When a townie friend recommended the Providence-based Viennagram to me, I assumed his description of a “f*cking crazy time” to be a blend of hyperbole and local loyalty. After witnessing their show myself (Sunday, 28 September at AS220), I can attest that it was, if anything, an understatement. Except “show” doesn’t do Viennagram justice. How can I better describe this experience to an absent third party? Glam-thrash-vaudeville-noise-core; an ecstatic spectacle of carnival masks and confetti; a phantasmagorical orgy of boogie-down bass-lines; an anarchic frenzy of free cookies and flying bananas; an unstoppable parade in warning of – no, in spite of – no, in celebration of some psychedelic apocalypse. If Ziggy Stardust, James Joyce, Death From Above 1979, and Edgar Allen Poe started a band together, they would be trying to sound like Viennagram. But Caveat Auditor: this freak show is not for the faint of heart. If you attend a Viennagram show (and I strongly encourage it), come prepared to have your ears assaulted, your squeamishness affronted, and your feet hypnotized into raucous rhythms. Even with a moderate turnout, the energy seemed endless. The night was not without its disappointments, however. Unfortunately the tuba player and Berklee-trained trumpetist were not very well miked and positioned far from the action, almost like an afterthought. And even when he appeared to be trying to sing intelligibly, frontman/ring-master Dan White was difficult to understand. That is, his words were difficult to understand. His message, though, was clear: Viennagram came to make some noise, and you’d damn well better dance.
Acting as a sort of trashy, drug addicted bridge between the glam metal of the 80's and the alt-rock of the 90's, Guns N' Roses released one of the great metal albums of all time with 1987's Appetite for Destruction. The band seemingly imploded in after the bloated curiosities that are Use Your Illusion I and II and the covers collection The Spaghetti Incident, but the endless sessions for the unreleased Chinese Democracy have become a pop culture punch line. Tentatively begun in 1994, the album will contains the performances of at least a dozen current and former members, culled from 14 years of sessions. Most attribute the lack of progress and the continual canceling of release dates in the past 18 months to singer Axl Rose's perfectionist-bordering on control freak-tendencies, which leave him the last man standing from Guns N' Roses time as biggest group on the planet. The band's draconian legal reaction to any leaks have raised some eyebrows, the latest incident resulting in the FBI arrest of Kevin Cowgill, who posted 9 finished sounding tracks onto his blog antiquiet.com. He awaits prosecution, the band insists that the focus is on finding the source of the leak. As of a three year old New York Times article, the costs have exceeded $15 million dollars, making it the most expensive unreleased recording of all time. Claims that all recording had been completed in early 2007 turned out to be false, as would be assurances that it would be released by Christmas 2007. But now it seems that Billboard.com reports that it will be on shelves before the year is out, but only at Best Buy who have an exclusive retail deal, much as The Eagles had with Wal-Mart for their Long Road Out of Eden. So, what should the curious fan expect? Definitely not the kind of epic sounding hard rock they once specialized in-Axl has favored a more adventurous brand of metal with industrial influences at least since he recruited avant-garde metal guitarist Buckethead to join the band in 2000. He has since left the band, but the new material bears more similarities to a more rockist Nine Inch Nails than "Paradise City" or "November Rain". The first single "Shackler's Revenge", debuted on the video game Rock Band 2, and with grinding, guttural verses and a cleanly sung chorus, sounds more like a death metal band reclining on La-Z Boys than anything the band has recorded thus far. Whether or not you think the band is artistically significant, the idea of an unfinished work is magnetic to music fans. Rumored guest spots by Brian May, Shaquille O'Neal, and Dave Navarro can only raise the interest level even higher.
Wilco's "The Late Greats" is a song about missed opportunities framed by the fictional song "Turpentine" by the fictional band "The Late Greats". Yes, the characters may be invented but many music fans identify with the refrain of "the best song will never get sung / the best laugh never leaves your lungs / so good you won't ever know / I never hear it on the radio" could have been sung about any of these albums. As Guns n Roses moves closer to releasing their long awaited Chinese Democracy, here are some more fascinating lost albums.
The Beach Boys – Smile (1966)
What it was supposed to be: The perfect encapsulation of a century of American pop music. The culmination of Brian Wilson's musical ambitions. An album so good it would "make Pet Sounds stink". Containing the witty lyricisms of collaborator Van Dyke Parks and the logical continuation of Brian's "Good Vibrations" experiments, bootlegs reveal it to be one of the most compulsively listenable and addictive artifacts of the psychedelic era. What happened: The drugs and pressure got to Brian as the endless sessions only produced Smiley Smile, a bizarre little home recorded album that will forever live in the shadows of those classic demos and session excerpts. Release status: A large chunk of the sessions would see release in the 1993 box set Good Vibrations, but Brian would finally complete the work as a total re-recording with his new band in 2004. The album would cement his status as a pop music icon with a stature equal to any songwriter in pop music history.
The Beatles – Get Back (1969)
What it was supposed to be: An album that continued The White Album's back to basics approach in a more communal group format and premiere of the material that would herald the group's return to live performance after a two year hiatus. What happened: The rehearsals were fraught with arguing and countless takes of throwaway covers. Besides a few tracks like "Don't Let Me Down" and "Get Back", which were salvaged as a single, the songs were of a markedly lower quality than what the Beatles had been producing. After a final rooftop concert, the band abandoned the sessions. The band would reuse some promising scraps when they returned to the studio to cut Abbey Road, the last album recorded they would record as a group. Release status: After several abortive mixes helmed by producer Glyn Johns, Phil Spector was brought on to make sense of the mess. He famously spoiled several songs with syrupy strings and choruses, most notably "The Long and Winding Road" and "I Me Mine". The album would be released shortly after the breakup of the band in spring of 1970.
Big Star – Third (1974)
What it was supposed to be: The last in a trilogy of releases that saw Big Star move from starry eyed power pop to drugged out vets who had been fucked by the record industry and wanted you to know about it. What happened: Leader Alex Chilton famously sabotaged his own material as revenge for the failure of Ardent and Stax records to get his band's music heard. When the powers that be mooted "Downs" as the single, Chilton muted the vocals to barely audible and used a basketball as a snare drum. With the material uncommericial and Ardent records nearing the end of its existence, the band died and the material was shelved. Release status: It would see release in 1978 as the band started achieving notoriety amongst the few who knew Big Star even existed. A more complete portrait of the sessions would be released on cd in 1992.
The Who – Lifehouse (1970)
What it was supposed to be: The next step in Pete Townshend's transition from mod kingpin to multimedia artist. Part movie, part album, part concert, it was meant to portray the power of music as a sort of all consuming event-a union of performer and audience-that could triumph over all. What happened: Much like Brian Wilson had with Smile, Townshend simply lost focus as the scope of the material grew ever larger beyond that of an ordinary LP. Without producer Kit Lambert as an ally, as he had been with the rock opera Tommy, he had to convey his ideas to the skeptical band himself. Finally after a residency at the Young Vic did not create the desired "celestial cacophony", Townshend abandoned the project. Release status: The material intended for Lifehouse would crop up in Who albums for a decade. Who's Next would be constructed almost entirely out of scraps from the project, as well as the "Join Together" single, and even parts of Who Are You. In late 1999, the whole of the narrative was finally completed for a BBC radio play, which was included in a box set along with 4 discs of music in the 2000 box set Lifehouse Chronicles.
Neil Young - Chrome Dreams (1977)
What it was supposed to be: Neil Young's best album of the 70's. Young had achieved a commercial breakthrough with the singer/songwriter oriented Harvest, but abandoned that trail with a trilogy of dark, drug-drenched albums that have since become critically acclaimed cult classics-Time Fades Away, Tonight's the Night, and On the Beach. Zuma had seen Young refine the Americana/garage hybrid he had created into slightly more clearheaded terrain. Chrome Dreams would be the culmination of this artistic thread. What happened: Whether due to Young's mercurial nature, or as some have suggested his love of self-mythologizing, the album was never released. Release status: The monumental "Like a Hurricane" would see release on that year's American Stars 'n Bars and most of the other tracks would be picked along the years whenever Young needs to beef up a mediocre album. Confusingly, Chrome Dreams II was released in 2007, but other than the title, bears no resemblance to the unreleased album of thirty years ago.
Ryan Adams - Suicide Handbook (2001)
What it was supposed to be: A more emotional and mournful sequel to Adams' debut album Heartbreaker. What happened: Details are sparse, but apparently his label, Lost Highway, preferred the demos for the more upbeat Gold to the Suicide Handbook tracks. Release status: Rumored to be contained in it's entirety on an upcoming Ryan Adams rarities box, some of the best tracks have already been released on other albums, such as "Wild Flower", "Dear Chicago", and "Off Broadway".
Weezer - Songs from a Black Hole (1995)
What it was supposed to be: Weezer meets Jesus Christ Superstar, but instead of being unsure of his role as savior, Rivers Cuomo is unsure about his role as rock star or astronaut or some combination thereof. What happened: The band scrapped the rock opera somewhere around the demo stage and would go on to record Pinkerton, the raw and emotional album that would maintain their cult throughout their three year hiatus. Release status: The seven minutes of the material made available on the Rivers Cuomo demo collection Alone, effectively ended any desire for this material to see official release from all but the most intense Weezer fans.
Bob Dylan/The Band - The Basement Tapes (1967)
What it was supposed to be: Zimmy's abandonment of the pop world that he had conquered with "Like a Rolling Stone" and return to folk music on his own terms. By recording with The Band far away from the media in Woodstock, New York, he ensured those terms would not be topical protest songs but rather a series of addictively cryptic songs like "Lo and Behold", "You Ain't Going Nowhere", "I Shall Be Released" and "I'm Not There". Along the way, he invented Americana as we now understand it. What happened: It seems that Dylan had no desire to release these tracks. Instead they were given to The Band ("Tears of Rage", "I Shall Be Released"), Manfred Mann ("The Mighty Quinn"), and The Byrds ("You Ain't Going Nowhere"), amongst others. Released status: Portions of these sessions were first released in what is believed to be the first bootleg ever, 1969's The Great White Wonder. Finally in 1975, a large chunk of the material was released in a two-record set, which failed to include some of the best material. The most infamous of these tracks, "I'm Not There" would be released on the soundtrack album of the Todd Haynes film which borrowed it's name from the track.
Dave Matthews Band – The Lilywhite Sessions (2000)
What it was supposed to be: A break from their three previous albums of loose jamming that had been embraced by millions of hippies and frat boys. With darker material written in reaction to the death of his stepfather, and alcohol prevalent in the writing sessions, the material was surprisingly focused and melodic, including some of Dave Matthew's best songs like "JTR" and "Grace is Gone". What happened: The rest of the band were never quite on board, and their recording at a new home studio in the woods of Virginia complicated matters. According to many, several members of the band were more interested in riding ATV's around the nearby trails than completing tracks for such a personal and downbeat album. When producer Steve Lilywhite-who lends his name to a bootleg of the sessions-grew tired of the slow progress and quit. With pressure for a new album with commercial potential coming to a head, Dave Matthews would partner with producer Dave Ballard and create the more pop oriented Everyday album in ten days. Release status: With the demo tapes of the abandoned material making rounds online, the band decided to re-record the material in 2002. Several newer songs were recorded in those sessions, displacing "JTR" and several others from the track list.
Dennis Wilson – Bambu (1978/1979)
What it was supposed to be: The album that consolidated the good reviews and decent sales of his first solo album Pacific Ocean Blue and provided the middle Wilson brother with a creative outlet independent from the stagnating Beach Boys. The sessions were filled with his gruff blue eyed soul with the symphonic pop trickery he learned from his older brother. What happened: The Beach Boys constantly hijacked Dennis Wilson's best songs to add interest to subpar albums, the Beach Boys sold their home studio, and his drug problems worsened. A combination of these three factors caused Dennis to abandon recording altogether in the years before his drowning death in 1983. Release status: This year's generous reissue of Pacific Ocean Blue contains nearly all the material from Bambu. Of the key tracks, only "Baby Blue" is left off, which can be found on the Beach Boys' L.A. (Light Album).
Dr. Dre – Detox (2004-Present)
What it was supposed to be: The third, and according to Dr. Dre, final album of cutting edge gangsta hip-pop. Supposedly containing guest appearances by Nas, Lil Wayne, 50 Cent, Busta Rhymes, Jay-Z and about every other major label rap artist who isn't named Kanye West, the album is according to Snoop Dogg "worth the wait". What happened: Dr. Dre focused on producing tracks for others, and maintained a leisurely pace on his third solo record. Release status: It is rumored to be released this year, but then again at least one rap periodical also called Detox one of the most anticipated releases of 2006.
Modern Lovers – Modern Lovers (1972)
What it was supposed to be: Proof that the reach of the Velvet Undergroun touched more than smack-addicted cosmopolitan minimalism fanatics. A stunning group of chugging songs written by Jonathon Richman and recorded by ex-Velvet John Cale, the songs included "Roadrunner", which built the bridge between punk and suburbia even before there was anyone to cross it. What happened: Richman's erratic nature made things difficult for the band-as he refused to play these songs live even as Warner Brothers was attempting to gather support for the album. Eventually, the original Modern Lovers would implode without an album to support and Richman would move to more childlike pastures. Release status: The sessions would be released in 1976 and gain an immediate audience with the nascent punk scenes in New York and London. "Roadrunner" would even become a charting hit in England in 1977.
The Velvet Underground – Second MGM Album (1969)
What it was supposed to be: A transitional work between their tranquil self titled LP and the good ole rock 'n' roll of Loaded. The album would've included some of Lou Reed's most timeless tracks, including "Lisa Says", "Ocean", the proto-twee pop of "I'm Sticking With You" and perhaps even "Stephanie Says", a gorgeous track first recorded directly before John Cale's 1968 departure What happened: MGM records sought to purge their stable of overtly drug related bands, and The Velvet Underground was among the first to be dropped. Strangely, the label refused to relinquish the submitted tapes for the band's next album. Release status: Lou Reed would fill the blank spots on his first couple solo records with songs from these sessions, but the Velvets versions would remain unissued until the mid-80's rarities compilations VU and Another View and the 1995 box set Peel Slowly and See.
John Lennon – Roots (1973)
What is was supposed to be: Lennon's saving grace from a large lawsuit. Sued by Roulette Records chief Morris Levy for having stolen a Chuck Berry line while writing "Come Together", Lennon agreed to record at least three songs published by Levy on his next album. While searching a list of possible tracks, Lennon was reminded of many of his favorite tracks from the 50's and resolved to record a covers album. What happened: The sessions with Phil Spector were the booze soaked nadir of Lennon's Lost Weekend. In the ensuing legal confusion, Levy released his own version of the album, based on rough mixes. Release status: Two of the most popular songs from Roots, "Be My Baby" and "Angel Baby" would not be included when the sessions were finally distilled into the official Rock 'n' Roll. Those tracks would eventually find release on Anthology and Menlove Avenue respectively.
Mahavishnu Orchestra – The Lost Trident Sessions (1973)
What it was supposed to be: The third album of John McGlaughlin's searing vision of fusion by the original lineup of his seminal Mahavishnu Orchestra. Retaining his love of distorted rock and the odd meters and scales of Indian classical music, the sessions also saw the democratization of the band with Jan Hammer, Rick Laird, and Jerry Goodman contributing a song each. What happened: The band was given the choice of releasing a live album of overlapping material from that year's show at Central Park or releasing the expanded studio versions. The band chose the live album-Between Nothingness and Eternity- and shelved the studio sessions. That temporary shelving would be made permanent when the band broke up amid infighting and creative conflicts. Release status: When searching for the master tapes of a previous album during a remastering effort, the tapes, previously thought lost, were discovered and released in 1999.
This week The Providence Phoenix has run a frightening article about the use of police force at last months Republican National Convention in St. Paul (click on the title for the link). Whatever your political beliefs, this was an affront to the entire democratic process and a reminder that we surely live in strange times. There was a systematic attempt, as well, to brutalize journalists in a manner not seen since Daly's thugs turned the '68 Democratic Convention into chaos. It is amazing that the mainstream media allowed Sarah Palin to distract them from the brutality happening all to frequently in the city that week.
When Ben Folds came to the Bank of America City Center (a formal euphemism for the Bank of America Skating Center when the puddles aren't freezing yet) on September 25th, his new album Way to Normal had yet to be released. Fans of the wise-ass piano pop craftsman expected a show filled with favorites from a career going strong in its second decade. When two multi-instrumentalists joined Folds' now familiar trio of Jared Reynolds on bass and Sam Smith on drums-would they focus on more highly produced efforts like "Narcolepsy" and "Prison Food"? The hardcore fans knew that just days before Folds reunited with his seminal 90's band Ben Folds Five for a one off concert-would he be treating us to a set of oldies? Both theories would be proven wrong rather quickly as Ben played nothing but new material for more than an hour. It came not only from the upcoming album, but also from a "fake" version, which the band wrote and recorded on a lark in Europe to confuse fans with multiple songs sharing titles. The crowd gave a warm welcome, however, despite two versions of "Free Coffee", "Brainwascht", and others. The new material totally abandons the maturity of Rockin' The Suburbs and Songs for Silverman in favor of the tossed off fun of his recent EP tracks and 90's fan favorites. Highlights of this first set were the first single "You Don't Know Me", which worked well even with Jared Reynolds covering Regina Speckter's parts and "Hiroshima" which included an always crowd pleasing chorus of "oh oh oh oh". A too short encore included "Underground", "Landed", "Not the Same", and "Rockin' the Suburbs" besides the concluding fake version of "The Frown Song". The encore mainly served to illustrate in high contrast how middling some of the new material was in comparison with his best work, but left the crowd pleased, if wanting a little more.
"Yeah I'm really excited for the show." "Yeah." "I hope he plays a lot of the weird stuff. I just found bootleg of a show from last year, and he plays "I'd Love Just Once to See You" "Yeah." "Y'know, the song from Wild Honey." "Yeah." "There's no way Brian can actually be picking the set lists if they keep dragging out stuff like that." "Yeah." "I mean I love the track, but I doubt Brian thinks it’s the apex of his craft y'know? I'm sure he'd rather play "Good to My Baby" or something." "Yeah." "My big worry is that he really dumbs down the set list for the festival crowd. If I wanted to hear Endless Summer I'd pull it out of the basement." "Hmm?"
8/1/08 The debate has been churning ever since Brian Wilson was announced as the Friday night headliner at The Newport Folk Festival. What place does Brian Wilson have playing at a folk festival? His music is the antithesis of sparse Americana and his persona adds nothing to the long running dialogue on authenticity, probably the most interesting thing about the genre four decades removed from Dylan. The old Newport Folk Festival made it's reputation on musicians who remained cognizant of their role as cultural preservers; sort of walking and talking and singing wax cylinders with "Field Recording, Kill Devil Hills, 1904" on their cardboard cases. The new Newport Folk pays little mind to such preservation, as evidenced by Brian Wilson, The Black Crowes, and Jimmy Buffet holding the weekend's most esteemed slots as acts like the Felice Brothers and other young folk acts got busy in the smaller side stages. A persistent debate on the pop side of the fence was whether Brian Wilson would make any concessions to the historic festival. An acoustic set? Maybe lead off with "Sloop John B" or "Cottonfields", two folk songs that Beach Boy Al Jardine convinced Brian to rearrange into pop masterpieces. Left out of the conversation were several facts: 1. The Friday night concert would be held at the International Tennis Hall of Fame, arguably the most perfect venue for crystalline symphonic pop outside of the Sunset Strip. 2. The audience had the choice to buy tickets for individual days. Brian Wilson would not be justifying his music's place in the pantheon of American culture, or even American pop culture. He would be playing a set for his fans. 3. Most importantly, in his hyper-insulated mental state, Brian Wilson simply does not care. In the words of Mojo writer Mat Snow, Brian's music is "unclouded by its absolute disconnection to the world as experienced by any alert person over the age of 12." See, in the post-Landy, post-Smile world of Brian Wilson, he can be happy, but never quite healthy. Years of drug abuse, overprescribing, and mental strain have taken a toll that simply cannot be surmounted by any amount of good reviews, feel-good articles, or even turning the failure of his twenties into the triumph of his sixties. His support system, composed of his wife Melinda, his acclaimed band, and assorted friends, shield him from pressure and ensconce him in a bubble, where it is always the early 60's, the sun is always out, and he is free to act like Spector is still pumping out hits in the studio next door. In that bubble the tennis court in Newport was no different than any other outdoor concert he had done or would do that summer. It was just another occasion to break out "Dance, Dance, Dance", "Do It Again", and "Surfer Girl" to a demographic eerily similar to Parrotheads. Brian looked slightly bored. He checked his watch a couple times, as if he wasn't quite sure how long his songs were. Those like me who hoped that he would give us an advance look at the That Lucky Old Sun song cycle, premiered live at London's Royal Festival Hall in September of 2007 would be sorely disappointed.
9/2/08 The obsessive Brian fans who have been waiting for an album that would reach the same heights climbed by Pet Sounds and Smile would also be let down. The first thing you notice is that this is a very different kind of production for Brian Wilson. Yes, there's all the bells and whistles (yes, really there are bells and whistles) and organs and handclaps, but it is strikingly more modern than the usual Wilson album. As a dedicated fetishist to the masterfully old fashioned descending bass lines he wrote for songs like "Melt Away" and "Child Is the Father of the Man", I was disappointed that they were relatively absent here. Perhaps it is because this is the first Brian Wilson work ever that was a live show before it was recorded. Sure, sure, the 2004 version of Smile was played live before it was recorded, but they had a trail of bootlegs 40 years long to show them how the whole thing was supposed to sound on tape. The first song on the new record is an arrangement of the title track, a Gillipsie/Smith chestnut dating back to 1949. When That Lucky Old Sun was still just a rumor I was worried. Actually, make that Very Worried that he was embarking on one of his Ahab-ian missions to re-imagine a pre-rock tune. Like when he spent most of his hours of sober energy in the late 70's in the futile task of trying to make "Shortenin' Bread" interesting. Or the Beach Boys recording of "Old Man River" in the late 60's. With those fears in mind, "That Lucky Old Sun" is a success. At less than a minute long it doesn't wear out its welcome and instead contains a wonderful segue into the middling "Morning Beat". Yes, the album is essentially about Southern California, but since Brian Wilson doesn't experience his life quite like you or I do, it can only be about Los Angeles in the 50's and early 60's. It is remarkably similar to Van Dyke Parks' Orange Crate Art, an album that Brian sung on but did not write, in both outlook and sound. That album compositionally did indeed ape the classic sunshine pop of Brian's prime, so yes, I do mean that the Brian Wilson of 2008 sounds more like he's imitating his classic sound than he is occupying the same mental space as 1965. "Forever She'll Be My Surfer Girl" suggests that it is a retread of the Beach Boys' first ballad, but it is everything but. There are hints of the mid 60's outtake "Sherri She Needs Me", but the song is simply a giddy encapsulation of all that was fun and technicolor and wonderful about those great singles. People who think that Smile and Pet Sounds were Brian's only decent work were probably disappointed that it is band member Scott Bennett, not the eccentric wordsmith Parks who is the main contributor. Van Dyke did, however, add the spoken word narratives that almost derail the album each of the four times they appear, such as when the aforementioned "Forever She'll Be My Surfer Girl" segues into one like a child falling off a horse. With phrases like "Pumps drunk with oil dance like prehistoric locusts on the hills to LAX" and sing song rhymes, Brian recites them with some amusement and little indication that he knows what they are supposed to mean or suggest. So goes the first 22 minutes of this 40 minute work-a blur of images of SoCal that have no secondary meaning besides losing yourself in an ocean of sound. Like when Brian sings "I've got a notion / we've come from the ocean" in "Live Let Live" and its not the words you hear but the way the rhythm of his voice suggests a train. Then it just explodes into a sunny refrain of "God almighty passed his hands on the water" as if you peeled a Clementine and a chick covered in yellow down came out.
8/1/08 About halfway through the set, Brian was getting energized, and here came the classics…first it was "The Little Girl I Once Knew", that classic stepping stone between Summer Days (And Summer Nights) and Pet Sounds that charted dismally because of those jarringly avant-garde silences before the choruses. The vibraphone was more energetic and pure rock n roll than the guitars had been all night. Next was an intimate rendition of their slightly overrated Brother-era highlight "Add Some Music to Your Day" and finally a version of "Heroes and Villains" that pleased the dancers as much as the rock snobs. And then he was gone. Jeffrey Foskett, a portly man who plays guitar and covers the high falsetto parts that Brian used to do before medication, coke and drink destroyed his vocal range, stepped up to the microphone and murmured something about a technical problem with Brian's keyboard. Lost on him was the fact that Brian hadn't touched it all night (a regular occurrence for someone who was propped up behind an organ that wasn't plugged in for much of the 80's) and that many of us probably would rather see Brian portrayed as a stage-shy neurotic rather than a prima donna throwing a temper tantrum about technical problems. At any rate he returned on stage without his watch and blazed through a few Pet Sounds tracks and a ripping version of "Marcella".
9/2/08 Listening to Brian Wilson; much like Syd Barrett, Roky Erickson, Skip Spence, or any amount of intriguingly disturbed musicians, we all become amateur psychologists. Like the cop walking back to his car after the show "Yeah that song "In My Room" is where he started to go crazy". I can't deny the strong psychic bond I have with Brian. The loss of hearing in one ear that sometimes makes me a difficult conversation, the difficult parental relationships, the obsession with a childhood past; I feel like I know where Brian is coming from even at his most deranged-stuff like "A Day in the Life of a Tree" or the "Mount Vernon and Fairway" suite or most of the Love You album. I have several biographies of the man and I regularly fill up my car wit nothing but Beach Boys discs and travel with my windows done imagining what kind of pain rests between the notes of those harmonies. For me, the last 15 minutes of That Lucky Old Sun is the most satisfying quarter hour of music Brian's been involved with since the first 4 songs on his self-titled debut album, or even maybe since side one of the Friends album from '68. Never before has Brian so explicitly laid out his mental difficulties. The confessions come fast: "how could I have got so low / I'm embarrassed to tell you so" "all these voices, all the memories make me feel so alone / all these people make me feel so alone". Finally in "Going Home" he goes for the money shot that the previous songs had been building towards. A few years ago he would have been content to leave the track as a bouncy song that he could introduce in concert as "now here's a real groovy rock n roll song". Instead, now there's an incredible, crystalline bridge "at 25 I turned out the light / cause I couldn't handle the / glare in my tired eyes / but now I'm back / drawing shades of kind blue sky".
Conclusion After a long encore, it seemed that the show was over. The band started walking off stage when they noticed that Brian was still planted at his silent piano. The man who put on his bass, but did not play more than two notes during the entire encore was suddenly stubbornly possessive of the stage and his audience. "I guess we're gonna do one more song," Foskett shouted into the microphone to rapturous applause, but the song they played wasn't one that the crowd knew. I recognized it as "Southern California" from The Lucky Old Sun live bootleg I had. It was all spartan piano and a feeling somewhere between laughing and smiling and crying and kicking at the dead leaves on the sidewalk. The crowd had been worked to a frenzy during "Surfin' USA" and "Fun, Fun, Fun" but now they didn't know what to do as the only surviving Wilson brother sang "I had this dream / singing with my brothers". Some seemed to have lumps in their throats and others made their way to the exits seemingly annoyed by such a buzz kill at the end of a feel-good set. Who knows if Brian was in any way involved with writing this track. It is credited to Wilson/Bennett, but a bootlegged demo of the track is sung by Bennett. When you pay to close attention, those vibraphones seem more like the synths in The Police's "King of Pain" than the lounge jazz way that Brian favors the instrument. "It seemed OK to out in an overtly nostalgic way," Bennett explained to USA Today, "he should celebrate his triumphs. He's had some dark times, but he's got phenomenal songs that are going to live forever. It's OK to look back." Hence the lyrics "Oh, it's magical / living your dreams / don't want to sleep / you might miss something". In the disc's booklet there is a photo, obviously sun drenched and taken with an analog camera. Brian is sitting on deck chair on a concrete roof staring off into the distance at the traffic in front of the Hollywood Tower. He does not seem alert or aware. Here was the essence of Brian Wilson. The singing on those records isn't harmonizing; it is the sound of wailing into pillows. He is Joan Didion's California distilled into one man: we've run out of continent, there are no more no beginnings, no more second chances, WHAT THE FUCK DO WE DO NOW? More gently, it reminded me of the last words of Edmund Morris' bizarre Ronald Reagan biography Dutch-"Upstream, the last rays of the sun shone. I looked at the coming water, and felt, as I guess Dutch does too, the silent onrush of death." It is an odd choice for a promotional photo, but it is almost a perfect match for the triumphant final third of his new album. The first time I listened to "Southern California" I stared at the photo and bawled my eyes out. If Brian was in the room with me I would have told him that I've wasted so much of my life listening to music because of him. He was the one who gave me that sick need to search the world for that same feeling I got the first time I listened to Pet Sounds or "This Whole World". I tried to explain to my girlfriend the sharp feeling of loss I had listening to song. "But you don't know him", she wisely pointed out. And she was right. I've spent a lot of time trying to track down the real Brian Wilson. But it's like chasing someone through a hall of mirrors. I keep turning corners and only seeing myself.
By the time their set picked up, neo-folk quartet Death Vessel had already lost most of my interest. Elegant, creamy-white vintage guitars and flashy red sunburst pick-guards couldn't make up for disappointingly mediocre songwriting at their Sept. 23 show at the Living Room. Self-consciously quirky instrumentation (including a string bass, toy maracas and an electric ukulele) failed to result in correspondingly quirky music. Frontman Joel Thibodeau's distinctive visual and vocal aesthetic took a backseat to his aloof stage presence. He continually requested a louder monitor in spite of his tendency to shy away from the mic, and remained inexplicably silent between songs except when he mentioned that the beer he was drinking, a Monsta Ale, wasn't quite cutting it. Halfway through the set, though, multi-instrumentalist Don Larson started to steal the show. His shoegaze-tinted style mixed elements of Broken Social Scene, R.E.M. and Pink Floyd, infusing the otherwise lackluster songs with much-needed energy. Perhaps his only weaknesses were his abortive attempts at stand-up comedy and his love affair with the wah-wah pedal. But these sparse moments of solidity only threw the rest of Death Vessel's thin and unremarkable songwriting into starker contrast. Fortunately, the real treat came immediately before the headlining band. Micah Blue Smaldone's haunting, hypnotic solo acoustic set required patience, but was ultimately far more satisfying than Death Vessel . Where Thibodeau was disturbingly disengaged from the audience, Smaldone captivated the crowd with his endearing presence, equal parts bashful self-awareness and tasteful virtuosity. Incidentally, he also played some of the most memorable melodies of the evening as the bassist for Death Vessel. The Living Room is a charmingly squalid venue with a very good sound system; however, beware. Fliers claimed the show would start at 8 p.m., but doors didn't open until 8:30, nobody played until 9:30, and the three-band show wasn't over until 12:30 a.m.
While TV on the Radio's latest, Dear Science, is shaping up to be an important album, under no circumstances is it an Important Album. You won't have to wade through walls of ambient swamp noises, explore unpleasant attempts to "deconstruct pop" or suffer through 10-minute noodlefests to get at the good parts of Dear Science. Instead, the album is one long good part, and isn't that the way it should be? In fact, it's difficult to imagine a rock fan who wouldn't enjoy Dear Science. "Dancing Choose" lives up to its name and all but begs you to shake your moneymaker, "DLZ" plays with hip-hop-influenced rhythm and flow while remaining a smooth, sexy rock song and "Family Tree" is an immaculate lighter-waver. Hell, "Love Dog" could be the best, quirkiest song the Red Hot Chili Peppers never made. What keeps the album from being a mismatched collection of clichés is Dave Sitek's renowned production, which makes everything sound fresh while retaining a comforting sense of familiarity that staves off weirdness-for-weirdness's-sake. Art-rock that perfectly balances art and rock, Dear Science will sound good everywhere you play it: at your protest, in your car, by your Beirut table and next to your bed. Have fun deciding where it fits in.
I recently had the supreme pleasure of attending a Mars Volta show at Lupo's Heartbreak Hotel. When the band played there nine months ago, I marveled at their musicianship and complex compositions, but the crowd's lackluster energy dampened my overall enjoyment. That night Lupo's was filled to capacity; it seemed as though every bar in downtown Providence had emptied its patrons into the venue, but without the wheat separated from the chaff, there were definitely several bored-looking attendees. This time it wasn't so much of a tight squeeze, and self-respecting moshers had the opportunity to get down. For a general idea of the band's work, imagine a seamless fusion of progressive rock, jazz, proto-punk, (insert obscure sub-genre here), etc. Omar Rodriguez-Lopez, one of our great contemporary guitarists, shredded effortlessly into drummer Thomas Pridgen's shirtless grooves as the startlingly thin but immensely sexual Cedric Bixler-Zavala wailed into his spotless white mic. Six rows and two hours next to the speaker wall and I'm still suffering from tinnitus, but the experience was well worth the price my ears had to pay. Physically expressing two hours of continuous psychedelic music proved quite cathartic - the perfect decompression I needed on a Monday night. My only complaint about the Mars Volta is that they still haven't indulged my fantasy that Omar (for whom I've pined since I met him in January) will suddenly decide to resurrect At the Drive-In by ripping into "Pattern Against User," after which he will leap off the stage and into my arms. Well, at least I can dream.
As the stage crew adjusted mic settings and rearranged amps before Stars’ set at Terminal 5 in New York on September 20, a small, dapper man dressed in a tuxedo and a porkpie hat darted in and out between the various pieces of equipment, inserting red roses at various angles by way of decoration. Humorous, surprising, and a little magical, it set the stage for what was to be a unique night.
The well-dressed decorator returned onstage in his other guise as the bassist of Stars as the five other members of the band emerged from the darkness to thunderous applause. Torquil Campbell and Amy Millan, the two lead singers and most famous members of the band, briefly acknowledged the applause before launching into "The Night Starts Here," the first track from their 2007 release In Our Bedroom After The War. Though the song merely percolated on the original recording, onstage Campbell and Millan turned it into a powerful duet and a rousing call to arms.
Stars had much to choose from in their varied catalog of four albums and four EPs, which features everything from downtempo piano ballads to fierce guitar-driven rock. The 2007 LP In Our Bedroom After the War drew lackluster reviews for the inconsistency of its tracks, but that Saturday night Campbell and Millan seemed to be acutely conscious of the groups' best tracks, playing only the strongest cuts from each album. Amy Millan successfully translated the chamber pop love song "My Favorite Book" into an energetic rock ballad, and the group performed fan favorites "Elevator Love Letter" and "Bitches in Tokyo" with similar ferventness and enthusiasm.
The members of Stars have always had a flair for the dramatic, which can be heard in the lush orchestration and theatrical storylines on their many records. Though the group had none of the usual backing strings on stage, the group's successful rock reorchestration and Campbell's riveting stage presence did not disappoint. Whether or not his repeated processions of love for New York were fueled by the bottle of champagne he repeatedly swigged from ultimately didn't matter-- his earnestness charmed the audience nonetheless. Millan lacked the extroversion of Campbell and sometimes appeared to be straining her soft voice, but her tight guitar solos effectively displayed impressive enthusiasm for her music.
Stars released a new work, the synth-heavy Sad Robot EP, only weeks before the tour, and when the group broke into one of its cuts it was clear that most of the audience hadn't heard the new record. Even so, the group successfully integrated the new tracks into the setlist without allowing the energy to flag. By the time Campbell introduced the EP and told the audience that they could "buy it or steal it from a friend," as long at they listened to it, most audience members seemed sold on the new songs.
Stars left the stage after an hour-long set during which the group endorsed Obama for president, wished Campbell's parents (who were present) a happy birthday, hurled countless red roses into the audience, and returned for a four-song encore featuring the favorites "Take Me to the Riot," "One More Night," "Calendar Girl", and "Heart". It was a lengthy encore to a lengthy show, but the audience didn't seem to mind. Stars has consistently used its songs to create alternate worlds where even the most heartwrenching moments are poetically narrated and lushly scored, and the band successfully translated this drama onstage at Terminal 5. Even though the show was a little long and occasionally overwrought, it still produced a world that the audience wanted to be a part of.
Amanda Palmer shaves off her eyebrows and draws swirly curlicues over her eyes in their place, isn’t afraid to flash her breasts during an impromptu onstage costume change, and, as demonstrated when she opened for Death Cab for Cutie in Providence this spring, occasionally plays ukulele covers of early Radiohead songs. Crazy is usually just crazy, but sometimes it’s genius. On the Dresden Dolls frontwoman’s new solo album Who Killed Amanda Palmer, the genius is hard to miss. While her glammed-up Hot Topic aesthetic and raw rock screech might suggest otherwise, this album is at its core a collection of damn good pure pop songs. Breaking out of the piano-and-drums format the Dresden Dolls typically adhere to gives her the opportunity to liberally add strings and synths to the mix, which gives Who Killed Amanda Palmer a lush sound that wouldn’t be too out of place on the world’s coolest Christina Aguilera album. The stellar opening tracks “Astronaut,” “Runs in the Family,” and “Ampersand” all benefit from these added instruments, ranging from an ‘80s-influenced headbanger to a frantic, dramatic rant about the tyranny of genetics to the most arresting ballad Palmer’s ever written. Who Killed Amanda Palmer serves as a vehicle for plenty of Palmer’s ballads, and while they’re generally well-crafted she unfortunately couldn’t avoid the overkill that sets in during the album’s last two songs. The non-ballad tracks that take up most of the album’s middle don’t always come off well--“Leeds United” and “Oasis” get by mostly on charisma and catchiness, but “Guitar Hero” is an awkward, sludgy mess and “Blake Says” is just plain boring. Flaws and all, there’s an anthem on this album for anyone, knocked-up teenagers, suicide contemplators, and people with severe allergies included. “I’m not the one who’s crazy,” sings Palmer on “Ampersand,” but whether it’s us or her that’s nuts her music can be our perfect padded cell. 4/5
If Beck was a candy, he’d be Lik-M-Aid Fun Dip. And Modern Guilt would be the green apple flavor. Modern Guilt, released in July of 2008 and co-produced by Danger Mouse, is good, solid Beck with a tinge of satisfyingly sour undertones. Beck has taken a radical departure from the upbeat, blue raspberry dance-pop of Guero and The Information and begun to claim his inner emo self. But unlike the overbearing love junkie of Sea Change, the angsty Beck of Modern Guilt is spiritually introspective, almost meditative, and an air of ethical consciousness that would make Lennon or Dylan proud has taken center stage. Listening to the rather apocalyptic lyrics a little too intently might leave you emotionally exhausted: “Gamma Ray” contemplates the precarious state of the environment, while “Chemtrails” considers the conspiracy theory that jet trails consist of government-engineered chemical sprays. Fortunately, the grim and apathetic vocals are projected against an aural landscape that serves as the album’s saving grace: characterized by a heavy handed neo-rock sound that manages to be captivating—downright danceable—thanks to simple, primal melodies, pulsating bass beats, and looped electronics, fusing psychedelic and profound into a hybrid of happy and sad. The album opens with “Orphans” in a dreamy haze of acoustic guitar and ethereal flutes peppered with the deliciously sublime vocal harmonies of Cat Power’s Chan Marshall. The following two tracks—“Gamma Ray” and “Chemtrails”—both released as singles—continue in a strong suit: the tinny tambourine and chugging guitar of the former urges the listener to guilt-fully dance along to proclamations of heat waves and melting ice caps, while the latter boasts melodramatic vocals, metallic snares and a delicate, piquant piano. The momentum carries through the album’s title track, “Modern Guilt”, in which the singer’s lulling vocals perfectly complement thick percussion infused with Wurlitzer-esque melodies. The funk-soul brother side of Beck, which seems to make its way onto most albums, has made a robust appearance in “Youthless”, whose lyrics dwell on increased disparity and misunderstanding between generations. “Youthless” easily stands out the album’s gem: a super catchy bass line, particularly punked-out, tristful vocals, and healthy dose of Atari-inspired electronica make the track worthy of a mod dance party aboard a UFO. The following five tracks continue to boast provocative, ear-catching guitar rhythms and poignantly layered, oscillating vocals, but it’s clear that the first five take the cake. “Replica” accosts the listener with an intense and repetitive bass/drums duo that might leave you in a trance, and the twangy guitar slides alone on “Soul of a Man” lead one to wonder: has Beck really abandoned us for that redneck heavy metal we hoped would only be confined to monster truck shows? The album’s final track, “Volcano”, is marked by gloomy Elliott Smith-like vocals that leave a little bit of an aftertaste in your mouth. Kind of like a sour apple.
Ah yes, it's that time again. When New York Times photagraphers elbow through crowds to snap pictures of the once proud lions of finance holding their heads in dismay. Makes no difference to me. The closest I've come to investing is walking out of a used record store with an armful of vinyl...and last I checked the value of that Emerson Lake and Palmer Official Bootleg Series from the Manticore Vaults: Volume 2 box set is still climbing...
Well, anyway, here's the best song about the rough and tumble world of Wall Street that may be coming to an end.
The originators are the English art-pop jokesters 10cc, who released a classic sequence of tin-pan alley informed singles in the early 70s. Named after an above average measurement of male ejaculate (seriously), they contained two competing songwriting teams, with Graham Gouldman and Eric Stewart providing the more commercial tunes and Kevin Godley and Lol Creme providing the more bizarre efforts. Godley and Creme grew tired of the other duo's sappier efforts and quit after 1976's How Dare You, thus ending the salad days of one of the few truly rewarding novelty bands in rock.
The Stand Ins, Austin-based indie-band Okkervil River’s fifth full-length album and follow-up to 2007’s The Stage Names, is a testament to frontman Willl Sheff’s multitasking abilities. Collaborating with former Okkervil River bandmate Jonathan Meiburg on side project Shearwater since 2001 and performing solo has obviously not dissipated the band's power as they've come up with another winner. The album unfolds itself as an artistic endeavor that does not adhere to any one genre. The opening anthem “Lost Coastlines” is an ideal blend of folk and melodic indie pop; “Singer Songwriter” intersperses similar layers of twang with some pop punk guitar upstrokes. The Stand Ins’ most musically mature moment comes with “Starry Stairs,” a four-minute slinkier, slower and jazzier track that melds Okkervil River’s familiar guitar riffs with strings and horns to great effect. Arguably Okkervil River’s greatest asset is Sheff’s songwriting abilities; as a lyricist, he taps into universal emotions – love, loneliness, fame and despair, to name a few – with clever wordplay to spare. As a musician, he architects listener-friendly melodies whose innovation merely acts in concert with their accessibility. As a vocalist, the rich, charismatic quality of Sheff’s voice is both a strength and a weakness, somewhat endearing and yet almost too lovestruck-emo-boy to take seriously. Similarly, the Stand Ins loses its initial steam about halfway through; “Blue Tulip” is an epic poem of a song and “Pop Lie” fails to build upon the album’s previous creativity and instead adheres to a basic formula. But the Stand Ins regains its strength and ends on a high-note; the album’s closing track “Bruce Wayne Campbell Interview On the Roof of the Chelsea Hotel, 1979” slowly but surely leads to a musical climax that demonstrates Sheff’s ability to write songs that have a distinct beginning, middle and end, songs that lead to somewhere entirely different from where they started. All in all, the Stand Ins fails to venture deep into any uncharted musical territory, but its journey into the depths of eclectic pop-rock is nothing short of a pleasant forty minute voyage.
(and check out Sheff's knee slappingly witty cover of Big Star's "Big Black Car" from the Black Cab Sessions.)
Despite the summer weather we have been enjoying lately, a quiet hour’s breeze whispers that the seasons are changing. If the xylophones and afro-drumming on your Vampire Weekend album begin to ring hollow, autumnal refuge can be found in Ra Ra Riot’s debut album, The Rhumb Line. The Syracuse-based band is equal parts VW and Arcade Fire, fusing the former’s pop sensibilities with the melodramatic mood swings of the latter. Rhumb Line falls in line with indie’s recent chamber pop trend—-the album begins with impatient cello strokes and violin plucks over a Joy Division-inspired drum line—-and it plays within the genre adeptly if somewhat cautiously. Ra Ra Riot is linked to Providence by tragedy: drummer/songwriter John Pike was found dead after a concert here last summer. Yet the band has managed to move on successfully from this loss, largely on account of the strength of its component parts. Frontman Wes Miles impressively manipulates his intonation throughout the album, playfully riding the falsetto line while reserving the right to dip into a low tenor when it suits him. He may be at his warbling best in the band’s cover of Kate Bush’s “Suspended in Gaffa” (he even manages to channel a bit of Bowie, at one point as he sings "I'm scared of the changes" over mounting bass drum hits). The strings carry the load in most of the album’s best songs, leading the ear through a diverse landscape marked by harmony and dissonance, languor and exultation. The elements are all in place for something great, but the band never quite puts them all together on Rhumb Line. The first single, “Dying Is Fine” (a nod to the e.e. cummings poem), is quite good, as are a number of the other early songs. But the album lacks a definitive coup de grace, and it unravels at the tail end with a couple of uninspired tracks. If you’re looking for new music, this is an album to try on for size. And keep an eye on Ra Ra Riot as they move beyond the death of Pike—-who wrote their stronger songs—-and continue to evolve. At the moment they appear to be a band that is more interesting in concert than on record. Fortunately for us, they are swinging through New York and Boston in mid-October.
Music geeks like us (and you, we know this isn't the only music blog you read) live, breath and eat this stuff up. I've long since stopped watching films that aren't about music, or at least have bitchin' soundtracks. Shit, most of the music I listen to is about rock n roll nowadays (thank you The Hold Steady). Recently, I've even given up books that don't contain references to mythical concerts and long out of print singles.
Well here, my friends is one of the holy grails of music books. Ex-leader of British psychedelic standouts, The Teardrop Explodes, Julian Cope found it disconcerting that the public at large did not share his taste for Krautrock. An endearing term for German rock in the 60's and 70's that resembled an unholy combination of Pink Floyd, The Velvet Underground, and the Krupps steelworks, the genre had been briefly influential as post-punk rose from the mouldering body of The Sex Pistols, but had by the mid-90's become an interesting footnote. His solution was a book which explained the history and social context of the West German music scene of the era, with tales and commentary on bands like Can, Faust, Neu!, Kraftwerk, and Amon Düül II.
Did this book single handedly influence Radiohead to abandon rock music as we know it during the Kid A sessions? Probably not, but when your favorite band starts pulling shit like Wilco's "Less Than You Think", you only have Julian Cope to blame.
(You could either spend upwards of $174 dollars on this out of print book, or enjoy the semi-legal, until we hear otherwise pdf courtesy of Swan Fungus. Make your pick. If you are joining the dark side, click on the post's title for the jump.)
Chances are you’ve never heard of Arthur Russell. Up until his death in 1992, his music was relatively unknown outside of the New York music scene that embraced his brilliant fusion of cello with experimental electronic rock and orchestral music. The apex of his career was his third studio album, 1986’s World of Echo, an epic 18-song masterpiece that highlights his masterful blending of genres like classical, jazz, and dance. Thankfully, a post-mortem surge of interest in his music has uncovered many gems he’d written and recorded that had never seen the light of day. Since his death, four full length albums and one EP of his music have been released; one of his songs, “This Is How We Walk on the Moon,” appeared in a UK T-Mobile commercial last year. Finally, a documentary about his life entitled Wild Combination: A Portrait of Arthur Russell was released in 2008 to great critical success.
Songs to check out: “A Little Lost,” Another Thought, 1994. A harmonious pop song that incorporates Russell’s cello and acoustic guitar into a poignant, lush love ballad with beautiful images and stirring calls of affection. “She's the Star/ I Take This Time,” World of Echo, 1986. A minimalist electronic rock track reminiscent of Radiohead’s work on Kid A and Amnesiac, albeit a bit more lyrically conventional. Simply incredible. “That’s Us / Wild Combination,” Calling Out of Context, 2004. If you like synth-based indie pop, you’ll love this track. Russell shows that he can write cross-genre songs with the best of them, highlighted here by a beautiful fusion of pop and electronic sounds.
Diplo at Jerky's Bar and Grill, September 13: Diplo hasn't received the attention from collegiate music junkies heaped upon Girl Talk and the like, but he quietly produced key tracks on two of the most innovative albums in recent memory- M.I.A.'s Kala and Santogold's self-titled debut while also finding the time to release his own Top Ranking mixtape. Come see the uncrowned king of a genre we will conveniently name "hipster dance" and expect to learn a thing or two while you jump around.
The Kooks at Lupo's Heartbreak Hotel, September 14: With a name cribbed from the back of Hunky Dory (couldn't they at least have picked "Queen Bitch"?) and an album named after Ray Davies studio, it's little wonder that this young band is in thrall to the fondly remembered myth of classic British rock n roll. Like many of these bands, they record great singles (like "Naïve" from 2006) but are less successful filling up their albums. They have enough material to banish the filler to the sound check and enough energy to make the singles sparkle, so until that "Best of" comes out, the best light to see this band in will be the stage lights at Providence's busiest venue.
Nas at Lupo’s, September 19: Whether he’s fanning the flames of his beef with Fox News and Bill O’Reilly on The Colbert Report or adopting and then discarding a controversial title for his now untitled new album, legendary rapper Nas has been getting plenty of publicity lately. Don’t expect too many party jams at this show; instead, you’ll get complicated rhymes about politics and racism that demand your full attention.
Ben Folds at The Bank of America City Center, September 25: Three years ago Ben Folds released his most mature album yet. Since then he's gotten divorced, fallen off a stage in Japan, and apparently rediscovered the joy of unapologetically sophomoric lyrics for his piano-pop opuses. No complaints here-his best albums have split time between the crushing disappointments of adulthood and the dumb joys of adolescence. His visit to Providence comes less than a week before the release of Way to Normal, look for a healthy dose of new material from America's most consistent tunesmith.
TV on the Radio at Lupo’s Heartbreak Hotel, October 11: By the time TV on the Radio gets to Providence, they’ll be riding the wave of their highly anticipated new album Dear Science, (the comma’s not a typo, promise). Grammatical idiosyncrasies aside, all signs point to awesome, which makes seeing this quirky-cool, genre-hopping group a must. Like TV on the Radio’s music, their show promises to include a little bit of everything—highs, lows, sweetness, fury, and plenty of satisfaction.
Hanson at Lupo’s Heartbreak Hotel, October 16: Yep, that Hanson. Officially indie since 2001, the brothers are touring like mad and raising money to fight AIDS and help the poor in Africa. While you can certainly argue with the unfortunate facial hair some of the boys are sporting these days, you can’t argue with that. One question, though: Think they’ll play “MMMbop”?
Iron and Wine at Lupo’s Heartbreak Hotel, November 16: Get ready to get mellow. Like, really mellow. While there’s no doubt that Sam Beam is talented, this show runs a grave risk of being stricken with the “he’s been playing the same song for an hour” curse. If you’re looking for a stress reliever, however, this might be the concert for you. Moshing is not suggested.
The unquestionable highlight of MTV's Video Music Awards was the debut of the first single from Kanye West's next album, an entry into the autotune sweepstakes entitled "Love Lockdown". Yes hip hop heads, there is absolutely no rapping, and yes it does make T-Pain sound like Tupac-but that isn't the point. From the beginning Kanye's strength was not his rapping, it was making records, pure and simple. This track, which contains absolutely none of his endearingly clumsy verses is not Kayne "going pop". Rather, he's just making different kinds of records.
Does that mean it's good? Not necessarily. While his vocals show a very different perspective from even Graduation, the production seems strangely detached from the proceedings. There's the disembodied kick drum, the feverish marching snare, and the same strident piano we heard on "Homecoming", but nothing brings the track together, not even Kanye himself. He carries the tune better than what might be expected, but he's no Cee-Lo or Andre 3000. And this isn't the kind of genre dissolving single one might hope for.
The album 808's and Hearbreak is currently slated for a December 16th release.
At Firehouse 13 last Friday, The Low Anthem made the case for resurgent Northeastern folk with a celebratory set that transcended the sound problems in the sweaty art gallery.During the gutsy, propulsive set by Ben Pilgrim and the Free Union Band and the beautiful fragility of Annie Lynch and the Beekeepers, Ben Miller and Jeffrey Prystowsky acted as gregarious hosts as the crowd washed down free pizza with cheap beer.Finally at almost 11, Ben and Jeff joined Jocie Adams and a new drummer to debut their new album and highlights from last year's What the Crow Brings to an adoring crowd.
Don't worry too much if you missed the show though-their sophomore release Oh My God, Charlie Darwin is a deep record that holds up on car radios as well as it did on a cramped stage.It is definitely cut from the same melodic cloth as its predecessor, but The Low Anthem are taking more chances stylistically and lyrically.The words dwell in the duality between urban and rural America-perfect for a combo that recorded in Block Island but came home to Providence."The Horizon is A Beltway" brings the imagery of apocalyptic folk into the skyscraper age with the doom-laden refrain of "the skyline's on fire" over wheezing harmonica.Elsewhere, "To Ohio" displays Ben Miller's beautiful vocals and Jeff Prystowsky's tasteful bass.
After several listens, their cover of Tom Waits' "Home I'll Never Be" emerges as the album's centerpiece.It sounds like an aging field recording made in the kind of bar that doesn't exist anymore.I almost wish they had recorded the Uncle Tupelo meets Rolling Stones barnburner of a rendition they played at Firehouse 13, but it's of little use to second guess a band like this.They know where they're going.
This summer, venerable Seattle indie label Sub Pop celebrated their 22nd anniversary in a very unconventional way-they celebrated their 20th anniversary. Formed by Bruce Pavitt and Jonathon Poneman, the imprint was the original home of grunge bands like Nirvana and Soundgarden before their recent revival thanks to The Shins, Wolf Parade and The Postal Service. The July fete was highlighted by Iron and Wine and Fleet Foxes sets, but many were undoubtedly a little surprised to see a long forgotten band by the name of Mudhoney electrify the afternoon crowd.
Two decades removed from the genesis of that swampy blend of punk attitude and metal speed, it is amazing that grunge hasn't received the reassessment that has visited other genres. Whether it be because Kurt Cobain froze the subculture in amber upon his suicide, or that the public still suffers from alt-rock exhaustion, there has been little effort to seperate the wheat from the chaff in a genre that had as many posers and hangers on as true innovators.
To those familiar with their work, it is mind boggling that Mudhoney-a band with almost no ambition to speak of, and even less interest in writing actual songs- could possibly be the zenith of grunge form. But indeed, in 2008 the drums on Nevermind seem soulless, the lyrics to Ten seem amateur, and everything about Alice in Chains seems contrived. But twenty years after their debut single, Mudhoney stands as a testament to the power of big, dumb rock n roll. Unlike most bands who claimed to be influenced by The Stooges, Mudhoney put into practice the idea of rock as unstructured music that relied on charismatic vocal adlibbing and sloppy riffage. Their first b-side, a track called "Touch Me I'm Sick" that briefly made them a cause celebre in the English music papers, is nothing more than a fiendishly distorted guitar line adorned with some demented howling on the part of Mark Arm. But then what was "Louie Louie"? Or "I Wanna Be Your Dog"? One of the most fascinating paradoxes in popular culture is that exciting nexus of low brow and high brow, where almost anything can happen. So before the press lionizes the next Art Brut or Black Lips or any other deceptively simple, high concept rock band, put in a Mudhoney disc, slip on a flannel button-up, and party like it's 1988.
You like ‘80s pop.Clarification: you love ‘80s pop.The pleasure centers of your brain crave a-ha and the Eurythmics non-stop, and all you really want in life is to be spun right round, like a record baby, right round round round.Madonna taught you more about virgins and prayer than the Catholic church did, and even when George Michael is getting it on with old guys in public parks you stand by your man.Maybe you’ve been shouting devotion to the hooky hits of a past generation from the rooftops, or maybe it’s your darkest secret.It doesn’t matter.Cut Copy understands.Somehow, three Australians have created an album, In Ghost Colours, that would have fit in perfectly 20 years ago but miraculously doesn’t sound stale today.
While the band’s press bio lists shoegaze and even prog as influences, it’s difficult to see how these genres actually affected the music on In Ghost Colours, only their second album.Instead, the album plays like an impeccable homage to groups like Depeche Mode, those artists which unlike many pop bands of the era could actually sustain an entire album.While some songs are certainly more successful than others, each full song (there are some forgettable but inoffensive instrumental transition tracks) is catchy enough to keep you from skipping it.Plus, it’s only their second album, meaning that Cut Copy hasn’t just avoided the sophomore slump—they’ve transcended it.
The album starts on a high note with “Feel the Love,” featuring warm-weather lyrics like “All the clouds have silver linings” and plenty of “ooh-oohs” to spare.“Lights & Music” is a crowd-pleaser, with the kind of delirious guitar-electronic pairing we’ve been missing since the glory days of electroclash and a dance-friendly slow build to a superb Human League chorus.Like the fad-defying electroclash standouts Ladytron, Cut Copy isn’t afraid to mix the best elements of rock and electronic to create songs that defy genre.
This freedom could stem from the influence of the album’s producer, DFA big shot Tim Goldsworthy.While Goldsworthy’s production was most likely a major boon to In Ghost Colours, the band might want to consider taking some cues from another DFA artist: LCD Soundsystem.Lead singer Dan Whitford could use some of Murphy’s charisma—he’s a competent singer, but his vocals and lyrics barely make an impact.Also, while much of the appeal of LCD Soundsystem’s Sound of Silver came from its musical diversity, sameness and safety pervades In Ghost Colours.The inoffensive steel guitar on “Strangers in the Wind” is about as crazy as it gets, which is disappointing coming from such a talented band.Now that Cut Copy has proven that they can write perfect pop songs, it’s time for them to experiment with some imperfection.
Girl Talk and M.I.A. are both innovators, and as such their Spring Weekend performances were showcases for the quirkiness that helped make them successful artists.However, only one of their performances was actually successful.Girl Talk is a mashup artist, and as such he taps into the simple pleasures of hearing familiar music tweaked to make it as hedonistically danceable as possible.Girl Talk’s show is far more about the music than about the spectacle—unless you’re incredibly enthralled by a dude holding up an iPod with a bunch of people dancing next to him, that is—and he certainly delivers.While it could be difficult to recognize where the specific beats that Girl Talk used came from, his vocals and melodies were far more identifiable and provided a massive amount of fun.Drawing primarily from pop and hip-hop, notable vocal hits included samples from Lil’ Mama’s “Lip Gloss” and Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer.”
Even when neither the beat nor the melody was recognizable, Girl Talk matched his samples perfectly and kept the energy level high.The man otherwise known as Gregg Gillis only spoke a few times, most notably to deliver a hilarious monologue on how awesome his live sound check was.While he played versions of album tracks like “Bounce That” from Night Ripper, they were altered like everything else about Girl Talk’s music, keeping the show fresh for both die-hard fans and newcomers.He also played some new work featuring vocal samples from current hip-hop hits like Flo Rida’s “Low.”Overall, Girl Talk was able to satisfy dance freaks, Top 40 fans, and everyone in between.
Girl Talk’s show was all about pleasing the crowd, but it was hard to tell who exactly M.I.A. was attempting to please with her performance.For some unidentifiable reason, her entire set was punctuated with sirens, the sounds of bombs dropping, and ear-splitting gunshots.The first five were cool.The next five were tolerable.The other five hundred were completely uncalled for.If they had any sort of point beyond being obnoxious and attention-getting, it was lost.A brief open letter to Ms. Maya Arulpragasam: You like gunshots.We get it.Sincerely, BrownUniversity.
It’s true that M.I.A. is a massively talented artist with brilliant, catchy melodies and lyrics.However, she ruined much of her appeal by stretching intros out to interminable lengths and simply wasting time between songs.When songs are extended or delayed, there’s a fine line between creating suspense and frustrating the audience, and M.I.A. repeatedly crossed this line.The show incorporated a certain amount of what was meant to be provocative political rhetoric, but muddy acoustics and unclear messages made it difficult to pinpoint exactly what she was saying.For example, when one of her dancers led the crowd in a largely context-free chant of “Where were you in ’92?” most of the young crowd was probably thinking “Preschool?”
While M.I.A.’s set was often aggravating, there were some bright spots.The on-stage videos that accompanied every song were truly artistic, eye-catching and appealing, and the set featured some excellent dancing and dynamic performances from M.I.A. and her backup.The portions of songs that most closely resembled the album tracks were unimpeachable, especially big hits like “Galang,” “Boyz,” and the rapturous encore of “Paper Planes.”Unfortunately, while M.I.A. is a great artist, she hasn’t yet learned how to be a great performer.While musicians rely on creativity, M.I.A.’s show performance proved that there’s something to be said for restraint.
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