This is a different, bigger album from what I might have expected from O River; more ambitious than ever before, but in my humble opinion it's still nothing on the simplicity of 2007's The Stage Names. For all its ambition, the result is a decent album of indie rock, but in my view not much more than that. There's still something about Okkervil River's vocals that strikes me as kind of Killers-ish. I don't know if that should be read as criticism (I don't mean it to be) but it seems to be something that strikes me more obviously than others I've discussed it with. And perhaps it says something about the ambition of this album.
It is a solid, juggernaut of an album, that kind of relentlessly hammers away at its listener - but it wasn't till track 3 'Rider' that I actually got excited about it. This is quite the charasmatic wee number, its excellent keys and thundering rhythm section give it a kind of anthemic feel. In fact much of this album is characterised by that epic sort of feel - I think it's the big dense choruses and sometimes almost breathless vocals that lend that effect. There's some interesting use of synths, particularly the layered effect in 'Your Past Life as a Blast'.
I've liked this band since first listen, but I fear they may be a bit hit and miss for me. This is definitely an indie rock album; there's very little hint of the alt-folk sound that I loved so much about The Stage Names. It's a good album, but I haven't yet found it to be a great album. There are moment of pure beauty - the opening of 'Show Yourself' has a dreamy Jeff Buckley-esque element to it; and the keys, oboes, and layered strings and vocals through the closing track 'The Rise' are just stunning and give a dream-like conclusion to the album - but there are also parts that I can take or leave.
It's new and dense and darker and heavier than Okkervil River as we know them. It's an interesting listen. I like this band, I like their ambition even if I prefer their earlier style. They write cohesive music with flashes of brilliance. So this album may well be a slow-burner, and it at least deserves another few listens to find out.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
The Veils, Troubles of the Brain EP (2011)
I love The Veils, and credit an awesomely awesome former flatmate with introducing me to them. Like everything they do, this is a fascinating, challenging EP.
The contrast between the depth and fullness of opener 'Bloom' (which is probably most faithful to what I'd consider The Veils traditional sound, if they have such a thing) and the second track, 'Don't Let the Same Bee Sting You Twice' - which is a deliberately low-fi, bare kind of sound - is remarkable. The truly interesting thing about is that while the contrast is almost shocking, it works fantastically. And the cleverness of this juxtaposition (and indeed of this band) is that I couldn't decide which of these two markedly different sounds I liked better.
The third track is an upbeat poppy sort of number but retains interesting almost rough guitars overlaid with a cheerful synth. It is delightful. And the all of a sudden 'The Wishbone' returns to the darker, deeper sound that the EP opens with. I bet these guys listened to a lot of Radiohead growing up.
'Don't Let the Same Bee..' vies with the distinctly kiwi 'Grey Lynn Park' - a short, textured, interesting song - for my favourite track. The album is rounded out with the delicate 'Us Godless Teenagers', bare vocals, gentle acoustic guitar, built up with background strings.
A contemporary, interesting listen. The only complaint I have about this EP is that it's not a full-length album. Still, quality over quantity, eh?
The contrast between the depth and fullness of opener 'Bloom' (which is probably most faithful to what I'd consider The Veils traditional sound, if they have such a thing) and the second track, 'Don't Let the Same Bee Sting You Twice' - which is a deliberately low-fi, bare kind of sound - is remarkable. The truly interesting thing about is that while the contrast is almost shocking, it works fantastically. And the cleverness of this juxtaposition (and indeed of this band) is that I couldn't decide which of these two markedly different sounds I liked better.
The third track is an upbeat poppy sort of number but retains interesting almost rough guitars overlaid with a cheerful synth. It is delightful. And the all of a sudden 'The Wishbone' returns to the darker, deeper sound that the EP opens with. I bet these guys listened to a lot of Radiohead growing up.
'Don't Let the Same Bee..' vies with the distinctly kiwi 'Grey Lynn Park' - a short, textured, interesting song - for my favourite track. The album is rounded out with the delicate 'Us Godless Teenagers', bare vocals, gentle acoustic guitar, built up with background strings.
A contemporary, interesting listen. The only complaint I have about this EP is that it's not a full-length album. Still, quality over quantity, eh?
Wilco, The Whole Love (2011)
I'm unfalteringly dedicated to Wilco. I can't imagine life without them. But I don't necessarily love everything they do - despite moments of pure loveliness (witness 'You and I' in collaboration with the endlessly lovely Feist) 2009's 'The Album' fell a bit flat for me.
This particular album required a bit of a mindshift. The opening track 'Art of Almost' is totally unexpected and a real shift in style - Jeff Tweedy's voice is a dead ringer for Tim Finn circa Split Enz, and the opening to the album itself is such a departure from Wilco's traditional style that I simply wasn't convinced I was listening to the right band.
But you know what? It's good. Crikey it's good. Self-produced and Wilco's first album on their own label, it is an experimental rock album, but the traditional underlying components are all still there. Genre aside, the phenomenon that is Wilco is still driven by an insane rhythm section, and the opening track's guitar solo can only be described as a facemelter. Jeff Tweedy's vocal and lyrical talent is as comfortingly evident as ever. And Pat Sansone's jangly, organy keys often overlay the largely bass-driven tracks (I have long thought Jon Stirratt was an overshadowed force in this band and am pleased to see him have his day in the sun here.)
So, scratching beneath the surface, it's not a total departure from Wilco as we know them. Although it's an alt-pop driven sound, the delicate vocals and keys of 'Sunloathe' are as beautiful as we've come to expect from lovely Jeff Tweedy, and features a distinct folk sound too. 'Dawned On Me' is cuteasabutton and kind of reminiscent of Blur or other Britpop of a similar era. The opening riff to the gentle 'Black Moon' is as pretty an alt-folk riff as they've ever done, and is beautifully overlaid by an intense cello and a lovely wailing guitar. I think this is my favourite track. Or wait, it was until I heard the subsequent 'Born Alone', undoubtedly the most faithful to the traditional Wilco sound. Let's just say tracks 4 through 9 (oh go on, and 11 and 12) are my favourites and leave it at that.
'Capitol City' almost sounds like a show-tune in some ways, featuring a sneaky clarinet (or is it an oboe?) it's a cheeky little track and Tweedy's vocals again reclaim that very Finn-esque sound. I adore it. I was interested to read that the earlier 'The Album' was in fact recorded in Neil Finn's Auckland studio - maybe the influence is evident for a reason...
Although the album opens with a heavier psych feel, this is actually quite a gentle album and in many ways less aggressive than much of Wilco's earlier work. To me this album is epitomised by its title track, a pretty, guitar-driven meander through Tweedy's head. So for the most part, its components are endearingly familiar and play to Wilco's core strengths, but the sum of its parts shows a real growth in the Wilco sound. And I like it for that. It does what The Album failed to do, and breaks far enough from tradition to give us a fresh, excellent taste of this superb band.
It's new. It's interesting. I like.
This particular album required a bit of a mindshift. The opening track 'Art of Almost' is totally unexpected and a real shift in style - Jeff Tweedy's voice is a dead ringer for Tim Finn circa Split Enz, and the opening to the album itself is such a departure from Wilco's traditional style that I simply wasn't convinced I was listening to the right band.
But you know what? It's good. Crikey it's good. Self-produced and Wilco's first album on their own label, it is an experimental rock album, but the traditional underlying components are all still there. Genre aside, the phenomenon that is Wilco is still driven by an insane rhythm section, and the opening track's guitar solo can only be described as a facemelter. Jeff Tweedy's vocal and lyrical talent is as comfortingly evident as ever. And Pat Sansone's jangly, organy keys often overlay the largely bass-driven tracks (I have long thought Jon Stirratt was an overshadowed force in this band and am pleased to see him have his day in the sun here.)
So, scratching beneath the surface, it's not a total departure from Wilco as we know them. Although it's an alt-pop driven sound, the delicate vocals and keys of 'Sunloathe' are as beautiful as we've come to expect from lovely Jeff Tweedy, and features a distinct folk sound too. 'Dawned On Me' is cuteasabutton and kind of reminiscent of Blur or other Britpop of a similar era. The opening riff to the gentle 'Black Moon' is as pretty an alt-folk riff as they've ever done, and is beautifully overlaid by an intense cello and a lovely wailing guitar. I think this is my favourite track. Or wait, it was until I heard the subsequent 'Born Alone', undoubtedly the most faithful to the traditional Wilco sound. Let's just say tracks 4 through 9 (oh go on, and 11 and 12) are my favourites and leave it at that.
'Capitol City' almost sounds like a show-tune in some ways, featuring a sneaky clarinet (or is it an oboe?) it's a cheeky little track and Tweedy's vocals again reclaim that very Finn-esque sound. I adore it. I was interested to read that the earlier 'The Album' was in fact recorded in Neil Finn's Auckland studio - maybe the influence is evident for a reason...
Although the album opens with a heavier psych feel, this is actually quite a gentle album and in many ways less aggressive than much of Wilco's earlier work. To me this album is epitomised by its title track, a pretty, guitar-driven meander through Tweedy's head. So for the most part, its components are endearingly familiar and play to Wilco's core strengths, but the sum of its parts shows a real growth in the Wilco sound. And I like it for that. It does what The Album failed to do, and breaks far enough from tradition to give us a fresh, excellent taste of this superb band.
It's new. It's interesting. I like.
Monday, December 19, 2011
Bombay Bicycle Club, Flaws (2010)
From the very beginning of opener 'Rinse Me Down', this album drew me in. The beautifully harmonised, stripped back, stunningly simple song had me at hello. And from that point on I fell swiftly and irrevocably in love with the album.
'Flaws' does everything I love a band to do - layers guitars and vocals to take the straightforward from something quotidien to something special. Classic, well-arranged, and skillfully-executed music will always win me over, and this album is 33-and-a-half minutes of exactly that. I've said it before and I'll say it again: there are few things in life so satisfying as a well-played acoustic guitar - and this album is the best example of this I've heard in a long time. Honourable mention to 'Dust on the Ground' - a compelling, yet almost lackadaisical, country-inspired riff, and a heartbreaker of a song (I mean that in a good way) that has a kind of Badly Drawn Boy feel to it.
As we all know (yes, you can quit rolling your eyes) I'm a sucker for Bright Eyes, and there's something about the occasionally slightly warbly vocals and poetic lyrics of this album that's kind of reminiscent of Conor Oberst. And though it's a cover, I also get a distinct Buddy Holly (circa 'Dearest') feel from 'Fairytale Lullaby.'
Other standouts for me are 'Ivy & Gold' which gave me a sort of Neil Young shiver, and the intimate, ambient 'Leaving Blues' which cuts almost too accurately close to the bone for someone who spends her life on the road. There's a compelling urgency to 'My God'; a banjo-inspired lift to the title track - not to mention the equally superb 'Many Ways'; and an ethereal beauty to the closing track (a Joanna Newsom cover) 'Swansea.'
Above all this album is just so easy to listen to. It is beautifully written. Skilfully executed. I smiled from start to finish. I'm addicted; I want to share this album with everyone I know. I listened to the whole thing twice in a row. In fact I'm not going to lie, even though it's obscene, I actually listened to it three times. In a row. And what's more I can't wait to listen to it over and over and over again. Especially on sunny Sunday afternoons.
Thank you, friend, for the recommendation. Your flawless taste prevails. Also, you should blog more.
'Flaws' does everything I love a band to do - layers guitars and vocals to take the straightforward from something quotidien to something special. Classic, well-arranged, and skillfully-executed music will always win me over, and this album is 33-and-a-half minutes of exactly that. I've said it before and I'll say it again: there are few things in life so satisfying as a well-played acoustic guitar - and this album is the best example of this I've heard in a long time. Honourable mention to 'Dust on the Ground' - a compelling, yet almost lackadaisical, country-inspired riff, and a heartbreaker of a song (I mean that in a good way) that has a kind of Badly Drawn Boy feel to it.
As we all know (yes, you can quit rolling your eyes) I'm a sucker for Bright Eyes, and there's something about the occasionally slightly warbly vocals and poetic lyrics of this album that's kind of reminiscent of Conor Oberst. And though it's a cover, I also get a distinct Buddy Holly (circa 'Dearest') feel from 'Fairytale Lullaby.'
Other standouts for me are 'Ivy & Gold' which gave me a sort of Neil Young shiver, and the intimate, ambient 'Leaving Blues' which cuts almost too accurately close to the bone for someone who spends her life on the road. There's a compelling urgency to 'My God'; a banjo-inspired lift to the title track - not to mention the equally superb 'Many Ways'; and an ethereal beauty to the closing track (a Joanna Newsom cover) 'Swansea.'
Above all this album is just so easy to listen to. It is beautifully written. Skilfully executed. I smiled from start to finish. I'm addicted; I want to share this album with everyone I know. I listened to the whole thing twice in a row. In fact I'm not going to lie, even though it's obscene, I actually listened to it three times. In a row. And what's more I can't wait to listen to it over and over and over again. Especially on sunny Sunday afternoons.
Thank you, friend, for the recommendation. Your flawless taste prevails. Also, you should blog more.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
A beautiful combination....
Two of my favourite things: The Smiths, and Question Time.
Just surprised no one mentioned Bigmouth Strikes Again.....
Just surprised no one mentioned Bigmouth Strikes Again.....
Friday, December 2, 2011
The Avett Brothers, I and Love and You (2009)
On the road once again, for the last time for a while. Being at home has been so good - Wellington has been rockin, being settled in one place has been balm for the travel-weary soul, and for the past few weeks I have just been a thousand percent happy. (That's heaps.)
And I'm discovering new music again, including this little gem. Recommended to me by a friend in Costa Rica I have only just got around to checking it out. And I've, like, totally got a crush on it.
The opening, title track is all pure vocals and clean brotherly harmonies: a gentle piano-driven ballad. It's a sweet start to the album, with a catchy chorus, and I love that it's a perfect 5 minutes in length. It launches into the sweet, banjo-lifted 'January Wedding'; a light-hearted little ditty that I can't get enough of. 'And It Spread' is another catchy little tune, with a bit of a pop vibe to it. There's another infectious little nod to the pop sound in the bridge of 'The Perfect Space' - in an otherwise uncomplicated song, it never fails to makes me smile. And all this pop stuff happens before we even get to 'Kick Drum Heart', which sounds exactly as the title says it should - all fun drumbeats and cutesie pianos, it's just delicious. Nearer the end of the album 'Slight Figure of Speech' draws in some of that really fun Brit Pop sound, mixing it up with dextrous vocals (the album was produced by Rick Rubin who's worked inter alia with the Beastie Boys, and you can really hear it here...) and a riff that's very Violent-Femmes-circa-Blister-In-the-Sun. Infectious.
The album lurches from sentimental acoustic ballads to pop to punk to pure hoe-down bluegrassy goodness (witness 'Laundry Room') but it all works and it just feels so right. And they do something I've been looking for a band to do for a while (and I confess my beloved Bright Eyes did not manage it as well as I'd hoped with The Peoples Key): they've seamlessly integrated a modern organ-driven sound into good old fashioned American folk songs. It never detracts from the undisputed guitar- and banjo-driven nature of the album, but it complements it beautifully, as does the strategic use of strings throughout.
It's not always overly complex music. In fact it's often charmingly uncomplicated, but it's a beautiful marriage of some fun genres, all faithfully underpinned by a folk-country sound. It's an honest album, and it's a rollicking good time.
I did think that Okkervil River was my find of the year, but with one month to go, this album is definitely giving it a run for its money. I have been hooked from first listen. It makes me happy. A thousand percent.
Friday, November 18, 2011
You Can Call Me Al
Paul Simon's 'You Can Call me Al' (1986) was blaring through Sir Breadwins when I stopped in for a coffee on the way to work this morning. The sunshine was sunshining, I'd got all zenned up at yoga, I'm kind of in love with Wellington right now, and life was just looking pretty damn sweet. And at that particular point in time Paul Simon managed to do what I've been searching for a song to do for the past few weeks: filled me with ridiculous unadulterated joy. It is such an excellent track and just look at the video -- 80s epitomised, complete with cream sports coat, choreographed horns dance, earnest eyebrows, and sweet, sweet pink walls. Yes! I bet you can't watch this without your right shoulder having a little chair boogie. Just superb on so many levels.
And, perhaps more importantly, the track brought back an excellent memory of being somewhere in front of a main stage, somewhere out on the East Coast, at some point in time, listening to a new wave synth band covering it.... At first I thought it might have been Cut Copy in 2008, but further thinking (and google) revealed that it was of course Miami Horror in 2010. These guys are great, and this is just such a great cover. I wonder if it's a coincidence that he's wearing a sweet cream sportscoat...
On another note, my foray into google for a Friday morning drew some interesting critique of Cut Copy for borrowing liberally from the 'Call me Al' riff in 'Take Me Over' -- have a listen. The end may be 'Call me Al', but I can't get past the opening bass riff: pure Fleetwood Mac 'Everywhere'.
And, perhaps more importantly, the track brought back an excellent memory of being somewhere in front of a main stage, somewhere out on the East Coast, at some point in time, listening to a new wave synth band covering it.... At first I thought it might have been Cut Copy in 2008, but further thinking (and google) revealed that it was of course Miami Horror in 2010. These guys are great, and this is just such a great cover. I wonder if it's a coincidence that he's wearing a sweet cream sportscoat...
On another note, my foray into google for a Friday morning drew some interesting critique of Cut Copy for borrowing liberally from the 'Call me Al' riff in 'Take Me Over' -- have a listen. The end may be 'Call me Al', but I can't get past the opening bass riff: pure Fleetwood Mac 'Everywhere'.
Friday, October 28, 2011
The Decemberists, Picaresque (2005)
It has not, it's fair to say, been a great week. I woke up on Monday morning... well actually like most of the country I woke up on Monday morning with an egregious hangover after we won the World Cup. But I woke up on Tuesday morning with a pretty kick-ass plan in life. By Thursday afternoon all of that was, shall we say, "pear-shaped." In short, I've needed some playfulness this week, and this is just the album for it.
From the first almost aggressive drumbeat of the excellent opening track, 'The Infanta', this album is completely infectious. It's all organs and keys and piano accordians and thundering drums and epic shanties, and it is just superb. But while it's accessible and upbeat, it's certainly not all cutesy and carefree: it also carries a wonderfully dark edge, dealing lyrically with some occasionally downright despairing subjects (withness the haunting track 3, 'Eli, the Barrow Boy'). The complexity of this quite clever lyrical treatment blends beautifully with the interesting sea-shanty-esque vibe that The Decemberists do so well. The very good second track, 'We Both Go Down Together' is another great example of this juxtaposition, beautifully full of pulsing accordians, and with a major chorus to lift to the song, and 'Sixteen Military Wives', an old favourite of mine, is a riotously fun song about war casualties. As ya do.
A great album full of lyrically-clever, well-crafted songs, it also draws heavily on the accordian, which I love. Nearer the end, 'The Mariner's Revenge Song' does slip a little into the oom pah pah accordian that I so judged (and still do) Beirut's first album for, but in The Decemberists context this just sounds of sea-shanties and scalliwags. It makes me want rum.
And on that happy note, I'm off to the pub.
From the first almost aggressive drumbeat of the excellent opening track, 'The Infanta', this album is completely infectious. It's all organs and keys and piano accordians and thundering drums and epic shanties, and it is just superb. But while it's accessible and upbeat, it's certainly not all cutesy and carefree: it also carries a wonderfully dark edge, dealing lyrically with some occasionally downright despairing subjects (withness the haunting track 3, 'Eli, the Barrow Boy'). The complexity of this quite clever lyrical treatment blends beautifully with the interesting sea-shanty-esque vibe that The Decemberists do so well. The very good second track, 'We Both Go Down Together' is another great example of this juxtaposition, beautifully full of pulsing accordians, and with a major chorus to lift to the song, and 'Sixteen Military Wives', an old favourite of mine, is a riotously fun song about war casualties. As ya do.
A great album full of lyrically-clever, well-crafted songs, it also draws heavily on the accordian, which I love. Nearer the end, 'The Mariner's Revenge Song' does slip a little into the oom pah pah accordian that I so judged (and still do) Beirut's first album for, but in The Decemberists context this just sounds of sea-shanties and scalliwags. It makes me want rum.
And on that happy note, I'm off to the pub.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
12 Extremely Disappointing Facts About Popular Music
This is quite seriously depressing. But we created it. Which actually makes it much more depressing.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Cut Copy, Zonoscope (2011)
I remember seeing Melbournians Cut Copy live several years ago and being instantly drawn to their upbeat electrosynthpop*. Listening to this album somewhere over the Indian Ocean was no different -- they're a bit out of my comfort zone, but from the first pulsing electric drumbeat this album took me right back in.
When I first saw them, synth pop was at its height, it was still shiny and exciting, it reminded all self-respecting 80s kids of their childhoods, and we all secretly loved that MGMT song. For me personally, synth definitely got a little overdone and it now has to actually be really good for me to really enjoy it. With this album, Cut Copy prove that electrosynthpop** can still be done well.
This album has plenty of depth and texture and, crucially for me, doesn't solely rely on the synth for its entertainment value - some piano peeks through in tracks 2 and 6, and there's a delightful orchestral undertone to track 8, 'Alisa'. 'Where I'm Going' is a guitar-driven beauty, and competes with the similarly excellent (and yes, also guitar-based, anyone sensing a theme?) 'This is all We've Got' for my favourite track of the album.
I like this album for its whimsy, for not taking itself too seriously - in fact that's what I loved about this genre once upon a time before it actually did start taking itself too seriously. It was, I confess, hard to get through this full album without my mind wandering, but every time I was tempted to get a little bit bored, Cut Copy found a sneaky new way to make me surprise me and make me smile.
They might not have meant it to be, but this is a delightfully fun, Saturday afternoon kind of album. I like.
When I first saw them, synth pop was at its height, it was still shiny and exciting, it reminded all self-respecting 80s kids of their childhoods, and we all secretly loved that MGMT song. For me personally, synth definitely got a little overdone and it now has to actually be really good for me to really enjoy it. With this album, Cut Copy prove that electrosynthpop** can still be done well.
This album has plenty of depth and texture and, crucially for me, doesn't solely rely on the synth for its entertainment value - some piano peeks through in tracks 2 and 6, and there's a delightful orchestral undertone to track 8, 'Alisa'. 'Where I'm Going' is a guitar-driven beauty, and competes with the similarly excellent (and yes, also guitar-based, anyone sensing a theme?) 'This is all We've Got' for my favourite track of the album.
I like this album for its whimsy, for not taking itself too seriously - in fact that's what I loved about this genre once upon a time before it actually did start taking itself too seriously. It was, I confess, hard to get through this full album without my mind wandering, but every time I was tempted to get a little bit bored, Cut Copy found a sneaky new way to make me surprise me and make me smile.
They might not have meant it to be, but this is a delightfully fun, Saturday afternoon kind of album. I like.
* may or may not be an actual genre
** but if I say it heaps, maybe you'll believe it is
Monday, October 10, 2011
The Thomas Oliver Band, Baby, I'll Play (2011)
Where ya been, Ren?! AWOL, that's where. Now hush with your questions; I'll wander aimlessly all over the world if I want to.
I've been writing this particular entry for a couple of weeks now. I'll start by saying I love what these guys do. I first struck them when they did the music for this excellent video , promoting the beautiful Southern region for the RWC. I'm a Southerner from way back, and although they're actually from Wellington, TTOB have just nailed this sound. I always get a teensey bit homesick watching this.
But - and it's a big but - I admit I was a little nervous about this album. I love TTOB's bluesy rock style, but having seen them live a number of times I've sometimes (sometimes!) felt they get a little indulgent on the progressive rock side and that that detracts from their awesome bluesy rock-y--ness. I've felt in the past that there can sometimes (sometimes!) be a bit of a tendency to get a bit too Dave Matthews on it all. (Let it be said, there is definitely a time and place in my heart for Dave Matthews, but the Thomas Oliver Band is just so good in their own right and I love their raw bluesy stuff so much more.) (As an aside, I believe The Ethnomusicologist compared them with Bon Jovi.) (Which I happen to think is unjustifiably harsh.)
ANYWAY, the short point is, I am utterly pleased to report that this album hits the sweet spot of that dirty sound that I love, without venturing too far into softer prog rock. I confess to having a bit of a *crush* (yes, I am 13, whatever) on Thomas Oliver himself - there's something doggedly and self-assuredly attractive about him, and frankly I'm convinced he's a bit of a genius. I just adore watching him play the lapsteel. There are also few things in life more satisfying than a beautifully strummed acoustic guitar, and Thomas Oliver knows how to rock one. At the end of the day though, these guys just write great songs, they play them well, and they know how to entertain. Highlights of this album for me are the title track, actually the first 3 tracks in a row are all really good, and sentimental though it may be (do what I want) after 2 months offshore there was nothing quite like landing back into beautiful New Zealand to 'The Strangest Feeling I'm Home'. Perfection.
There are a few moments in this album where the direction tends towards the softer prog rock side than I'd ideally go for (track 9, for example) - that said, they are few and far between and the album as a whole retains its integrity. I might be biased, but I reckon the one thing that could lift some of TTOB's stuff into the sublimely fantastic would be the occasional loose saloon style piano. I'm just sayin'.
I was prompted to reinvigorate this entry after I saw TTOB play on the Auckland waterfront yesterday afternoon. Sunshine, some lovely lapsteel, good friends and a weekend delivering on all kinds of excellent promises -- it's fair to say it was a superb combination and I was having a pretty good time. But not as good a time as this guy....
In short: love 'em, think they're great, love them best when they do their dirty blues stuff, think there's more room for more excellent music like this out of this great country.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Loudon Wainwright III, Last Man on Earth (2001)
I know you've all missed my self-indulgent rants... I haven't been blogging much, mainly cos I've been way too busy discovering a new favourite country and adventuring and being in the sun. (And then, in fairness, working.) I'd also admittedly fallen into a bit of a Bright Eyes trap and never wanted to listen to anything else ever again. Ever. But yesterday I did, cos after nearly 8 weeks on the road, I'm finally a teensy bit homesick, and I needed something gentle for a Sunday morning. I'm also in the political heart of America and I fancied some American folk. And Loudon was exactly what I needed.
The Wainwrights do 'close-knit' pretty damn well. Loudon sings about his parents and about Martha and Rufus, Rufus sings about Martha, they both sing about their mother, and, on this album at least, Loudon sings about... another woman. It's all very... intimate.
I can see what Martha meant when she said her parents were very literal songwriters. Loudon Wainwraight III is one of those classic Americana folk artists who writes beautiful songs about everyday occurences and people. His sixteenth studio album, released at age 55, this album is clearly a heavily reflective album, and focuses intensely on his family. I like his literal style. He has a great ability to make the quotidienne sound interesting - my pick is "Out of Reach". He actually also makes the macabre sound frivolous (witness the excellent "Bed" and "Donations")
But mostly it's just about his voice. I unashamedly love classic folk, and that's what all these beautiful Wainwrights do best. Early in the album he sounds very Dylan-esque (witness "Living Alone"), but I hate making that comparison because Wainwright is just so clever in his own right. It's an album mostly unadorned with fussy accompaniment - a guitar here, a banjo there, and the occasional fiddle. It's a great album by a great artist who at is stage deserves the success of a simple, if slightly indulgent, album. And if I want to indulge on a Sunday morning, then I'll always happily do so with a Wainwright.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Bright Eyes, LIVE at The Chance Theatre, Poughkeepsie, NY, 1 Sept 2011
A week ago I had never heard of Poughkeepsie, New York, and certainly didn't ever intend to visit it. Three days ago I still couldn't pronounce it, but found myself in possession of a ticket to the place. And last night I rocked Poughkeepsie senseless with a bunch of underage hipsters.
I was meant to see Bright Eyes in Brooklyn earlier this week. Hurricane Irene thought otherwise and duly cancelled my flights but, never one to be deterred, I spent an inordinate amount of money and 2 full days on a bus, 3 flights and 2 trains travelling across 2 continents so I could see them in upstate New York instead. And that, friends, is how I came to be in Poughkeepsie.
It was worth it. Bright Eyes opened with one of my very favourite tracks, the kind of appropriate "Another Travelin' Song". It's like they'd read my mind. Or at least their facebook page. It's a fantastic, cheery song, and it marked the first time (of many) that I thought to myself that this is just how music should sound.
In fact the first half hour or so of their long - more than 2 hour - set read something like a 'My Favourites' list; plenty of wonderful, folksy numbers including "Old Soul Song", "Four Winds", "We Are Nowhere and It's Now"; excellent tracks from the early albums, making me all smiley on the inside.
A couple of particular highlights included Conor doing a gentle acoustic version of "Landlocked Blues" - just a slightly warbly guy and his guitar, delicately supported by a backing trumpet and rhythm guitar. On a night of exuberance and playfulness, this quiet rendition really was a Bit Of A Moment. Similarly near the end of the show he sat down, just him, behind a piano and sang a song I'd never heard before but nonetheless fell in love with at first lilting listen.
Perhaps it is sacrilegious to say in a glowing recollection of a magical show, but I tend to think the most recent Bright Eyes album, The People's Key, is a bit of a mixed bag. But last night they played some of the better numbers from the album including the superb "Shell Games" - better live than recorded - a delightful exposition of Conor's genuine charisma and energy. To be honest I never wanted to buy into the Conor Cliche - as I've written previously, I know he's great but I certainly don't think he's the new Dylan as many claim - but he does have a certain je ne sais quois that's intriguing and a little mesmerising. As of last night, it seems I've fallen into the Conor Oberst trap.
Which is not, I should point out, to diminish the skill of the rest of the band: Multi-instrumentalist (and producer) Michael Mogis is a dream to watch, and patiently, skillfully, lovingly compliments Conor's antics. Add to that two exceptional dummers (both on full kits...), at any given point at least 6 sets of keys, a trumpet, bass, lap steel, accordian... You name it. But at only one stage did all these instruments get remotely caucophonous, during the encore of "Road to Joy", complete with opening act Dr Dog. And if any song was meant to be caucophonous, this was it. Uplifting. To plagiarise Conor's words - "like springing sunshine into you."
I would have loved to've seen Bright Eyes on the Brooklyn waterfront with Manhattan as a backdrop. But seeing them in the tiny Chance Theatre in tiny Poughkeepsie was doubtless a much better experience. The intimate venue - which wasn't even full - was smaller, even, than venues where I saw local bands at University. And as a consequence, Bright Eyes were right up in all of our faces, all night. Conor's crowd banter was spot on, ranging from a pensive moment about the importance of brothers, to a long, hilarious stream-of-consciousness about virginity loss. And as the night wore on and Conor got more rowdy, things got more fun, culminating in 2 stage dives. If Conor Oberst wasn't enjoying himself, then he's an excellent actor.
The new album showcases more use of Conor on keys, and seeing Bright Eyes live confirmed for me that, all comparisons aside, Conor Oberst is a spectacularly talented musician, songwriter, and frontman. He's versatile, dextrous and terribly, terribly clever. But for my tastes and in my opinion, Conor Oberst is and always will be best when he's behind a microphone and a guitar, singing the beautiful, upbeat, folksy tracks that he writes so well.
That's how I saw him for most of last night, and that, my friends, is just how music should sound.
I was meant to see Bright Eyes in Brooklyn earlier this week. Hurricane Irene thought otherwise and duly cancelled my flights but, never one to be deterred, I spent an inordinate amount of money and 2 full days on a bus, 3 flights and 2 trains travelling across 2 continents so I could see them in upstate New York instead. And that, friends, is how I came to be in Poughkeepsie.
It was worth it. Bright Eyes opened with one of my very favourite tracks, the kind of appropriate "Another Travelin' Song". It's like they'd read my mind. Or at least their facebook page. It's a fantastic, cheery song, and it marked the first time (of many) that I thought to myself that this is just how music should sound.
(I feel compelled to note that none of the screaming girls in this video is me.)
In fact the first half hour or so of their long - more than 2 hour - set read something like a 'My Favourites' list; plenty of wonderful, folksy numbers including "Old Soul Song", "Four Winds", "We Are Nowhere and It's Now"; excellent tracks from the early albums, making me all smiley on the inside.
A couple of particular highlights included Conor doing a gentle acoustic version of "Landlocked Blues" - just a slightly warbly guy and his guitar, delicately supported by a backing trumpet and rhythm guitar. On a night of exuberance and playfulness, this quiet rendition really was a Bit Of A Moment. Similarly near the end of the show he sat down, just him, behind a piano and sang a song I'd never heard before but nonetheless fell in love with at first lilting listen.
Perhaps it is sacrilegious to say in a glowing recollection of a magical show, but I tend to think the most recent Bright Eyes album, The People's Key, is a bit of a mixed bag. But last night they played some of the better numbers from the album including the superb "Shell Games" - better live than recorded - a delightful exposition of Conor's genuine charisma and energy. To be honest I never wanted to buy into the Conor Cliche - as I've written previously, I know he's great but I certainly don't think he's the new Dylan as many claim - but he does have a certain je ne sais quois that's intriguing and a little mesmerising. As of last night, it seems I've fallen into the Conor Oberst trap.
Which is not, I should point out, to diminish the skill of the rest of the band: Multi-instrumentalist (and producer) Michael Mogis is a dream to watch, and patiently, skillfully, lovingly compliments Conor's antics. Add to that two exceptional dummers (both on full kits...), at any given point at least 6 sets of keys, a trumpet, bass, lap steel, accordian... You name it. But at only one stage did all these instruments get remotely caucophonous, during the encore of "Road to Joy", complete with opening act Dr Dog. And if any song was meant to be caucophonous, this was it. Uplifting. To plagiarise Conor's words - "like springing sunshine into you."
I would have loved to've seen Bright Eyes on the Brooklyn waterfront with Manhattan as a backdrop. But seeing them in the tiny Chance Theatre in tiny Poughkeepsie was doubtless a much better experience. The intimate venue - which wasn't even full - was smaller, even, than venues where I saw local bands at University. And as a consequence, Bright Eyes were right up in all of our faces, all night. Conor's crowd banter was spot on, ranging from a pensive moment about the importance of brothers, to a long, hilarious stream-of-consciousness about virginity loss. And as the night wore on and Conor got more rowdy, things got more fun, culminating in 2 stage dives. If Conor Oberst wasn't enjoying himself, then he's an excellent actor.
The new album showcases more use of Conor on keys, and seeing Bright Eyes live confirmed for me that, all comparisons aside, Conor Oberst is a spectacularly talented musician, songwriter, and frontman. He's versatile, dextrous and terribly, terribly clever. But for my tastes and in my opinion, Conor Oberst is and always will be best when he's behind a microphone and a guitar, singing the beautiful, upbeat, folksy tracks that he writes so well.
That's how I saw him for most of last night, and that, my friends, is just how music should sound.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Playing chicken
We recently rode the chicken bus from Antigua further into the Guatemalan highlands. Guatemala is full of these chicken buses - abandoned US school buses, painted in crazy bright colours, and so-named because you're basically allowed to bring anything you want onto them (eg bringing your chickens home from the market.)
In line with this liberal BYO live animal policy, chicken bus drivers make their daily bread by observing as few rules as possible, doing as many runs as possible, between as many towns as possible, with as many passengers as possible. Seats designed for two people regularly seat families of five, the aisles are crammed full of people, luggage, animals for all I know, and various other collateral. At one point there must have been nearly 60 people on a bus designed to seat 40. You climb in any way you can - front door, back door, through a window if it was possible, even on the roof. And combined with the constant, loud Marimba / generic Latin American pop / Reggaeton blasting through the bus, it really is quite an experience.
And then there's the speed. The faster the buses get from town to town, the more runs they can do, so the more money to be made - so we are talking high speed. The first rule of chicken bus driving appears to be that there are no rules to chicken bus driving. Passing another chicken bus on a blind hairpin bend? Cool. Hurtling at high speed through tiny cobble-stoned villages before screaming to a halt to cram in even more passengers? Even better. Rattling at speed across the centre line directly into oncoming traffic? He who diverts course first loses. And all this on perilous, winding, mountainous roads that make the Crown Range look like child's play.
As one friend ovserved, it's no wonder Guatemala is rubbish at Formula 1: all their best drivers are driving chicken buses.
It's loud and fast and cramped and totally insane and exhilarating and one of the funnest things I've done in this exciting, slightly mad country.
In line with this liberal BYO live animal policy, chicken bus drivers make their daily bread by observing as few rules as possible, doing as many runs as possible, between as many towns as possible, with as many passengers as possible. Seats designed for two people regularly seat families of five, the aisles are crammed full of people, luggage, animals for all I know, and various other collateral. At one point there must have been nearly 60 people on a bus designed to seat 40. You climb in any way you can - front door, back door, through a window if it was possible, even on the roof. And combined with the constant, loud Marimba / generic Latin American pop / Reggaeton blasting through the bus, it really is quite an experience.
And then there's the speed. The faster the buses get from town to town, the more runs they can do, so the more money to be made - so we are talking high speed. The first rule of chicken bus driving appears to be that there are no rules to chicken bus driving. Passing another chicken bus on a blind hairpin bend? Cool. Hurtling at high speed through tiny cobble-stoned villages before screaming to a halt to cram in even more passengers? Even better. Rattling at speed across the centre line directly into oncoming traffic? He who diverts course first loses. And all this on perilous, winding, mountainous roads that make the Crown Range look like child's play.
As one friend ovserved, it's no wonder Guatemala is rubbish at Formula 1: all their best drivers are driving chicken buses.
It's loud and fast and cramped and totally insane and exhilarating and one of the funnest things I've done in this exciting, slightly mad country.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
The great Belizean underwear heist
It has been a long week, in lots of ways. As if to remind me that Belize is, in fact, not quite perfect, I suffered the indignity of, in a rather pervy petty crime, having my underwear stolen. And my beloved, loyal, long-suffering pack, which has seen the world with me from Kosovo to Kho Phan Ngan, Istanbul to Invercargill, was also victim in this thievery most foul - it suffered the indignity of having its zip bust. We made a sorry pair for approximately 5 minutes, until we realised it was actually hilarious: some crafty thief will have found themselves mightily short-changed, with a bunch of stuff that will simply fit no-one in this region. Take that, underwear thieves!
I became reacquainted with a long-forgotten phenomenon: the Travelling BFF. Y'know the folks you meet on the road and bond with because ohmygodi'mreadingthatbooktoo and ohitotallyrecommendxriverinyrandompartofzcountry and ohialsothinkawellusedcommaissexy and who therefore become your new best friend for approximately 24 hours (let's be honest, usually involving beer) before you each move off in different directions never to be heard from again. I made a TBFF the other night, and it was awesome. (And whatever, well-used commas are sexy.)
I've been listening to a lot of country music. This is agriculture country, and there are more cows/cowboys/cowboy boots/cowboy hats than you can swing a lasso at. We have headed progressively West. West through the lush jungle on a chicken bus with the ever-present reggae blasting and tiny Caribbean children, still growing into their teeth, dancing in the aisles. West to San Ignacio, Belize, a tiny farming community where we galloped Western-style on horseback through Belizean jungle to swim in a secluded waterfall. Further West into Guatemala, to stay on the beautiful island of Flores where the sunset was one of the most spectacular I have seen in all my years, and to visit the ancient Mayan temples at Tikal, a place that I can't do justice to with words.
And now I find myself on the beautiful Rio Dulce, Guatemala. We are, as our hosts never fail to remind us, in the jungle. Our bungalow sits over the river, and has open walls - we sleep with a breeze off the river that carries the low hum of the jungle and nearby Garifuna drums. Last night before bed we had to kill 3 progressively larger spiders (the ultimate, I'm told, about palm-sized.) I elected to stay in bed rather than witness the great spider-slaying of 2011, and was glad with my decision when my room-mate discovered a casual scorpion hangin out in the corner of our room. It's fair to say jungle life is interesting. Never a dull moment.
And now, onwards. Onwards to the highlands and more adventures.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Don't stop Belize'n
I (very) briefly got (very) frustrated with backpacking recently. (Yes, on about Day Five.)(Of Six weeks.) With the no electricity and the darkness and the damp and the sand and the thatched huts leaking in thunderstorms and beds that aren't just damp but sodden and the lack of organised luggage compartments and the never being able to find things in my pack. And then to top it all off a mosquito got under my net. I just...... well suddenly a couple of lazy weeks on the French Riveria somehow seemed like a nicer holiday option. Somehow, without full consent or even knowledge, I had become a bit of a princess. For the record: I am not okay with this.
I got over the princess-ness. I am grimy and perpetually covered in at least 2 layers of insect repellent, but I am never bored. I have swum in the Caribbean more times than I care to count, debated tax reform over mojitos with new-found Nordic friends, survived an entire breakfast service without using English, re-read most of To Kill a Mockingbird, done a lot of lying in the sun and played a lot of volleyball, and used 'estupendamente' once in its correct adverb form. I have sat on the beach and listened to Fleet Foxes while watching a thunderstorm gently march across the Caribbean towards us for about an hour before it hit shore. I thought the skies just opened here, but it's a long and beautiful process watching a storm move. I may have been rained on in bed during the night, but I've also seen a newly-hatched baby turtle, smaller than the size of my palm, scamper across the beach and into the surf to begin her life with her first ever swim. Pretty. Damn. Awesome.
I got over the princess-ness. I am grimy and perpetually covered in at least 2 layers of insect repellent, but I am never bored. I have swum in the Caribbean more times than I care to count, debated tax reform over mojitos with new-found Nordic friends, survived an entire breakfast service without using English, re-read most of To Kill a Mockingbird, done a lot of lying in the sun and played a lot of volleyball, and used 'estupendamente' once in its correct adverb form. I have sat on the beach and listened to Fleet Foxes while watching a thunderstorm gently march across the Caribbean towards us for about an hour before it hit shore. I thought the skies just opened here, but it's a long and beautiful process watching a storm move. I may have been rained on in bed during the night, but I've also seen a newly-hatched baby turtle, smaller than the size of my palm, scamper across the beach and into the surf to begin her life with her first ever swim. Pretty. Damn. Awesome.
I have been tempted, in the last 24 hours, to suspect I've landed in paradise. Turns out I am in Belize, which may well be the next best thing. I am on a small strip of sand in the middle of the Caribbean where life is perpetually laid back. The rum actually tastes as though it was made from sugarcane, the lobster is fresh from the sea, and Bob Marley really is constantly playing. Even better, there is functioning roofs and electricity. It is just so awesome.
I spent most of today in the sea, on the world's second largest coral reef. It is manatee mating season, and we dived to hang out out within 10 feet of a lazy, giant manatee, who occasionally surfaced for air, showed a little curiosity in us, then kept on going about her business. I swam with massive fully-grown turtles. And to top it all off I managed to swim amongst a large shiver of sharks. (Secretly, I have been waiting my whole life to accurately use that collective noun. This is just one more treat that Belize has given me.) In short, nautical activities ahoy. And..... I am about to literally sail into the sunset. Life is not bad.
It all seems a little cliche for me to blast Marley here, besides, everyone else is doing it for me. Instead I have been listening to Bedouin Soundclash. It has enough of that perfect calypso vibe that is so appropriate for this place. It's laid back and it sounds like happytimes. Which this most definitely is.
Okkervil River, The Stage Names (2007)
I don't know how I lasted nearly 28 years without ever having heard Okkervil River, who've been around for ages, and certainly for most of my music-consuming career. But I was completely oblivious to their existence until a couple of weeks ago when an acquaintance was kind enough to bring them to my attention. I must send said acquaintance a thank you card. Because this album is one of my favourite unexpected finds of the year.
This album has become a bit of a travel staple - I'm writing this from the South of Mexico, about to take the boat to Belize. One of the things I love about this kind of travel is the clash of the modern and the traditional - this is the only place in the world I have ever seen horses hitched to the main power station. The pace of life is gentle.
Okkervil River are perfect for the road: light-hearted but interesting; a little bit folk, a little bit Americana, sometimes bluesy, but overwhelmingly that classic indie-rock sound that we heard so much of in the late 2000s.
This album in particular is just really good. I haven't had a chance to fully digest their other material but on first listen their earlier stuff sounds a bit dreary and their most recent album takes the synth thing too far... so this particular album looks increasingly like the sweet spot in the development of their sound. I still can't quite put my finger on who they sound like - the vocals are, I have to admit, reminiscent of the Killers. The music is not. Jangly guitars, with the occasional rockabilly drumbeat thrown in for good measure, sparing use of keys and horns, and trickles of beautifully-positioned lap steel. I get flashes of a Modest Mouse-type sound, and sometimes of Franz Ferdinand, but what I love about this album is that I just can't quite nail it. It's interesting.
A great album for the road. Or the dirt track. Or, like, the open sea.
This album has become a bit of a travel staple - I'm writing this from the South of Mexico, about to take the boat to Belize. One of the things I love about this kind of travel is the clash of the modern and the traditional - this is the only place in the world I have ever seen horses hitched to the main power station. The pace of life is gentle.
Okkervil River are perfect for the road: light-hearted but interesting; a little bit folk, a little bit Americana, sometimes bluesy, but overwhelmingly that classic indie-rock sound that we heard so much of in the late 2000s.
This album in particular is just really good. I haven't had a chance to fully digest their other material but on first listen their earlier stuff sounds a bit dreary and their most recent album takes the synth thing too far... so this particular album looks increasingly like the sweet spot in the development of their sound. I still can't quite put my finger on who they sound like - the vocals are, I have to admit, reminiscent of the Killers. The music is not. Jangly guitars, with the occasional rockabilly drumbeat thrown in for good measure, sparing use of keys and horns, and trickles of beautifully-positioned lap steel. I get flashes of a Modest Mouse-type sound, and sometimes of Franz Ferdinand, but what I love about this album is that I just can't quite nail it. It's interesting.
A great album for the road. Or the dirt track. Or, like, the open sea.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
hey blondie!
I have spent the last few days lying on a stretch of pristine, untouched beach. The weather has been phenomenal; hot and sunny, with a lovely onshore breeze. I have learnt an important lesson about sunscreen placement. I have showered in salt-water, and sharedmy simple seaside cabaña with a friendly metre-long iguana. It's wet season, so at nights (and yes sometimes during the day) you can sit and watch an electrical storm play out over the Caribbean. I am on holiday, and it is amazing.
As I dozed in the sun on the beach yesterday, I listened to Israel Kamakawiwo'ole. It was a stereotypical, easy choice. He is from Hawai'i, but he just sounds tropical - all ukeleles and harmonies. It was relaxing and easy and just what I wanted for my first few days of holiday. If The Ethnomusicologist were here, he'd accuse me of being one of those white middle class people enjoying a middle class holiday and listening to world music. The Ethnomusicologist is not here, and he probably forgets it was him who gave me this album in the first place.
As I dozed in the sun on the beach yesterday, I listened to Israel Kamakawiwo'ole. It was a stereotypical, easy choice. He is from Hawai'i, but he just sounds tropical - all ukeleles and harmonies. It was relaxing and easy and just what I wanted for my first few days of holiday. If The Ethnomusicologist were here, he'd accuse me of being one of those white middle class people enjoying a middle class holiday and listening to world music. The Ethnomusicologist is not here, and he probably forgets it was him who gave me this album in the first place.
Besides, it wasn´t until I´d left beautiful deserted Tulum and made my way back up the coast to Playa del Carmen that I realised how empty, quiet, and non-stereotypical our break in Tulum had been. Playa del Carmen is the exact opposite - it is loud and it is full of people and everyone is shouting "hey blondie!" at me and trying to sell me something - from a sombrero to a hammock (the "matrimonial" hammock, evidently somehow different from the plain "double hammock") to tequila to all sorts of other useless stuff. I have just found out that our next destination has no electricity, so I am trying to buy a torch.... It is, evidently, the one thing not to be bought in Playa del Carmen. So I am destined to be that girl fumbling about in the darkness for the next two days.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Traveling Wilburys - Traveling Wilburys Collection (2007)
The supergroup to end all supergroups, Traveling Wilburys is basically a rock n roll hall of fame best of in one band: Bob Dylan, George Harrison, Roy Orbison, Tom Petty, and Jeff Lynne. Together they produce some of the most wonderfully whimsical tunes I've heard in a long time. A little bit rock, a little bit folk-pop, a little bit rockabilly - but pure unadulterated joy-in-a-box-set. Listening to the Wilburys, I feel like I've been invited to an exclusive and very high-powered garage jam. The fun is infectious - I challenge anyone to listen to this without feeling a little bit better about life.
These are serious musicians not taking themselves seriously - the result is just music as it should be. Joyful little ditties, light-hearted and frivolous; perfect choice for an otherwise grey Monday morning.
These are serious musicians not taking themselves seriously - the result is just music as it should be. Joyful little ditties, light-hearted and frivolous; perfect choice for an otherwise grey Monday morning.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Fleet Foxes, Helplessness Blues (2011)
After my rather public battle with Fleet Foxes, I'm a little uncomfortable that this is the first of their albums I've featured on this blog. Their self-titled album is one of my staples - I adore it, but it took me a while to get there. I have only listened to this album once, from start to finish, somewhere above the Northern Pacific. At face value, it's a bit angsty and existenitial and I'm not sure I've seen the growth from their first album, but the quality of songwriting and musicianship remains high. I don't yet own this album - but I will buy it.
I was immediately struck by 'Bedouin Dress' - it incorporates some lovely Americana guitar work; the kind of sound I can't get enough of at the moment. I do not, however, like the mid eastern influence (I don't even know what the instrument is, but, as is becoming my new theme, it's too obvious and borders on annoying.) The obviousness does carry somewhat throughout the album - the melodramatic introduction to 'The Plains / Bitter Dancer' was too much for this jetleg-addled brain. Thankfully, the song mellows into something more mature; the classic layered harmonies, some really interesting and quite striking minor chords, leading into an upbeat bridge. At nearly 6 minutes, this song had the potential to be a bit painful, but despite the overbearing intro, they've managed not to take it too far.
The title track features some bordering-on-contrived lyrics, but in classic FF style, they are somehow balanced out by layered guitars into another very good song. I think the start of this track illustrates FF at their best - their distinct sound, comprised of elaborate guitars and unique vocals. They bring the eastern sound back in the bridge of this song though, and while it is objectively pretty good, part of me wishes they'd left the song at 3 minutes. In contrast, the beginning of 'The Shrine / An Argument' sounds to me like FF as we haven't yet really heard them; there's a real and unmistakable rock influence in there. And it's good. I worried that this 8 minute odessy of a song might weary me, but (as I guess the title would imply) it's broken into two quite distinct and manageable parts. Unfortunately the early, quite surprising rock part is, in my opinion, undermined by the caucophony that commences three quarters of the way through the track, and for which I have little patience this morning.
At first listen, there's no 'White Winter Hymnal' equivalent on this album - the kind of haunting striking song that stays with you long after you've finished listening. That said, I openly acknowledge that I would have said the same thing about the first album after first listen (and for about a year thereafter.) But I love the opening of 'Battery Kinzie', loud, thumping pianos a striking contrast to the dramatic guitar of the previous track. It's a short (under 3 minutes) snappy little track, non-confrontational, perfectly balanced. I also love 'Lorelai' - a beautiful exposition of that perfect, pure voice in a simple format. The same could be said of the following track, 'Someone You'd Admire' - I fell for this track immediately. Likewise the acoustic guitar, disarming vocals, and pretty lyrics of 'Blue Spotted Tail' had me at hello. I am, apparently, a sucker for simplicity, and this track nails it in such a pretty way.
Because I am jetlagged, sleep deprived, and lazy, I suspect I have fallen for the easiest, most accessible songs on this album first. But given my track record with this band, I figure that's not a bad start.
Disclaimer: given my slow burning history with Fleet Foxes, I reserve my right to change my view of this album when I've had a chance to listen to it more than once...
I was immediately struck by 'Bedouin Dress' - it incorporates some lovely Americana guitar work; the kind of sound I can't get enough of at the moment. I do not, however, like the mid eastern influence (I don't even know what the instrument is, but, as is becoming my new theme, it's too obvious and borders on annoying.) The obviousness does carry somewhat throughout the album - the melodramatic introduction to 'The Plains / Bitter Dancer' was too much for this jetleg-addled brain. Thankfully, the song mellows into something more mature; the classic layered harmonies, some really interesting and quite striking minor chords, leading into an upbeat bridge. At nearly 6 minutes, this song had the potential to be a bit painful, but despite the overbearing intro, they've managed not to take it too far.
The title track features some bordering-on-contrived lyrics, but in classic FF style, they are somehow balanced out by layered guitars into another very good song. I think the start of this track illustrates FF at their best - their distinct sound, comprised of elaborate guitars and unique vocals. They bring the eastern sound back in the bridge of this song though, and while it is objectively pretty good, part of me wishes they'd left the song at 3 minutes. In contrast, the beginning of 'The Shrine / An Argument' sounds to me like FF as we haven't yet really heard them; there's a real and unmistakable rock influence in there. And it's good. I worried that this 8 minute odessy of a song might weary me, but (as I guess the title would imply) it's broken into two quite distinct and manageable parts. Unfortunately the early, quite surprising rock part is, in my opinion, undermined by the caucophony that commences three quarters of the way through the track, and for which I have little patience this morning.
At first listen, there's no 'White Winter Hymnal' equivalent on this album - the kind of haunting striking song that stays with you long after you've finished listening. That said, I openly acknowledge that I would have said the same thing about the first album after first listen (and for about a year thereafter.) But I love the opening of 'Battery Kinzie', loud, thumping pianos a striking contrast to the dramatic guitar of the previous track. It's a short (under 3 minutes) snappy little track, non-confrontational, perfectly balanced. I also love 'Lorelai' - a beautiful exposition of that perfect, pure voice in a simple format. The same could be said of the following track, 'Someone You'd Admire' - I fell for this track immediately. Likewise the acoustic guitar, disarming vocals, and pretty lyrics of 'Blue Spotted Tail' had me at hello. I am, apparently, a sucker for simplicity, and this track nails it in such a pretty way.
Because I am jetlagged, sleep deprived, and lazy, I suspect I have fallen for the easiest, most accessible songs on this album first. But given my track record with this band, I figure that's not a bad start.
Disclaimer: given my slow burning history with Fleet Foxes, I reserve my right to change my view of this album when I've had a chance to listen to it more than once...
Monday, July 4, 2011
Bright Eyes, Cassadaga (2007)
I started writing this entry on a brilliantly sunny Berlin day, on the lawn of the Reichstag. I was readjusting to being on holiday, to the freedom that is walking through a city until completely lost. Remembering how to not have deadlines, how to endlessly wander with only myself for company, how to spend my time at Parliament not going inside for meetings, but lazing in the sun with a book and a great album. And Cassadaga was that particular album.
I’ve decided Bright Eyes has a penchant for melodramatic, slightly annoying, voiced-over beginnings to their albums. The beginning of Cassadaga is no less annoying than that of I’m Wide Awake. But, just like the earlier album, this is a beautiful, melodic, measured little album; a meander through Conor Oberst’s mind.
I’m rather taken by ‘If the Brakeman Turns my Way’ – a rambling little tune that’s somehow both wistful and whimsical, almost nonchalant. There’s something kind of Wilco about this track, albeit I don’t think with the same depth. I’m also a big fan of the raucous ride of ‘I Must Belong Somewhere.’
This is an album full of really, really good songs, but to me the clear and exceptional stand-out is ‘Classic Cars’, in collaboration with the endlessly talented Gillian Welch. I just can’t get enough of it, and it does lead me to wonder if everything she touches turns to gold (quite apart from her superb solo voice, she has a real knack for picking awesome bands with whom to collaborate.) A reminiscent, understated little ballad, it features some wicked organ and continues to build on that new mature use of pianos we saw in I’m Wide Awake. And Welch manages, in her own genius way, to just lift the track without dominating it. It’s a perfectly restrained track that kind of just washes over you, full of both euphoria and a tinge of regret. My favourite moment of the album (and indeed one of my favourite moments in music generally, right now) happens about 3 and a half minutes through this song.
One of the features of this album that was so suited to the beautiful, honest backdrop of Berlin is the recurring orchestral component. It begins from the first track, and continues right through to the wonderful cello that complements the final song. There’s a pulsing, dramatic orchestral segment through ‘Hot Knives’, which adds a certain urgency to the song. The strings add lovely depth to ‘No One Would Riot for Less’, and the delicate harp (?) and woodwinds that open ‘Make a Plan to Love Me’, followed by a big strings section (and the multi-voiced female BVs) turns an otherwise fairly unremarkable ballad into a pretty little vehicle for Oberst’s weirdly poetic lyrics. It’s just enough drama, without, in my opinion, going overboard. It is terribly clever.
I know I’m meant to be listening to lots of different music. But this album, alongside the 2005 effort, is, without doubt, the soundtrack to my short European summer.
It’s music to travel to, the perfect companion for the road.
I’ve decided Bright Eyes has a penchant for melodramatic, slightly annoying, voiced-over beginnings to their albums. The beginning of Cassadaga is no less annoying than that of I’m Wide Awake. But, just like the earlier album, this is a beautiful, melodic, measured little album; a meander through Conor Oberst’s mind.
I’m rather taken by ‘If the Brakeman Turns my Way’ – a rambling little tune that’s somehow both wistful and whimsical, almost nonchalant. There’s something kind of Wilco about this track, albeit I don’t think with the same depth. I’m also a big fan of the raucous ride of ‘I Must Belong Somewhere.’
This is an album full of really, really good songs, but to me the clear and exceptional stand-out is ‘Classic Cars’, in collaboration with the endlessly talented Gillian Welch. I just can’t get enough of it, and it does lead me to wonder if everything she touches turns to gold (quite apart from her superb solo voice, she has a real knack for picking awesome bands with whom to collaborate.) A reminiscent, understated little ballad, it features some wicked organ and continues to build on that new mature use of pianos we saw in I’m Wide Awake. And Welch manages, in her own genius way, to just lift the track without dominating it. It’s a perfectly restrained track that kind of just washes over you, full of both euphoria and a tinge of regret. My favourite moment of the album (and indeed one of my favourite moments in music generally, right now) happens about 3 and a half minutes through this song.
One of the features of this album that was so suited to the beautiful, honest backdrop of Berlin is the recurring orchestral component. It begins from the first track, and continues right through to the wonderful cello that complements the final song. There’s a pulsing, dramatic orchestral segment through ‘Hot Knives’, which adds a certain urgency to the song. The strings add lovely depth to ‘No One Would Riot for Less’, and the delicate harp (?) and woodwinds that open ‘Make a Plan to Love Me’, followed by a big strings section (and the multi-voiced female BVs) turns an otherwise fairly unremarkable ballad into a pretty little vehicle for Oberst’s weirdly poetic lyrics. It’s just enough drama, without, in my opinion, going overboard. It is terribly clever.
I know I’m meant to be listening to lots of different music. But this album, alongside the 2005 effort, is, without doubt, the soundtrack to my short European summer.
It’s music to travel to, the perfect companion for the road.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Fleetwood Mac - Gypsy (1982)
There was a time when I blogged every day. I'm trying to get back into the habit, even if it's lazy blogging....
As of 14 July, I am officially 'of no fixed abode'. This is only notable because it provides the very tenuous excuse for me to post my all-time favourite Fleetwood Mac song, Gypsy:
As of 14 July, I am officially 'of no fixed abode'. This is only notable because it provides the very tenuous excuse for me to post my all-time favourite Fleetwood Mac song, Gypsy:
Monday, June 20, 2011
Bright Eyes - I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning (2005)
This album is bliss for the lilting-alt-country-folk starved soul. I do love lilting-alt-country-folk, and if such a genre existed, this album would nail it. It makes me smile on the inside. I can't get enough of it.
I don't buy the 'Next Bob Dylan' argument - I think Conor Oberst is terribly clever, but I don't think he's the next Dylan (then again, maybe I just don't know him well enough.) With this album, however, he does manage that rambling little journey of an album that reminds me of Dylan's work. I'm also not interested in comparing this album to Bright Eyes' other work (no, not even its companion album 'Digital Ash in a Digital Urn'.) I'm sure there's an entire comparative analysis thesis to be written, but I'm more interested in the album as it stands, on its own.
Part of me is tempted to be irritated by the opening monologue, which seems a little melodramatic without adding much value to the album. But, irritating though it may sometimes be, it leads flawlessly to the joyful, classic country opening riff of "At the Bottom of Everything." Something in the monologue strikes me as very 'Violent Femmes' - one of my alltime favourite bands, many of whose recordings also have seemingly pointless little vocal interludes. And once I'd drawn that initial comparison, I found similarities all over the show - most notably the loosely raucous riffs, and lyrics that scream of teen-angst-learnt-to-talk-about-politics-and-gone-got-grown-up.
Over various albums and tours, Oberst has pulled some impressive collaborations - Neil Young, David Rawlings, Gillian Welch, Steve Earle et al. Most notably on this album, of course, is the magnificent Emmylou Harris, who brings an extra touch of joy to my favourite track, the jaunty, hillbillyesque, 'Another Travelin' Song'.
I realise I've unintentionally said 'joy' a lot (well, twice) in this entry. And, despite everything, this is a jubilant little album. I particularly like that the closing track "Road to Joy" takes its opening riff from Beethoven's "Ode to Joy". Is it a little bit cheesey and contrived? Yes. But it's cute and to me it works. Although this is an album that tries at times to deal with complex political and social themes, I think its real strength is in its optimism; its lovely ballads, pure folk songs, and animated country tracks.
I don't love this album for its dripping, poetic lyrics. I don't love it because it heralds a bright new era for Bright Eyes. I don't love it for its commentary on All Things American. And I don't love it because Oberst is a child prodigy who's god's gift to 21st century music, a hero for my generation. I just don't really believe any of those things.
What I do believe in, is uncomplicated folk songs. So I do love it for its relaxed riffs, for its gentle use of slide guitar, for its laid back country charm, and for its exuberant 3-chord candor. I love it because it is an album packed full of well-written songs - excellent individually and as a collective, cohesive album.
I love it because all is most definitely not well in the world, and Conor Oberst knows it - but what I love most about this album is that I can spend 46 easy minutes with it, and walk away feeling a little bit brighter about the world.
I don't buy the 'Next Bob Dylan' argument - I think Conor Oberst is terribly clever, but I don't think he's the next Dylan (then again, maybe I just don't know him well enough.) With this album, however, he does manage that rambling little journey of an album that reminds me of Dylan's work. I'm also not interested in comparing this album to Bright Eyes' other work (no, not even its companion album 'Digital Ash in a Digital Urn'.) I'm sure there's an entire comparative analysis thesis to be written, but I'm more interested in the album as it stands, on its own.
Part of me is tempted to be irritated by the opening monologue, which seems a little melodramatic without adding much value to the album. But, irritating though it may sometimes be, it leads flawlessly to the joyful, classic country opening riff of "At the Bottom of Everything." Something in the monologue strikes me as very 'Violent Femmes' - one of my alltime favourite bands, many of whose recordings also have seemingly pointless little vocal interludes. And once I'd drawn that initial comparison, I found similarities all over the show - most notably the loosely raucous riffs, and lyrics that scream of teen-angst-learnt-to-talk-about-politics-and-gone-got-grown-up.
Over various albums and tours, Oberst has pulled some impressive collaborations - Neil Young, David Rawlings, Gillian Welch, Steve Earle et al. Most notably on this album, of course, is the magnificent Emmylou Harris, who brings an extra touch of joy to my favourite track, the jaunty, hillbillyesque, 'Another Travelin' Song'.
I realise I've unintentionally said 'joy' a lot (well, twice) in this entry. And, despite everything, this is a jubilant little album. I particularly like that the closing track "Road to Joy" takes its opening riff from Beethoven's "Ode to Joy". Is it a little bit cheesey and contrived? Yes. But it's cute and to me it works. Although this is an album that tries at times to deal with complex political and social themes, I think its real strength is in its optimism; its lovely ballads, pure folk songs, and animated country tracks.
I don't love this album for its dripping, poetic lyrics. I don't love it because it heralds a bright new era for Bright Eyes. I don't love it for its commentary on All Things American. And I don't love it because Oberst is a child prodigy who's god's gift to 21st century music, a hero for my generation. I just don't really believe any of those things.
What I do believe in, is uncomplicated folk songs. So I do love it for its relaxed riffs, for its gentle use of slide guitar, for its laid back country charm, and for its exuberant 3-chord candor. I love it because it is an album packed full of well-written songs - excellent individually and as a collective, cohesive album.
I love it because all is most definitely not well in the world, and Conor Oberst knows it - but what I love most about this album is that I can spend 46 easy minutes with it, and walk away feeling a little bit brighter about the world.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Beirut - The Flying Club Cup (2007)
I've been pondering this for a while. I've struggled, and yet persisted, with Beirut. As already well-catalogued, I find Gulag Orkestar to be a bit obvious. Part of my irritation with this is because it's like being struck across the head with a big "LOOK! It's DIFFERENT" hammer - I won't traverse old ground, but the Eastern influence is clear (too clear), and I really do wonder how necessary it was to opt for song names like "Bratislava" and "Postcards from Italy" and "Rhineland". I love different sounds and influences from various interesting places but.... well, give the listener some intellectual credit. So, I've struggled with the obviousness of it all from day one, but recently have found myself listening to the album more and more. Perhaps controversially, I blame / credit Fleet Foxes - another band I initially struggled with, and now can't imagine living without. (Currently listening to their Sun Giant EP (2008) which is love at first listen.)
I don't resile from my original comments that I find Gulag Orkestar a condescending album. I still find it to be exactly that, but I've recently found it to be much more listenable - in fact the first five or six tracks have been on my ipod pretty much non-stop recently. I still occasionally find it irritatingly blunt, but as I think I said initially, regardless of whether it offends some wanky intellectual sensibility me, the sound is actually very good. I have persisted with Beirut for longer than any other band I can think of, and it's beginning to pay off. Like lots of things in life, sometimes the most rewarding bands are those we have to work really hard to love.
Subsequent to my recent Beirut revival, a friend recommended I try the second album, The Flying Club Cup. Said friend appears to have generally very good taste in important things, like life and music, so I took the advice and tried it. And I listened to it twice in a row. Each time I was struck by 'Guyamas Sonara', a song no less caucophonous than many Gulag tracks - plenty of mournful horns, interesting cymbals and bells, and Condon's quite lovely voice - but somehow more subtle, more distinct, more unique. It's followed by 'Le Banlieue', which concludes with some truly stunning piano - which struck me as a new and mature element to the Beirut sound - and 'Cliquot', which returns to the polka influenced oom-pah-pah style of Gulag Orkestar, but has toned it down into a more Mediterranean feel. And it's actually a really good song.
It may be that I'm just more used to the Beirut sound, so this album takes me less by surprise. But I actually think it is generally a more subtle, mature album - proving, I think, that it's possible to draw in elements and influences from all over the world, but that you don't need to bash your listener with them. I'm not sure that I'd describe this as a more accessible album - in fact I think the accessibility of Gulag Orkestar is its major downfall - but it is a gentler, more subtle listen. It seems to allow more space for his impressive and dinstinctive vocals (once again I can't help but draw a comparison with David Byrne here - for lots of reasons, but mostly because they're vocally so similar.)
It wasn't until I'd reached the conclusion of the album and my itunes automatically switched over to the next album (Gulag) that I realised the major difference is that this is a much more relaxed album. Where Gulag is uptight and trying to prove something, this is calm, collected, not over-thought, more mature in its treatment. This is not to suggest there's less complexity to the sound - I actually think there's more - but the songs are better arranged, allowing more space for various subtle elements to complement each other. To poach a line from a review: "It's the sound of Condon and his band shedding its layers of self-packed cultural baggage."
I already knew what a Polish polka sounded like. But now I finally feel like I know what this intricate and clever band called Beirut sounds like too.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Blackwater @ Mighty Mighty, Thursday 2 June
One of the things I loved the most about growing up in Dunedin was seeing new bands giving it a go. A couple of weekends ago at the Battle of the Bands in Dunedin, I realised how much I missed it - there's something kind of awesome about watching bands experiment and grow. The Ethnomusicologist accused me of being patronising, but it's far from it: it's one of my favourite things to watch new bands find their sound.
I've fallen off the wagon a bit in experimenting with new bands in Wellington, so was determined not to miss newcomers Blackwater, playing Mighty Mighty's Wanted Sessions last Thursday night. (As an aside, I applaud the concept of the Wanted Sessions - a fortnightly country evening at Mighty and a delicious way to spend a Thursday evening.)
I suspect this was one of Blackwater's first gigs. A 5-piece (bass, 2 guitars, a little set of drums and a lap steel) they are a lot of people when trying to create a delicate, intimate sound. Fronted by bold female vocals including, at times, some quite lovely 2-part harmonies, their first few numbers were quieter, experimental tracks. Unfortunately at times the bass overpowered the real star, which was the lap steel. The lead vocalist has a nice voice but was also occasionally overpowered by her band. I'd love to hear them with just an acoustic guitar and lap steel.
But a few songs into the short set saw the acoustic guitar let loose - and things got all kinds of awesome. This upbeat, more country-inspired vibe was an infinitely better sound. The band grew into their set, and were at their absolute best when their versatile little lappy player grabbed an acoustic and a mic and led us through some fantastic country ditties. In contrast to the earlier numbers, this was upbeat, vibrant and not at all over-thought; just gorgeous straightforward country tunes. When they stick to this style, nothing gets lost, the numerous instruments complement each other, everything fits; it's raucous and loud and excellent.
This band is not perfect, but they're really good fun. I'll see them again, and I hope as they grow they'll realise their strength is in upbeat, not intimate, numbers. It was a short and sometimes confusing set; I walked home not quite sure what I'd just encountered, but certain that whatever it was, it'd left me with a big goofy smile on my face.
I've fallen off the wagon a bit in experimenting with new bands in Wellington, so was determined not to miss newcomers Blackwater, playing Mighty Mighty's Wanted Sessions last Thursday night. (As an aside, I applaud the concept of the Wanted Sessions - a fortnightly country evening at Mighty and a delicious way to spend a Thursday evening.)
I suspect this was one of Blackwater's first gigs. A 5-piece (bass, 2 guitars, a little set of drums and a lap steel) they are a lot of people when trying to create a delicate, intimate sound. Fronted by bold female vocals including, at times, some quite lovely 2-part harmonies, their first few numbers were quieter, experimental tracks. Unfortunately at times the bass overpowered the real star, which was the lap steel. The lead vocalist has a nice voice but was also occasionally overpowered by her band. I'd love to hear them with just an acoustic guitar and lap steel.
But a few songs into the short set saw the acoustic guitar let loose - and things got all kinds of awesome. This upbeat, more country-inspired vibe was an infinitely better sound. The band grew into their set, and were at their absolute best when their versatile little lappy player grabbed an acoustic and a mic and led us through some fantastic country ditties. In contrast to the earlier numbers, this was upbeat, vibrant and not at all over-thought; just gorgeous straightforward country tunes. When they stick to this style, nothing gets lost, the numerous instruments complement each other, everything fits; it's raucous and loud and excellent.
This band is not perfect, but they're really good fun. I'll see them again, and I hope as they grow they'll realise their strength is in upbeat, not intimate, numbers. It was a short and sometimes confusing set; I walked home not quite sure what I'd just encountered, but certain that whatever it was, it'd left me with a big goofy smile on my face.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Foo Fighters, In Your Honor (2005)
An ambitious double-whammy: an in your face rock album followed by a chilled acoustic album. Kind of a risky combo if you ask me, but this one works, and the true test of this album - or of these 2 albums really - is that I just don't want to leave either of them unfinished. Neither disc of this album is a particularly challenging listen; it's anthemic American rock at its most American, followed by easy acoustic guitar at its... well, easiest. But I think it's the contrasting styles, and the fact that this album pulls them off, that is the real genius here.
The first album is pretty classic Foos stuff: intense aggressive drumming, brash vocals, guitar-driven rock. It's easy and populist, but it's good solid music. I like it, a lot, but there's nothing really that remarkable about it as far as Foos albums go. It's the second, acoustic, half of this offering that is the defining, memorable part.
I was inspired to listen to the second album again recently. I remember listening to it on the coast of Croatia, desperately homesick, about 5 years ago. In the final few days of a mind-blowing six weeks backpacking through some weird and wonderful places by myself, totally broke, I spent a few days with a beautiful Croatian couple. It had been a challenging few weeks, and this album was my soundtrack at the time. Sometimes there really is a place for easy music, and the quiet restraint of the second part of this album is as comforting as it is clever.
The acoustic half of the album is gentle, and has that guy-with-a-guitar vibe that I am a bit of a sucker for. 'Friend of a Friend' - for obvious reasons - sometimes reminds me a little of Nirvana unplugged. But Dave Grohl is superb in his own right. He's a fantastic drummer, but, as this album demonstrates, he's also way too talented to just be one of the best drummers in the world. In this album, we get a healthy dose of a side of him, particularly vocally, that we hadn't seen much of previously. And it's beautiful.
I saw the Foo Fighters live in 2003 (among, incidentally, one of my favourite Big Day out lineups, incluing Jane's Addiction, Queens of the Stone Age, and Kraftwerk among others) - and they have an incredible energy. I think they're a pretty special band. And the fact that they can pull this heavily contrasting album off is, I think, testament to their talent.
Lovely.
The first album is pretty classic Foos stuff: intense aggressive drumming, brash vocals, guitar-driven rock. It's easy and populist, but it's good solid music. I like it, a lot, but there's nothing really that remarkable about it as far as Foos albums go. It's the second, acoustic, half of this offering that is the defining, memorable part.
I was inspired to listen to the second album again recently. I remember listening to it on the coast of Croatia, desperately homesick, about 5 years ago. In the final few days of a mind-blowing six weeks backpacking through some weird and wonderful places by myself, totally broke, I spent a few days with a beautiful Croatian couple. It had been a challenging few weeks, and this album was my soundtrack at the time. Sometimes there really is a place for easy music, and the quiet restraint of the second part of this album is as comforting as it is clever.
The acoustic half of the album is gentle, and has that guy-with-a-guitar vibe that I am a bit of a sucker for. 'Friend of a Friend' - for obvious reasons - sometimes reminds me a little of Nirvana unplugged. But Dave Grohl is superb in his own right. He's a fantastic drummer, but, as this album demonstrates, he's also way too talented to just be one of the best drummers in the world. In this album, we get a healthy dose of a side of him, particularly vocally, that we hadn't seen much of previously. And it's beautiful.
I saw the Foo Fighters live in 2003 (among, incidentally, one of my favourite Big Day out lineups, incluing Jane's Addiction, Queens of the Stone Age, and Kraftwerk among others) - and they have an incredible energy. I think they're a pretty special band. And the fact that they can pull this heavily contrasting album off is, I think, testament to their talent.
Lovely.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
The Smiths, The Very Best of The Smiths (2001)
I'm a touch grumpy because I wrote a really long entry for this album and somehow in all of my technological competence (read: none) managed to delete it all. Luckily for the grumpy technophobe among us all, this delightful little compilation contains all kinds of curmudgeonly lyrics to boost the spirit.
Like any self-respecting child of the 80s, I've listened to the various tracks on this album hundreds of times. (I confess I was a latecomer to The Smiths, indeed well into my university years before I garnered a true appreciation of their genius.) I'm always amazed, though, at the ability of a certain song to transport you to a certain place and time, despite having listened to it squillions of times, in squillions of places. The opener to this compilation, 'Panic' will forever sound to me like a tiny dark bar with a 'no stag parties' sign on the door, just off the old town square of Prague. [As an unnecessary aside, I note that these days M1 'secret lounge' now features bikini clad babes, horrific electronica music, and images of some kind of purple veleur booths on its website. I guess the stag party market has, indeed, spoken. But back when M1 bar actually was a secret, it was a favourite destination for 20 crown beers, excellent music, and being hit on by underage Russians.] I'm hoping to be back in Prague for a short visit in a few weeks, which I was obviously already excited about, but listening to this album this morning kind of cemented it for me - I can't wait to get back.
I can't quite put my finger on what it is I love about The Smiths. Perhaps it's just that I love Morrissey. The man is a genius. (And, if I'm honest, kind of a babe.) Which is not to suggest I don't also think Johnny Marr is a genius. Cos he is, and I love his work too. But there's something about Morrissey's incredible talent, blazing intelligence, and defiant arrogance that kind of draws me in. Yes, there's more than a little to psycho-analyse there.
This release was just another controversial step in the band's history, but there's little denying it's a collection of excellent songs. What I love about The Smiths is strangely reminiscent of my last post - it's these often dark, terribly clever lyrics, overlaid with a jangly pop vibe. More often than not, it seems I'm attracted to wickedly intelligent, and often cyncial lyricists, and The Smiths are no exception. Morrissey captures the post-punk era with scathing social and political commentary, and Johnny Marr balances him out with his brilliant, jaunty indie-pop riffs. They are a tragic, beautiful combination.
Admittedly I own this release alongside most of Morrissey's solo back catalogue, and alongside many of The Smiths' studio albums. But this is a fantastic standalone listen and I thumb my nose at those who claim it is 'Smiths lite'. (I realise fans of The Smiths are probably some of the most irritable fans of all, so I would risk rage and vitriol with this post.... but that would rely on anyone actually reading it.) The Smiths have influenced pretty much everyone who's awesome, they're difficult and tricky and messed up, but all the best people are, and besides, they made great music. And this compilation (I originally typo-ed 'complication', which seems somehow apt) is a very good overview of that great music.
Besides, it puts a stupid cheesey smile on my face as I walk to work, cos I love it. So there.
Like any self-respecting child of the 80s, I've listened to the various tracks on this album hundreds of times. (I confess I was a latecomer to The Smiths, indeed well into my university years before I garnered a true appreciation of their genius.) I'm always amazed, though, at the ability of a certain song to transport you to a certain place and time, despite having listened to it squillions of times, in squillions of places. The opener to this compilation, 'Panic' will forever sound to me like a tiny dark bar with a 'no stag parties' sign on the door, just off the old town square of Prague. [As an unnecessary aside, I note that these days M1 'secret lounge' now features bikini clad babes, horrific electronica music, and images of some kind of purple veleur booths on its website. I guess the stag party market has, indeed, spoken. But back when M1 bar actually was a secret, it was a favourite destination for 20 crown beers, excellent music, and being hit on by underage Russians.] I'm hoping to be back in Prague for a short visit in a few weeks, which I was obviously already excited about, but listening to this album this morning kind of cemented it for me - I can't wait to get back.
I can't quite put my finger on what it is I love about The Smiths. Perhaps it's just that I love Morrissey. The man is a genius. (And, if I'm honest, kind of a babe.) Which is not to suggest I don't also think Johnny Marr is a genius. Cos he is, and I love his work too. But there's something about Morrissey's incredible talent, blazing intelligence, and defiant arrogance that kind of draws me in. Yes, there's more than a little to psycho-analyse there.
This release was just another controversial step in the band's history, but there's little denying it's a collection of excellent songs. What I love about The Smiths is strangely reminiscent of my last post - it's these often dark, terribly clever lyrics, overlaid with a jangly pop vibe. More often than not, it seems I'm attracted to wickedly intelligent, and often cyncial lyricists, and The Smiths are no exception. Morrissey captures the post-punk era with scathing social and political commentary, and Johnny Marr balances him out with his brilliant, jaunty indie-pop riffs. They are a tragic, beautiful combination.
Admittedly I own this release alongside most of Morrissey's solo back catalogue, and alongside many of The Smiths' studio albums. But this is a fantastic standalone listen and I thumb my nose at those who claim it is 'Smiths lite'. (I realise fans of The Smiths are probably some of the most irritable fans of all, so I would risk rage and vitriol with this post.... but that would rely on anyone actually reading it.) The Smiths have influenced pretty much everyone who's awesome, they're difficult and tricky and messed up, but all the best people are, and besides, they made great music. And this compilation (I originally typo-ed 'complication', which seems somehow apt) is a very good overview of that great music.
Besides, it puts a stupid cheesey smile on my face as I walk to work, cos I love it. So there.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Wilco, Summerteeth (1999)
Monday morning you sure look fine... apart from the fact that I don't really want to get out of bed, and even if I did want to, I can barely walk (I blame an afternoon of overzealous kickboxing.) But in these circumstances, what better remedy than liberal doses of banjo, harmonica and loose saloon-style piano...?
I love Wilco. I feel like I should have dedicated more (slash any) space on these pages to Wilco. But in looking for a pick-me-up, Summerteeth was kind of an odd choice. It's one of Wilco's more sombre albums, but also in my humble opinion one of their better ones. I couldn't help but think, this morning, that right up till about track 9, I could have been listening to part of a Greatest Hits compilation - 'Can't Stand It', She's a Jar', 'Shot in the Arm', 'Via Chicago', 'ELT', 'Nothing'severgonnastandinmyway(again)' etc etc - it's an album packed with excellent singles.
Excellent, but dark. I recall Jeff Tweedy making some coolly ironic remark when someone in the audience requested 'She's a Jar' during their set in Wellington last year - to the effect of "it's a song about domestic violence, who requests that?!" - but, although it wasn't me, I'm with the requester - I think it's one of Wilco's best songs - it's morose but delicately treated and beautifully written. I've seen 'Via Chicago' described as a "muder ballad" ("I dreamed about killing you again last night/ And that's all right with me") which seems kind of apt but again, it's a very good song. It's a little bit disturbing how attractive I find some of these very dark lyrics, but I think Wilco's made it easy for me to be so twisted, because they delightfully and ironically overlay some very grim sentiments with some rather upbeat psychedelic alt rock. And contrast the downbeat songs with somre more hopeful, redemptive tracks like ELT and Nothing'sever..etc.
I'm a treacherous whench for saying it, but this morning both 'Shot in the Arm' and 'Via Chicago' fell just a tiny bit flat for me. This shouldn't detract from my deep and abiding love for Wilco - rather, it's testament to it. They are one of the rare bands I've seen who are so good live that sometimes their recorded work pales in comparison. I think this is the sign of a truly outstanding band - their live set improvises and jams; treats the audience to a unique experience rather than formulaicly adhering to their recorded sound. Treachery aside, there's no denying that this album is full of depth and texture, experiemental in moving just a little away from their more traditional Americana country-rock style, but still layered with a symphony of bells and whistles and banjoes and wild steel guitars and organs. It's delicious.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Faithless, No Roots (2004)
I was markedly more upbeat than usual when working to work this morning. I could credit this with any number of sensible causes - not least, sleeping almost entirely through the night for the first time in pretty much ever - but I prefer to credit it to the cheesey mid-2000s electronica I was listening to.
Nakedly (and arguably naively) political, No Roots is Faithless' fourth studio album and - unbelievably - their first (and, if I'm not mistaken, only) chart topping album. Unbelievable because their other albums were so damn good, but I guess you can't pick the taste of the charts. For what it's worth my general view is pretty much the exact opposite - the more Faithless grew in popularity, the less I liked their style. In fact, my favourite Faithless tracks are demos from the B-Sides of their first album. In my view their albums regress with time, so my top pick remains 'Reverence' (1995) followed by 'Sunday, 8pm' (1998), then 'Outrospective' (2001) with this as my least favourite. I stopped buying Faithless albums after this one.
So why is this is my least favourite of all their albums? Mostly because I unashamedly love Faithless for their quirky ballads and diverse style, not for their trip-hop dance anthems and sleek production. The band excels in eclecticism, and this album is self-consciously not eleclectic. The songs are short, sensibly grouped in two distinct halves, unified in genre, and written entirely in the key of C. It's deliberate and it's measured and it's polished and it all makes sense. Personally I just think Faithless' genius lies in their ability to make sense out of the scattered and non-sensical, rather than out of the deliberate and the sensible. This album also relies heavily on the smooth house / R&B sounds of the mid 2000s, sounds which I didn't like at the time and which I'm no more enamoured of now.
So, scathing commentary aside, why do I go back there? Well, there's something oddly comforting about the bands of my youth. Whether or not I agree with the sentiments, there'll always be something about Maxi's philosophical rants that stick. I love that he ties in throwbacks to 'Reverence', almost as though he's aware that the opening track of their first album was some kind of philosophical mission statement, and that he hasn't forgotten who they are and what they set out to do. There are some (albeit rare) remaining moments of rawness in the album, reminiscent of their live act, and which I cling to as evidence that they haven't become chart slaves. I was struck, this morning, by Dido's lovely voice - I had forgotten how spectacular she can sound. And finally, although it's not my thing anymore, sometimes some cheesey dance music really is a pick me up. It even kind of made me laugh at myself.
I've alluded before to Faithless as a former lover, and I stand by that. We're not getting back together, especially after they cheated on me with this strange polished deliberate style. But I remember why I loved them: cos, in the heady days of our youth (before they settled down and became marriage material) they were just. so. much. fun.
Nakedly (and arguably naively) political, No Roots is Faithless' fourth studio album and - unbelievably - their first (and, if I'm not mistaken, only) chart topping album. Unbelievable because their other albums were so damn good, but I guess you can't pick the taste of the charts. For what it's worth my general view is pretty much the exact opposite - the more Faithless grew in popularity, the less I liked their style. In fact, my favourite Faithless tracks are demos from the B-Sides of their first album. In my view their albums regress with time, so my top pick remains 'Reverence' (1995) followed by 'Sunday, 8pm' (1998), then 'Outrospective' (2001) with this as my least favourite. I stopped buying Faithless albums after this one.
So why is this is my least favourite of all their albums? Mostly because I unashamedly love Faithless for their quirky ballads and diverse style, not for their trip-hop dance anthems and sleek production. The band excels in eclecticism, and this album is self-consciously not eleclectic. The songs are short, sensibly grouped in two distinct halves, unified in genre, and written entirely in the key of C. It's deliberate and it's measured and it's polished and it all makes sense. Personally I just think Faithless' genius lies in their ability to make sense out of the scattered and non-sensical, rather than out of the deliberate and the sensible. This album also relies heavily on the smooth house / R&B sounds of the mid 2000s, sounds which I didn't like at the time and which I'm no more enamoured of now.
So, scathing commentary aside, why do I go back there? Well, there's something oddly comforting about the bands of my youth. Whether or not I agree with the sentiments, there'll always be something about Maxi's philosophical rants that stick. I love that he ties in throwbacks to 'Reverence', almost as though he's aware that the opening track of their first album was some kind of philosophical mission statement, and that he hasn't forgotten who they are and what they set out to do. There are some (albeit rare) remaining moments of rawness in the album, reminiscent of their live act, and which I cling to as evidence that they haven't become chart slaves. I was struck, this morning, by Dido's lovely voice - I had forgotten how spectacular she can sound. And finally, although it's not my thing anymore, sometimes some cheesey dance music really is a pick me up. It even kind of made me laugh at myself.
I've alluded before to Faithless as a former lover, and I stand by that. We're not getting back together, especially after they cheated on me with this strange polished deliberate style. But I remember why I loved them: cos, in the heady days of our youth (before they settled down and became marriage material) they were just. so. much. fun.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
The Eagles, The Very Best of the Eagles (2003)
"Nice music choice this morning," my flatmate said to me on Friday evening.
Really?? I wasn't sure it'd really be his thing...
"Sure, it reminds me of the music my Dad listens to."
....and so I was relegated to the ranks of middle aged men everywhere.
I proudly stand by my week-ending choice, and I stand by my love of the Eagles. There's just enough sliding melancholy for a jet lagged girl suffering from post-trip blues, balanced with just the right mix of optimism. I particularly like this song because I, too, feel like a bit of an unsettled dreamer at the moment. And I'm attracted to the subversive nature of it: this is Randy Meisner giving a big middle finger to pressure. And sometimes pressure does need a big middle finger given to it.
The Eagles are a classic and - Dad-ish choice or not - classics are usually classics for a reason.
Really?? I wasn't sure it'd really be his thing...
"Sure, it reminds me of the music my Dad listens to."
....and so I was relegated to the ranks of middle aged men everywhere.
I proudly stand by my week-ending choice, and I stand by my love of the Eagles. There's just enough sliding melancholy for a jet lagged girl suffering from post-trip blues, balanced with just the right mix of optimism. I particularly like this song because I, too, feel like a bit of an unsettled dreamer at the moment. And I'm attracted to the subversive nature of it: this is Randy Meisner giving a big middle finger to pressure. And sometimes pressure does need a big middle finger given to it.
The Eagles are a classic and - Dad-ish choice or not - classics are usually classics for a reason.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
The Decemberists, The King is Dead (2011)
I broke with tradition this morning, and as we landed off NZ38 from London back into my undisputed favourite country in the world, I listened to The Decemberists.
This is a restrained, measured folk album. I love The Decemberists' earlier work but I'm not sure I was convinced by 2009's 'The Hazards of Love' - to me it tried to do a bit much and lost touch with what this wonderful band does best. So I'm pleased to see this album return to The Decemberists I know and love. 'Rox in the Box' in particular reclaims this spirit, a jaunty, shanty-esque track - but the album is not all jigs and giggles, and features some beautifully stripped back ballads, like the wistful 'January Hymn' and its counterpart 'June Hymn'.
This album marks a return to basics, but is by no means a regression in style. To me it displays a new, mature treatment of an already successful style. Colin Meloy has a superb, distinctive voice which is once again allowed to shine on this album. The album features a number of interesting collaborations which illustrate the folksy direction they're taking. The influence of REM's Peter Buck is clear in this album, and it is also immediately obvious that Gillian Welch's touch extends deeply into the album as well (she does, after all, sing backing vocals on almost all of the tracks). It features some beautifully wistful slide guitar (witness track 3, 'Rise to Me',) the first single, ''Down By the Water' takes on an Americana, almost country twang, and 'All Arise' also has something of a saloon feel to it. I couldn't help but get the feeling when listening to 'This is Why We Fight' that The Smiths' influence was sneaking in as well... so I wasn't surprised to read that the album name may well just be in homage to The Smiths' "The Queen is Dead".
In many respects this album takes everything I have always loved about The Decemberists and added elements from the folksy, country sounds that I can't get enough of at the moment. It was love at first listen. I rarely have time to listen to music when I'm travelling, except if I find time for a run - Ttis was the first album I've listened to from start-to-finish in 13 days, and it was a total treat and food for the travel-weary soul.
This is a restrained, measured folk album. I love The Decemberists' earlier work but I'm not sure I was convinced by 2009's 'The Hazards of Love' - to me it tried to do a bit much and lost touch with what this wonderful band does best. So I'm pleased to see this album return to The Decemberists I know and love. 'Rox in the Box' in particular reclaims this spirit, a jaunty, shanty-esque track - but the album is not all jigs and giggles, and features some beautifully stripped back ballads, like the wistful 'January Hymn' and its counterpart 'June Hymn'.
This album marks a return to basics, but is by no means a regression in style. To me it displays a new, mature treatment of an already successful style. Colin Meloy has a superb, distinctive voice which is once again allowed to shine on this album. The album features a number of interesting collaborations which illustrate the folksy direction they're taking. The influence of REM's Peter Buck is clear in this album, and it is also immediately obvious that Gillian Welch's touch extends deeply into the album as well (she does, after all, sing backing vocals on almost all of the tracks). It features some beautifully wistful slide guitar (witness track 3, 'Rise to Me',) the first single, ''Down By the Water' takes on an Americana, almost country twang, and 'All Arise' also has something of a saloon feel to it. I couldn't help but get the feeling when listening to 'This is Why We Fight' that The Smiths' influence was sneaking in as well... so I wasn't surprised to read that the album name may well just be in homage to The Smiths' "The Queen is Dead".
In many respects this album takes everything I have always loved about The Decemberists and added elements from the folksy, country sounds that I can't get enough of at the moment. It was love at first listen. I rarely have time to listen to music when I'm travelling, except if I find time for a run - Ttis was the first album I've listened to from start-to-finish in 13 days, and it was a total treat and food for the travel-weary soul.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Brooks and Dunn, The Greatest Hits Collection (1997)
Sometimes I just need some good old fashioned country in my life, and Tuesday morning was one of those times. This is the only Brooks and Dunn album that I own, and I do sometimes find myself lamenting that it's not the later "#1s... and then some" (2009). I know this is very odd but I kind of have a little ritual with that album; for some reason I always listen to it on Air New Zealand's very good in-flight entertainment system, at the end of a long haul flight landing back in New Zealand. I don't know why, but it's kind of become a habit. So anyway, in a strange way I'm rather attached to #1s...
I always find the beginning of the Greatest Hits album a little slow in comparison with #1s, which has much more of an upbeat honky tonk vibe to it - tracks like 'Hillbilly Deluxe' and 'Honky Tonk Stomp' are just hard to beat. But the Greatest Hits album starts to hit its stride around track 4, the excellent 'Boot Scootin Boogie' (which, incidentally, also features on #1s...) and carries on with a number of other quite stellar tracks; I'm particularly fond of 'Rock My World (Little Country Girl)'. And, happily enough, once you get far enough into the album, there's a couple of of cross over tracks with #1s... including 'She's not the Cheating Kind', and 'Brand New Man'. It's Hicksville central, but it's a good listen.
In other, not entirely unrelated news, it's nearly a year since my massive Outrageous Fortune six-seasons-in-about-as-many-weeks binge. Is it really acceptable that I still kind of have a girl crush on Aurora? Can lace stockings and studded cowboy boots ever be classy? I hope so, otherwise I've unleashed a little bit of trash at work today....
I always find the beginning of the Greatest Hits album a little slow in comparison with #1s, which has much more of an upbeat honky tonk vibe to it - tracks like 'Hillbilly Deluxe' and 'Honky Tonk Stomp' are just hard to beat. But the Greatest Hits album starts to hit its stride around track 4, the excellent 'Boot Scootin Boogie' (which, incidentally, also features on #1s...) and carries on with a number of other quite stellar tracks; I'm particularly fond of 'Rock My World (Little Country Girl)'. And, happily enough, once you get far enough into the album, there's a couple of of cross over tracks with #1s... including 'She's not the Cheating Kind', and 'Brand New Man'. It's Hicksville central, but it's a good listen.
In other, not entirely unrelated news, it's nearly a year since my massive Outrageous Fortune six-seasons-in-about-as-many-weeks binge. Is it really acceptable that I still kind of have a girl crush on Aurora? Can lace stockings and studded cowboy boots ever be classy? I hope so, otherwise I've unleashed a little bit of trash at work today....
Monday, April 11, 2011
My American Idol Obsession
I've been trying to figure out why I'm so obsessed with American Idol this season.... No doubt to be the subject of a later, much longer blog post. But my short answer is that this is the first season that I have seen real, genuine talent that I would pay good money to see live, and whose albums I would buy. I'm still with Scotty McCreery for the win, but just can. not. get. enough. of this version of the CCR classic by the insanely talented Casey Abrams.
Random musings on Sundays, and why The Black Keys are officially forgiven
If I had to pick, I'd say Sunday is my favourite of all the days. Part of it - also the reason I'm very fond of Saturday nights - is that, regardless of timezones, the rest of the world is also having a weekend, so there's less chance of work coming in from overseas. I seldom have more than a handful of emails to deal to on a Sunday morning, and that's a delight in and of itself. And Sundays always contain brunch, king of the meals. I do love brunch. I could write screeds about brunch. Yesterday it was pancakes and coffee at the beach with an old, cherished friend. Followed by shopping for a bridesmaid dress for the wedding of an older, no-less-cherished friend. A long run, a yoga class, and a cup of tea with another friend later, I was ready for the serious business of chillin'.
That's what I love about Sundays. I live a charmed, almost disgustingly unencumbered little life, where - at least on Sundays - there's always a little bit of time for whatever takes my fancy. And yesterday, my fancy was taken by a long, loud, session with The Black Keys. Three albums in a row - Attack and Release, The Big Come Up and Brothers - of that beautiful, rocky blues.
Attack and Release (2008) remains my favourite by far of their albums. It has a certain je ne sais quois - like a really raw, almost angry edge to it, but it's polished and professional and beautifully put together. It grabs you from the start - the opener, 'All You Ever Wanted', strikes me as blisteringly emotional, while simultaneously gentle and somehow resigned. It vies for favourite with the similarly intense "Lies" - less gentle, more combatant, no less brilliant. From start to finish, this album manages to be both intense but also somehow benign, a manageable listen. I suspect this album would sneak on to my (as yet unpublished) Desert Island List.
I confess, it has taken me this long to forgive The Black Keys for the Big Day Out abomination. I was irrationally hurt and devastated and betrayed that they cancelled that tour. They were to be the highlight of my summer and - as one of their followers on Facebook - I'm afraid I wasn't convinced by the "exhaustion" argument... activity did seem to continue rather unabated after the cancelled tour.
But here's the thing: it's all about forgiveness. I've been mad at them for a couple of months, but at the end of the day I need that dirty guitar-driven blues in my life. I love them too much to exist without them. So on Sunday afternoon we had a rough, loud, distinctly emotional make-up session. It was beautiful and cathartic and seriously satisfying. In fact, it was so good, we did it again this morning before work.
When it comes to The Black Keys, at least, all, it seems, is forgiven.
That's what I love about Sundays. I live a charmed, almost disgustingly unencumbered little life, where - at least on Sundays - there's always a little bit of time for whatever takes my fancy. And yesterday, my fancy was taken by a long, loud, session with The Black Keys. Three albums in a row - Attack and Release, The Big Come Up and Brothers - of that beautiful, rocky blues.
Attack and Release (2008) remains my favourite by far of their albums. It has a certain je ne sais quois - like a really raw, almost angry edge to it, but it's polished and professional and beautifully put together. It grabs you from the start - the opener, 'All You Ever Wanted', strikes me as blisteringly emotional, while simultaneously gentle and somehow resigned. It vies for favourite with the similarly intense "Lies" - less gentle, more combatant, no less brilliant. From start to finish, this album manages to be both intense but also somehow benign, a manageable listen. I suspect this album would sneak on to my (as yet unpublished) Desert Island List.
I confess, it has taken me this long to forgive The Black Keys for the Big Day Out abomination. I was irrationally hurt and devastated and betrayed that they cancelled that tour. They were to be the highlight of my summer and - as one of their followers on Facebook - I'm afraid I wasn't convinced by the "exhaustion" argument... activity did seem to continue rather unabated after the cancelled tour.
But here's the thing: it's all about forgiveness. I've been mad at them for a couple of months, but at the end of the day I need that dirty guitar-driven blues in my life. I love them too much to exist without them. So on Sunday afternoon we had a rough, loud, distinctly emotional make-up session. It was beautiful and cathartic and seriously satisfying. In fact, it was so good, we did it again this morning before work.
When it comes to The Black Keys, at least, all, it seems, is forgiven.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
In defence of Rebecca Black. Sort of.
Inspired by this column and a touch of jet lag, I have been pondering the big issues. Like, just how bad is Rebecca Black?
You all know the story. Rivalled only by Suri Cruise for parentally-sponsored age-inappropriate activity, 13 year old Rebecca Black recently recorded her "song", 'Friday', which - largely due to its car-wreck awfulness - suddenly netted over 61 million views on YouTube. And there's no escaping the fact that it's terrible, right? Insipid "lyrics" so bad that they surely must be a joke, a nasal whine devoid of any actual musical talent, and so on. Ok, we get the picture: this is another simpering indulging of a spoilt teen who'll trade on her averagely good looks and Mommy and Daddy's purse for a while, before maybe having some drug problems and then slipping back into obscurity where she belongs. Right?
Maybe. The part of this that gives me some cause for optimism is Black's donation of the proceeds from this abomination of a song to the Japanese tsunami relief fund. It would be easy to accuse any 13 year old whose parents had the spare cash to let their talentless child record a song (money arguably better spent on some singing lessons, for example) - of being spoilt. But I think this gesture of donation illustrates an awareness deeper than one of self-centrism, and I like that. (Then again, perhaps it was just a marketing ploy to make me despise her less. I just don't know anymore.) I also like that some of her little cronies (are they in the front seat or the back seat? It's such a tough choice) are pretty normal looking kids - my favourite is the girl with braces. Rock on.
So there's no denying the song is rubbish and entitled, but there are positive elements to it. Moreover, while this song is an abomination, who is to blame for that? And who is to blame for its success? Black herself for having the temerity to pen such an awful number? (Did she even write it? I don't know. Heaven help whoever came up with those lyrics if it wasn't a 13 year old girl.) Her parents for instilling such a misguided sense of arrogance in her (did no one realise she had no talent, or did ambition just lead them to blindly overlook this?) or more importantly, for funding this nightmare in the first place? What role does the commercial music industry play in this? Certainly there's any amount of terrible music released on a daily basis, and yet as listeners we drive that. I consider myself a relatively discerning consumer of music, yet I've watched Black's video twice (once in a darkened Wellington bar, and once on YouTube before writing this). So I'm still part of a demand that, as long as it exists, one horrible "artist" or another will fulfill. Is there money to be made in deliberately writing Car-Wreck Songs, so awful that you just can't look away? Indeed so awful that we feel the need to look 61 million times and, despite our horror, inadvertently make it a "success"? And if so, who are we, the consumers, the demandeurs, to get furious about this rubbish music assaulting us? We created this.
Which leads me to my next rant - the commentary. I couldn't agree more with The Guardian that if the best you can come up with is "OMFG b*tch you suck" then, well.... you suck. I am increasingly depressed by mindless public commentary on any number of issues - Libya ("what's so bad about that Garfy [sic] guy anyway?" ... an actual comment by a radio host recently), politics, and yes, pop culture. Are we so inarticulate that all we can do is call a video "gay", and a musically-inept teenager a "whore"? And if we are the ones mindlessly consuming this vapid material, then really, who are we to criticise? We become guilty of the very thing we accuse Black of: mindless, banal, simplistic "commentary" on mindless, banal, simplistic "music". I say it again: We. created. this.
Sadly, I think "Friday" could be something of a milestone in our consumption of pop culture. I can think of any number of struggling, yet exquisitely clever musicians out there who won't make 61 million views over their entire career. They will not experience "success" like a talentless 13 year old has, and that saddens me. But "success" comes in different shapes and sizes and ages, and there is also "success" in holding on to musical integrity and maturity, and a belief in what you create. It goes without saying that I admire that much more than I admire 61 million YouTube views.
In the end, we are to blame for 'Friday' being part of our world. And if it hadn't been Rebecca Black and 'Friday', someone else would have come along with 'Thursday' - something equally dire and yet equally "successful". And sadly, it's only a matter of time until our endless, insatiable need for easily-consumed idiocy leads someone - Rebecca Black, or some other aspiring nobody - to lead us to 'Saturday'. I mean c'mon, the lyrical options are endless: we could go to the mall, text our friends, trawl the internet for the next teen sensation to bag...
My short point is this: like it or not, we created Rebecca Black so until we're prepared to look away from the disaster, we're no better than her. And that's a scary thought.
You all know the story. Rivalled only by Suri Cruise for parentally-sponsored age-inappropriate activity, 13 year old Rebecca Black recently recorded her "song", 'Friday', which - largely due to its car-wreck awfulness - suddenly netted over 61 million views on YouTube. And there's no escaping the fact that it's terrible, right? Insipid "lyrics" so bad that they surely must be a joke, a nasal whine devoid of any actual musical talent, and so on. Ok, we get the picture: this is another simpering indulging of a spoilt teen who'll trade on her averagely good looks and Mommy and Daddy's purse for a while, before maybe having some drug problems and then slipping back into obscurity where she belongs. Right?
Maybe. The part of this that gives me some cause for optimism is Black's donation of the proceeds from this abomination of a song to the Japanese tsunami relief fund. It would be easy to accuse any 13 year old whose parents had the spare cash to let their talentless child record a song (money arguably better spent on some singing lessons, for example) - of being spoilt. But I think this gesture of donation illustrates an awareness deeper than one of self-centrism, and I like that. (Then again, perhaps it was just a marketing ploy to make me despise her less. I just don't know anymore.) I also like that some of her little cronies (are they in the front seat or the back seat? It's such a tough choice) are pretty normal looking kids - my favourite is the girl with braces. Rock on.
So there's no denying the song is rubbish and entitled, but there are positive elements to it. Moreover, while this song is an abomination, who is to blame for that? And who is to blame for its success? Black herself for having the temerity to pen such an awful number? (Did she even write it? I don't know. Heaven help whoever came up with those lyrics if it wasn't a 13 year old girl.) Her parents for instilling such a misguided sense of arrogance in her (did no one realise she had no talent, or did ambition just lead them to blindly overlook this?) or more importantly, for funding this nightmare in the first place? What role does the commercial music industry play in this? Certainly there's any amount of terrible music released on a daily basis, and yet as listeners we drive that. I consider myself a relatively discerning consumer of music, yet I've watched Black's video twice (once in a darkened Wellington bar, and once on YouTube before writing this). So I'm still part of a demand that, as long as it exists, one horrible "artist" or another will fulfill. Is there money to be made in deliberately writing Car-Wreck Songs, so awful that you just can't look away? Indeed so awful that we feel the need to look 61 million times and, despite our horror, inadvertently make it a "success"? And if so, who are we, the consumers, the demandeurs, to get furious about this rubbish music assaulting us? We created this.
Which leads me to my next rant - the commentary. I couldn't agree more with The Guardian that if the best you can come up with is "OMFG b*tch you suck" then, well.... you suck. I am increasingly depressed by mindless public commentary on any number of issues - Libya ("what's so bad about that Garfy [sic] guy anyway?" ... an actual comment by a radio host recently), politics, and yes, pop culture. Are we so inarticulate that all we can do is call a video "gay", and a musically-inept teenager a "whore"? And if we are the ones mindlessly consuming this vapid material, then really, who are we to criticise? We become guilty of the very thing we accuse Black of: mindless, banal, simplistic "commentary" on mindless, banal, simplistic "music". I say it again: We. created. this.
Sadly, I think "Friday" could be something of a milestone in our consumption of pop culture. I can think of any number of struggling, yet exquisitely clever musicians out there who won't make 61 million views over their entire career. They will not experience "success" like a talentless 13 year old has, and that saddens me. But "success" comes in different shapes and sizes and ages, and there is also "success" in holding on to musical integrity and maturity, and a belief in what you create. It goes without saying that I admire that much more than I admire 61 million YouTube views.
In the end, we are to blame for 'Friday' being part of our world. And if it hadn't been Rebecca Black and 'Friday', someone else would have come along with 'Thursday' - something equally dire and yet equally "successful". And sadly, it's only a matter of time until our endless, insatiable need for easily-consumed idiocy leads someone - Rebecca Black, or some other aspiring nobody - to lead us to 'Saturday'. I mean c'mon, the lyrical options are endless: we could go to the mall, text our friends, trawl the internet for the next teen sensation to bag...
My short point is this: like it or not, we created Rebecca Black so until we're prepared to look away from the disaster, we're no better than her. And that's a scary thought.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Bedouin Soundclash, Sounding a Mosaic (2004) and Chris Knox, Seizure (1988)
Reminiscing, big time.
I spent Sunday afternoon doing some of my favourite things: reading, basking in sunshine, lazing in the newly-christened 'zen chair' (it's oh so zen) and listening to album after album after album of lovely, simple music. I unintentionally lurked around the start of the alphabet, enjoying the straightforwardness of: Ben Harper 'Both Sides of the Gun', Bic Runga 'Live with the Christchurch Symphony Orchestra' (very Mumsy but I thought appropriate since I couldn't be at the Christchurch charity cricket match), Anna Coddington's 'The Lake', and Bedouin Soundclash 'Sounding a Mosaic'. Sunday music. And it was the Bedouin Soundclash album that got me onto the nostalgia - I listened to that album incessantly and obsessively as I wrote the final stages of my honours research in Dunedin back in 2006. It was a very little happy time of my life: living and breathing for my research, just home from backpacking the former Yugoslavia, and in a fresh new and happy relationship. In hindsight I was just a baby, so in love with my work and living a lifestyle that I could now never hope to reclaim. But it was all sunshine and smiles, long days and longer nights of cheap beer and live music. Yes, this was the floaty dress stage; it was a beautiful stage of life, and Bedouin Soundclash was my soundtrack. So it was a refreshing little treat to dig that one out of the iPod yesterday.
It was a different kind of reminscing this morning, when my fancy took me to Chris Knox. Like The Chills, this album is one that just kind of sounds like home: Dunedin in the '80s - or, more accurately, the '90s by the time I caught up. (Contrary to popular belief, I was not cool enough to be listening to post-punk as a five year old.) But I definitely thought I was very cool as a teenager in the late '90s, when I would spend what felt like hours poring over albums in Records Records on Stuart Street as it was then, being simultaneously thrilled and intimidated that the guy behind the counter was Roi Colbert, the Roi Colbert, and ohmygod he was probably going to talk to me as I shelled out twelve bucks for a Toy Love EP. YIKES.
In all honesty it still feels like kind of a crap album to pick given the irony of the title in the aftermath of Chris Knox's stroke in 2009. But the album is an excellent one; loud, and low-fi in the extreme. It does always strike me that that song 'Not Given Lightly' was kind of an incongruous fit. It's a sweet, genuine ballad, a kiwi wedding staple, and fittingly understated - I love it, as does any self-respecting kiwi, but it does seem a little out of place with the rest of the album which is much more raw and noisy. It doesn't all fit, but then again I guess it's not meant to, and that's part of its beauty. The single is quintessentially kiwi, but the album is quitenssentially Dunedin - it sounds like home and that's what I like about it.
Nostalgia plus!
Friday, March 11, 2011
Martha Wainwright, Auckland Town Hall, 9 March 2011
Martha Wainwright is a truly unique artist, with a special place in my heart. I had been looking forward to this show for approximately forever, and she really was a treat-and-a-half (and then some.)
As previously catalogued Martha is an intense artist to listen to and, it turns out, to see live. You don't just "see" Martha, or "hear" Martha - you experience her; she kind of just happens to you and either you're there with her or you're not. She's the kind of artist you want to listen to forever, and she definitely indulged us, playing a nearly two hour set.
I've previously commented on Martha's "desperately emotional" lyrics, and at several points she explained her songwriting process, telling us that both of her parents were "very literal songwriters" which she found "hard to compete with" and thus resorted to "overly poetic" lyrics. Self-deprecating or otherwise, I love her ability to write truly beautiful - and yes, desperately emotional - songs, without ever resorting to tackiness or cliche. I think her "overly poetic" lyrics are one of her strongest points as a songwriter and hope she never changes. She is, as also previously catalogued, often quite depressing - it was little surprise to hear that following the death of her mother, Kate McGarrigle, and the premature birth of her baby, that she "put the guitar away" lest she write too many depressing songs. I love her honesty and I love her new material, so it looks like the hiatus worked.
It's evident that Martha lives, breathes and exists for music. It's a family affair, and even without knowing her family background, her live act made clear that she comes from something of a musical dynasty. She - seemingly nervously - played a number of her mother's songs, and offered her personal commentary on them ("my mother wrote this for a stage musical but, as with all my mother's songs, it ended up being about her. As it should be.") She also referred countless times to brother Rufus and their musical upbringing - there's either an incredible closeness or incredible sibling rivalry between the two. I suspect it's a bit of both. It was also a lovely dynamic to see her accompanied for part of the show by her husband Brad Albetta on piano and backing vocals.
I was thrilled to see Martha perform some of her Edith Piaf material, particularly her lovely rendition of "Adieu, Mon Coeur", dedicated to our lost friends in Christchurch. Typically Martha, this was a touching moment without going over the top. There are any number of Piaf tributes out there, but I think Martha does Piaf a great service by performing much of her lesser-known work. That said, the stunning close to her set was the ubiquitous "La Vie en Rose", performed unaccompanied and sans microphone (evidently a dare from Rufus) - just Martha, just her voice, and she absolutely filled the Auckland town hall. It. Was. Specactular.
She handles Piaf's material with care, and respectfully re-presents her work - it's an album I'll buy. But there is only one Edith Piaf and - perhaps more importantly - there is only one Martha Wainwright. And while I love her Edith work, I love her orginals more. This was - wait for it - a set for the fans, featuring plenty of her early work (highlights: "Factory", "Far Away" and of course "Bleeding All Over You") with an honourable mention for closing her main set with "BMFA" - before which she apologised to the largely middle-aged, middle-class audience if the lyrics offended. (Google it.)
It's her own work that allows her truly unique vocal style to shine at its full potential, and it was her originals that made the show for me. I was also glad to see that the same light cheekiness that occasionally sneaks through in her recorded works is front and centre of her live show - very cute crowd banter, and a light-hearted approach to often difficult themes. A wonderful set on all fronts, and worth the wait to see her. My longstanding obsession with this truly exceptional, desperately talented, wonderful artist: officially confirmed.
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