Eating The Document

Never Travel Far Without a Little Big Star

2010-03-18T06:10:00.000-07:00

Alex Chilton is dead. It hurts to actually type those words. One of the greatest songwriters in the history of popular music, the man who wrote some of the most heart-wrenching pop songs ever to exist...is gone.

I first came across Chilton's music without ever realizing it. As a child, I spent many car rides with my mother listening to the local oldies music station. By ten years of age, I became acquainted with more pop songs from the 50s and 60s than most ten year-olds did in 1998. One of these happened to be Chilton's first brush with fame: "The Letter" by his first group, The Box Tops. To be honest, while I liked the song, it seemed interchangeable from any of the other songs I heard on the radio at that age. Hell, I was ten; what did I know?

A few years later, in high school, my friend Ed gave me a biography of R.E.M. from his dad's bookstore. At the time, I was convinced that R.E.M. was the greatest rock band ever to make music, so I read the book constantly, poring over the various influences Peter Buck name-checked in various interviews. The Feelies, The dBs, The Velvet Underground, Pere Ubu...and Big Star. The name caught my attention: simple, yet confident (almost arrogant, considering I'd never heard of them before). If they had Peter Buck's stamp of approval, I had to hear them. Try as I did, I couldn't find anything they had done with the limited resources I had. (It took me years to catch up with everyone else and discover illegal downloading.)

In my senior year of high school, I walked into Tower Records near the Roosevelt Field Mall in Long Island, gift card in hand, looking for some new CDs to obsess over. Looking through the racks, I stumbled across that familiar name. Big Star. Except there was a CD there: #1 Record/Radio City, the band's first two albums. I grabbed it immediately, thinking I had just found the Golden Idol from Raiders of the Lost Ark. This band had been such a mystery to me, and now I had their music in my hands.

I sat in my room with my headphones on, listening on my $20 Discman while poring over the essay on the band's history in the CD booklet. It all seemed so tragic: Chilton and Chris Bell started the band and spent months writing and recording #1 Record, only to be subject to commercial indifference. Bell leaves, wondering if anyone will care about his music, gets hooked on drugs and dies in a car crash. Chilton makes two more records with Big Star, Radio City and some record called Third/Sister Lovers, only to suffer a nervous breakdown and break up the band in 1979.

As I read this sad, sad story, one thing escaped me: why the fuck didn't anyone care about this band in 1972? The young man sitting in his room with his headphones blasting "Feel" in 2005 thought that he was hearing the second iteration of the Beatles. Chilton's gift for melody rivaled Lennon and McCartney, and he had the rare gift of writing songs in a universal matter, yet tapping into something intensely personal with the listener. "Thirteen" brought back the memories of middle-school crushes, a time when puppy love was both scarily complicated and the simplest thing in the world. "The Ballad of El Goodo" was a defiant statement of confidence, yet the quiver of Chilton's voice served as a reminder that the nagging sense of doubt was still within us; it was up to us to fight it off.

By the time "I'm In Love With a Girl" finished, I had one of those life-changing experiences that happen with records. Abbey Road, The Joshua Tree, Murmur, Daydream Nation, and now #1 Record/Radio City. Try as I might, few of my friends "got" Big Star when I forced it on them. Maybe I was a bit overzealous in proclaiming them the second arrival of the Beatles, but I still think I'm right about that.

Chilton's career seems like a strange journey to me. He gave up on the music that he loved in the 1970s because he thought no one was listening, only to find out that so many people not only listened, but they loved it so much that they even wrote songs about it. He re-constituted Big Star with members of the Posies in the 90s, recording one studio record and one live album while touring sporadically. On the live record, Chilton sounds instilled with confidence. At last, it seemed, he was vindicated.

Rest in peace, Alex. Your music changed me and so many others in ways that you may not have thought possible. We'll miss you.

More Sunshowers.

2009-08-18T20:27:00.000-07:00

Sunshower Orphans live at The Tank on July 24th (video taken by me):

If you haven't checked out the band's music yet, do it now. If you haven't downloaded the FREE digital single for "Lies in Sepia", get that taken care of.

Seriously, these guys are going places. This is some of the best music to come out of New York in a while, and that's saying quite a bit.

Spastic Fit of Rage

2009-08-02T20:36:00.000-07:00

Okay, I've fucking had it with these guys:

Ruining perfectly good pop songs by switching around time signatures and song structures for the sake of doing so? Fine. Recording a damn near unlistenable record with one's aging granny? Okay, I can deal. But this, Fiery Furnaces? You've got to be fucking kidding me.

At first, I gave the Friedberger siblings the benefit of the doubt; perhaps they were talented songwriters who were just giving into the wrong urges. But no, kids; you're just the most unbearably pretentious duo ever to come out of Brooklyn. Congrats.

Honestly, John Cage would probably call you guys pompous cunts.

Dancing in the Sunshowers

2009-06-10T19:50:00.000-07:00

My good friends Sunshower Orphans have released a digital single through Holiday Records, which can be downloaded here. Glorious drone-pop with arresting melodies and all of that weird-sounding goodness that comes from shoegaze. Take note, dear readers.

Grizzly Bear: Now With More Zzzzzzz...

2009-06-10T19:10:00.000-07:00

I think complaining about mainstream culture is, ultimately, a waste of one's time. It is an absolutely disgusting thing to behold, and when I did such things (at the age when one feels compelled to complain about Top 40 radio and MTV and what have you), I felt very icky about it years later. Really, you're not accomplishing anything by bitching about how listening to pop radio is horrible and how they play the same 15 songs over and over again. It's a fact of life; we've all moved on. (I like to think we have, at least.)

Similarly, I find it difficult to feel any reaction when an artist proclaimed to be "indie" by the powers that be encounters a modicum of success. One isn't accomplishing anything by calling the Shins sellouts because their record hit Billboard's Top 10 for one week: Nirvana came and went and showed us all that things like that happen. The notion of selling out is overblown, anyway: the archaic notion that a successful band has "sold out" more often stems around the band's original fans no longer feeling as if they're part of a super-secret, exclusive club than any legitimate complaints about an artist making musical concessions for the purpose of financial gain. (To date, I can only think of one example of this.)

Recently, the experimental folk-rock collective Grizzly Bear became the latest to follow in the steps of The Shins, Death Cab For Cutie, and The Decemberists as an indie-rock darling that received its brief flirtation with mainstream success after its latest record, Veckatimest debuted at number eight on Billboard's album charts. The reaction was typical: the indie-rock press was quick to jump on this as an instance of either the cool kids taking over or the unwashed masses developing good taste in between listening to Green Day singles and eating fast food. (Pitchfork's response was typically pretentious.) Now, what does this say about Grizzly Bear? Have the freaky folkies from Brooklyn leaped on to some alt-rock zeitgeist, ready to join Phoenix and The Decemberists in the hallowed halls of artists that get late-night play on WRXP? One listen to Veckatimest indicates otherwise.

Don't get me wrong; Grizzly Bear are a talented band. Their previous record, Yellow House, was an interesting little thing, a collection of muted folk musings on damaged psyches and one flat-out excellent song ("Knife"). The arrangements were complex and intricate, and Veckatimest continues that tradition. It's louder than Yellow House; the arrangements are fuller, giving the songs a sonic heft that they lacked previously. The makings of a great record are here, right in front of us...and yet I'm not completely impressed. I respect what Grizzly Bear have done here: they're clearly more than a bunch of spoiled hipster brats playing lo-fi surf-rock bullshit. However, Veckatimest doesn't resonate the way I think a great album should. It's certainly an impressive piece of work, but each listen makes the record feel like a museum piece: we can look, yes, but we dare not touch anything.

In some ways, Grizzly Bear's talent is a bit of a downfall. The complexity of Veckatimest more often than not keeps the listener at arm's length, preventing one from really enjoying the record. This is not to say that any sort of complex pop music is impossible to love: as a recent example, the last two Dirty Projectors albums have done similar things (albeit with less instrumental window dressing), and those records are successes in ways Grizzly Bear have yet to achieve. But, the indie rock press have made their declaration, and Veckatimest is now the new Greatest Album That You Must Hear Before You Die. It's a nice record, but one could be forgiven for skipping it.

Thinking Out Loud

2009-04-14T19:34:00.000-07:00

Sometime in March, my life sputtered and came to a screeching halt (I blame Hollywood. Stupid limousine liberals...), so this little creature fell by the wayside. So, I'm just going to throw spaghetti at the Internet and see if anything sticks:

-The Pains of Being Pure at Heart are the best group of musicians to come out of this fucking city since Sonic Youth. Their sound, while admittedly trapped some time around 1989, is absolutely refreshing to hear amidst the sea of good and bad bands who are abusing the instant credibility that lo-fi recordings bring these days. Noise and dissonance and art for its own sake is fine (I've been seen listening to this every once in a while.), but I think that the art of writing good pop songs has become undervalued, largely because New York has, since the late 60s, always been a place where pop=bad (Blondie excluded). Keep making great stuff, guys. Here's hoping that the second record won't suck.

-I may have seen the worst movie ever made in the past week or so. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING matches The Spirit for sheer, unadulterated ridiculousness. Boondock Saints had a ludicrous premise and a dangerously unhinged Willem Dafoe? Fine, but nobody, not even Norman Osborn, can ham it up quite like Sammy Jackson. How, exactly, can you respond to this:

No, reader. Do not try to explain it. Do not contemplate how that photo could've been taken out of context. There is no fucking context that could possibly justify the above photograph. It makes no fucking sense.

Makes no sense at all.

-That's all for now. Continue praying to the invisible people who care so little for us all.

Admission of Lameness

2009-03-05T22:36:00.000-08:00

I hate nostalgia, for the most part. While looking back on the past with a hint of fondness can be enjoyable, it can ultimately poison the future, since it will never be as good as the memories you are looking back at through red lenses. Ultimately, I try to avoid nostalgia whenever possible. I really don't care how much I liked Bean as a child, because I saw it a month ago and thought it wasn't funny at all. If it can't stand the test of time, it has no value to me, regardless of the value it had to me in my younger years. The past is past, and there's nothing we can do about it.

Easier said than done, though.

This week, I've been watching U2's week-long stint on Letterman in support of their latest record, No Line on the Horizon. Now, I've heard the record, and it's a big, steaming heap of shit. (I mean, really? How good can an album be if the first single is one of the worst songs in existence?) Either way, it's safe to say that the record won't be turning many heads and that it only extends the rut that this 30 year-old band has been in since 2001. It's one shitty album from a group that has ceased to be relevant for a decade. Why, then, do I care?

Because I love U2.

There, I said it. And I am not afraid to admit it.

It started when I was 13 and about to go into counseling for writing a note to a girl that some people interpreted as a suicide letter. Having to hear teachers, nuns, and counselors make assumptions about your impending, self-inflicted death at the age of 16 can get to an impressionable kid who only cares about when he can get home to watch Batman Beyond and play N64. Just when I felt that life couldn't get more complicated, All That You Can
't Leave Behind came along. At this point in time, I hated all rock music made after 1980, so the fact that any new rock song could be this good was important to me. And I guess it just happened to appear in the right place at the right time. Every discussion of that record centers around how uplifting it was in the post-9/11 world, which could be valid, but I remember walking on Park Lane South listening to "In A Little While" and thinking that everything was going to be okay.

This was also the first time my dad took an interest in what I was listening to. My father liked U2, but he cared mostly about their early work that he heard on college radio stations, before they put out The Joshua Tree and became the biggest band in existence. (He likes to point out that he heard "New Year's Day" on New Year's Day for three years in a row.) He hadn't the nerve to talk about music with me because most of the music I liked was stuff he had gotten sick of a long time ago, after it had been played a billion times on AOR radio stations for 15 years. U2 was something he understood, something he could be nostalgic about. A reason to pull out his vinyl copy of Boy and his old, beaten Joshua Tree cassette tape. It was more of that deadly nostalgia for him, but it helped him relate to his son, which has its benefits, I think.

Ultimately, I don't know what to think of U2 on an objective level. I know their 80s work is almost impeccable (There are some exceptions). I know Achtung Baby is a masterpiece and one of the greatest rock albums ever. I also think Zooropa is an under-rated gem that will never get the credit it deserves because it doesn't sound like U2. And, I know that their new records are all shit save for a handful of songs. Oh, and Bono is a huge prick. And The Edge will never be taken seriously because he has such a dumb name.

Whatever. I still love 'em to death.

The Best Albums of 2008

2009-01-01T18:21:00.000-08:00

New wave, modern disco, punk rock, Graceland; all of it means nothing now. At least, it did to me, regardless of how many morons listened to that stuff in 2008. It got infuriating (as every year does), but I managed to trudge through the year without actually acting on my urges to murder everyone with an asymmetrical haircut or an impeccably-tailored "ironic" appearance.

Oh, and I listened to some records.

Here are the really good ones.

10. The Gang-Zero Hits

I can probably count all the people reading this who have also heard of The Gang with one hand. It shouldn't be like this. A band with such energy and vibrancy would never be ignored if this were a fair world. Then again, nothing's fair, so the raucous anarchy of "Sea So" and "Fits and Shadow Fights" will continue to be overlooked by every rock publication in the country. Bullshit.

The Gang-Sea So (Myspace link)

9. David Byrne and Brian Eno-Everything That Happens Will Happen Today
They just beat out R.E.M. for the Old Respected Dudes Get A Sympathy Award title. I kid, of course; the album's great. Granted, it's no My Life In The Bush Of Ghosts, but you can only make a groundbreaking, genre-defining album a couple of times. Here, I'll settle for "really fucking good" over "revolutionary." For once, David Byrne seems relaxed on record, and he's all the better for finally losing his jitters.

Brian Eno & David Byrne-"Everything That Happens"

8. The Mae Shi-HLLLYH
With all the attention paid to No Age's debut, people seemed to forget that The Mae Shi are the best band to come out of Los Angeles since X, and-unlike No Age-they did it without ripping off of My Bloody Valentine and releasing their worst song as a single. The album re-defines relentless, as it takes off in a wave of synths and guitar noises and never lets up. Yet, it remains immersive, making sure that the listener never loses attention. It's bloody great fun from start to finish, and coming from a hateful curmudgeon like me, that means something.

The Mae Shi-"Run To Your Grave"

7. Los Campesinos!-Hold On Now, Youngster...
Americans can't seem to find a balance between being ironic and not being a total dickhead. The British, however, seem to have found that balance, and they have Los Campesinos! to show for it. For every lyric that tries to say too much, the music that comes with it is an effortless sample of guitar pop not heard of since the last two Pavement albums. It's a record that comes across as needlessly complex, yet it's simple and easy to enjoy, much like watching a hipster justify LC's tourmates Titus Andronicus...ugh...

Los Campesinos!-Broken Heartbeats Sound Like Break Beats

6. Fucked Up-The Chemistry Of Common Life
Hardcore still exists, but it stopped being listenable back around 1995 or so. Fucked Up hearken back to a simpler time, when one could call Husker Du a "hardcore" band without being called a pussy. Unlike most modern hardcore, Fucked Up find angst in the trials of tribulations of the working man, hence the title. There's no teenage angst and misdirected anger here: the anger on this album has a purpose. It's directed at growing up, getting a job, paying your bills, and realizing that your life is nothing like you hoped it would turn out to be. It's hardcore for grown-ups.

Fucked Up-"Crooked Head"

5. Portishead-Third
Yes, trip-hop still exists, and Portishead have re-entered our lives to remind us. The genre itself is of minute value, yet Portishead always seem to work the best out of it. Third isn't a groundbreaking record the way Dummy was; it's merely Portishead being Portishead. Not much else to ask for, really.

Portishead-Machine Gun

4. Times New Viking-Rip It Off
It's good to see that the spirit of Guided By Voices is alive and well long after Robert Pollard told everyone to piss off and decided to be boring. Times New Viking recall a much simpler time, when recording quality meant diddly squat, so long as the songs were good. And short. And loud.

Times New Viking-"(My Head)(mediocre live rip)"

3. M83-Saturdays=Youth
John Hughes created a generation of sappy romantics with keyboards, one of which appears to be Anthony Gonzalez, since M83's latest could have appeared on the soundtrack to Pretty In Pink. The album's songs mirror the themes of the director's work: "Highway of Endless Dreams" recalls that youthful desire to run away from home and one's troubles, while "Graveyard Girl" portrays the teenage depression of many a goth kid. It's nostalgic, but it never gets sickening, and Gonzalez steers away from any rose-colored glasses. If only The Killers could learn...

M83-"Graveyard Girl"

2. Deerhunter-Microcastle
After turning out a dud with his debut album as Atlas Sound (disagree with me all you want, but the record sucks), Bradford Cox crafted a near-masterpiece with Microcastle. Some would chastise it for having "sonic consistency", an overly fancy way of saying that all the songs sound alike. I feel that it is more of a collection of ruminations on a single theme, which is probably loneliness or ennui or whatever depressing thoughts Bradford Cox thinks when he is writing. I'll keep listening, though, as long as his songs are as superb as they are here.

Deerhunter-"Nothing Ever Happened"

1. TV On The Radio-Dear Science
Yes, I went with the least-original choice for Album of the Year in existence. Hell, even Rolling Stone agreed with me, and I didn't have to bring up some old classic rock cash cow who is way past their prime. Regardless, I stand by my pick. I mean, can you really blame me? Forget about the hype and publicity for a second and actually listen to the damn record. "Crying" and "Golden Age" are the hallowed return of soul to indie rock. Need I mention that "Family Tree"-a heartbreaking ballad that is as majestic as it is gut-wrenching- is the best thing they've done since "Ambulance"? I can't force anyone to like anything, but if I could, you would all have had Dear Science playing on repeat since October.

TV On The Radio-"Crying"
TV On The Radio-"Family Tree (Cool Youtube video I found)"

BACK! And just in time...

2008-12-20T22:16:00.001-08:00

I lost track of this thing for a while now; I figured that I would go back to ETC by the end of December at the latest.

Talk about cutting it close.

Housekeeping-wise, expect to see the end-of-year record list up after Non-Religious-Specific-Holiday Period ends. I usually have plenty of time to evaluate records while trying to avoid relatives drunk on cheap wine and empty lives. Hopefully, my soul-sucking job won't prevent me from getting near the computer.

In the meantime, I'm going to ramble about songs I heard this year that got me really excited.

My introduction to Brooklyn's Vivian Girls was at the last show at McCarren Pool, during which they proved to be the most muted, poppiest group at the show. Not an incredibly difficult feat, considering the competition, but they were likable enough (at least I thought so; my girlfriend found them insufferably bland) that I was willing to give their record a shot. While it had a much fuller sound than that particular live show-keep in mind that the sound systems at McCarren are legendary for their awfulness-there wasn't much to the songs on the record; they all chugged along amiably, only occasionally applying an amount of distortion that could be called dissonant. Pleasant, yes, but nothing extraordinary.

Then this song came on.

I'll admit to having a soft spot for multiple-part harmonies in any form of music, but I challenge even the most adamant of anti-pop noiseniks to not feel elated by the chorus of "Where Do You Run To." Garage-rock may have been done to death by 2004, but garage-rock by way of Ronnie Spector is just fresh enough to stay on repeat for the next six months. The rest of the album is pretty much the same as this, but in between the same song written 10 or so times, Vivian Girls manage to throw us the best oldies hit that never was.

...

Kanye West is not the world's worst human being. He's an arrogant, petulant, spoiled, bratty man-child, but that isn't necessarily a bad thing. Far be it from me to encourage or excuse the way he acts, but losing one's mother and breaking up one's engagement can be rough for anyone. I just wish he had picked a different drug to abuse other than Auto-Tune. For those who are unaware, Auto-Tune is a vocoder that adjusts vocal performances for pitch inconsistency and any vocal mistakes. In short, it is the reason why I have declared all modern forms of R&B to be legally dead for the past three years. Artists like T-Pain and Akon are well-known for their use of the device: you might notice that both of these artists suck, but that is not because of Auto-Tune.

Anyway, Kanye released an album in December entitled 808s and Heartbreak, a "pop art" album (Kanye's words, not mine) that utilizes the TR-808 drum machine and Kanye's beloved Auto-Tune. The main reason for Kanye's use of Auto-Tune is simple: his actual singing voice is atrocious, and he can't keep a consistent pitch to save his life. (Watch this if you don't believe me.)

Despite this, I couldn't hate 808s and Heartbreak. I should have: as a fan of Kanye West's previous work, it was so far of a departure that I expected myself to have the knee-jerk negative reaction because it wasn't a "normal" Kanye West album. It does get close, though, and the song that does it is easily the best song on the album. Maybe it's because Kanye doesn't try to sing at all (Thank Jesus), or it's the soaring string track...actually, it's the soaring string track. After six straight tracks of oppressively dreary (albeit interesting) synth track, something with motion is welcome to break the rut. Like the soundtrack to an inspiring-yet-awful film, the strings lift you to another pop stratosphere; for an album that puts so much weight on its shoulders, it's nice to feel lighter than air for a few minutes.

One Night, Eight Albums

2008-07-02T22:42:00.000-07:00

My hand still twitches; I've begun to twirl a pen in between my fingers just to occupy Mr. Lefty while Mr. Righty operates the mouse. The kid's in the next room with a treasure trove of mediocre video games-the kind that are only good when you're ten years old-and Raiders of the Lost Ark on cassette, all of which are incentive enough to keep him from bothering me for at least eight hours. Good. Just enough time.

Coffee's done or not, can't tell. The machine doesn't buzz like it should; some fat cat thought that spider-sense was enough to tell when the coffee's brewed. I'm no Peter Parker. I'm not dodging robot arms or sexual advances from redheads while I run off to wonder why no one likes me; I just want my goddamn coffee. And I'm thinking some goddamn Liars would go well with my goddamn coffee. And it does. Drum and Mt. Heartattack are the soundtrack to the tribes of hell, demanding a sacrifice of time and mental energy that could be used to discern baseball stats or whatever normal people obsess with. No normal person obsesses with Liars. Hell, it's all too freaky for the freaks to obsess over. Goddamned coffee and cabin fever have made me freakier than usual, though. How about Bowie? Bowie's freaky. Low's really freaky. Heroes is just freaky enough; enough to be comforting. But what comfort is there in star-crossed lovers held back by oppression from lions, Arabs and whatever Warzawasa is? Okay, now the coffee's done.

Everyone assumes that God yells from the tops of mountains and that his voice can make heads explode with its sheer grandiosity. Right now, as the comic pages turn and fade and as the coffee cools and sweetens, I hear God's voice in a low, aching whisper, buried under reverb and distortion that obscure whatever He tries to say to me. Religion? No, merely Loveless. A record that stands to prove that you can name your song anything at all and it will have no bearing on the actual music. A record that seems to come from above; a communication between a deity and its people, via Kevin Shields. Naturally, no one gets it, even the shmucks who say they do. I don't get it. How can I? I cannot relate to a God, especially one who finds it so hard to raise his voice amidst all the chaos. But what is chaos without spirits to accompany it? The world gone to hell; might as well have a few and get dizzy so that things start to make sense. Craig Finn makes sense. A documentarian and a barkeep with little use for guitar noise and drones. It's all about the solos and the tugged heartstrings. It's enough to warm one's heart as it explodes. I have to pause, take it all in, wonder if beauty can be purchased in a glass bottle.

Part 2 on Monday.

The Fruits of Record Store Day

2008-04-20T09:19:00.000-07:00

In case any of you missed it, yesterday was a national holiday. No, not 4/20. That's today; stop smoking so much and look at a calendar. No, yesterday was Record Store Day, a celebration of the hangout for disaffected music snobs and tourists who stumble in asking where the nearest Best Buy is. My associate and I traversed New York City in honor of this day, documenting our progress as it happened:

-1 p.m., Sound Fix Records. Regina Spektor is doing an in-store performance and signing, neither of which I particularly care about. The line to get into the place goes up a block of Bedford Avenue; most of those waiting do so in futility, for the store's cozy bar setting in the back cannot possibly fit this many people. They let us in, and a line forms immediately to get into the back. I go to the counter rather sheepishly and ask for the holiday-exclusive R.E.M. 7-inch. I've been in love with the band's latest, Accelerate, since it came out; while it isn't the best thing they've done, it's a fast, brash return to form that I would never have expected from the band at this point. The disc contains the album's first single, "Supernatural Superserious" with a b-side entitled "Airliner": later listening will reveal this song to be a space-age surf instrumental...or something like that. Finding the crowd of people harping to see Regina to be kind of annoying, my associate and I depart.

-2 p.m., Other Music. This space gained some notoriety from being the setting of an absolutely hilarious Human Giant sketch. Because of this, I'm assuming, it is now the setting for a series of DJ sets from the movers and shakers of "indie rock", if Interpol can really move and shake anymore. We walked in as The Black Keys began their set: if you know anything about the Keys, you'd be correct in assuming that their record choices leaned heavily on obscure blues rock. Despite offering 10% off of everything in stock, both my associate and myself find the prices to be far out of our price range. So, we settle for grabbing some free promotional discs, specifically a free 7-inch from Merge Records featuring Destroyer and Wye Oak. I have never heard of Wye Oak in my life, but Destroyer's Trouble In Dreams is one of the best albums of the year so far and, as far as I'm concerned, anything Dan Bejar touches turns to gold.

-2:30 p.m., Downtown Music Gallery. This little alcove is a haven for jazz aficionados and anyone who finds Captain Beefheart enjoyable. Needless to say, we both felt slightly out of place. All was not lost, however, as I found-and subsequently purchased-The Velvet Underground's self-titled collection of rarities and demos, originally released in 1985. The free compilation album in the store contained some notably awful musicians, namely Pearl Jam and Coheed and Cambria, so despite my love for free things, I studiously avoided it.

-3 p.m., street fair on Astor Place. The people running the record table have In Rainbows playing on a boombox, which tempts me to stay simply to hear it. Many of the used records are clearly leftovers from someone's embarrassing past in the 1970s; Yes, Rush, and Emerson, Lake, and Palmer crossed my paths so often I considered getting a restraining order. After one quick purchase-John Lennon's Plastic Ono Band-we were off.

-4 p.m., Generation Records. My associate recommended this place to me as a haven for punk albums. Naturally, I go out and try to get the most un-punk record I can find, settling on David Bowie's Heroes, my favorite album by him. We both found ourselves gazing lustily at a collection of 45s on the wall in the store's basement: he at copies of The Clash's "Tommy Gun" and "English Civil War", and myself at what I could only assume was an original pressing of R.E.M.'s "Radio Free Europe." We managed to avoid the temptation to buy these; it probably had something to do with the fatigue in our legs, which was growing more unbearable every second. However, we still had one more stop to make.

-5 p.m., Music Matters. This record shop, situated in an alcove on 7th Avenue in Park Slope, holds a lot more than the "CDs and Tapes" it claims to sell on its banner. The vinyl selection was impeccable, though it had some laughable parts (Avenged Sevenfold's self-titled on vinyl. LOL). Then, I came across an original printing of R.E.M.'s Murmur. For ten dollars. I fumbled for my wallet to see what I had and pulled out...one measly buck. Once again, the devil farts in my face. I ended up begging my associate to get it for me, which he did, but now I owe a life debt to him. Was it worth getting an original release of the album that launched indie rock? Yes. Yes it was.

I leave you today with a few selected songs:

1. R.E.M., "Supernatural Superserious": This has been out for weeks, and anyone who cares probably has heard it already. I just love this song. It warms my heart to see a band who has been around as long as they have play with such vigor and passion.

2. Fleet Foxes, "White Winter Hymnal": Their album doesn't come out until June. Not fast enough. One listen to this and I'm hooked. The acoustic guitars, the exquisite vocal harmonies, the Arcade Fire-esque bombast. God, why is this so good?!

3. Wolf Parade, "Call It A Ritual": I'm not sure how I feel about this song yet. It sounds a bit like an album track in that it seems out of place in the context of a promo CD. On the other hand...it's a new Wolf Parade song! Something to hold us over until the Frustrating-To-Title Wolf Parade Album comes out in June! Yay!

Get Kevin's Record Store Day playlist here:

http://www.sendspace.com/file/e5bd3m

Diamonds In The Shite: 2007 Edition

2007-12-22T15:07:00.000-08:00

If I could describe 2007 in one phrase, it would be the one that I used more often than any other: "Come on man! This was supposed to be good!"

Yes, 2007 was the Year Of Disappointments, as far as many were concerned. The recording industry continued to suffer as God continued to smite them for exploiting the ringtone rap craze and allowing Nickelback to sell music to the public, but this has been fairly standard fare since 2002, so let's move on. No, what was truly disappointing was watching artists that I once considered great fall flat on their face in total embarassment. (Except in Wilco's case, in which they fell flat on their face and didn't seem to care because the vibes were just so good, man...).

But while the Interpols and the Bands of Horses of the world were busy pissing on our goodwill, there were a select few artists who were willing and gracious enough to avoid following the usual trends of the industry and actually reward their listeners with good music that didn't insult their intelligence. The following records are all ones that I sought out, purchased, and left afterwards feeling extremely elated and satisfied. If you don't own them, you either have pencils in your ears or you bought too many Dan Deacon and Justice records. (If this is the case, you probably should stick pencils in your ears).

10. A Place To Bury Strangers-A Place To Bury Strangers: Shoegaze and JAMC-style drone pop is very difficult to pull off without sounding completely moronic (exhibit A: Hurricane #1), but A Place To Bury Strangers pulls this off quite admirably. What's even more astonishing is that, even though they're from Brooklyn and they got a shitload of hype from the Pitchfork staff, I still genuinely like them. One of the best debuts of the year, and easily the best knock-off of Psychocandy I've heard.

9. Spoon-Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga: Goddamn; I hate typing that title, but I fucking love this record. In a year when artists tried to reach lofty ideas that were far beyond their station, Spoon's return to fast, taut indie pop/rock after 2005 admirable-yet-unsatisfying Gimme Fiction was a definite breath of fresh air. Deservedly, the album's smart blend of guitar rock, funk, and soul earned the band a bigger audience, and the newcomers couldn't have picked a better album to start getting into one of America's finest pop bands.

8. Sunset Rubdown-Random Spirit Lover: Spencer Krug is a strange creature for me to approach: on one hand, he gets a wicked amount of hype for his many projects, most notably the enjoyable-but-massively-overrated Wolf Parade; on the other hand, his work with Sunset Rubdown has always displayed a deft mastery of texture and dense songcraft. Random Spirit Lover doesn't change that. If you like Spencer Krug, particularly Shut Up I Am Dreaming, then there's plenty to love here. If you don't like Sunset Rubdown, then there's obviously something wrong with you.

7. Panda Bear-Person Pitch: Another one of the more "interesting" offerings of 2007 in that it's a collection of pop songs wrapped in something damn near impenetrable. "Bros", for example, is-at its center-a brilliant slice of Brian Wilson-esque pop...except it has a bunch of weird noises and it goes on for 12 minutes. It sounds scary, but it isn't. Noah Lennox keeps up his momentum, allowing his songs to stretch without wearing out his welcome. Strangeness isn't always off-putting, you know.

6. Dinosaur Jr.-Beyond: After all the waiting, the tours, the thefts, and the various albums that got a severe boost from the "featuring J Mascis" tagline, Dinosaur Jr. got down to business and made a record that could've either made or broken their legacy. So what do they do? They pick up where they left off, of course. Beyond is a louder, more sober You're Living All Over Me, made by three guys who figured out why they enjoyed making music together in the first place. Everything to love about Dino Jr. is here: the loud arrangements, the mumbled lyrics about nothing. Honestly, what more could you ask for?

5. Jay-Z-American Gangster: Nothing disappointed me as much this year as the entire rap genre did. While efforts by Kanye West, Wu Tang Clan, and Ghostface Killah (okay, and T.I.) were entertaining, they were far from what each artist was capable of. Thankfully, we now have a re-invigorated Jay-Z to know and love. American Gangster returns to the soul-sampling formula that served Jigga so well on The Blueprint and The Black Album, but rather than sounding like a retread, Jay sounds inspired and assured, free of the lyrical laziness that plagued Kingdom Come. Too bad the movie that inspired him sucked...

4. Arcade Fire-Neon Bible: I must be forced to eat crow here: I'm not placing this album at the #1 spot, even though I flipped two shits about its awesomeness when it came out. You know what? I don't care. Fuck critical integrity. It may not be the absolute best album of the year, but it's still fucking great. "(Antichrist Television Blues)" still does Springsteen better than the actual Springsteen can, "Intervention" still gives me goosebumps when I hear it, and "No Cars Go" is still the knock-you-on-your-ass album closer that never was ("My Body Is A Cage" still kinda sucks). Hype be damned, I love Neon Bible.

3. Ted Leo & The Pharmacists-Living With The Living: In a world that's becoming a bit too much like the Reagan-esque Bullshit Artist Golden Age of the 1980s, we desperately need a new Clash, a band that will lay off the partying for a bit so they can urge us on towards change. As I've said multiple times, "Thank God for Ted Leo." Living With The Living is the sound of a man who has allowed his music to expand in order to match his lofty ideas. Leo's songs inspire a sort of fist-pumping righteousness, while the admittedly haphazard track sequencing gives the feeling of discomfort. It's just the elixir we'll need for the upcoming Bullshitting Contest in 2008.

2. Animal Collective-Strawberry Jam: Truth be told, I've never heard a record like this before. It's noisy and abrasive, yet it contains distinctly melodic songs. It's sort of what people said Yankee Hotel Foxtrot by Wilco was, except it isn't a load of crap and overhype this time. Try listening to songs like "Peacebone" or "For Reverend Green": they sound dissonant at first, but you'll catch yourself humming along to the songs a few minutes later. Records like these don't often exist, which is why it's such a treat when an artist respects the listener's ability to appreciate enough to create such an immersible work.

And finally....

1. Radiohead-In Rainbows: Okay, it's not as revolutionary as Kid A or OK Computer. In fact, it's about as streamlined as Radiohead have been since The Bends. Why, then, is it the #1 album of 2007? Honestly, I'm not sure. I don't know what aspect of the record it is, but something keeps bringing me back to this record. I can honestly say I've never truly enjoyed a record for a long time before I heard In Rainbows. Something about the record-the warm, inviting production; Johnny Greenwood's slick, jazzy guitar work, or Thom Yorke's modestly intense songs-made me shut off most of my self-imposed critical facets and just made me love the damn thing. After close to 100 listens, I can tell that it's another new turn for Radiohead, this time into the realm of rhythm section-based lo-fi, a la Liars. It's also evident that the band sound like they enjoy what they do again: had this been Hail To The Thief, songs like "15 Step" and "Jigsaw Falling Into Place" may have ended up as 5-minute dirges; here, they're exciting, spontaneous and-yes, I'm using this word in regards to a Radiohead album-fun. Hell, I don't even care two shits about all the hoopla surrounding its release. Even with all the talk about how "revolutionary" and "daring" the pay-what-you-want tactic was, it was all helped by the fact that In Rainbows was an album worth paying for, anyway. And if you didn't pay for it, God will probably slap you in the face before you wake up and realize that it was all a dream.

I Have A New Reason To Hate Musicals

2007-09-23T10:13:00.000-07:00

The Beatles' song catalog is a resilient thing for sure: in 40 years, the songs of Lennon, McCartney, Harrison, and Starr have been subjected to poor-quality CD releases, piles of superfluous compilations, ubiquity in sneaker commercials, billions upon billions of terrible cover versions and being owned by Michael Jackson. Yet somehow, The Beatles' best work resonates with many listeners (myself included) time and time again. It seems that no amount of abuse can damage the quality of these songs.

That is, until Julie Taymor decided to have a crack at it.

Beatle-haters can rejoice in their close-mindedness as Julie Taymor's musical film Across The Universe hits theaters this weekend. Meanwhile, the movie executive who green-lighted this project can be seen laughing all the way to the bank in utter disbelief that people would actually see this garbage. For those readers who do not know, Taymor's film is a movie musical set in the Sixties and comprised entirely of Beatles songs. Okay, there's the first problem right there. The Beatles' song catalog is a timeless thing, one that has stood up for decades while songs from the same era grow dated and obsolete. Who, then, came up with the bright idea of setting the film in the Sixties, thus making the story (and the songs) seem utterly outdated to everyone except aging Beatles fans and Jann Wenner? If one is trying to introduce these brilliant songs to a new generation, it would help if one wasn't charging one's audience eleven dollars for a history lesson.

Also, if one is in the process of introducing Beatles songs to a new audience, it would help if the new versions of those songs weren't among the least inspired renditions of the songs yet. Dana Fuchs tries her hands at "Oh! Darling" and "Helter Skelter" aiming for Janis Joplin but missing and striking Melissa Etheridge instead. Evan Rachel Wood, channeling Avril Lavigne's recent lifeless version of "Imagine" on the Instant Karma tribute album, leaves way too much syrup on "Blackbird", pretty much ruining one of the loveliest songs Paul McCartney ever wrote. However, no one quite screws with these songs like the lumbering, unsubtle Irish beast named Bono. Continuing his recent tradition of performing songs with the lumbering earnestness that makes U2 fans groan, he manages to be the center of the film's absolute lowest point with his earnest, fake-soul version of-I kid you not-"I Am The Walrus."

If any scene really demonstrates how Taymor and company got everything completely wrong in Across The Universe, it would have to be their take on "I Want You (She's So Heavy)" Once a loud, vicious sex song, Taymor uses it as an allegory for the draft and Vietnam. It ends up devolving into a gaudy dance number with men in military uniforms and terrible makeup while the draftees carry the Statue Of Liberty across a muddy terrain ("She's so heavy!" Get it?!). In an attempt to-I think-be dangerous and controversial (The scene definitely doesn't move or enhance the plot, much like every scene in this film), Taymor completely misrepresents the song in a mess of gaudy production, pointless choreography, and lots and lots of flash. The flash means absolutely nothing, though, and it does nothing for the songs that she uses. In the end, Across The Universe is the kind of movie that will most assuredly anger any true Beatle fan who sees it and can only satisfy the very young or the cinematically and musically inept. A cast of dozens and a million-dollar movie budget still can't replicate the genius that four lads from Liverpool engineered in a small studio on Abbey Road.

Help! The literal imagery is too much to bear!

Hype Gets It Wrong Again

2007-08-21T09:09:00.000-07:00

Is M.I.A. truly condescending, or does she really regard herself as a victim? The cynic in all of us would like to regard her as a nuisance and a loudmouth, but the fact is that she has some valid points: we in America don't exactly know how to regard a pop star from a developing country? Perhaps that's why we have doomed M.I.A. to a future of meager sales in the United States?

No. It's because her records are absolutely uninteresting.

Kala, the Sri Lankan pop star's latest release, is probably setting fire to the brains of bloggers and Pitchfork writers everywhere. So far, it's been hailed as M.I.A.'s "great leap forward" and "daring." It has pretty much been assured consideration for Album Of The Year honors among journalists.

Bullshit.

Kala, like M.I.A.'s previous effort Arular, is nothing to write home about. The production of the record has been the selling point, but there isn't much here to distinguish the record from others you'd probably hear in the club (which is the record's destination, no doubt), and the beats themselves distort M.I.A.'s ardently political lyrics to the point that they bear no consequence on the direction of the album. Pardon me for suggesting this, but when people are doing the bump-and-grind to some hot tracks, they're probably not thinking about the economic situations in various third-world countries. But M.I.A. wants to have it both ways: she wants to make that successful party-rap record that gets her (admittedly) important message across.

Of course, you can't have your cake and eat it, too. You can't exalt frivolity while yearning for depth in one's music. It just doesn't work that way. It's M.I.A.'s attempt to go with both extremes that ends up making Kala a failure, even if her use of African rhythmic instruments has been done many times before (Remain In Light? Graceland?). Ignore the Pitchfork-generated hype: it's not daring, it's not powerful. It is, in fact, nothing at all.

Selective Memory

2007-07-12T20:25:00.001-07:00

Here we are, a little bit past the half-way point of 2007, and it's time for a little look back. Shall we?

Highlights

1. The Arcade Fire keep from screwing up entirely. In fact, Neon Bible is still an amazing piece of music three months later, going long past the life expectancy of most sophomore records.If you haven't gotten it yet, why are you still here reading this?

2. Dinosaur Jr. beat the Pixies to recording a new album. Beyond is probably better than we should've expected from the reformed J. Mascis Patrol, and it'll probably be better than anything their Bostonian alt-rock contemporaries will serve up. We needed a friendly reminder of just how freakin' awesome this band still is.

3. NME hype bands take "artistic tailspin" to a new level. One released the same exact album over again (Arctic Monkeys' Favourite Worst Nightmare), another overstepped their artistic boundaries (Bloc Party's pretentious A Weekend In The City), and another really overestimated what they could do (The Bravery's laughable concept album The Sun and The Moon). If the excitable, ADD-riddled British music tabloid hasn't lost its credibility already, these three mis-steps should be the nails in the coffin.

4. Modest Mouse hire Johnny Marr, find ways to not be overrated. I guess all Isaac Brock needed was someone who could write real songs in order to make an album worthy of the hype that this band usurps from indie gods Built To Spill. Naturally, the indie press flat-out rejected it, making an impossible occurrence become reality: a Modest Mouse album is now under-rated.

5. Billy Corgan sells out even more, screws fans, only to receive his just desserts. "Tarantula" has failed to burn the charts, as expected, and one listen of Zeitgeist demonstrates that Corgan has completely forgot that he wrote any song other than "Zero". Even if the album becomes a minor success, it's safe to say that the Smashing Pumpkins "reunion" is turning out to be a failure in almost every respect.

Alas, I wish I bore more good news. But if I did, I wouldn't be a critic, now would I?

1. Hey Ted, where are you? Seriously, what is with the public indifference to Ted Leo? He put out some of the best music I've heard all year, he tours relentlessly (including a packed house show at Webster Hall which was, by mine and many other accounts, the shizz), yet nobody seems to pay him any mind. I'm not a big fan of hype, but come on! Somebody say some outrageously presumptuous statements to give Ted the popularity he deserves.

2. The Shins get more fans by being boring. By now, anything bearing the name of The Shins will get lots of attention from faux-hipster suburban girls who thought Garden State was, like, totally deep and shit. The Shins themselves proved that by releasing an album that made little impact except on Billboard.

3. Interpol lose it. And it probably won't come back. After a pretty good start, Our Love To Admire sinks back into the dance-rock funk our mopey heroes fell into with Antics. Clearly, having major-label tools at one's disposal doesn't always lead to greater ambitions.

4. Wilco get way too complacent for their own good. Jeff Tweedy used to be America's answer to Thom Yorke mixed with a bit of Alex Chilton to spare. Now, we find out that all he really wants to be is Graham Nash. Somebody get him back on painkillers and hopefully he won't come up with something as ho-hum as Sky Blue Sky.

5. Good rap music takes a hiatus. Six months into 2007, and all the rap world can offer us is T.I. and Young Buck? Are you friggin' kidding me? Hopefully, Kanye will laugh at my expectations and make a third album as good as his first two.

Oh, and...

6. Still no new Radiohead album. Seriously, Thom. It's been four years. What the hell?

As you kiddies enjoy your summer with cool drinks and fun, free Williamsburg shows (I reccommend any show at McCarren Pool. Slip-n-Slides make indie rock even more fun), here's some albums that'll make your summer better with their general awesomeness:

The Arcade Fire-Neon Bible
Ted Leo & The Pharmacists-Living With The Living
Spoon-Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga
Dinosaur Jr.-Beyond
Feist-The Reminder
Panda Bear-Person Pitch
Battles-Mirrored
Deerhoof-Fiend Opportunity
Menomena-Friend and Foe
Paul McCartney-Memory Almost Full (Please don't laugh. It's actually much better than it should be).

I'll be back in a few days with my picks for what to keep an eye out for in the second half of 2007.

Billy Corgan Deserves Your Mockery, Not Your Money

2007-06-22T04:43:00.000-07:00

Billy Corgan is an asshole. In case I need to explain why this is so, he has broken up two bands because he's too difficult to deal with, he constantly praises his own talent and laments over how his former Smashing Pumpkins bandmates aren't as talented as he is, and-to top it off-when he took out an ad in the Chicago Sun-Times to announce a Smashing Pumpkins reunion, two of the band's members found out about the reunion by reading the ad. What a guy, right?

While it's generally known that Corgan is an impossible person to deal with in a professional and creative sense, now he has turned his wrath upon you, the consumer. According to a recent Pitchfork news story, in preparation for the release of Zeitgeist-the new SP album preceded by the awful single "Tarantula"-Smashing Pumpkins and their label Reprise have decided to release four different versions of the album: the standard version will be available in most stores, but Best Buy, Target, and iTunes will each get a version with a different bonus track. Thus, theoretically, to hear the entire album, a consumer will have to submit his or her anal virginity to Billy Corgan at least three times.

In a day and age in which giant electronic stores and corporations are putting the independently-owned record store out of business, Billy Corgan has made it perfectly clear where his allegiance lies: on the side that gets him the most money. While it seemed pretty obvious to me that the fake Smashing Pumpkins reunion was an attempt to cash in (as most reunions are), I had hoped that Billy Corgan would at least afford some respect to his fans. Apparently not!

If this is Billy Corgan's statement to music fans everywhere, I feel it is time that we made a statement to him. I urge anyone who comes across this blog to BOYCOTT THE SMASHING PUMPKINS IN ALL THEIR ENDEAVOURS. Do NOT do any of the following things:

-Pay to see them on tour.
-Buy their records, even the old ones. If you must hear them, download them through a file-sharing service.
-Watch their television apperances.

It's time that the music industry heard us. Smashing Pumpkins may just be one band, but one band is enough to send this message to the music industry of America: We're not buying your bullshit.

Don't give your money to this asshole.

Yes, I can be positive.

2007-03-03T11:14:00.000-08:00

Okay, so far, the more anticipated releases of 2007 have been...less than stellar in the eyes of many (Even if suburban teenage girls still throw their money at anything bearing the name of the Shins). Now, we have been handed the second album of The Arcade Fire, whose picture appears when one looks up "hype" in Webster's Dictionary. Their debut, Funeral, became famous through intense word-of-mouth promotion until they were the most popular cult band in the world, drawing the attention of David Bowie and opening for the majority of U2's American tour. Their second album, Neon Bible, should theoretically be reviled; no matter how good it is, critics and their fans won't regard it as highly as Funeral, and members of a wider audience won't get what the big deal is. Destined for failure, right?

Wrong. Dead wrong. Not only does Neon Bible meet the expectations of their fans and critics, but it may be the best album released in this decade so far. Musically, The Arcade Fire have grown, but they haven't tried to make a completely different sound when compared to Funeral. What Neon Bible does is take the best elements of their acclaimed live shows-impassioned vocals, loose playing, and a penchant for the big statement-and put them on record. Some of the overblown rock cliches (a children's choir on first single "Intervention", for example) are here, but hearing them doesn't make a listener groan in disgust.

The real stars of the album, however, are Win Butler's lyrics. Aside from album closer "My Body Is A Cage", the lyrics on Neon Bible are nothing short of brilliant. In a period of popular music when every song written is about personal feelings and general whining, Butler demonstrates a desire to tear the hypocrisy of society down; religion, global politics, and pop culture are all fair game for his acidic prose. In short, he's mad as hell, and he'll tear the world to pieces rather than let it remain like this.

Neon Bible may be the only rock album since Radiohead's Kid A that can truly be regarded as a classic. It seems destined to be underappreicated in its time; a friend of mine who heard the album declared it to be "too weird." It may be weird for some; Win Butler's voice has always been an acquired taste. But why should anyone let that stop all this brilliance from entering your ears?

Disastrous Sophomore Record, case #1,157

2007-02-01T17:33:00.000-08:00

If you follow Internet music sites or are from Britain, you should at least know who Bloc Party are. Aside from beating TV On The Radio for the title of Most Ethnically Diverse Rock Band of the 2000s, there really isn't a whole lot to say about them. They're another band that plays the sort of music that makes critics use words like "angular" and "channels the spirit of (insert 80's post-punk band here)." When they released their first album, Silent Alarm, some in the British press were ready to prop them up as "the next Franz Ferdinand." Naturally, this was another boneheaded oversight by the scribes at NME and their ilk; while the band clearly aped the 80's, they had neither the fey sexiness or biting wit of Franz Ferdinand. Instead, they had an earnestness and political motivation similar to U2, except nobody could really tell exactly what their political views are.

A Weekend In The City, Bloc Party's latest release, does very little to establish the band's political and musical identity. All that I've been able to find out about Kele Okekere's ideology is that he hates East London (as do-from what I've been told-a lot of East Londoners). Whatever his opinions are, he's running out of ways to express them; is rife with recycled metaphors and couplets. Thankfully, lyrical brilliance was never the focus of bands like Bloc Party. No, what makes A Weekend In The City frustratingly awful is that the band's musical creations have changed for the worse. The songs that were once choppy and consice are now meandering messes. I cannot personally believe that the men who made this record are the same men who wrote songs like "Banquet" and "Like Eating Glass", which were filled with tension and anxiety. I can't recall a single song after listening to the album twice. These songs are, for lack of a better word, boring.

Call it a sophomore slump if you will, but this is beyond a slump. A Weekend In The City is a disaster on par with The Strokes' First Impressions of Earth or (surprise!) Franz Ferdinand's You Could Have It So Much Better. Now that they've gotten the "difficult album" out of their system, they should be able to get back to writing real pop songs. That is, if they can pick themselves up from this quagmire.

Stiff Recoil To Success

2007-01-30T18:03:00.000-08:00

Indie bands with a sizeable cult following have two distinct reactions to unexpected commercial success. Some, like R.E.M. and Nirvana, use this to their advantage and become more successful. Others, most notably Pavement, decide on giving the mainstream audiences a gigantic middle finger by making a record that's impossible to market. I was curious to see how The Shins would react after being thrust into the mainstream consciousness by Garden State; they were far more cryptic and understated than R.E.M. were when they broke it big, but they did not possess Pavement's wry sense of humor or their desire to fuck with their fans' heads. James Mercer clearly knew this, so he followed neither path. With Wincing The Night Away, The Shins go out of their way to make a record that does not sound anything like The Shins.

Wincing The Night Away is probably most notable for its shift in the band's focus. Rather than craft tight, simple pop songs, they have chosen to focus more on atmosphere and texture. The result is something very similar to Yo La Tengo's more recent work. That's not to say that they've made a bunch of Mogwai songs; there is still some sense of economy. The album actually starts off with some of Mercer's better pop songs: "Sleeping Lessons", "Australia", and first single "Phantom Limb" all could have easily fit on to one of the previous two albums. After that, it gets kind of rough. "Sea Legs" drags on for five and a half minutes, and any listener can see that it should have been one or two minutes shorter. What is really disturbing about the second half, though, is the sameness of it all. Oh Inverted World had a detour right in the middle of the album that also doubled as a brilliant slice of indie pop, and Chutes Too Narrow only had one or two songs that really could have been expected from them. Wincing The Night Away attempts to be different, but it ends up sounding remarkably familiar, even if it isn't Shins-by-numbers.

Of course, it doesn't help that the songs themselves are fairly weak. Pretty much every song from "Sea Legs" onward is boring as all hell. There's very little on this record that is immediate. There are no major standout tracks, and the ones I have pointed out as standouts pale in comparison to "Kissing The Lipless" or "Caring Is Creepy." Perhaps Wincing The Night Away is a grower, though I highly doubt it. The Shins have managed to achieve what I thought was impossible: they have made a record that shuns commercial success by making it more streamlined.

Diamonds In The Shite: The Ten Best Albums of 2006

2006-12-25T20:56:00.000-08:00

Let's face it: most of the music made in 2006 sucked mightily. Between old bands creating stale retreads of their previous work and new bands creating stale retreads of someone else's previous work, there really wasn't much to pick from this year. Hip hop reached both its commercial and artistic nadir this year (I mean, society let K-Fed record an album. Come on, people!), and rock is continuing to fall down the slippery slope of unoriginality. However, all is not lost; as always, some artists had the good sense to not release total crap this year. Then ten I am about to mention are albums that I thought were so good that I actually went to a store and bought the damn things. They are works I respect too much to download off of a file-sharing service. (Arctic Monkeys, on the other hand...)

10. Neko Case-Fox Confessor Brings The Flood
Some classify this as a country album, but I refuse to on account of it's too good for that label. It almost justifies her decision to not tour with the New Pornographers, thus making them suck live this year. A wonderfully understated album, it showcases Case's continuing growth as a songwriter (Especially on "Star Witness" and "The Needle Has Landed"), and-as always-she demonstrates why she's one of the best female vocalists in music today.

9. Nas-Hip-Hop Is Dead
Somebody had to say it; it might as well be the one man in hip-hop who's good at saying anything anymore. In a year when Akon and T.I. became the country's most popular rap stars and when Jay-Z released a comeback album that sorely disappointed, Nas didn't let us down. Sonically, this isn't much different from his previous albums, but the words make all the difference. Jay came back just to say that he was back; Nas came back because he could show hip-hop where it went wrong.

8. Espers-Espers II
Okay, I know acid-folk sounds like the worst premise for a genre ever, but hear me out on this one. It has a dark, disturbed center that wasn't present in their first record. It's still damn near impenetrable; if you're looking for some NPR-friendly, easy listening folkies, stay away from this. The rest of us can bask in the sonic inventiveness and overall brilliance of the three people who crafted this. (Oh, and as far as pretentious art-folk goes, this beats the crap out of Newsom.)

7. Thom Yorke-The Eraser
When this album debuted at #2 on Billboard, my faith in the American pop music audience was somewhat restored. True, these songs aren't quite as brilliant as they would have been with contributions from the other members of Radiohead (or at least Jonny Greenwood), but Yorke has managed to distill all of his fears and insecurities of the world into a song suite that easily trumps Amnesiac. The electronic elements of the songs (which are more prevalent here than in what Kid A was wrongfully accused to have) aren't quite as foreboding that the previously mentioned album; the tension and paranoia is mostly carried by Yorke's vocals and lyrics, and this record easily contains his greatest achievements as both a lyricist and a singer. If you're still complaining about those Radiohead tickets you lost in an eBay auction, shut up and get this instead.

6. The Lemonheads-The Lemonheads
Musically challenging? No. A startling reinvention of a band's original sound? Not really. This is a half-hour of great, catchy guitar pop, something that has been lacking in popular music today. With their fellow British pop acts either defunct (Pulp), stoned (Blur), or constantly devolving into self-parody (Oasis), the reconvened Lemonheads (essentially singer/guitarist Evan Dando and the rhythm section from The Descendents) have reminded us why we cared about anyone with a guitar and a British accent by recording the kind of album we'd expect from them. It's uncomplicated and straightforward, and I should also mention that the songs are the best he's written since It's A Shame About Ray. Hands down, the one fake reunion worth paying attention to.

5. Sonic Youth-Rather Ripped
So they fired Jim O'Rourke and found those stolen, specially-tuned guitars from their EVOL days. Time to turn up the amps and let the feedback commence, right? Of course not! This is Sonic fucking Youth we're talking about. They make records that shock us because they're not what we expect at all (Well, except Sonic Nurse.) So what do they do? They go and make the sort of indie-pop record that would've made them bigger than Nirvana in 1992. Kim Gordon just keeps getting better and better as a songwriter, and with "Incinerate", the band has easily recorded their best single since "Teen Age Riot." It's yet another album that has you wondering how the hell these guys can keep doing it after twenty years.

4. Belle & Sebastian-The Life Pursuit
Holy crap, it's a loud Belle & Sebastian record! Now, that doesn't mean that they've decided to crank up the amps to 12 and blast out some thrash metal; this is still Belle & Sebastian, the masters of pop subtlety. Their songs still mean delightfully little; any attempt to find a life lesson from "Funny Little Frog" will probably be fruitless. However, the songs no longer attempt to be as quiet as possible. It's the clearest, most direct B&S release to date, and it's just the change in direction that fans had been clamoring for since The Boy With The Arab Strap. Just like The Lemonheads record, it's a direct, completely meaningless pop record with enough hooks to last you a lifetime.

3. Ghostface Killah-Fishscale
Ghostface has always been on the outskirts of hip-hop; his singles never bombard the radio like Jay-Z's or Game's, nor do his albums go platinum in two weeks. Yes, he's part of the Wu-Tang Clan, but their commercial and critical clout has dissipated. I have a feeling that the lack of attention is what is allowing him to put out releases as brilliant as Fishscale. Ghostface continues to show up Kanye West by re-affirming his status as a master sampler of soul and funk records that nobody's ever heard of. It's not a complete re-invention of his sound; rather, it's a summation of everything that makes him great.

2. TV On The Radio-Return To Cookie Mountain
Hype makes it easy to hate these guys, as does the fact that Desperate Youth, Bloodthirsty Babes didn't impress me that much. But this year, the indie press went and surprised me by hyping up an album that actually deserved it. On top of that, this was probably the only thing I listened to for about two months. It's as challenging as can be expected from great art-rock, yet it's as addictive as a great pop album should be. How these guys pulled that off is beyond me, but I can only think of one other album this year to do that:

1. Yo La Tengo-I Am Not Afraid Of You And I Will Beat Your Ass
First, let me say that this is the best album title ever. That being said, no artist could have ever released such a sprawling, yet consistently brillant work such as this. Like Fishscale, it's a summation of everything we love about this group, except it also takes the time to sample from various stages in the band's career. It veers from drawn-out guitar freakouts ("Pass The Hatchet, I Think I'm Goodkind") to Sixties Pop ("Beanbag Chair", "Mr. Tough") and ambient music ("Daphina"). Add in the best song the band has recorded in the longest time ("Black Flowers"), and we are left with the best album of 2006, as well as an album unjustly unheralded in the end-of-year frenzy. It's as poppy as Arctic Monkeys without being as disposable, and, unlike Ys, it can be arty without consuming itself in pretentiousness. It's challenging, it's accessible, it's brilliant, so why don't you own it yet?

Old Rockers Left To Die: Why The "Elder Statesmen" Of Rock Are Irrelevant

2006-11-24T17:00:00.000-08:00

I was down in Washington D.C. the other day when I flipped on the local classic rock station, desperate to hear anything resembling music. After a good five minutes of commercials, the soulless excuse for a DJ put on that good ol' rock & roll classic..."Wake Me Up When September Ends." 18 years have passed since Green Day recorded three inconspicuous EPs, and already someone is regarding them as "classic rock." I tried to put it out of my mind, but when I picked up a copy of Rolling Stone later that day, I found that the latest album from those two creepy old Brits masquerading as The Who had debuted in the Billboard Top 10.

In High Fidelity, Nick Hornby's character Rob refers to a list of the "Top 5 Artists That Must Be Shot Come the Musical Revolution." These are mine; some of them may be yours as well. They have two things in common: they are regarded as "elder statesmen" of rock, and their choice to continue making records is stifling creativity in rock, not to mention robbing up-and-coming bands of the media attention they deserve.

Green Day

Left and right, I hear the chants of spurned teenage punks that go along the lines of "Green Day sold out!" Kinda funny, when you consider that these same people were drooling all over "American Idiot" when it came out. Actually listening to the album is even more of a riot, and I'm not saying this because it's overblown and pathetic. (Though it is.) When subjected to this supposed "sellout" album, I found very little discernable differences between the spiked slackers of Dookie and the red-tied Clash wannabes we all know today. Sometime after sinking into total irrelevance with Warning, Billie Joe must have decided that he cares. Not only that, he wanted his band to be "The Only Band That Matters!" Great!...but it's been done. More accurately, it's been done without lethargic nine-minute suites and ubiquitous singles that rip off of Oasis. (Which begs the question: How desperate do you have to be to rip off of a songwriter who rips off of other songwriters?) Like Tommy, they've crafted a rock opera that happens to be both laborious and incoherent. (As if any other sort of rock opera existed...) Like Combat Rock, they've given their "punk" a glaze of Pro Tools to ensure radio airplay. However, unlike the British punks that Billie Joe admires so much, the radical political ideas of American Idiot are centrist enough to keep potential consumers from being offended. There's no anarchy or calls for rioting here; just be respectfully angry and we'll beat the Republicans, guys! I guess Billie Joe shares a trait with his other hero, Pete Townshend: a willingness to shill for a paycheck.

U2

I don't think I need to tell you that Bono is an unbearable, pompous jerk; it's pretty much common knowledge by now. Nor do I have to tell you that the rest of U2 are too complacent to restrain him; they're probably too busy trying to remember their names. Still, U2 are probably the best example of a group urinating on artistic integrity just to make a couple of bucks.
Most people remember U2 as a bunch of righteous blowhards from the 80s, churning out anthems of restrained outrage and generic spirituality. That's not to say that their output was bad-I recommend War and The Unforgettable Fire-but it was fairly clear by the Rattle and Hum film/album/general screw-up that the lads from Dublin had run out of ideas. So, they kidnapped Brian Eno, went to Berlin, and came back with the two best albums they've ever made. These weren't the dour Irish mystics of The Joshua Tree; the music had some degree of sonic variety. Bono was steering clear of spirituality, preferring to ruminate on private insecurities. The rhythm section dominated Achtung Baby and Zooropa as if they were dance albums. It was fairly awesome!
Then came Pop: the artistic debacle that brought U2's experimentation to a screeching halt. It was an embarassment, the equivalent of going to a family barbecue and forgetting to put on pants. Bono derides the album to this day...for not selling. I guess 3 million copies just isn't enough. So they kidnapped Brian Eno and went to Berlin again. They came back with..."Elevation." "Walk On." "Stuck In A Moment You Can't Get Out Of." Four years later, we're subjected to the likes of "Vertigo" and "All Because Of You", easily the two worst singles the band has ever released. Moreover, Bono-who gave up the righteous crusade to become a politician cutting deals with translucent congressmen-took "One", an emotional ode to personal abandonment, and allowed Mary J. Blige to turn it into a syrupy tribute song. Congratulations, Bono; you gave me a stomach virus.

*Addendum: As I wrote this, U2 released a compilation entitled U218 Singles, which features sixteen of their singles and the required two new songs. One of these is "The Saints Are Coming", the old Scottish punk tune that U2, Green Day, and Rick Rubin turned into a football chant. The other, "Window In The Skies", is so boring that I can't remember a single attribute of the song. The hits selected completely ignore their moody post-punk in the pre-Joshua Tree 1980s, and the artistic and critical successes of the 1990s are made into a footnote. Instead, the 16 songs are the ready-made arena epics that U2 is known for. Six of these songs, mind you, come from their most recent work, thus making it further evident that the band is attempting to re-write its history. An un-initiated listener would be subjected to this and leave with the impression that U2 is just a slight step above Journey.

Pearl Jam

Eddie Vedder can't sing. He never could, and he never will be able to. However, on Pearl Jam's less successful albums, he managed to do things other than grunt incoherently. While the albums themselves were best served as coasters, this was slightly impressive.
Then, Pearl Jam hit us. I'll come right out and say that Ten wasn't that great anyway; the dour songs were not helped by the classic-rock arrangements given to them. It was crass, consumerist rock, nothing more. Pearl Jam recreates the feeling of Ten by presenting more homogenous songs built around generic riffs and nonspecific angst. Some claim that Vedder used the album to take a stance on world politics, but "I have faced it, a life wasted/I'm never going back there again" doesn't sound like it's about the socioeconomic concerns of the Middle East.
Despite what the cult would have you believe, Pearl Jam have essentially made a career of trying to make the same album over and over again. With this eponymous release, they've managed to dupe enough people into thinking that they've finally done it. They are a neo-classic rock act trying to put the old and the traditional ahead of creativity. What's worse, they are arguably the main inspiration for Creed. Try living with that on your soul, Edward.

Red Hot Chili Peppers

The Chili Peppers are pretty much in the same boat as Pearl Jam, except their supposed sonic variety and virtuosity makes liking them seem slightly cooler. Flea is consantly regarded as one of the greatest bassists of all time solely for his wanky fretwork. John Frusciante is worshipped for finding ways to use every effects pedal once in a song. Their stabs at funk make them seem like more than just a boring alt-rock footnote from the 1990s.
None of the above statements are true, of course. For all his technical skill, Flea somehow forgot that a bassist is supposed to create and maintain a rhythm, not act like Steve freaking Vai. As his solo albums proved, John Frusciante's skill with his foot can't hide his sheer inability to write a memorable tune. You'll notice I haven't mentioned Anthony Kieds. This wasn't an oversight; he is simply not worth mentioning. There are only so many times you can find "clever" references to sex and drugs, put them in a song as lyrics, and throw in some references to California for good measure. Their attempts at playing funk come across as horridly unnatural and forced; they sound like the guys in the frathouse who listened to a George Clinton record and decided to form a band. More to the point, they have made the same record over and over again for fifteen years. Nowadays, I find it hard to distinguish old Chili Peppers songs from New Chili Peppers songs.
The Red Hot Chili Peppers are a jam band that's obsessed with George Clinton instead of Bob Marley. They spit in the face of musical advancement on a regular basis by their refusal to change their sound, if only for a minute. Their continued popularity is a black mark upon human existence.

The Who

The oldest out of the five selections, The Who are also the most embarassing. They released some of the best singles of the Sixties, and-despite the fact that half of its songs have been sold to "CSI"-Who's Next remains an infinitely listenable and enjoyable album. However, one need only follow the trajectory of their later career to see how The Who-or Pete Townshend, the only member that matters anymore-have devolved into rock's biggest sellouts. But Kevin, you say, The Rolling Stones have dne more retirement fakeouts than The Who, and they've produced twice as much worthless material. Yes, but everyone knows that The Rolling Stones and their $1000-a-seat tours are nothing more than a punch line for Jay Leno's monologues. The Who, on the other hand, are taken somewhat seriously. As I mentioned earlier, the latest album from The Who (now with only two original members-Townshend and singer Roger Daltrey-Ringo Starr's son on drums, and a gaggle of touring musicians) debuted in the Billboard Top Ten. Despite their ability to sell out overpriced stadium shows, The Stones could not achieve this feat, even if A Bigger Bang was better than it should have been. Endless Wire, on the other hand, consists of boring dad-rock for the first half, while the second half of the album is Townshend's latest public refusal to acknowledge that rock operas just don't work on the mere principle of the thing.
Yet they move 100,000 units of this inconsequential trash-heap in one week. Was it the positive press from Rolling Stone that made the difference? Nah, Rolling Stone gives out four-star reviews more than Planned Parenthood gives out condoms on the street. Was it the dedication of their Baby Boomer audience? Probably not; The Stones and Springsteen couldn't hit those numbers. No, it was the idea of a "Who comeback album" that got asses into the stores. Only, there was no real comeback; between this and the Who's previous official album (1982's It's Hard), there were reunion tours every year or so, a re-working of the abandoned "Lifehouse" opera that eventually became Who's Next, and-of all the disgusting things-a Broadway musical adaptation of Townshend's perennial cash cow, Tommy. All the while, Pete basked in the paychecks. Hell, the man was so concerned with his money that the death of bassist John Entwistle didn't stop the band in their tracks, much like how the band kept going into the 80s after Keith Moon's death.
Like the Stones, The Who are well past their prime and have nothing relevant to say anymore. The only difference is that we make fun of Keith Richards and Mick Jagger for refusing to let go while Townshend slips by unadmonished. Even as a live act, they've diminished in power: I watched footage of the band at this year's Virgin Music Festival, and, after having watched their famed Isle of Wight show almost immediately afterwards, I can say that they sorely miss Keith Moon's presence. Currently, Petey is letting his deserved status as a rock legend slip away in order to make a paycheck. Maybe he should do what he told Rolling Stone he could do and sell all of his songs to "CSI". That way, we won't have to hear from him again.