Originally published in Soundcheck Magazine (9/30/08)
TV on the Radio may have the most appropriate band name in music today. They create music that is dynamic in all the ways you can only describe with visual adjectives: it is colorful, curvaceous, muscular, scintillating. This isn’t such a strange idea when you consider that the two hemispheres of the band’s brain are made up of two visual artists: stop-motion animator Tunde Adebimpe and painter/photographer David Andrew Sitek. Their latest release, Dear Science, is more music to look at, and its form is one of the most beautiful audible bodies all year.
TVOTR hinted at this with their second album, Return to Cookie Mountain, in 2006. But they still habitually hid behind some indie sensibilities such as occasional, thick fogs of feedback. Dear Science though, rips out its heart and puts it on a plate for you. The album is so much more calculated in its patience and its confidence that it’s like musical puzzle pieces falling effortlessly into place. This newfound up-frontness also is reflected in the band’s guest musicians. Consider the subtle backing vocals by David Bowie on Cookie Mountain’s “Province”, and compare Bowie’s soft ambiguity with the bold, blaring afrobeat engine that drives “Red Dress”, courtesy of Brooklyn’s Antibalas.
One thing that hasn’t changed is the careening variety in TVOTR’s gauntlet of styles. Opener “Halfway Home” rides a thick, My Bloody Valentine-esque wall of sound into a gorgeous, Loveless-inspired chorus. “Crying”, which comes next, pushes aside the shoegazing for some dancing shoes. The breathy coo of the vocals and the slick, accompanying guitar riff reinvent 1970s Rolling Stones; think the vocal style of “Fool To Cry” put to the sexy stomp of “Miss You”. With the rest of the album channeling everyone from Fela Kuti to the Pixies, the resultant stew is spirited and feels quite new.
As promising as TVOTR’s previous works were, Dear Science marks a leap in artistic growth so great that it exceeds even the lofty expectations the band members have been projected to reach since their 2003 Young Liars EP. It has the same tone and attitude that the band has had their whole career, but it’s sharper now – clearer somehow. The connection between the band and the listener has less interference.
This is the type of art that, when finished, the artist is overcome with a sense of pride until he can’t help but show it to all his friends. Well, TVOTR has many loyal friends already, and after Dear Science, they are likely to gain a whole lot more.
– Andy Pareti
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Review - Kings of Leon: Only By the Night
Originally published in Soundcheck Magazine (9/24/08)
What are Kings of Leon? Their story and look seem more like some 1970s rock band biopic than an actual 21st century entity. They are like Stillwater from Almost Famous. When you try to come up with an idea in your head of what an American rock band is, chances are the image looks a lot like Kings of Leon. Is it even possible that they are a living, breathing unit – in 2008, no less?
Not only is it possible, but the Followill family has proven that it is a smashing success, as well. 2007’s Because of the Times dusted off your father’s crackling wax copies of U2’s The Joshua Tree, Neil Young’s After the Gold Rush and Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers’ Damn the Torpedoes and dropped them in a blender for a glorious frappe of echoed loneliness and tumbleweed dreams that became, despite all its contrivances and borrowed ideas, the best album of the year. This happened for two reasons: stark honesty and the striking, harrowing voice of Caleb Followill. Not since Big Brother & the Holding Company has a band been swept up and tossed into the starlight in such a way simply on the sheer muscular power of a set of pipes.
Here we are now, a year later, and Kings of Leon already have unleashed their “Fever Dog”. How do they follow it up? Only By the Night notions that it’s by doing it all over again. Night ultimately is not as consistently fulfilling as Times, but it continues musically where that album left off, following the same emotional unfolding of Times, from the moody, atmospheric opening track to the feel-good closure of the album’s finale.
Things don’t quite start out smoothly, though. Opener “Closer” – how’s that for irony? – is a bit meandering and is more of a preface than an opening chapter. The second track, “Crawl”, isn’t much better. It features Caleb at his most disinterested, and to make matters worse, the verse melodies strangely recall Toto’s 1982 soft-rock hit, “Rosanna”, which never is a good thing.
The album really starts to take off, though, on the band’s first single, “Sex on Fire”. Awful, slightly diva-esque music video aside, the infectious song sounds like a sequel to “California Waiting” from 2003’s Holy Roller Novocaine, and it is the perfect forum in which to showcase Caleb’s emotive, lost-puppy howl.
From there out, the album is quite consistent in its dusty, ramshackle excellence. There’s the bass-driven beauty of “Manhattan”, the lyrically-curious tale of a broken home in “17”, and the rumbling, steady build of “Be Somebody”, which finally culminates in a rage of grunge riffs and pounding drums that hark back to vintage Soundgarden.
Only By the Night doesn’t better its predecessor, but by no means does that make it a failure. It’s a solid album, one that continues developing a southern hybrid style that has proven to work for Kings of Leon and is quite unique among today’s generation of bands. And if nothing else, it gives us another chance to let that incredible voice send chills down our spines.
– Andy Pareti
What are Kings of Leon? Their story and look seem more like some 1970s rock band biopic than an actual 21st century entity. They are like Stillwater from Almost Famous. When you try to come up with an idea in your head of what an American rock band is, chances are the image looks a lot like Kings of Leon. Is it even possible that they are a living, breathing unit – in 2008, no less?
Not only is it possible, but the Followill family has proven that it is a smashing success, as well. 2007’s Because of the Times dusted off your father’s crackling wax copies of U2’s The Joshua Tree, Neil Young’s After the Gold Rush and Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers’ Damn the Torpedoes and dropped them in a blender for a glorious frappe of echoed loneliness and tumbleweed dreams that became, despite all its contrivances and borrowed ideas, the best album of the year. This happened for two reasons: stark honesty and the striking, harrowing voice of Caleb Followill. Not since Big Brother & the Holding Company has a band been swept up and tossed into the starlight in such a way simply on the sheer muscular power of a set of pipes.
Here we are now, a year later, and Kings of Leon already have unleashed their “Fever Dog”. How do they follow it up? Only By the Night notions that it’s by doing it all over again. Night ultimately is not as consistently fulfilling as Times, but it continues musically where that album left off, following the same emotional unfolding of Times, from the moody, atmospheric opening track to the feel-good closure of the album’s finale.
Things don’t quite start out smoothly, though. Opener “Closer” – how’s that for irony? – is a bit meandering and is more of a preface than an opening chapter. The second track, “Crawl”, isn’t much better. It features Caleb at his most disinterested, and to make matters worse, the verse melodies strangely recall Toto’s 1982 soft-rock hit, “Rosanna”, which never is a good thing.
The album really starts to take off, though, on the band’s first single, “Sex on Fire”. Awful, slightly diva-esque music video aside, the infectious song sounds like a sequel to “California Waiting” from 2003’s Holy Roller Novocaine, and it is the perfect forum in which to showcase Caleb’s emotive, lost-puppy howl.
From there out, the album is quite consistent in its dusty, ramshackle excellence. There’s the bass-driven beauty of “Manhattan”, the lyrically-curious tale of a broken home in “17”, and the rumbling, steady build of “Be Somebody”, which finally culminates in a rage of grunge riffs and pounding drums that hark back to vintage Soundgarden.
Only By the Night doesn’t better its predecessor, but by no means does that make it a failure. It’s a solid album, one that continues developing a southern hybrid style that has proven to work for Kings of Leon and is quite unique among today’s generation of bands. And if nothing else, it gives us another chance to let that incredible voice send chills down our spines.
– Andy Pareti
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
David Byrne @ Lehigh University, Bethlehem PA
Originally published in Soundcheck Magazine (9/22/08)
David Byrne at Lehigh University (Zoellner Arts Center); Sept. 16
By Andy Pareti
There’s a new star of Bethlehem, and he ain’t little. Riding the wake of his reunion with producer/musician Brian Eno, David Byrne and his jittery white brigade opened their fall tour in Lehigh University’s Zoellner Arts Center on Tuesday, September 16.
Sporting an ivory outfit to match his now electric-white hair, Byrne led his group through the musical history he and Eno shared, from their late ‘70s Talking Heads ventures to the 1981 slice of ambience My Life in the Bush of Ghosts to their latest collaboration, Everything That Happens Will Happen Today.
That latter title rings eerily prophetic for Tuesday’s performance, which sparkled with world-fusion rhythms, echoing gospel and, of course, some low-down, dirty dance grooves.
All of this was illuminated by Byrne’s constant visual dynamics. The combination of Zoellner’s cozy amphitheater with the jagged, exaggerated movements of Byrne’s backup dancers (who clearly graduated from Byrne’s school of the cocaine dance) made the set look a bit like some super high-budget talent show with, well, much better talent. Especially the more atmospheric, Eno-led pieces, like “I Feel My Stuff”, had all the charm of college performance art without any of the pretension.
The set was heavy on Everything That Happens material, which is unfortunate since much of the crowd didn’t seem to connect strongly with that album’s particular excellence. “Life is Long” was enhanced somewhat by the oddball addition of computer chairs on stage that resulted in what could only be described as a collective couch potato dance; “Strange Overtones” radiated warm, fuzzy feelings; and the group closed out a second and final encore with Everything That Happens’ title track - not the most obvious finale, but one that worked well nonetheless.
While Byrne’s latest material remained somewhat underappreciated (at least relatively-speaking), the audience was brought to their feet when the lineup ripped through some fabulous classic Heads cuts, particularly the one-two punch of “Once in a Lifetime” and “Life During Wartime”. The best interpretation of a classic, though, was clearly the first encore, “Take Me to the River”. Byrne’s backup singers, particularly the Aretha-inspired Kaïssa, shot a surge of gospel through the song’s pacing structure that made it bleed the soul of Al Green’s original more than the reinterpretation that appears on More Songs About Buildings and Food.
And at the center of this tense Molotov cocktail was Byrne, who continues even today to shudder around the stage with his spastic cockatoo dance like it’s still 1983 and Jonathan Demme’s behind the camera. Music seems to physically affect Byrne in the most curious of ways. When he sings, it’s like his very pores tighten with anticipation for the next note. That’s the kind of love that never goes away. And on a cool Tuesday night in Bethlehem, we all loved him back for it.
David Byrne at Lehigh University (Zoellner Arts Center); Sept. 16
By Andy Pareti
There’s a new star of Bethlehem, and he ain’t little. Riding the wake of his reunion with producer/musician Brian Eno, David Byrne and his jittery white brigade opened their fall tour in Lehigh University’s Zoellner Arts Center on Tuesday, September 16.
Sporting an ivory outfit to match his now electric-white hair, Byrne led his group through the musical history he and Eno shared, from their late ‘70s Talking Heads ventures to the 1981 slice of ambience My Life in the Bush of Ghosts to their latest collaboration, Everything That Happens Will Happen Today.
That latter title rings eerily prophetic for Tuesday’s performance, which sparkled with world-fusion rhythms, echoing gospel and, of course, some low-down, dirty dance grooves.
All of this was illuminated by Byrne’s constant visual dynamics. The combination of Zoellner’s cozy amphitheater with the jagged, exaggerated movements of Byrne’s backup dancers (who clearly graduated from Byrne’s school of the cocaine dance) made the set look a bit like some super high-budget talent show with, well, much better talent. Especially the more atmospheric, Eno-led pieces, like “I Feel My Stuff”, had all the charm of college performance art without any of the pretension.
The set was heavy on Everything That Happens material, which is unfortunate since much of the crowd didn’t seem to connect strongly with that album’s particular excellence. “Life is Long” was enhanced somewhat by the oddball addition of computer chairs on stage that resulted in what could only be described as a collective couch potato dance; “Strange Overtones” radiated warm, fuzzy feelings; and the group closed out a second and final encore with Everything That Happens’ title track - not the most obvious finale, but one that worked well nonetheless.
While Byrne’s latest material remained somewhat underappreciated (at least relatively-speaking), the audience was brought to their feet when the lineup ripped through some fabulous classic Heads cuts, particularly the one-two punch of “Once in a Lifetime” and “Life During Wartime”. The best interpretation of a classic, though, was clearly the first encore, “Take Me to the River”. Byrne’s backup singers, particularly the Aretha-inspired Kaïssa, shot a surge of gospel through the song’s pacing structure that made it bleed the soul of Al Green’s original more than the reinterpretation that appears on More Songs About Buildings and Food.
And at the center of this tense Molotov cocktail was Byrne, who continues even today to shudder around the stage with his spastic cockatoo dance like it’s still 1983 and Jonathan Demme’s behind the camera. Music seems to physically affect Byrne in the most curious of ways. When he sings, it’s like his very pores tighten with anticipation for the next note. That’s the kind of love that never goes away. And on a cool Tuesday night in Bethlehem, we all loved him back for it.
Soundbyte: Restiform Bodies - TV Loves You Back
Originally published in Soundcheck Magazine (9/22/08)
Restiform Bodies
TV Loves You Back
Anticon
Available Now
If there’s a such thing as prog-rap, Restiform Bodies could be hip-hop’s Emerson, Lake and Palmer. Assembling break-neck beats that are constantly nudging each other in and out of audibility like a schizophrenic disc jockey, Bodies’ TV Loves You Back follows in the path of beat trailblazers like El-P: every track is like a mini-album, metamorphosing between musical ideas, sometimes without warning or reason. Even as the walls that separate rap from the rest of the musical world slowly decay, Bodies are truly progressive: they sometimes veer out of rap completely and into the bedrooms of Sonic Youth fuzz-rock and Daft Punk electronica. “Pick It Up, Drop It” trades Martian synth lines with Psycho-style screaming violins, while the sex-frenzy lyrics of “Consumer Culture Wave” float above an erotic, percussive flurry of beeps and pops. Each song on TV Loves You Back is a carefully-concocted trip, and listening to the album in its entirety is delightful substance abuse.
-Andy Pareti
Restiform Bodies
TV Loves You Back
Anticon
Available Now
If there’s a such thing as prog-rap, Restiform Bodies could be hip-hop’s Emerson, Lake and Palmer. Assembling break-neck beats that are constantly nudging each other in and out of audibility like a schizophrenic disc jockey, Bodies’ TV Loves You Back follows in the path of beat trailblazers like El-P: every track is like a mini-album, metamorphosing between musical ideas, sometimes without warning or reason. Even as the walls that separate rap from the rest of the musical world slowly decay, Bodies are truly progressive: they sometimes veer out of rap completely and into the bedrooms of Sonic Youth fuzz-rock and Daft Punk electronica. “Pick It Up, Drop It” trades Martian synth lines with Psycho-style screaming violins, while the sex-frenzy lyrics of “Consumer Culture Wave” float above an erotic, percussive flurry of beeps and pops. Each song on TV Loves You Back is a carefully-concocted trip, and listening to the album in its entirety is delightful substance abuse.
-Andy Pareti
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Album Review: Brian Wilson - That Lucky Old Sun
Originally published in Freetime Magazine (9/16/08)
Well, it’s no SMiLE.
Now that that’s out of the way, we can talk about how Brian Wilson’s latest, That Lucky Old Sun, is a great, solid record in is own right. How does someone so crazy make music so universal? It’s one of music’s greatest mysteries, somewhere between Robert Johnson’s deal with the devil and the real face of Buckethead. However it’s done, Wilson still manages to bring the sun out on the dankest rainy day. In fact, at the end of it all, perhaps he is the lucky one.
That Lucky Old Sun plays like a sequel to SMiLE. It’s like the effects-laden, more action-ey follow-up to a classic film; it may not have as much substance but still gets the job done with the hooks and flashy melodies. And lord knows Wilson is the king of flashy melodies. It still has the same orchestral flowerbed sound that SMiLE had, and the songs are woven together into a musical concept album the same way that album was, right down to the reemerging themes that pops up in various spots throughout the tracklist.
Of course, That Lucky Old Sun has none of the mystique that surrounded SMiLE. But Wilson obviously approached it with this knowledge, and the result is a lighthearted, fun summer release - a popcorn album, if you will. It’s not all sunbeams and lollipops, though. We have to remember that this is Brian Wilson, and even now, behind the surfer rock riffs are the remnants of a beaten, broken heart. “Midnight’s Another Day,” in particular, drops the album to a somber tone as Wilson sings, “Took the diamond from my soul/And turned it back to coal.” It’s a bit of an ugly duckling on a mostly constant upbeat tone.
Even at 17 tracks, this album breaks faster than the California shoreline. It moves with an oiled fluidness, speckled with brief narrative section breaks that work more like spoken word poetry with musical accompaniment than as a story time session. It’s got the same, quirky spunk as SMiLE, it’s just a lighter meal. If SMiLE was the ascension to the top of a seemingly un-scalable mountain, That Lucky Old Sun is the ride back down. There isn’t as much satisfaction in the end, but it’s nice to just sit back and enjoy the accomplishment.
Well, it’s no SMiLE.
Now that that’s out of the way, we can talk about how Brian Wilson’s latest, That Lucky Old Sun, is a great, solid record in is own right. How does someone so crazy make music so universal? It’s one of music’s greatest mysteries, somewhere between Robert Johnson’s deal with the devil and the real face of Buckethead. However it’s done, Wilson still manages to bring the sun out on the dankest rainy day. In fact, at the end of it all, perhaps he is the lucky one.
That Lucky Old Sun plays like a sequel to SMiLE. It’s like the effects-laden, more action-ey follow-up to a classic film; it may not have as much substance but still gets the job done with the hooks and flashy melodies. And lord knows Wilson is the king of flashy melodies. It still has the same orchestral flowerbed sound that SMiLE had, and the songs are woven together into a musical concept album the same way that album was, right down to the reemerging themes that pops up in various spots throughout the tracklist.
Of course, That Lucky Old Sun has none of the mystique that surrounded SMiLE. But Wilson obviously approached it with this knowledge, and the result is a lighthearted, fun summer release - a popcorn album, if you will. It’s not all sunbeams and lollipops, though. We have to remember that this is Brian Wilson, and even now, behind the surfer rock riffs are the remnants of a beaten, broken heart. “Midnight’s Another Day,” in particular, drops the album to a somber tone as Wilson sings, “Took the diamond from my soul/And turned it back to coal.” It’s a bit of an ugly duckling on a mostly constant upbeat tone.
Even at 17 tracks, this album breaks faster than the California shoreline. It moves with an oiled fluidness, speckled with brief narrative section breaks that work more like spoken word poetry with musical accompaniment than as a story time session. It’s got the same, quirky spunk as SMiLE, it’s just a lighter meal. If SMiLE was the ascension to the top of a seemingly un-scalable mountain, That Lucky Old Sun is the ride back down. There isn’t as much satisfaction in the end, but it’s nice to just sit back and enjoy the accomplishment.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Album Review: Bloc Party - Intimacy
Originally published in Soundcheck Magazine (9/09/08)
Someone in Bloc Party must have made a mistake when issuing the names of their last two albums. Intimacy should have been the name of their 2007 sophomore effort, a lyrically driven, dark and moody album. That release, instead, was called A Weekend in the City, which is far more a fitting title for the gunshot nervous energy found here.
Intimacy is simply alive. It’s a caged animal, a speeding freight train that hustles along relentlessly, sometimes without thinking things through first. It’s very much like the band’s debut (Silent Alarm) in many ways, not the least of which is the return of Matt Tong’s assault rifle drumming.
The long and short of it is that this album beats A Weekend in the City firmly into the ground. Weekend was a definite leap forward lyrically for Kele Okereke, who was channeling some personal and emotional hurdles in his life at the time. However, the musicians around him seemed to be taking a vacation, as Bloc Party failed to give those songs the melodies they deserved.
Intimacy sees the band embrace electronica front and center, especially on songs like “Biko” and “Signs”, and for a band that’s trying on this style for the first time seriously (they dabbled with electronic elements on Weekend, but not as unabashedly as here), it fits them well. But Bloc Party hasn’t forgotten their rock roots, either.
Consider the opening two tracks, which may be the most pulverizing two-song opening combo in recent memory. First there’s “Ares”, which is hell-bent on being hell-bent: it flirts precariously with becoming muddled, but manages to barely avoid this pitfall. Following is “Mercury”, which is cinematic in its scope. The orchestral punches are even Matrix-esque in the way they seem to be independently choreographing some sonic fight scene.
Intimacy turns out to be a very reckless album. But after its predecessor, these risks are extremely refreshing. Okereke seems to have gotten over whatever demons possessed him in the past, because he’s traded in the heady subject matter for head banging beats. It’s impossible to ignore this album, and that tenaciousness turns out to be its best quality.
-Andy Pareti
Someone in Bloc Party must have made a mistake when issuing the names of their last two albums. Intimacy should have been the name of their 2007 sophomore effort, a lyrically driven, dark and moody album. That release, instead, was called A Weekend in the City, which is far more a fitting title for the gunshot nervous energy found here.
Intimacy is simply alive. It’s a caged animal, a speeding freight train that hustles along relentlessly, sometimes without thinking things through first. It’s very much like the band’s debut (Silent Alarm) in many ways, not the least of which is the return of Matt Tong’s assault rifle drumming.
The long and short of it is that this album beats A Weekend in the City firmly into the ground. Weekend was a definite leap forward lyrically for Kele Okereke, who was channeling some personal and emotional hurdles in his life at the time. However, the musicians around him seemed to be taking a vacation, as Bloc Party failed to give those songs the melodies they deserved.
Intimacy sees the band embrace electronica front and center, especially on songs like “Biko” and “Signs”, and for a band that’s trying on this style for the first time seriously (they dabbled with electronic elements on Weekend, but not as unabashedly as here), it fits them well. But Bloc Party hasn’t forgotten their rock roots, either.
Consider the opening two tracks, which may be the most pulverizing two-song opening combo in recent memory. First there’s “Ares”, which is hell-bent on being hell-bent: it flirts precariously with becoming muddled, but manages to barely avoid this pitfall. Following is “Mercury”, which is cinematic in its scope. The orchestral punches are even Matrix-esque in the way they seem to be independently choreographing some sonic fight scene.
Intimacy turns out to be a very reckless album. But after its predecessor, these risks are extremely refreshing. Okereke seems to have gotten over whatever demons possessed him in the past, because he’s traded in the heady subject matter for head banging beats. It’s impossible to ignore this album, and that tenaciousness turns out to be its best quality.
-Andy Pareti
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Album review: Alias - Resurgam
Originally published in Soundcheck Magazine (8/3/08)
It’s hard to make a great electronica album. It’s so easy to slip into contrivance or to fall into self-parody that the genre is in a constant fine-line straddle. Most who attempt the balance, understandably, fall squarely on their asses. Some of the better artists of the genre have a curious brotherhood in hip-hop: Rjd2, Danger Mouse, and El-P, to name three. Maybe there’s something in the marriage of dance’s neon and rap’s malevolence that’s absurdly attractive. Brendon Whitney, a.k.a. Alias, got started in rap before switching almost exclusively to production, releasing two instrumental albums in 2003 and 2004, respectively. With Resurgam, his latest release, he has demonstrated a mastery of aura and detail that puts him near the head of the production pack.
The two best electronica albums of last year were Justice’s Cross and Burial’s Untrue. The two albums couldn’t have been any more different—Cross dove headfirst into a sea of fluorescents, dance grooves and overall electric excess, while Untrue lurked in the shadows, a deeply poignant landscape of subtleties and atmospheres. Somehow, in a way only the men of Kraftwerk might understand, Alias has combined the qualities of both of these two albums. And, again, it must have something to do with hip-hop. Resurgam is a tug-of-war between acid-blast psychoses and gritty catharsis, the kind of grounded realism found in rap. And it transitions between the two styles gradually, as the album unfolds.
Things start out with “New To a Few”, a hip-shaking page out of the Chemical Brothers’ book that is obnoxious in an almost-delightful way…almost. Next is “I Heart Drum Machines”, which follows a Ratatat-like precision and sets the listener up for a series of systematic grooves. As the album progresses, though, the beats become less of a focal point and Alias begins to build upon sonic layers, adding a much-needed density to the album. It is here that Burial’s influence comes into play, as the music takes a turn for the serious. “Autumnal Ego” is a frostbitten lament that carries an affective dimension the earlier songs didn’t have, even going so far as to add such non-electronica elements as acoustic guitars and pianos.
Of the two contrasting styles, Alias works best when painting details. The more patient, refined tracks on Resurgam are the ones that leave the most lasting impression. It doesn’t seem Whitney’s strong point is cooking an all-out dance-a-thon. Like Rjd2, his mastery is triggering a deeper emotional poignancy. This works best on “Death Watch”, a song that has all the musical qualities of a dance song, but one that uses these tools to create an electronic epic that is entrancing, mysterious, and a little sad.
If Alias’ last two albums saw a transition period between genres, Resurgam is a transitional piece between two creative styles. The question is, which one will prevail? His blunt, inconstant dance beats, or his graceful, ambient nocturnes? The answer may determine his musical career.
It’s hard to make a great electronica album. It’s so easy to slip into contrivance or to fall into self-parody that the genre is in a constant fine-line straddle. Most who attempt the balance, understandably, fall squarely on their asses. Some of the better artists of the genre have a curious brotherhood in hip-hop: Rjd2, Danger Mouse, and El-P, to name three. Maybe there’s something in the marriage of dance’s neon and rap’s malevolence that’s absurdly attractive. Brendon Whitney, a.k.a. Alias, got started in rap before switching almost exclusively to production, releasing two instrumental albums in 2003 and 2004, respectively. With Resurgam, his latest release, he has demonstrated a mastery of aura and detail that puts him near the head of the production pack.
The two best electronica albums of last year were Justice’s Cross and Burial’s Untrue. The two albums couldn’t have been any more different—Cross dove headfirst into a sea of fluorescents, dance grooves and overall electric excess, while Untrue lurked in the shadows, a deeply poignant landscape of subtleties and atmospheres. Somehow, in a way only the men of Kraftwerk might understand, Alias has combined the qualities of both of these two albums. And, again, it must have something to do with hip-hop. Resurgam is a tug-of-war between acid-blast psychoses and gritty catharsis, the kind of grounded realism found in rap. And it transitions between the two styles gradually, as the album unfolds.
Things start out with “New To a Few”, a hip-shaking page out of the Chemical Brothers’ book that is obnoxious in an almost-delightful way…almost. Next is “I Heart Drum Machines”, which follows a Ratatat-like precision and sets the listener up for a series of systematic grooves. As the album progresses, though, the beats become less of a focal point and Alias begins to build upon sonic layers, adding a much-needed density to the album. It is here that Burial’s influence comes into play, as the music takes a turn for the serious. “Autumnal Ego” is a frostbitten lament that carries an affective dimension the earlier songs didn’t have, even going so far as to add such non-electronica elements as acoustic guitars and pianos.
Of the two contrasting styles, Alias works best when painting details. The more patient, refined tracks on Resurgam are the ones that leave the most lasting impression. It doesn’t seem Whitney’s strong point is cooking an all-out dance-a-thon. Like Rjd2, his mastery is triggering a deeper emotional poignancy. This works best on “Death Watch”, a song that has all the musical qualities of a dance song, but one that uses these tools to create an electronic epic that is entrancing, mysterious, and a little sad.
If Alias’ last two albums saw a transition period between genres, Resurgam is a transitional piece between two creative styles. The question is, which one will prevail? His blunt, inconstant dance beats, or his graceful, ambient nocturnes? The answer may determine his musical career.
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