance beats, Primal Scream has truly created something never heard before in popular music.
Bobby Gillespie, drummer for alt-rock outfit the Jesus and Mary Chain, formed Primal Scream in the 1980s. The band flirted with many styles of music before settling on a sort of fusion of house, rock and Britpop made popular by English band the Stone Roses. That band’s own masterwork, a 1989 self-titled album, certainly was an important push for Primal Scream, who finally pushed themselves into the creative stratosphere with the genre-bending Screamadelica.
First, there’s the hippy-ish “Movin’ On Up,” combining upbeat, cheerful lyrics with Crosby, Stills & Nash-like harmonies to trick the listener into thinking they are listening to a reminiscing rock album. Then there’s the second track, “Slip Inside This House,” which immediately and staggeringly changes directions, all but abandoning conventional instruments in favor of an absolutely addicting dance beat and deliciously simple bass line. This sentiment is followed up by “Don’t Fight It, Feel It,” but later the album delves back into twangy blues and southern rock, like on the lamenting “Damaged,” a tasteful spawn of the Rolling Stones’ “Wild Horses.”
The song most ahead of its time, though, is “Loaded.” It’s questionable how much input the actual band had in the making of this song, but it is a successful celebration of the importance of intelligent and creative production efforts. The album’s producer, Andrew Weatherall, samples an old Primal Scream song (“I’m Losing More Than I’ll Ever Have”), cutting and pasting sounds until the song is almost impossible to recognize. He layers it with dialogue from old movies and adds horn sections and explosions of feedback for good measure. A style over a decade in the making, “Loaded” is one of the founding fathers of today’s DJs’ remixes and splicing of a wide variety of source material to create a completely new entity – for evidence, check out the massively successful Grey Album.
With Screamadelica, Primal Scream paved the way for an incalculable amount of sub-genres; it’s impossible to know for sure, but there’s industrial rock (Nine Inch Nails), sample and remix-based hip-hop (Danger Mouse, Girl Talk), techno (Moby), and classic rock revivalists (the Black Crowes). That the band has never again reached the level of inimitable distinction and effortless execution should not detract from Screamadelica itself, which stands not just as a band’s best work, but as an important step in the progression of music.
Primal Scream’s 1991 pastel illumination of music, Screamadelica, is either a rock-conscious techno album or a rhythmic, dance-club injected throwback to Rolling Stones blues. Lots of great albums in the past have straddled genre lines, but classic rock and dance pop? It’s almost too ambitious to possibly fail. And that’s exactly the case on the ever-evolving Scottish band’s third – and best – studio record. Exchanging Stonesy blues licks and infectious dance beats, Primal Scream has truly created something never heard before in popular music.
Bobby Gillespie, drummer for alt-rock outfit the Jesus and Mary Chain, formed Primal Scream in the 1980s. The band flirted with many styles of music before settling on a sort of fusion of house, rock and Britpop made popular by English band the Stone Roses. That band’s own masterwork, a 1989 self-titled album, certainly was an important push for Primal Scream, who finally pushed themselves into the creative stratosphere with the genre-bending Screamadelica.
First, there’s the hippy-ish “Movin’ On Up,” combining upbeat, cheerful lyrics with Crosby, Stills & Nash-like harmonies to trick the listener into thinking they are listening to a reminiscing rock album. Then there’s the second track, “Slip Inside This House,” which immediately and staggeringly changes directions, all but abandoning conventional instruments in favor of an absolutely addicting dance beat and deliciously simple bass line. This sentiment is followed up by “Don’t Fight It, Feel It,” but later the album delves back into twangy blues and southern rock, like on the lamenting “Damaged,” a tasteful spawn of the Rolling Stones’ “Wild Horses.”
The song most ahead of its time, though, is “Loaded.” It’s questionable how much input the actual band had in the making of this song, but it is a successful celebration of the importance of intelligent and creative production efforts. The album’s producer, Andrew Weatherall, samples an old Primal Scream song (“I’m Losing More Than I’ll Ever Have”), cutting and pasting sounds until the song is almost impossible to recognize. He layers it with dialogue from old movies and adds horn sections and explosions of feedback for good measure. A style over a decade in the making, “Loaded” is one of the founding fathers of today’s DJs’ remixes and splicing of a wide variety of source material to create a completely new entity – for evidence, check out the massively successful Grey Album.
With Screamadelica, Primal Scream paved the way for an incalculable amount of sub-genres; it’s impossible to know for sure, but there’s industrial rock (Nine Inch Nails), sample and remix-based hip-hop (Danger Mouse, Girl Talk), techno (Moby), and classic rock revivalists (the Black Crowes). That the band has never again reached the level of inimitable distinction and effortless execution should not detract from Screamadelica itself, which stands not just as a band’s best work, but as an important step in the progression of music.
Does Guitar Hero III live up to the hype?
Originally published in The Lamron (11/1/07)
Steve Vai-wannabes and air guitar enthusiasts have reason to reunite once again: the wildly popular Guitar Hero franchise got its third entry into home video game consoles this week with the release of Guitar Hero III: Legends of Rock (technically, Guitar Hero Encore: Rocks the 80s came third, but who’s counting). Putting a fresh perspective on things are the creators of the Tony Hawk game franchise, Activision. Like a beloved lead guitarist who left to join the rival band, Harmonix, who were responsible for the earlier entries in the Guitar Hero series, fled the franchise to focus on the more ambitious Rock Band.
Activision may be rookies to the music genre of gaming, but their first crack at fret-mashing mayhem is, for the most part, a success. The game features arguably the best set list to date and boasts the best new feature, the Co-Op Career mode, which allows two players to go through the career as a guitar and bass duo, unlocking separate songs the single-player mode won’t allow. Unfortunately, other innovations aren’t as impressive. The boss battles, a good idea in theory, are hardly epic and really quite pointless. Rage Against the Machine’s Tom Morello, in particular, is so pitifully easy to beat, it’s a wonder he even allowed Activision to use his likeness for the game. But thanks to the extensive track list and revamped two-player modes, the game will be very appealing to newcomers and intermediate players.
However, gamers who developed their digital chops on volumes one and two of the series might see if differently. In fact, most people who successfully conquered Guitar Hero II on expert may find the career mode a little too easy, thanks in part to a much more forgiving hammer-on system that widens the window players have to hit a note by quite a margin. Flying through the first six tiers without failing once should be no problem, and the songs that are challenging are difficult for the wrong reasons.
It seems that instead of selecting later-tier songs that are inherently complex and challenging to play anyway, Activision merely made simpler songs overly complicated to compensate. Slipknot’s “Before I Forget” is the worst of the bunch, trampling the player with a ridiculously unnecessary amount of chord progressions and three-fret combos. If Activision seriously thinks that Slipknot has more complicated guitar parts than Stevie Ray Vaughan, who appears earlier in the game and whose song, “Pride and Joy” is much easier and fairer to play, they really need to brush up on their musical knowledge. Only the final tier boasts some legitimately challenging songs, like Slayer’s “Raining Blood” and the final boss battle, an all-but-impossible duel with the devil to a revamped version of the Charlie Daniels Band’s “The Devil Went Down to Georgia.”
Also, be prepared to join the ugliest band in rock history (yes, even uglier than Blues Traveler). With a singer that looks like the Geico caveman and a bassist that looks like the nephew of Cousin It, guitarists will have to work extra hard on stage to earn those groupies off it. And let’s not get into the drummer, who looks like he’s trying to pass a kidney stone and swings his sticks like someone in an epileptic seizure. In short, Activision really dropped the ball in the graphics department, even with the extra technology provided by such high-performance machines as the Playstation 3 and Xbox 360.
Of course, no one plays the Guitar Hero games for their visuals, and despite all this nitpicking, the game is a lot of fun to play. Metallica’s “One” and Living Colour’s “Cult of Personality” really draw you into the scenario of shredding on stage, and really, that’s all one can ask of a game like this. While the replay value, at least for veterans, may not be as high, the game is still worth the asking price and will not disappoint rabid music and game fans alike.
Steve Vai-wannabes and air guitar enthusiasts have reason to reunite once again: the wildly popular Guitar Hero franchise got its third entry into home video game consoles this week with the release of Guitar Hero III: Legends of Rock (technically, Guitar Hero Encore: Rocks the 80s came third, but who’s counting). Putting a fresh perspective on things are the creators of the Tony Hawk game franchise, Activision. Like a beloved lead guitarist who left to join the rival band, Harmonix, who were responsible for the earlier entries in the Guitar Hero series, fled the franchise to focus on the more ambitious Rock Band.
Activision may be rookies to the music genre of gaming, but their first crack at fret-mashing mayhem is, for the most part, a success. The game features arguably the best set list to date and boasts the best new feature, the Co-Op Career mode, which allows two players to go through the career as a guitar and bass duo, unlocking separate songs the single-player mode won’t allow. Unfortunately, other innovations aren’t as impressive. The boss battles, a good idea in theory, are hardly epic and really quite pointless. Rage Against the Machine’s Tom Morello, in particular, is so pitifully easy to beat, it’s a wonder he even allowed Activision to use his likeness for the game. But thanks to the extensive track list and revamped two-player modes, the game will be very appealing to newcomers and intermediate players.
However, gamers who developed their digital chops on volumes one and two of the series might see if differently. In fact, most people who successfully conquered Guitar Hero II on expert may find the career mode a little too easy, thanks in part to a much more forgiving hammer-on system that widens the window players have to hit a note by quite a margin. Flying through the first six tiers without failing once should be no problem, and the songs that are challenging are difficult for the wrong reasons.
It seems that instead of selecting later-tier songs that are inherently complex and challenging to play anyway, Activision merely made simpler songs overly complicated to compensate. Slipknot’s “Before I Forget” is the worst of the bunch, trampling the player with a ridiculously unnecessary amount of chord progressions and three-fret combos. If Activision seriously thinks that Slipknot has more complicated guitar parts than Stevie Ray Vaughan, who appears earlier in the game and whose song, “Pride and Joy” is much easier and fairer to play, they really need to brush up on their musical knowledge. Only the final tier boasts some legitimately challenging songs, like Slayer’s “Raining Blood” and the final boss battle, an all-but-impossible duel with the devil to a revamped version of the Charlie Daniels Band’s “The Devil Went Down to Georgia.”
Also, be prepared to join the ugliest band in rock history (yes, even uglier than Blues Traveler). With a singer that looks like the Geico caveman and a bassist that looks like the nephew of Cousin It, guitarists will have to work extra hard on stage to earn those groupies off it. And let’s not get into the drummer, who looks like he’s trying to pass a kidney stone and swings his sticks like someone in an epileptic seizure. In short, Activision really dropped the ball in the graphics department, even with the extra technology provided by such high-performance machines as the Playstation 3 and Xbox 360.
Of course, no one plays the Guitar Hero games for their visuals, and despite all this nitpicking, the game is a lot of fun to play. Metallica’s “One” and Living Colour’s “Cult of Personality” really draw you into the scenario of shredding on stage, and really, that’s all one can ask of a game like this. While the replay value, at least for veterans, may not be as high, the game is still worth the asking price and will not disappoint rabid music and game fans alike.
Music Review: Radiohead, In Rainbows
It’s almost an inconceivable achievement, but despite the explosion of Radiohead imitators that have sprouted up since the success of the band’s back-to-back 90s masterpieces, The Bends and OK Computer (1995 and 1997, respectively), Thom Yorke and company have managed to stay consistently ahead of the curve, leaving their followers in the musical dust with every release and continually reinventing themselves. This year, they have found a new way to stay innovative: in a fairly unprecedented move, they released their seventh studio album, In Rainbows, on a completely independent, download-only basis with a donation option instead of a flat price. In other words, they aren’t asking for any money for the album; listeners can pay if they wish, but it’s optional.
While this may be the least expensive Radiohead album you ever buy, it certainly isn’t the cheapest in quality. Borrowing elements from all their past work, the band has come up with their strongest album since OK Computer. It’s a harmony of that album’s masterful mixing efforts – incredibly meticulous attention to detail that makes every song an unfolding, cerebral kaleidoscope – with the sleek electronica of their 2000 followup, Kid A. Like most of Radiohead’s work, it’s not an easy listen. It challenges the listener’s attention and demands concentration and repeated plays. But the payoff is, once again, insurmountable.
York’s singing has had its critics in the past; admittedly, his voice often sounds frail and timorous. However, in spotted examples he has shown he can unleash a hidden beast of a voice from somewhere deep in his gut, most notably on his fanatical screams during the bridge of Radiohead’s first big hit, “Creep.” That muscular evil-twin set of pipes makes many appearances on In Rainbows, even drawing an until-now-unseen element of soul on tracks like the opener, “15 Step,” and the seventh track, “Reckoner.”
All of In Rainbows is lush, jam packed with overdubs and ingenious string arrangements. This is the most emotional Radiohead album since Kid A, and some of the sweeping melodies, like the gorgeous “Nude” and “All I Need,” immediately touch the listener like Kid A’s gut-wrenchingly lonely “How to Disappear Completely.” Over the years, Radiohead has driven themselves farther and farther from the realm of traditional alternative rock to the point where Jonny Greenwood’s guitar, which only a decade ago was blaring and boastful on the brain-scrambling “Paranoid Android,” has drifted almost unrecognizably into the soup of simmering sounds York has collected, becoming just another part of a perfect sonic equilibrium.
With so much attention on the stratum of voiceless styles, it’s easy to overlook the rabid reflections found in York’s lyrics. Like the chilling imagery in OK Computer’s “Fitter Happier,” much of the wordplay on In Rainbows is conceptual; sung with York’s trademark delicate tremble, lines like “I’m an animal/Trapped in your hot car/I am all the days that you choose to ignore” are icy enough to send a chill down your spine.
Radiohead is the epitome of a band that is continually ahead of its time; since The Bends, they have constantly reshaped the perception of popular music and have surfaced as one of the most important bands in recent music history. In Rainbows has added another masterly chapter to their time as musicians. It is gorgeous in all the ways music should be; it is complex and expertly crafted without the expense of appeal. Ultimately, Radiohead has created yet another record that will be regarded as a staple of music for years to come.
While this may be the least expensive Radiohead album you ever buy, it certainly isn’t the cheapest in quality. Borrowing elements from all their past work, the band has come up with their strongest album since OK Computer. It’s a harmony of that album’s masterful mixing efforts – incredibly meticulous attention to detail that makes every song an unfolding, cerebral kaleidoscope – with the sleek electronica of their 2000 followup, Kid A. Like most of Radiohead’s work, it’s not an easy listen. It challenges the listener’s attention and demands concentration and repeated plays. But the payoff is, once again, insurmountable.
York’s singing has had its critics in the past; admittedly, his voice often sounds frail and timorous. However, in spotted examples he has shown he can unleash a hidden beast of a voice from somewhere deep in his gut, most notably on his fanatical screams during the bridge of Radiohead’s first big hit, “Creep.” That muscular evil-twin set of pipes makes many appearances on In Rainbows, even drawing an until-now-unseen element of soul on tracks like the opener, “15 Step,” and the seventh track, “Reckoner.”
All of In Rainbows is lush, jam packed with overdubs and ingenious string arrangements. This is the most emotional Radiohead album since Kid A, and some of the sweeping melodies, like the gorgeous “Nude” and “All I Need,” immediately touch the listener like Kid A’s gut-wrenchingly lonely “How to Disappear Completely.” Over the years, Radiohead has driven themselves farther and farther from the realm of traditional alternative rock to the point where Jonny Greenwood’s guitar, which only a decade ago was blaring and boastful on the brain-scrambling “Paranoid Android,” has drifted almost unrecognizably into the soup of simmering sounds York has collected, becoming just another part of a perfect sonic equilibrium.
With so much attention on the stratum of voiceless styles, it’s easy to overlook the rabid reflections found in York’s lyrics. Like the chilling imagery in OK Computer’s “Fitter Happier,” much of the wordplay on In Rainbows is conceptual; sung with York’s trademark delicate tremble, lines like “I’m an animal/Trapped in your hot car/I am all the days that you choose to ignore” are icy enough to send a chill down your spine.
Radiohead is the epitome of a band that is continually ahead of its time; since The Bends, they have constantly reshaped the perception of popular music and have surfaced as one of the most important bands in recent music history. In Rainbows has added another masterly chapter to their time as musicians. It is gorgeous in all the ways music should be; it is complex and expertly crafted without the expense of appeal. Ultimately, Radiohead has created yet another record that will be regarded as a staple of music for years to come.
Dave Grohl crash-lands Foo Fighters LP
Originally published in The Lamron (9/27/07)
It could be a premature generalization or an unfortunate reality, but it just seems that the Foo Fighters’ best days are behind them. Post-grunge rock stud Dave Grohl really hasn’t allowed the band to explore too much musical territory besides their signature galloping, steady rock stomp, and while they do what they do very well, it’s clearly beginning to get a bit stale in this post-1990s air. Listeners were afraid to admit it on the band’s 2005 double-album, In Your Honor, but now, with their just-released sixth LP, Echoes, Silence, Patience and Grace, the prospect has just become unavoidable.
It’s not that a lot of the songs aren’t on the same level of quality as Foo Fighters’ prime in the mid-to-late nineties. It’s just that they don’t offer anything new. As Grohl sings on the opening track, “The Pretender,” “It’s never-ending, never-ending/same old story.” “The Pretender” is infectious enough to make the listener forget that it was better when it was called “All My Life” back in 2002. But then there’s “But Honestly,” which slowly builds through a series of pretty acoustic chords before exploding into an inexcusable rendition of “Monkey Wrench” Part II.
Of course, trying new things has never really been a fascination of Grohl, who has stubbornly stuck to formula since his debut back in 1995, a Grohl solo album in nearly every way except name. Streamlined alternative rock was all the rage back then, and so the band was successful – not undeservingly so, either. But at some point, a band has to realize when they are approaching the territory of self-parody, and Foo Fighters now find themselves somewhere past that point.
Grohl seems to, for the most part, make no conscious effort to allow one song to stand out from another, and it really is a chore to remember which is which. Sometimes track-to-track familiarity can be a good thing on a record that relies on a seamless, segueing theme, like The Who’s Quadrophenia, for instance. It’s a bad thing when the record is a dozen alt-rock nuggets that were recorded a dozen years too late.
Echoes, Silence, Patience and Grace is frontloaded in the most literal sense of the word: it’s pretty dismissible after the very first track. The only other moment that makes you cock your head in pleasant surprise is “Summer’s End,” a country romp with Black Crowes-inspired guitar layers and even a cameo by a fiddle just to make sure the southern rock stereotype is complete.
Other than that, though, there’s not much to salvage. “Long Road to Ruin” sounds like a castaway from the Buzz Ballads compilation. “The Ballad of the Beaconsfield” is a failed attempt at an acoustic guitar interlude ala Jimmy Page’s “Bron-Yr-Aur” or Duane Allman’s “Little Martha.” The heavy tracks are too blunt and stupid, the acoustic ballads too brittle; Echoes, Silence, Patience & Grace is just one, big whiff.
It could be a premature generalization or an unfortunate reality, but it just seems that the Foo Fighters’ best days are behind them. Post-grunge rock stud Dave Grohl really hasn’t allowed the band to explore too much musical territory besides their signature galloping, steady rock stomp, and while they do what they do very well, it’s clearly beginning to get a bit stale in this post-1990s air. Listeners were afraid to admit it on the band’s 2005 double-album, In Your Honor, but now, with their just-released sixth LP, Echoes, Silence, Patience and Grace, the prospect has just become unavoidable.
It’s not that a lot of the songs aren’t on the same level of quality as Foo Fighters’ prime in the mid-to-late nineties. It’s just that they don’t offer anything new. As Grohl sings on the opening track, “The Pretender,” “It’s never-ending, never-ending/same old story.” “The Pretender” is infectious enough to make the listener forget that it was better when it was called “All My Life” back in 2002. But then there’s “But Honestly,” which slowly builds through a series of pretty acoustic chords before exploding into an inexcusable rendition of “Monkey Wrench” Part II.
Of course, trying new things has never really been a fascination of Grohl, who has stubbornly stuck to formula since his debut back in 1995, a Grohl solo album in nearly every way except name. Streamlined alternative rock was all the rage back then, and so the band was successful – not undeservingly so, either. But at some point, a band has to realize when they are approaching the territory of self-parody, and Foo Fighters now find themselves somewhere past that point.
Grohl seems to, for the most part, make no conscious effort to allow one song to stand out from another, and it really is a chore to remember which is which. Sometimes track-to-track familiarity can be a good thing on a record that relies on a seamless, segueing theme, like The Who’s Quadrophenia, for instance. It’s a bad thing when the record is a dozen alt-rock nuggets that were recorded a dozen years too late.
Echoes, Silence, Patience and Grace is frontloaded in the most literal sense of the word: it’s pretty dismissible after the very first track. The only other moment that makes you cock your head in pleasant surprise is “Summer’s End,” a country romp with Black Crowes-inspired guitar layers and even a cameo by a fiddle just to make sure the southern rock stereotype is complete.
Other than that, though, there’s not much to salvage. “Long Road to Ruin” sounds like a castaway from the Buzz Ballads compilation. “The Ballad of the Beaconsfield” is a failed attempt at an acoustic guitar interlude ala Jimmy Page’s “Bron-Yr-Aur” or Duane Allman’s “Little Martha.” The heavy tracks are too blunt and stupid, the acoustic ballads too brittle; Echoes, Silence, Patience & Grace is just one, big whiff.
Music Review - Minus the Bear, Planet of Ice
Originally published in The Lamron (9/13/07)
So much about Seattle’s Minus the Bear points to a band destined for certain failure. They are an indie band that plays dance beats, names their songs bizarre head-scratchers like “Hey, Wanna Throw Up? Get Me Naked” and “Let’s Play Guitar in a Five Guitar Band,” and rips out finger-tapped guitar riffs in the vein of Eddie Van Halen. And, in fact, the band does manage to sound off-kilter at times. But gorgeous layers and clean production have propelled the talented quartet into emerging as a rock outfit teetering on the fringe of popular music relevance. With their just-released fourth LP (not including a collection of remixes released earlier this year) Planet of Ice, Minus the Bear have made another step towards mass success, momentum gained steadily since their 2005 album, Menos el Oso, but at what cost?
First of all, it is worth noting that there is no more appropriate a title for this record than Planet of Ice. The album sounds cold and digital, not quite soulless but emotionally lacking, like the feel of clean, white linoleum. This is especially true early on, and it almost kills the album’s momentum on tracks like “Knights,” which bares an extremely cheesy Linkin Park-esque computerized beat, and “Burying Luck,” which wavers between being a refreshing taste of some Menos el Oso vapor and an obvious recycling of old ideas. But as the album progresses, things actually begin to thaw, and an amazing thing happens: Minus the Bear go batcrazy out of control, flying off their rails and transforming into some progressive, cerebral jam band, sparing the aimlessness of jam and the pretension of prog.
The first red flag is “White Mystery,” which possesses one of the band’s strongest riffs. The robust harmonies also help blanket the album with some much-needed warmth. Planet of Ice ends on one of the strongest finales in recent memory; the final three tracks – “When We Escape,” “Double Vision Quest,” and the epic “Lotus,” draw out this laser-beam focus never before seen from the band, with a sort of newfound recklessness. They are quite literally jams, with beautiful guitar work and some chord progressions reminiscent of Roger Waters-era Pink Floyd.
And still, in the end, there is something a bit antiseptic about this album. It brings to mind such contemplative electronic LPs as Bright Eyes’ Digital Ash in a Digital Urn or Radiohead’s OK Computer, but lacking a bit of those albums’ three-dimensionality. It’s really hard to criticize an album where so much talent and devotion was obviously spent. The musicianship found here is jaw dropping. However, guitarist David Knudson could hammer his strings until his fingertips are worn raw, and in some cases the music would still leave its listener numb. Planet of Ice is in no way a failure. But it serves to suggest what this band is truly capable of with a little more blood and guts. As it stands, Planet of Ice sounds more like it was built instead of born.
Not that Minus the Bear ever wanted to sound organic. Never shy of computer-assistance in the mixing room, the band may be the first legitimate musical representation of the digital age: cold, hard, deliberate, and a little sad. Bands like Radiohead have created albums that dissect a computerized world, but it was always from the outside looking in. Minus the Bear’s music isn’t an observation of this change, it’s a result of it. These results can be ambivalent, steely, distant, and even sometimes hollow. But amongst all this, in most cases, they are also beautiful.
So much about Seattle’s Minus the Bear points to a band destined for certain failure. They are an indie band that plays dance beats, names their songs bizarre head-scratchers like “Hey, Wanna Throw Up? Get Me Naked” and “Let’s Play Guitar in a Five Guitar Band,” and rips out finger-tapped guitar riffs in the vein of Eddie Van Halen. And, in fact, the band does manage to sound off-kilter at times. But gorgeous layers and clean production have propelled the talented quartet into emerging as a rock outfit teetering on the fringe of popular music relevance. With their just-released fourth LP (not including a collection of remixes released earlier this year) Planet of Ice, Minus the Bear have made another step towards mass success, momentum gained steadily since their 2005 album, Menos el Oso, but at what cost?
First of all, it is worth noting that there is no more appropriate a title for this record than Planet of Ice. The album sounds cold and digital, not quite soulless but emotionally lacking, like the feel of clean, white linoleum. This is especially true early on, and it almost kills the album’s momentum on tracks like “Knights,” which bares an extremely cheesy Linkin Park-esque computerized beat, and “Burying Luck,” which wavers between being a refreshing taste of some Menos el Oso vapor and an obvious recycling of old ideas. But as the album progresses, things actually begin to thaw, and an amazing thing happens: Minus the Bear go batcrazy out of control, flying off their rails and transforming into some progressive, cerebral jam band, sparing the aimlessness of jam and the pretension of prog.
The first red flag is “White Mystery,” which possesses one of the band’s strongest riffs. The robust harmonies also help blanket the album with some much-needed warmth. Planet of Ice ends on one of the strongest finales in recent memory; the final three tracks – “When We Escape,” “Double Vision Quest,” and the epic “Lotus,” draw out this laser-beam focus never before seen from the band, with a sort of newfound recklessness. They are quite literally jams, with beautiful guitar work and some chord progressions reminiscent of Roger Waters-era Pink Floyd.
And still, in the end, there is something a bit antiseptic about this album. It brings to mind such contemplative electronic LPs as Bright Eyes’ Digital Ash in a Digital Urn or Radiohead’s OK Computer, but lacking a bit of those albums’ three-dimensionality. It’s really hard to criticize an album where so much talent and devotion was obviously spent. The musicianship found here is jaw dropping. However, guitarist David Knudson could hammer his strings until his fingertips are worn raw, and in some cases the music would still leave its listener numb. Planet of Ice is in no way a failure. But it serves to suggest what this band is truly capable of with a little more blood and guts. As it stands, Planet of Ice sounds more like it was built instead of born.
Not that Minus the Bear ever wanted to sound organic. Never shy of computer-assistance in the mixing room, the band may be the first legitimate musical representation of the digital age: cold, hard, deliberate, and a little sad. Bands like Radiohead have created albums that dissect a computerized world, but it was always from the outside looking in. Minus the Bear’s music isn’t an observation of this change, it’s a result of it. These results can be ambivalent, steely, distant, and even sometimes hollow. But amongst all this, in most cases, they are also beautiful.
Journalist Marshall Fine doubtful about industry’s future
Originally published in the Lamron (4/17/08)
You couldn’t tell by his kind smile and steady voice, but Star Magazine film critic Marshall Fine has a lot of reasons to be pessimistic about the future of criticism, a role he calls a “dying species.”
Fine spoke with students at an informal presentation in the Union’s MOSAIC last Friday. Much of what he had to say has been echoed by many professional journalists all over the country and disputed by plenty of others. Calling our world a “post-literate society,” Fine elaborated by lamenting that people are no longer interested in long stories. To attest to this, he recalled his work in decades past when he would review five or more films a week and write between 500 and 1,000 words on each. Today, he covers about three movies a week and is limited to a paltry 200 words per article. The reason, he says, is that the media has become less about informing and more about distracting, particularly in a world of perpetual technological stimuli.
A graduate of the University of Minnesota, Fine has written biographies about acclaimed directors Sam Peckinpah and John Cassavetes and seminal actor Harvey Keitel. He most recently filmed a documentary about criticism pioneer Rex Reid entitled, Do You Sleep in the Nude? His extensive experience has left considerable scar tissue on his wounded outlook of the media industry.
Fine prophesized about the future of many of the media’s outlets. For example, the advent of downloadable content and services like Netflix has persuaded him to consider that the majority of film will be watched at home, and attending a movie theater will become “more of an event.” He also predicts that film and music criticism will all be erased from most local newspapers, only having a purpose in big cities like New York and Los Angeles, where there will still be a hotbed of art house and independent material. Everyone else, he claimed, will simply newswire film and music reviews from these larger areas.
His bold claims were not without their skeptics, like one attendee who challenged Fine’s conjecture that people aren’t interested in long writings anymore. The audience member offered Fine the example of J.K Rowling’s wildly popular Harry Potter series, which Fine acknowledged as “an encouraging sign.”
But there wasn’t any further encouragement from the critic, who failed to illustrate much of a horizon for aspiring journalists. He did, however, present a message to prose hopefuls who plan to embark on the hazy, unclear path of film criticism and journalism in general – do it, but do it for your own self-fulfillment.
You couldn’t tell by his kind smile and steady voice, but Star Magazine film critic Marshall Fine has a lot of reasons to be pessimistic about the future of criticism, a role he calls a “dying species.”
Fine spoke with students at an informal presentation in the Union’s MOSAIC last Friday. Much of what he had to say has been echoed by many professional journalists all over the country and disputed by plenty of others. Calling our world a “post-literate society,” Fine elaborated by lamenting that people are no longer interested in long stories. To attest to this, he recalled his work in decades past when he would review five or more films a week and write between 500 and 1,000 words on each. Today, he covers about three movies a week and is limited to a paltry 200 words per article. The reason, he says, is that the media has become less about informing and more about distracting, particularly in a world of perpetual technological stimuli.
A graduate of the University of Minnesota, Fine has written biographies about acclaimed directors Sam Peckinpah and John Cassavetes and seminal actor Harvey Keitel. He most recently filmed a documentary about criticism pioneer Rex Reid entitled, Do You Sleep in the Nude? His extensive experience has left considerable scar tissue on his wounded outlook of the media industry.
Fine prophesized about the future of many of the media’s outlets. For example, the advent of downloadable content and services like Netflix has persuaded him to consider that the majority of film will be watched at home, and attending a movie theater will become “more of an event.” He also predicts that film and music criticism will all be erased from most local newspapers, only having a purpose in big cities like New York and Los Angeles, where there will still be a hotbed of art house and independent material. Everyone else, he claimed, will simply newswire film and music reviews from these larger areas.
His bold claims were not without their skeptics, like one attendee who challenged Fine’s conjecture that people aren’t interested in long writings anymore. The audience member offered Fine the example of J.K Rowling’s wildly popular Harry Potter series, which Fine acknowledged as “an encouraging sign.”
But there wasn’t any further encouragement from the critic, who failed to illustrate much of a horizon for aspiring journalists. He did, however, present a message to prose hopefuls who plan to embark on the hazy, unclear path of film criticism and journalism in general – do it, but do it for your own self-fulfillment.
Interviewing The Decemberists' Colin Meloy
Originally published in The Lamron (4/10/08)
The Decemberists’ singer/songwriter Colin Meloy, with his geeky Rivers Cuomo look and Ivy League diction (the Creative Writing major found uses for words like “vestry” and “picaresque” in his songs), is a bit of a standout in the indie-rock scene. Temporarily leaving his highly-praised and steadily-momentous band, he has gone on tour solo to promote his upcoming live album, Colin Meloy Sings Live. Meloy, who was kind enough to share some words with The Lamron, will be performing at the Tralf Music Hall in Buffalo on April 18.
The Lamron: Tell me about the new solo album you have coming out. It seems to have a more laid back, informal feel to it. You even mention campfire sing-a-longs. Is that the vision you have about it?
Colin Meloy: Yea, I guess so. It’s an opportunity to kind of strip away the arrangements of the records into kind of a sing-a-long.
The Lamron: The prior EPs you’ve released that cover other artists – is that kind of the same feel?
CM: Yea, definitely. It’s just me. I recorded them at home, so, other than getting a few friends in to help out here and there, it’s mostly just me compiling a little EP together at home.
The Lamron: Do you have any plans for a solo studio album?
CM: You know, it’s crossed my mine, but I think if I were to do it, it would just be a Decemberists record, I mean, without the input of the four other people who are in the Decemberists. For now I think that everything that I write is sort of Decemberists material, so I don’t see any reason to put the songs anywhere else.
The Lamron: On the upcoming album, you have a couple of previously unreleased songs. Did you write those with the intensions of playing them with the Decemberists or were they purely for yourself?
CM: I wrote them for myself – the one that really sticks out is the song “Wonder,” which seems just like such a simple and personal song; I couldn’t hear any arrangement over it. I think it’s one of the only songs I’ve written that felt more like just a Colin Meloy song and not a Decemberists song.
The Lamron: While we’re on the same track, is it alright if I ask you about “Dracula’s Daughter”? [editor’s note – “Dracula’s Daughter” is Meloy’s self-proclaimed worst song he’s ever written]
CM: [Laughs] Sure. That was actually written only like, three years ago. It was basically written in the process of writing The Crane Wife – around the same time – so you know, I never really write songs specifically to be on a record. You’re just constantly fielding pitches from your imagination and trying to get them out before they fade away. And that one happened to be kind of a wild pitch maybe, and I discovered pretty quickly into it that no amount of writing would redeem it. I kind of was just struck by how incredibly bad it was.
The Lamron: You seem to have an impressively broad array of musical influences. You’ve released EPs that cover Morrissey, Shirley Collins and Sam Cooke. On your upcoming album, you cover Pink Floyd and Fleetwood Mac. What other musicians influenced you and the Decemberists?
CM: Gosh, you know I always think of us as kind of a record collector’s band. We’re pretty avid record collectors. I think of us as being kind of academic music listeners, so I think the music that we write, in its own way, is the sum total of our record collection. There’s a little bit here and a little bit there, and some stuff you probably wouldn’t pick up on, but it’s there somewhere.
The Lamron: There’s one band in particular – and I had a little help from Wikipedia on this one – but I saw that you actually wrote a 100-page book on the Replacements’ album, Let It Be.
CM: Yea, I did. It was for a series called 33⅓, which was kind of different musicians and mostly rock critics giving kind of treatises on their favorite record of all time. And the editor of the series hit me up to see if I wanted to do one, being a music fan, and it was kind of hard to turn down the opportunity to write 100 [pages] about your favorite record.
The Lamron: A lot of your songs have lyrical themes that evoke, at least to me, old English literature and epic poems. What kind of books did you read growing up?
CM: I read all sorts of stuff. I mean, when I was a kid, I read a lot of fantasy and horror fiction. Then, through like junior high and high school, I got more into heady stuff, discovering Joyce and Faulkner and Hemingway and things like that. Not that I would say that those have been direct influences on the music that I do, but it’s kind of built a love for books in me.
The Lamron: Let’s take “Mariner’s Revenge Song.” What inspired that story?
CM: I don’t know, that came from a bunch of different directions. For one thing, I’ve always had in the back of my head that I wanted to write a song that was set in the belly of a whale. I liked that idea. And then, it just happened sitting down writing and strumming the guitar that I came up with the melody line. It had kind of a vaudeville sensibility to it; it felt like it was also a story that I could probably make as long as it needed to be told, and so I just kind of built it from there.
The Lamron: I had the luxury of seeing the Decemberists perform at Bonnaroo last summer. How was that like for you?
CM: It was amazing. It was really, really super fun.
The Lamron: I’m a bit disappointed we didn’t get an appearance by the giant whale costume you traditionally bring out for “Mariner’s Revenge Song.” I suppose it was too much to ask somebody to wear it on in that blaring heat.
CM: We need to come up with a new costume. Our last whale costume was sacrificed to the crowd at the end of the summer tour, so it is sadly no more.
The Lamron: This interview wouldn’t be complete if I didn’t ask you about your feud with Stephen Colbert. For our readers who may not be familiar, why don’t you quickly sum up how this rivalry started?
CM: Well, it happened really organically. We had shot a video that was supposed to be animated that we ended up not really liking the animation for, but it was too late. So we kind of tried to turn lemons into lemonade and turned it into a contest – turn it over to the kids and see if they could come up with something interesting for it. Apparently, Stephen Colbert had done a similar thing, but I had no idea. And one night, [Decemberists guitarist] Chris Funk was flying back from New York on Jet Blue watching The Colbert Report on TV and actually saw him call us out about supposedly taking his idea. You know, there was no communication about it beforehand. So he called us out and said we were stealing his ideas, and we, in turn, challenged him to a guitar duel, which is the only gentlemanly thing to do. He accepted, and there was the infamous shred-off.
The Lamron: Is the band and Colbert on speaking terms right now?
CM: Yea, you know, we’re cool. I think we settled it once and for all and we’re friends again.
The Lamron: A lot of musicians lately have spoken out against major labels and the recording industry in general, Radiohead, Trent Reznor and Billy Corgan for example. The Decemberists are signed to a major label now. How do you feel about the state of the industry?
CM: Well, I think it’s interesting. There’s a lot of good things and a lot of scary things. I think major labels are losing a lot of their power and their hegemony. The power is returning to the hands of the artists, which is fantastic. I think the labels have to catch up with that and realize they can’t be the kind of corporate juggernaut they once were. For one thing, there’s been a kind of supposed forced obsolescence of the album.
The Lamron: You have a video on Savethealbum.com where you talk about the Pogues. Is your participation with that site kind of the same thing, promoting the idea of the power being in the hands of the musicians?
CM: Well, I think that was more of just talking about our favorite albums. But I for one am a big fan of records, not just listening to a single but a full-length record and the journey that you take from start to finish. That’s kind of the belief of that Web site.
The Lamron: What does the future hold for the Decemberists? Any new albums or tours on the horizon?
CM: I think we’re kind of laying low. We just finished about a week and a half of studio recordings, just odds and ends, and we’re gonna get back together in a couple months in the summer and make a new record. And then we’ll go from there, so the future is pretty wide open at this point.
The Decemberists’ singer/songwriter Colin Meloy, with his geeky Rivers Cuomo look and Ivy League diction (the Creative Writing major found uses for words like “vestry” and “picaresque” in his songs), is a bit of a standout in the indie-rock scene. Temporarily leaving his highly-praised and steadily-momentous band, he has gone on tour solo to promote his upcoming live album, Colin Meloy Sings Live. Meloy, who was kind enough to share some words with The Lamron, will be performing at the Tralf Music Hall in Buffalo on April 18.
The Lamron: Tell me about the new solo album you have coming out. It seems to have a more laid back, informal feel to it. You even mention campfire sing-a-longs. Is that the vision you have about it?
Colin Meloy: Yea, I guess so. It’s an opportunity to kind of strip away the arrangements of the records into kind of a sing-a-long.
The Lamron: The prior EPs you’ve released that cover other artists – is that kind of the same feel?
CM: Yea, definitely. It’s just me. I recorded them at home, so, other than getting a few friends in to help out here and there, it’s mostly just me compiling a little EP together at home.
The Lamron: Do you have any plans for a solo studio album?
CM: You know, it’s crossed my mine, but I think if I were to do it, it would just be a Decemberists record, I mean, without the input of the four other people who are in the Decemberists. For now I think that everything that I write is sort of Decemberists material, so I don’t see any reason to put the songs anywhere else.
The Lamron: On the upcoming album, you have a couple of previously unreleased songs. Did you write those with the intensions of playing them with the Decemberists or were they purely for yourself?
CM: I wrote them for myself – the one that really sticks out is the song “Wonder,” which seems just like such a simple and personal song; I couldn’t hear any arrangement over it. I think it’s one of the only songs I’ve written that felt more like just a Colin Meloy song and not a Decemberists song.
The Lamron: While we’re on the same track, is it alright if I ask you about “Dracula’s Daughter”? [editor’s note – “Dracula’s Daughter” is Meloy’s self-proclaimed worst song he’s ever written]
CM: [Laughs] Sure. That was actually written only like, three years ago. It was basically written in the process of writing The Crane Wife – around the same time – so you know, I never really write songs specifically to be on a record. You’re just constantly fielding pitches from your imagination and trying to get them out before they fade away. And that one happened to be kind of a wild pitch maybe, and I discovered pretty quickly into it that no amount of writing would redeem it. I kind of was just struck by how incredibly bad it was.
The Lamron: You seem to have an impressively broad array of musical influences. You’ve released EPs that cover Morrissey, Shirley Collins and Sam Cooke. On your upcoming album, you cover Pink Floyd and Fleetwood Mac. What other musicians influenced you and the Decemberists?
CM: Gosh, you know I always think of us as kind of a record collector’s band. We’re pretty avid record collectors. I think of us as being kind of academic music listeners, so I think the music that we write, in its own way, is the sum total of our record collection. There’s a little bit here and a little bit there, and some stuff you probably wouldn’t pick up on, but it’s there somewhere.
The Lamron: There’s one band in particular – and I had a little help from Wikipedia on this one – but I saw that you actually wrote a 100-page book on the Replacements’ album, Let It Be.
CM: Yea, I did. It was for a series called 33⅓, which was kind of different musicians and mostly rock critics giving kind of treatises on their favorite record of all time. And the editor of the series hit me up to see if I wanted to do one, being a music fan, and it was kind of hard to turn down the opportunity to write 100 [pages] about your favorite record.
The Lamron: A lot of your songs have lyrical themes that evoke, at least to me, old English literature and epic poems. What kind of books did you read growing up?
CM: I read all sorts of stuff. I mean, when I was a kid, I read a lot of fantasy and horror fiction. Then, through like junior high and high school, I got more into heady stuff, discovering Joyce and Faulkner and Hemingway and things like that. Not that I would say that those have been direct influences on the music that I do, but it’s kind of built a love for books in me.
The Lamron: Let’s take “Mariner’s Revenge Song.” What inspired that story?
CM: I don’t know, that came from a bunch of different directions. For one thing, I’ve always had in the back of my head that I wanted to write a song that was set in the belly of a whale. I liked that idea. And then, it just happened sitting down writing and strumming the guitar that I came up with the melody line. It had kind of a vaudeville sensibility to it; it felt like it was also a story that I could probably make as long as it needed to be told, and so I just kind of built it from there.
The Lamron: I had the luxury of seeing the Decemberists perform at Bonnaroo last summer. How was that like for you?
CM: It was amazing. It was really, really super fun.
The Lamron: I’m a bit disappointed we didn’t get an appearance by the giant whale costume you traditionally bring out for “Mariner’s Revenge Song.” I suppose it was too much to ask somebody to wear it on in that blaring heat.
CM: We need to come up with a new costume. Our last whale costume was sacrificed to the crowd at the end of the summer tour, so it is sadly no more.
The Lamron: This interview wouldn’t be complete if I didn’t ask you about your feud with Stephen Colbert. For our readers who may not be familiar, why don’t you quickly sum up how this rivalry started?
CM: Well, it happened really organically. We had shot a video that was supposed to be animated that we ended up not really liking the animation for, but it was too late. So we kind of tried to turn lemons into lemonade and turned it into a contest – turn it over to the kids and see if they could come up with something interesting for it. Apparently, Stephen Colbert had done a similar thing, but I had no idea. And one night, [Decemberists guitarist] Chris Funk was flying back from New York on Jet Blue watching The Colbert Report on TV and actually saw him call us out about supposedly taking his idea. You know, there was no communication about it beforehand. So he called us out and said we were stealing his ideas, and we, in turn, challenged him to a guitar duel, which is the only gentlemanly thing to do. He accepted, and there was the infamous shred-off.
The Lamron: Is the band and Colbert on speaking terms right now?
CM: Yea, you know, we’re cool. I think we settled it once and for all and we’re friends again.
The Lamron: A lot of musicians lately have spoken out against major labels and the recording industry in general, Radiohead, Trent Reznor and Billy Corgan for example. The Decemberists are signed to a major label now. How do you feel about the state of the industry?
CM: Well, I think it’s interesting. There’s a lot of good things and a lot of scary things. I think major labels are losing a lot of their power and their hegemony. The power is returning to the hands of the artists, which is fantastic. I think the labels have to catch up with that and realize they can’t be the kind of corporate juggernaut they once were. For one thing, there’s been a kind of supposed forced obsolescence of the album.
The Lamron: You have a video on Savethealbum.com where you talk about the Pogues. Is your participation with that site kind of the same thing, promoting the idea of the power being in the hands of the musicians?
CM: Well, I think that was more of just talking about our favorite albums. But I for one am a big fan of records, not just listening to a single but a full-length record and the journey that you take from start to finish. That’s kind of the belief of that Web site.
The Lamron: What does the future hold for the Decemberists? Any new albums or tours on the horizon?
CM: I think we’re kind of laying low. We just finished about a week and a half of studio recordings, just odds and ends, and we’re gonna get back together in a couple months in the summer and make a new record. And then we’ll go from there, so the future is pretty wide open at this point.
Music Review: The Raconteurs, Consolers of the Lonely
Originally published in The Lamron (4/10/08)
Jack White has more faces than a high school yearbook. The spectre with an ambiguous past; the rambling folk songwriter; the blazing guitar guru – the man is short of no mysticisms. He’s also a workhorse; just nine months since releasing Icky Thump with his cymbal-smashing peppermint patty, Meg White, he’s back again with 14 new songs on the Raconteurs’ second album, Consolers of the Lonely.
Of course, it would be unfair to discredit Raconteurs co-founder Brendan Benson for his efforts, but let’s be fair here. This is White’s runaway train, and he’s plowing it straight through the foundation of hard rock laid by Led Zeppelin and Cream with forceful abandon. Consolers, which has been called Icky Thump’s little sister based on the resemblance to the White Stripes, is one of the greatest straightforward assaults of rock and roll to be molded out of strings and snares in a long, long time. It isn’t Icky’s little sister, it’s her roid-raging mutant twin – it betters that album in nearly every way.
Proof rears its head immediately on the opening title track. A harmonized Benson sings, “Light bulbs are getting dim/My interest is starting to wane/I'm told it's everything a man could want/And I shouldn't complain,” but musically, it’s the sheer opposite. White provides a crunching, trademark riff that alternates with the verses, and when his scratchy voice crashes through the noise, it’s spine-tingling. The song ends with a rupturing guitar battle between White and Benson. A more satisfying money shot could not have been provided to close the song.
It doesn’t end there. “Many Shades of Black” channels an unmistakable Wings-era Paul McCartney, first single “Salute Your Solution” takes an early White Stripes garage riff and warps it with a nasty organ solo, and the album closer, “Carolina Drama,” is a Kentucky fried folk story. That poetic epilogue, which tells the tale of a boy, his mother, and her violent boyfriend, is such the perfect Jack White song, it’s actually pretty amazing it took him this long to come up with it.
The truth is that in spite of relying heavily on the mainframe of hard rock and not really paving any new ground musically, Consolers finds the band a lot less self-conscious than on their debut, Broken Boy Soldier. They don’t care about making sure you know they aren’t the White Stripes by being clumsily artsy. They don’t care about anything but blowing the doors off the place. What more can you ask for?
Jack White has more faces than a high school yearbook. The spectre with an ambiguous past; the rambling folk songwriter; the blazing guitar guru – the man is short of no mysticisms. He’s also a workhorse; just nine months since releasing Icky Thump with his cymbal-smashing peppermint patty, Meg White, he’s back again with 14 new songs on the Raconteurs’ second album, Consolers of the Lonely.
Of course, it would be unfair to discredit Raconteurs co-founder Brendan Benson for his efforts, but let’s be fair here. This is White’s runaway train, and he’s plowing it straight through the foundation of hard rock laid by Led Zeppelin and Cream with forceful abandon. Consolers, which has been called Icky Thump’s little sister based on the resemblance to the White Stripes, is one of the greatest straightforward assaults of rock and roll to be molded out of strings and snares in a long, long time. It isn’t Icky’s little sister, it’s her roid-raging mutant twin – it betters that album in nearly every way.
Proof rears its head immediately on the opening title track. A harmonized Benson sings, “Light bulbs are getting dim/My interest is starting to wane/I'm told it's everything a man could want/And I shouldn't complain,” but musically, it’s the sheer opposite. White provides a crunching, trademark riff that alternates with the verses, and when his scratchy voice crashes through the noise, it’s spine-tingling. The song ends with a rupturing guitar battle between White and Benson. A more satisfying money shot could not have been provided to close the song.
It doesn’t end there. “Many Shades of Black” channels an unmistakable Wings-era Paul McCartney, first single “Salute Your Solution” takes an early White Stripes garage riff and warps it with a nasty organ solo, and the album closer, “Carolina Drama,” is a Kentucky fried folk story. That poetic epilogue, which tells the tale of a boy, his mother, and her violent boyfriend, is such the perfect Jack White song, it’s actually pretty amazing it took him this long to come up with it.
The truth is that in spite of relying heavily on the mainframe of hard rock and not really paving any new ground musically, Consolers finds the band a lot less self-conscious than on their debut, Broken Boy Soldier. They don’t care about making sure you know they aren’t the White Stripes by being clumsily artsy. They don’t care about anything but blowing the doors off the place. What more can you ask for?
The Evolution of Press: Interviewing Judd Laipply
Originally published in the Lamron (4/3/08)
Motivational speaker/comedian Judson Laipply found the unlikeliest of successes in a video he made of himself performing various arrays of dances made famous over the past six decades. The “Evolution of Dance,” as he calls it, is now the most viewed video of all-time on YouTube with a staggering 80,355,868 views. It’s also the most favorited and ninth-most discussed all-time. Catch him right here in Geneseo on Friday, April 4 in the Union Ballroom to see the “Evolution” in person. The show starts at 8 p.m.
Lamron: So, word on the street is you know a thing or two about dancing.
JL: [Laughing] I don’t know if I’d go that far.
Lamron: Tell me about the process that went into picking the dances for the “Evolution of Dance.”
JL: I was watching another comic making fun of people dancing at weddings. And for whatever reason, within his context he was making fun of how, when a specific song would come on, everybody would run to the dance floor and do that dance, and then the song would end and they’d all go sit back down. So I started thinking about all the songs that have that and I kinda got the idea that it would be funny to put some of those together.
Lamron: So it just kind of progressed from there?
JL: Yea, and so then I ran upstairs to my room and I wrote down on a piece of paper like the first amount, like the first songs that came to mind, and I had twelve. And after I did those first twelve, I would do those for awhile and people would come up and ask me to add stuff or tell me I should add stuff.
Lamron: Going back to the dances themselves, are there any dances do you look forward to performing the most?
JL: Uh, my favorite ones are, you know it all depends on the age of the audience. That changes for every show. For college students, I love “Apache (Jump On It).” It’s my favorite, you know, from Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. And so that’s one that people seem to get all excited for. And then I’m also a big fan of the Brady Bunch one.
Lamron: Have a least favorite?
JL: No, not usually. I mean, from a physical standpoint, “the worm” is the toughest [laughs]. Flopping down on the ground and then flopping around in the worm is probably one of the harder ones.
Lamron: Yea, how long did it take for you to learn that one?
JL: You know, I was lucky. I knew that when I was a kid.
Lamron: I understand you’re currently working on an “Evolution of Dance” Part II. What can we come to expect from it this time around?
JL: Well I mean, the biggest obstacles that I’ve been dealing with has just been song rights, like figuring out exactly who I can and can’t use, you know, things along those lines. So my goal is to hopefully have it out this summer, but I don’t know if it’s gonna make it in time. I’ve been working on it for probably well over a year.
Lamron: Are you going to release it the same way you released the first one, just all over the Web and on YouTube?
JL: Yep, it’ll just be on the Internet. The nice thing is, if all goes well, I’ll probably go back on The Today Show to debut it, so we’ll have it ready to go. I’ll go back on in the morning, dance, do it on there, and then we’ll release it.
Lamron: I did watch that segment, dancing on The Today Show. That must have been pretty exciting.
JL: Oh, that was awesome. You know, anything like that is just a great experience. You know, you’re in New York, you’re in NBC studios, you know, in Rockefeller Square. That was really cool.
Lamron: “Evolution of Dance” has become your personal trademark. Do you think you’ll ever get sick of dancing?
JL: Um, I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of it. There may come a day when I don’t know if I can physically do it anymore [laughs]. But, uh, it’s one of those things that is so fun to do, because the reaction is so fantastic, and you know, I don’t have to speak during it or talk during it, I’m just dancing. And so it’s one of those things where, like, you know you’ve got something that’s good, and you like to give it to other people.
Motivational speaker/comedian Judson Laipply found the unlikeliest of successes in a video he made of himself performing various arrays of dances made famous over the past six decades. The “Evolution of Dance,” as he calls it, is now the most viewed video of all-time on YouTube with a staggering 80,355,868 views. It’s also the most favorited and ninth-most discussed all-time. Catch him right here in Geneseo on Friday, April 4 in the Union Ballroom to see the “Evolution” in person. The show starts at 8 p.m.
Lamron: So, word on the street is you know a thing or two about dancing.
JL: [Laughing] I don’t know if I’d go that far.
Lamron: Tell me about the process that went into picking the dances for the “Evolution of Dance.”
JL: I was watching another comic making fun of people dancing at weddings. And for whatever reason, within his context he was making fun of how, when a specific song would come on, everybody would run to the dance floor and do that dance, and then the song would end and they’d all go sit back down. So I started thinking about all the songs that have that and I kinda got the idea that it would be funny to put some of those together.
Lamron: So it just kind of progressed from there?
JL: Yea, and so then I ran upstairs to my room and I wrote down on a piece of paper like the first amount, like the first songs that came to mind, and I had twelve. And after I did those first twelve, I would do those for awhile and people would come up and ask me to add stuff or tell me I should add stuff.
Lamron: Going back to the dances themselves, are there any dances do you look forward to performing the most?
JL: Uh, my favorite ones are, you know it all depends on the age of the audience. That changes for every show. For college students, I love “Apache (Jump On It).” It’s my favorite, you know, from Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. And so that’s one that people seem to get all excited for. And then I’m also a big fan of the Brady Bunch one.
Lamron: Have a least favorite?
JL: No, not usually. I mean, from a physical standpoint, “the worm” is the toughest [laughs]. Flopping down on the ground and then flopping around in the worm is probably one of the harder ones.
Lamron: Yea, how long did it take for you to learn that one?
JL: You know, I was lucky. I knew that when I was a kid.
Lamron: I understand you’re currently working on an “Evolution of Dance” Part II. What can we come to expect from it this time around?
JL: Well I mean, the biggest obstacles that I’ve been dealing with has just been song rights, like figuring out exactly who I can and can’t use, you know, things along those lines. So my goal is to hopefully have it out this summer, but I don’t know if it’s gonna make it in time. I’ve been working on it for probably well over a year.
Lamron: Are you going to release it the same way you released the first one, just all over the Web and on YouTube?
JL: Yep, it’ll just be on the Internet. The nice thing is, if all goes well, I’ll probably go back on The Today Show to debut it, so we’ll have it ready to go. I’ll go back on in the morning, dance, do it on there, and then we’ll release it.
Lamron: I did watch that segment, dancing on The Today Show. That must have been pretty exciting.
JL: Oh, that was awesome. You know, anything like that is just a great experience. You know, you’re in New York, you’re in NBC studios, you know, in Rockefeller Square. That was really cool.
Lamron: “Evolution of Dance” has become your personal trademark. Do you think you’ll ever get sick of dancing?
JL: Um, I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of it. There may come a day when I don’t know if I can physically do it anymore [laughs]. But, uh, it’s one of those things that is so fun to do, because the reaction is so fantastic, and you know, I don’t have to speak during it or talk during it, I’m just dancing. And so it’s one of those things where, like, you know you’ve got something that’s good, and you like to give it to other people.
Music Review: Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks, Real Emotional Trash
Originally published in The Lamron (3/13/08)
About as unpredictable as this winter weather in western New York, Stephen Malkmus is far too enigmatic to be declared anything, may it be crazed, nonsensical lyricist or genius spokesperson of indie rock. Stephen Malkmus just is. And he does it wonderfully, too, particularly on Real Emotional Trash, his fourth solo album (well, alongside his backing band, the Jicks) since leaving legendary lo-fi band Pavement and the slightly-less legendary Silver Jews.
An indie album that jams like the Grateful Dead? Has the world gone mad? That’s what we have here, and it works astonishingly well. This is especially true on the ten-plus minute title track, a true sixties groove with highlights of Television post-punk and rapid-fire drumming by Sleater-Kinney’s Janet Weiss. But it isn’t just the epic centerpiece; the whole album is loose and mumbling as a basement of stoners sitting in beanbag chairs, noodling away at their guitars; only three songs are under four minutes long.
One thing’s for sure: this certainly isn’t a Pavement album in disguise. Malkmus’ hazy charm is intact, but otherwise this is nothing anyone could have expected from him, Jicks or no Jicks. Already mentioned was its breadth, but this is also the closest Malkmus has gotten in his career to a straight-on rock album. The production is surprisingly sharp – there is very little of the fuzz and white noise that textured Pavement’s first two albums – and there are extended solos everywhere.
That being said, one could still argue that Real Emotional Trash could have been trimmed a tad or two. “Elmo Delmo,” “Hopscotch Willie” and the title track, in spite of themselves, are all real good songs that are perhaps a bit too long. The mindless wandering works on the terrific “Baltimore,” a standout track amongst a concrete-strong track list. It’s the catchiest Malkmus song since “Carrot Rope” and really epitomizes this strange new direction. A few of his tracks, like “Real Emotional Trash” and “Dragonfly Pie,” even have a bizarre knack for incorporating chord progressions that suggest Randy Newman or Louise Armstrong.
And then there’s the wordplay, always a topic of conversation when discussing Malkmus. Sure, most of it is ridiculous nonsense, but there’s something nice about its inanity, especially in the face of so many ‘change the world’ attempts at revolution songs. The lyrics range from the cryptic (“It’s warm for a witch trial/Don’t you agree?/Cold are the hands of whatever touched me”) to the slightly less subtle (“Wicked, wicked Wanda/I’d rather date Rwanda”). It doesn’t matter that the listener doesn’t understand any of it. Malkmus sounds convinced enough for all of us.
Somewhat not surprisingly, Malkmus has dropped us another chest of indie rock gold. What’s a bit more surprising is the color and direction he took in getting it here. Real Emotional Trash is a real treasure, and it makes a case as one of the best albums released so far this year.
About as unpredictable as this winter weather in western New York, Stephen Malkmus is far too enigmatic to be declared anything, may it be crazed, nonsensical lyricist or genius spokesperson of indie rock. Stephen Malkmus just is. And he does it wonderfully, too, particularly on Real Emotional Trash, his fourth solo album (well, alongside his backing band, the Jicks) since leaving legendary lo-fi band Pavement and the slightly-less legendary Silver Jews.
An indie album that jams like the Grateful Dead? Has the world gone mad? That’s what we have here, and it works astonishingly well. This is especially true on the ten-plus minute title track, a true sixties groove with highlights of Television post-punk and rapid-fire drumming by Sleater-Kinney’s Janet Weiss. But it isn’t just the epic centerpiece; the whole album is loose and mumbling as a basement of stoners sitting in beanbag chairs, noodling away at their guitars; only three songs are under four minutes long.
One thing’s for sure: this certainly isn’t a Pavement album in disguise. Malkmus’ hazy charm is intact, but otherwise this is nothing anyone could have expected from him, Jicks or no Jicks. Already mentioned was its breadth, but this is also the closest Malkmus has gotten in his career to a straight-on rock album. The production is surprisingly sharp – there is very little of the fuzz and white noise that textured Pavement’s first two albums – and there are extended solos everywhere.
That being said, one could still argue that Real Emotional Trash could have been trimmed a tad or two. “Elmo Delmo,” “Hopscotch Willie” and the title track, in spite of themselves, are all real good songs that are perhaps a bit too long. The mindless wandering works on the terrific “Baltimore,” a standout track amongst a concrete-strong track list. It’s the catchiest Malkmus song since “Carrot Rope” and really epitomizes this strange new direction. A few of his tracks, like “Real Emotional Trash” and “Dragonfly Pie,” even have a bizarre knack for incorporating chord progressions that suggest Randy Newman or Louise Armstrong.
And then there’s the wordplay, always a topic of conversation when discussing Malkmus. Sure, most of it is ridiculous nonsense, but there’s something nice about its inanity, especially in the face of so many ‘change the world’ attempts at revolution songs. The lyrics range from the cryptic (“It’s warm for a witch trial/Don’t you agree?/Cold are the hands of whatever touched me”) to the slightly less subtle (“Wicked, wicked Wanda/I’d rather date Rwanda”). It doesn’t matter that the listener doesn’t understand any of it. Malkmus sounds convinced enough for all of us.
Somewhat not surprisingly, Malkmus has dropped us another chest of indie rock gold. What’s a bit more surprising is the color and direction he took in getting it here. Real Emotional Trash is a real treasure, and it makes a case as one of the best albums released so far this year.
Artist Spotlight: Battles
Originally published in The Lamron (3/6/08)
Sure, at first glance, the indie-math-prog rock freakshow Battles is just another ingenious new band with a killer debut album already under their belt (because there are so many of those, these days…). But trace the Battles bloodlines back a few veins and you’ll find a bit more musical experience one would come to expect from an out-of-nowhere critical success.
First there’s drummer John Stanier, who boasts a resume that includes stints with post-hardcore act Helmet as well as Tomahawk, alongside multi-talent Mike Patton (Faith No More, Mr. Bungle). Then there’s guitarist/keyboardist Ian Williams, who collaborated with Big Black founder Steve Albini on the noise-rock project, Storm & Stress. Throw in loner avant-garde musician Tyondai Braxton and, oh, let’s say another guitarist for good measure (David Konopka) and suddenly the starburst of interplanetary sound-play that Battles somehow conjures isn’t all that hard to figure out.
In March of 2007, Battles released a queer little experimental album called Mirrored. Today, that album is number eight on Pitchfork Media’s best albums of the year and Battles is playing everywhere from Berlin to Bonnaroo. What’s so unusual isn’t necessarily all the attention the band is suddenly receiving – that’s to be expected when something as unique as Mirrored comes along – but just how foreign and strange the music itself sounds. Sometimes calculated, sometimes slapdash, the music is jagged and rickety as an old, wooden roller coaster.
Most bands are easy to place by dipping into their musical influences. Battles can only be described by what they don’t sound like. Are they like Ratatat? Nah, not quite dancy enough. Minus the Bear? Certainly more sporadic than that. Even within Mirrored, itself, there’s conflict. “Tonto” is frantic and catchy enough to be a distant relative to LCD Soundsystem, but “Bad Trails” sounds like some African war chant transmitted through space.
Thus far, Battles has avoided the standard composition style of a rock song, eliminating the voice as a vehicle for lyrics but using it instead as a driving musical force. In just about all the songs that a voice is even audible, it’s distorted and computerized beyond recognition, resembling anything from mice getting their tails stepped on to the squeaky singing of an androgynous angel.
The instruments, too, are used in strange ways, even for a style that borders on progressive. Battles have never recorded a traditional guitar solo, and yet every moment in every song teems with compositional complexity.
If Mirrored’s improvements over the sheer inaccessibility of Battles’ earlier EPs are any indication, the group has locked down a sharp ebb-and-flow workmanship that is beginning to grow a notorious reputation as a live act, as well. For those interested in being lab rats in Battles’ sonic experiments, the band is touring this spring. To check out their schedule, visit www.bttles.com.
Sure, at first glance, the indie-math-prog rock freakshow Battles is just another ingenious new band with a killer debut album already under their belt (because there are so many of those, these days…). But trace the Battles bloodlines back a few veins and you’ll find a bit more musical experience one would come to expect from an out-of-nowhere critical success.
First there’s drummer John Stanier, who boasts a resume that includes stints with post-hardcore act Helmet as well as Tomahawk, alongside multi-talent Mike Patton (Faith No More, Mr. Bungle). Then there’s guitarist/keyboardist Ian Williams, who collaborated with Big Black founder Steve Albini on the noise-rock project, Storm & Stress. Throw in loner avant-garde musician Tyondai Braxton and, oh, let’s say another guitarist for good measure (David Konopka) and suddenly the starburst of interplanetary sound-play that Battles somehow conjures isn’t all that hard to figure out.
In March of 2007, Battles released a queer little experimental album called Mirrored. Today, that album is number eight on Pitchfork Media’s best albums of the year and Battles is playing everywhere from Berlin to Bonnaroo. What’s so unusual isn’t necessarily all the attention the band is suddenly receiving – that’s to be expected when something as unique as Mirrored comes along – but just how foreign and strange the music itself sounds. Sometimes calculated, sometimes slapdash, the music is jagged and rickety as an old, wooden roller coaster.
Most bands are easy to place by dipping into their musical influences. Battles can only be described by what they don’t sound like. Are they like Ratatat? Nah, not quite dancy enough. Minus the Bear? Certainly more sporadic than that. Even within Mirrored, itself, there’s conflict. “Tonto” is frantic and catchy enough to be a distant relative to LCD Soundsystem, but “Bad Trails” sounds like some African war chant transmitted through space.
Thus far, Battles has avoided the standard composition style of a rock song, eliminating the voice as a vehicle for lyrics but using it instead as a driving musical force. In just about all the songs that a voice is even audible, it’s distorted and computerized beyond recognition, resembling anything from mice getting their tails stepped on to the squeaky singing of an androgynous angel.
The instruments, too, are used in strange ways, even for a style that borders on progressive. Battles have never recorded a traditional guitar solo, and yet every moment in every song teems with compositional complexity.
If Mirrored’s improvements over the sheer inaccessibility of Battles’ earlier EPs are any indication, the group has locked down a sharp ebb-and-flow workmanship that is beginning to grow a notorious reputation as a live act, as well. For those interested in being lab rats in Battles’ sonic experiments, the band is touring this spring. To check out their schedule, visit www.bttles.com.
Music Flashback: Afrika Bambaataa and the Soulsonic Force
Originally published in The Lamron (2/28/08)
There may not be another album, hip-hop or otherwise, that sounds so constantly manic and locomotive as Afrika Bambaataa’s Planet Rock (1986). A sonic strobe-light, the album is a space shuttle of funk and electricity that blasts off into the rap stratosphere with the first bash of resonating bass on the album’s opening title track. Throughout, Bambaataa shows the bombast of George Clinton hand-in-hand with the meticulousness of Kraftwerk.
It is tragic that modern-era rappers often fail to include Bambaataa and the Soulsonic Force when paying homage to the grandfathers of hip-hop. Never one to pigeonhole himself within the confines of a genre, Bambaataa and his Planet Rock masterpiece are as influential as music gets, and the album’s sound expanded into a mushroom cloud that engulfed everything from fusion to dance to electronica. The album also was the first of its kind to prominently feature an 808 drum machine, a tool which subsequently grew incredibly popular and helped rap evolve into the bass-heavy incarnate it is today.
At the centerpiece of Planet Rock is the aforementioned title track, but the subsequent songs are just as strong, if not stronger. In fact, its immediate successor, “Looking For the Perfect Beat,” is one of the most infectious dance songs ever created. A better name for the song would no doubt be, “This Is the Perfect Beat.” Also of note is the deliciously-80s groove, “Go Go Pop,” and the volatile “Renegades of Funk,” famously redone by Rage Against the Machine on their album of covers, Renegades.
Perhaps the greatest thing about this album, though, is its innocence. Planet Rock was originally released in 1986, three years before N.W.A.’s Straight Outta Compton, two years before Ice-T’s Power and seven years before Snoop Doggy Dogg debuted with Doggystyle. In only a few years, rappers would discover a violent passion to inject into their music like a venom. Rap would soon grow its ugly tumor of negative connotation – gang violence, degradation of women, drugs and all kinds of other excesses. Dr. Dre and others built a legacy out of this new, gritty kind of rap, but Bambaataa’s blasts of bass and soaring synth beats have a sort of peaceful freedom to them (same with lyrics like “Party people/Party people/Can y’all get funky?”). This is rap before the streets forced rap to grow up, and that gives it a uniquely youthful appeal.
Planet Rock is just a joy to listen to and even a greater joy to dance to. “Looking For the Perfect Beat” belongs in the triple crown of rap’s genesis, along with the Sugarhill Gang’s “Rapper’s Delight” and Grandmaster Flash’s “The Message.” In a 1989 interview, Bambaataa claimed, “We gotta understand that hip-hop is now universal. Hip-hop is not East coast or West coast.” That’s the kind of thinking that makes great music, and it’s the kind of thinking that finally seems to be filtering through the modern rap community.
There may not be another album, hip-hop or otherwise, that sounds so constantly manic and locomotive as Afrika Bambaataa’s Planet Rock (1986). A sonic strobe-light, the album is a space shuttle of funk and electricity that blasts off into the rap stratosphere with the first bash of resonating bass on the album’s opening title track. Throughout, Bambaataa shows the bombast of George Clinton hand-in-hand with the meticulousness of Kraftwerk.
It is tragic that modern-era rappers often fail to include Bambaataa and the Soulsonic Force when paying homage to the grandfathers of hip-hop. Never one to pigeonhole himself within the confines of a genre, Bambaataa and his Planet Rock masterpiece are as influential as music gets, and the album’s sound expanded into a mushroom cloud that engulfed everything from fusion to dance to electronica. The album also was the first of its kind to prominently feature an 808 drum machine, a tool which subsequently grew incredibly popular and helped rap evolve into the bass-heavy incarnate it is today.
At the centerpiece of Planet Rock is the aforementioned title track, but the subsequent songs are just as strong, if not stronger. In fact, its immediate successor, “Looking For the Perfect Beat,” is one of the most infectious dance songs ever created. A better name for the song would no doubt be, “This Is the Perfect Beat.” Also of note is the deliciously-80s groove, “Go Go Pop,” and the volatile “Renegades of Funk,” famously redone by Rage Against the Machine on their album of covers, Renegades.
Perhaps the greatest thing about this album, though, is its innocence. Planet Rock was originally released in 1986, three years before N.W.A.’s Straight Outta Compton, two years before Ice-T’s Power and seven years before Snoop Doggy Dogg debuted with Doggystyle. In only a few years, rappers would discover a violent passion to inject into their music like a venom. Rap would soon grow its ugly tumor of negative connotation – gang violence, degradation of women, drugs and all kinds of other excesses. Dr. Dre and others built a legacy out of this new, gritty kind of rap, but Bambaataa’s blasts of bass and soaring synth beats have a sort of peaceful freedom to them (same with lyrics like “Party people/Party people/Can y’all get funky?”). This is rap before the streets forced rap to grow up, and that gives it a uniquely youthful appeal.
Planet Rock is just a joy to listen to and even a greater joy to dance to. “Looking For the Perfect Beat” belongs in the triple crown of rap’s genesis, along with the Sugarhill Gang’s “Rapper’s Delight” and Grandmaster Flash’s “The Message.” In a 1989 interview, Bambaataa claimed, “We gotta understand that hip-hop is now universal. Hip-hop is not East coast or West coast.” That’s the kind of thinking that makes great music, and it’s the kind of thinking that finally seems to be filtering through the modern rap community.
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