One of those early 90's dreamy guitar shoegazey hard rock records that I've listened to a thousand times to get but have just never gotten. The difference between this one and Loveless (that's the other one that fits the bill) is that while I "get" what I'm "not getting" with My Bloody Valentine, I simply don't understand what people like so much about the Smashing Pumpkins. Actually, wait... here's a hypothesis. Most people get into the Pumpkins while they're teenagers--i.e. when they are stupid-- then grow up and reminisce about the good old days without ever re-visiting the band's music, which is, for the most part, juvenile.
There are splendid moments on Siamese Dream. "Cherub Rock" is a first-class fist-pumper. "Quiet" has a lovely evil edge. "Soma" is the only one here to successfully straddle the line between "acoustical beauty" and "hard emo rock," a feat that's admittedly difficult to accomplish.
The rest? Overdramatic or boring or amelodic or plain stupid.
I think "Silverfuck" offers a nice microcosm of the record as a whole. The metallic rocky part is highly satisfying, if a tad obvious. The quiet part does not have enough ideas to justify its length (forever). "Bang bang you're dead / Hole in your head" is the dumbest thing I've ever heard.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Sunday, March 25, 2012
3/25/12: The Replacements: Let it Be
The quintessential Mats record, as the good stuff strikes major emotional chords and the bad stuff is just stupid and fun enough to be, well, stupid fun. I don't think anyone's gonna confuse what's "good" and what's "bad" on Let it Be: the ballads are near-perfect, the pop/rock songs are superb, and the more metallic/hard rocky numbers kind of blow. Course, these latter tracks (I'll name them outright: "Gary's Got a Boner," "Seen Your Video," "Black Diamond," "Tommy Gets His Tonsils Out," and "We're Coming Out") are played so sincerely, with seemingly no winking involved, that I cannot help but love them, at least a little bit (actually, I love "We're Coming Out" more than a little... just awesome energy).
The key to the Replacements-- the reason why I care-- is not just that they mixed traditional rock, country, and folk influences into their "punk rock" sound: it's that they introduced a touch of human sympathy to punk that was almost completely lacking before. Prior to Let it Be, and to a lesser extent, Husker Du's Zen Arcade, there were just a handful of ways to approach other human beings in a punk rock song. You could spite them (a la the Sex Pistols), you could judge them (a la Minor Threat), you could distance yourself from them with your cute artistic whims (a la Patti Smith), or you could plain alienate them (a la Public Image Limited)-- that's about it. At least in the early days, punk bands were not driven by a need to understand the whole around them, but by a desire to remove themselves from said world.
On the other hand, the Mats took a kind of pride (maybe ironic, but rarely mean-spirited) in their fragile and silly (but never insignificant) humanity. They came from the Midwest and liked drinking and covered Bad Company. They wrote songs you could understand and maybe relate to, and on Let it Be, they started writing songs that were kind of serious and beautiful and humane.
"Sixteen Blue," for example. Probably has the best guitar solo of all time. But I don't wanna talk about that; I couldn't, anyway (too gorgeous). I wanna talk about the lyrics, which ask you to empathize with the most loathsome character in America at any time: the teenager. I mean, what a chorus:
Your age is the hardest age
Everything drags and drags
Looking funny, you ain't laughing are you?
Sixteen Blue
That's it, amiright? That is exactly what it is to be a teenager. Everything really does drag and drag when you're sixteen. And you try and try to be an adult, but people still see you as an awkward nobody. So, yeah, you're kinda blue.
There's also "Androgynous," a perfect lyrical combination of the anthemic and the everyday (a combination only a few other songwriters, thinking here of Bob Dylan, have ever conceived):
Here comes Dick, he's wearing a skirt
Here comes Jane, y'know she's sporting a chain
Same hair revolution, same build evolution
Tomorrow who's gonna fuss?
Cuz who is gonna fuss tomorrow? In a couple decades, no one is gonna give a rat's ass about what people look like or who they fuck.
Paul Westerberg is the closest thing punk has to a poet, because his lyrics are actually punk rock. They are not full of obscurity and allusion and artisness like Kim Gordon's or Richard Hell's or whatever. They speak of recognizable things in inspiring ways.
The key to the Replacements-- the reason why I care-- is not just that they mixed traditional rock, country, and folk influences into their "punk rock" sound: it's that they introduced a touch of human sympathy to punk that was almost completely lacking before. Prior to Let it Be, and to a lesser extent, Husker Du's Zen Arcade, there were just a handful of ways to approach other human beings in a punk rock song. You could spite them (a la the Sex Pistols), you could judge them (a la Minor Threat), you could distance yourself from them with your cute artistic whims (a la Patti Smith), or you could plain alienate them (a la Public Image Limited)-- that's about it. At least in the early days, punk bands were not driven by a need to understand the whole around them, but by a desire to remove themselves from said world.
On the other hand, the Mats took a kind of pride (maybe ironic, but rarely mean-spirited) in their fragile and silly (but never insignificant) humanity. They came from the Midwest and liked drinking and covered Bad Company. They wrote songs you could understand and maybe relate to, and on Let it Be, they started writing songs that were kind of serious and beautiful and humane.
"Sixteen Blue," for example. Probably has the best guitar solo of all time. But I don't wanna talk about that; I couldn't, anyway (too gorgeous). I wanna talk about the lyrics, which ask you to empathize with the most loathsome character in America at any time: the teenager. I mean, what a chorus:
Your age is the hardest age
Everything drags and drags
Looking funny, you ain't laughing are you?
Sixteen Blue
That's it, amiright? That is exactly what it is to be a teenager. Everything really does drag and drag when you're sixteen. And you try and try to be an adult, but people still see you as an awkward nobody. So, yeah, you're kinda blue.
There's also "Androgynous," a perfect lyrical combination of the anthemic and the everyday (a combination only a few other songwriters, thinking here of Bob Dylan, have ever conceived):
Here comes Dick, he's wearing a skirt
Here comes Jane, y'know she's sporting a chain
Same hair revolution, same build evolution
Tomorrow who's gonna fuss?
Cuz who is gonna fuss tomorrow? In a couple decades, no one is gonna give a rat's ass about what people look like or who they fuck.
Paul Westerberg is the closest thing punk has to a poet, because his lyrics are actually punk rock. They are not full of obscurity and allusion and artisness like Kim Gordon's or Richard Hell's or whatever. They speak of recognizable things in inspiring ways.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
3/4/12: The Beatles: Let It Be
The least perfect Beatles album, and for that reason one of my favorites. The Fabs had been rougher and wilder and weirder before, but never so disjointed, and rarely so human. This is the Beatles album that mortals could've made... providing mortals had voices as charming as Lennon and McCartney (and Harrison too, I suppose... his vocals on "For You Blue" are adorable). It's a funny one. Not many bands would put a statement song like "Let it Be" IMMEDIATELY AFTER "Dig It"... That's some Guided by Voices shit, if ya ask me.
As is characteristic for the Yoko era, Lennon is lazy as fuck here. He doesn't even attempt to make sense, and only goes serious once-- the admittedly moving and beautiful "Across the Universe." I love these stupid throwaways though: "Dig A Pony," "One After 909"...
Meanwhile, in church, Paul is finding God. In what must be deliberate contrast to John, he turns in some of his stateliest and most soulful tunes ever. (Which isn't to say his work isn't fun... "I Got a Feeling" is a far better party song than the Black Eyed Peas "jam" of the same name.) I'm a John man, and always will be, but I don't know how anyone could listen to this album and deny that, in their final third, the Beatles are pretty much Paul's project. Let It Be is his concept, and he delivers on the idea.
So what you have here is something that's both mature and playful. It's a nostalgic record (originally titled "Get Back"). Its one hint of darkness comes during "I Me Mine," a song that people like far too much. (And here's why: it's about GREED. People love that money hating shit. But I can see right through them, and George. I'm not fooled by his Quiet Beatle nonsense. Guy was just as corrupt and drug-addicted and sinful as anyone else in the band. And he was NOT, NOT the talent that Lennon or McCartney were. He had a lot of great songs... 15 or so. Paul and John each had a hundred. So yeah, stop talking about him.)
As is characteristic for the Yoko era, Lennon is lazy as fuck here. He doesn't even attempt to make sense, and only goes serious once-- the admittedly moving and beautiful "Across the Universe." I love these stupid throwaways though: "Dig A Pony," "One After 909"...
Meanwhile, in church, Paul is finding God. In what must be deliberate contrast to John, he turns in some of his stateliest and most soulful tunes ever. (Which isn't to say his work isn't fun... "I Got a Feeling" is a far better party song than the Black Eyed Peas "jam" of the same name.) I'm a John man, and always will be, but I don't know how anyone could listen to this album and deny that, in their final third, the Beatles are pretty much Paul's project. Let It Be is his concept, and he delivers on the idea.
So what you have here is something that's both mature and playful. It's a nostalgic record (originally titled "Get Back"). Its one hint of darkness comes during "I Me Mine," a song that people like far too much. (And here's why: it's about GREED. People love that money hating shit. But I can see right through them, and George. I'm not fooled by his Quiet Beatle nonsense. Guy was just as corrupt and drug-addicted and sinful as anyone else in the band. And he was NOT, NOT the talent that Lennon or McCartney were. He had a lot of great songs... 15 or so. Paul and John each had a hundred. So yeah, stop talking about him.)
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
2/7/12: Bob Dylan: The Basement Tapes
When it comes to the Band's tracks, I'm less troubled by the problem of authenticity than the problem of them kinda sucking. It's hard to believe that the group backing Bob so creatively here could also "create" a song as tired and uninteresting as "Orange Juice Blues." It's like Robbie Robertson didn't get it, or at least forgot it, when he put the album together... What makes Bob's songs special is not just that they're simple and old-timey. It's called strangeness, Eli.
The Band does "Ain't No More Cane" well, but I cannot stand their originals. They're all blues songs. You've heard them before. They're all about this girl and that girl and going down to someplace. Whoop dee doo. If Bob writes a "stereotypical" blues basher, he's at least sure to put in something about getting orange juice spilled on him.
The Band does "Ain't No More Cane" well, but I cannot stand their originals. They're all blues songs. You've heard them before. They're all about this girl and that girl and going down to someplace. Whoop dee doo. If Bob writes a "stereotypical" blues basher, he's at least sure to put in something about getting orange juice spilled on him.
I'm glad Robbie Robertson tidied up the Basement Tapes. He didn't pick a single bad Bob song for his final set (though "Crash on the Levee" doesn't do much for me); he picked a whole lotta outstanding ones, too ("This Wheel's On Fire," "You Ain't Goin Nowhere," "Million Dollar Bash," "Goin to Acapulco," "Apple Suckling Tree," etc). But did he really think "Katie Been Gone" was worthy of being placed near "Tears of Rage"? C'mon!
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
1/21/12: Randy Newman: Sail Away
A schizophrenic record... Such a clash between lyrics and melody and arrangement... You rarely find satire this biting with tunes this sweet (and a voice this dorky). The songs cover everything, from innocence ("Dayton Ohio, 1903") to perversity ("You Can Leave Your Hat On"); from piety ("He Gives Us All His Love") to blasphemy ("God's Song"); from fathers ("Old Man," supremely more affecting than Neil Young's song of the same name) to sons ("Memo to My Son")... and I'm pretty sure all of those songs can be read in more than one way (is "Memo" the cutest or most sinister song ever written?). I'd call the thematic range "American," though I'm conscious that Newman reserves his best bile for such distinctions ("Sail Away" is a stately, epic, beautiful song about our country's greatest sin; "Political Science" gets less and less hyperbolic every year). The scope is contradicted, naturally, by the (awesome) brevity of the tunes, few of which exceed three minutes.
People who hate this album, if such people exist, are probably humorless, and people who love this album probably rule... I can see them doing crossword puzzles and reading Mark Twain. Become friends with those people.
People who hate this album, if such people exist, are probably humorless, and people who love this album probably rule... I can see them doing crossword puzzles and reading Mark Twain. Become friends with those people.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
1/14/12: The Walkmen: A Hundred Miles Off
It's clear to me that the Walkmen were the band of the 21st century's first decade. Unfortunately, the critical establishment and general population will never realize this, as the Walkmen have produced no great statements in their career, preferring instead to produce great music.
A Hundred Miles Off is probably the least great of their albums (though I personally have less use for the beautiful but spotty Everybody Who Pretended to Like Me is Gone), but it's better than people said back in 2006. In the context of the band's most recent two outings, You and Me and Lisbon, it does sound immature, and rough, and punky, and inconsistent, and maybe even incomplete. And that's why I like it. It's the wildest Walkmen album, as if the band had to exorcise all their demons before moving on to calmer, subtler locales. The shittier the world gets, the more sense A Hundred Miles Off makes.
The album's first and last songs are its most obviously pretty (and as such, the least representative of the record). They're both fantastic. "Louisiana" is a festive acoustic strummer, maybe the Walkmen's most joyous song (one undercut by the typically ambiguous refrain of "I GOT MY HANDS FULL"). The cover of Mazarin's "Another One Goes By" is more nostalgic in tone; it's also a coming out party for Paul Maroon, whose unique The Edge-meets-garage-rock playing style and sumptuous guitar tones dominate You and Me.
Between these two hits is a diverse collage of songs and snippets, glued together by a generally pissy attitude. "Tenley Town" is a goddamn hardcore punk song (the band has roots in Washington D.C.); "All Hands and the Cook" has a gothic-organ-led stomp; "Brandy Alexander" returns to the boozy, mumbly style that's occasionally of the band's first two records; "Emma, Get Me a Lemon" soars; and I sing "This Job is Killing Me" every day (usually right after "The Executioner's Song" by Cass McCombs).
These are not immediately welcoming songs. They are written and performed in the mood of 80's underground punk; the mix is slightly off, the guitars have barbed edges, emotions run high. Nevertheless, the sound is wholly the Walkmen's. I return to "Tenley Town": in what other hardcore song does the guitar, I don't know, "flow" like Paul Maroon's? What other hardcore singer would dare to project to the sky-- not just scream or growl-- like Hamilton Leithauser?
A Hundred Miles Off is probably the least great of their albums (though I personally have less use for the beautiful but spotty Everybody Who Pretended to Like Me is Gone), but it's better than people said back in 2006. In the context of the band's most recent two outings, You and Me and Lisbon, it does sound immature, and rough, and punky, and inconsistent, and maybe even incomplete. And that's why I like it. It's the wildest Walkmen album, as if the band had to exorcise all their demons before moving on to calmer, subtler locales. The shittier the world gets, the more sense A Hundred Miles Off makes.
The album's first and last songs are its most obviously pretty (and as such, the least representative of the record). They're both fantastic. "Louisiana" is a festive acoustic strummer, maybe the Walkmen's most joyous song (one undercut by the typically ambiguous refrain of "I GOT MY HANDS FULL"). The cover of Mazarin's "Another One Goes By" is more nostalgic in tone; it's also a coming out party for Paul Maroon, whose unique The Edge-meets-garage-rock playing style and sumptuous guitar tones dominate You and Me.
Between these two hits is a diverse collage of songs and snippets, glued together by a generally pissy attitude. "Tenley Town" is a goddamn hardcore punk song (the band has roots in Washington D.C.); "All Hands and the Cook" has a gothic-organ-led stomp; "Brandy Alexander" returns to the boozy, mumbly style that's occasionally of the band's first two records; "Emma, Get Me a Lemon" soars; and I sing "This Job is Killing Me" every day (usually right after "The Executioner's Song" by Cass McCombs).
These are not immediately welcoming songs. They are written and performed in the mood of 80's underground punk; the mix is slightly off, the guitars have barbed edges, emotions run high. Nevertheless, the sound is wholly the Walkmen's. I return to "Tenley Town": in what other hardcore song does the guitar, I don't know, "flow" like Paul Maroon's? What other hardcore singer would dare to project to the sky-- not just scream or growl-- like Hamilton Leithauser?
Saturday, January 7, 2012
1/7/12: Pixies: Trompe Le Monde
Why don't people like Trompe Le Monde? I have a few theories:
1. Rock critics are slavishly devoted to the canon as it is. So Doolittle and Surfer Rosa, initially called brilliant, are still brilliant, and Bossanova and Trompe Le Monde, which aren't Doolittle or Surfer Rosa, are written off. Indie kids generally pay too much attention to rock critics.
2. Of the four songs I'd consider "hits" here-- "Planet of Sound," "Alec Eiffel," "U-Mass," and "Subbacultcha"-- two (the latter two) are kinda jokey.
3. The absence of Kim Deal, who gets just a few harmonies here and there, and no songs of her own.
4. A less-than-stellar opener in the title track, and a less-than-stellar finisher in the final track. (Compare them to "Caribou" and "Levitate Me," or "Debaser" and "Gouge Away.)
5. A pretty squeaky clean production style (definitely not Steve Albini), but also, weirdly, the most metallic songs of the band's career ("The Sad Punk," "Space (I Believe In)").
6. Trompe Le Monde does not have the songwriting quality of the band's previous efforts.
7. People are stupid.
In response to these theories:
1. My philosophy: read rock critics, heck, maybe even trust them a little bit, but do not let them dictate what you yourself find pleasing to the ear. If you genuinely hate "Straight Outta Compton" or the Beatles, continue to do so. For a while, I listened to the critical take on Trompe Le Monde rather than my own. That was a big mistake.
2. All of the Pixies' career is kinda jokey. "U-Mass" is probably the single dumbest Pixies song, but it's also a pretty great put-down, and "It's educationohhhhhhhhhhh!" is yet another brilliant Frank Black chorus. "Subbacultcha" rules, obviously.
3. When it comes to songwriting, Kim Deal was hardly an essential piece of the Pixies. Everyone loves "Gigantic," and with good reason, but the band was and will always be Frank Black's. He is no more a fascist dictator on this one than he is on the band's other records, all of which are driven by his voice, his lyrics, his melodies, and his vision.
4. The first and last song of Trompe Le Monde are the album's lowest points, a fact which puts it at odds with the traditional recipe for "classic" status. Neither "Trompe Le Monde" or "The Navajo Know" are bad, though... "Trompe" even gives you a nice preview of most of the album's ideas, many of which are contradictory (the soaring, melodic vocal line, the near-metal guitar, a weird breakdown, lyrics that reference both the cosmos and the band itself-- see #5 for more on all this).
5. Indie people hate extremes of cleanliness and dirtiness. But the producer here is Gil Norton, the same guy who did Doolittle and Bossanova. Trompe might be more explicitly poppy than either of those records, but it also rocks harder. The metallic songs are fantastic, too. Go ahead, count the hooks in "Space"... I always get lost along the way.
6. For diversity of songwriting, nothing in the Pixies' catalog tops Trompe (who puts "The Sad Punk" in-between the pop heaven of "Alec Eiffel" and a Jesus and Mary Chain cover that's better than anything that band ever did?). For quality, it ranks a close second behind Surfer Rosa. Or maybe not. Surfer rides mostly on its ferocity. Trompe gets by on its twisty, anthemic, gorgeous melodies.
7. Indeed.
1. Rock critics are slavishly devoted to the canon as it is. So Doolittle and Surfer Rosa, initially called brilliant, are still brilliant, and Bossanova and Trompe Le Monde, which aren't Doolittle or Surfer Rosa, are written off. Indie kids generally pay too much attention to rock critics.
2. Of the four songs I'd consider "hits" here-- "Planet of Sound," "Alec Eiffel," "U-Mass," and "Subbacultcha"-- two (the latter two) are kinda jokey.
3. The absence of Kim Deal, who gets just a few harmonies here and there, and no songs of her own.
4. A less-than-stellar opener in the title track, and a less-than-stellar finisher in the final track. (Compare them to "Caribou" and "Levitate Me," or "Debaser" and "Gouge Away.)
5. A pretty squeaky clean production style (definitely not Steve Albini), but also, weirdly, the most metallic songs of the band's career ("The Sad Punk," "Space (I Believe In)").
6. Trompe Le Monde does not have the songwriting quality of the band's previous efforts.
7. People are stupid.
In response to these theories:
1. My philosophy: read rock critics, heck, maybe even trust them a little bit, but do not let them dictate what you yourself find pleasing to the ear. If you genuinely hate "Straight Outta Compton" or the Beatles, continue to do so. For a while, I listened to the critical take on Trompe Le Monde rather than my own. That was a big mistake.
2. All of the Pixies' career is kinda jokey. "U-Mass" is probably the single dumbest Pixies song, but it's also a pretty great put-down, and "It's educationohhhhhhhhhhh!" is yet another brilliant Frank Black chorus. "Subbacultcha" rules, obviously.
3. When it comes to songwriting, Kim Deal was hardly an essential piece of the Pixies. Everyone loves "Gigantic," and with good reason, but the band was and will always be Frank Black's. He is no more a fascist dictator on this one than he is on the band's other records, all of which are driven by his voice, his lyrics, his melodies, and his vision.
4. The first and last song of Trompe Le Monde are the album's lowest points, a fact which puts it at odds with the traditional recipe for "classic" status. Neither "Trompe Le Monde" or "The Navajo Know" are bad, though... "Trompe" even gives you a nice preview of most of the album's ideas, many of which are contradictory (the soaring, melodic vocal line, the near-metal guitar, a weird breakdown, lyrics that reference both the cosmos and the band itself-- see #5 for more on all this).
5. Indie people hate extremes of cleanliness and dirtiness. But the producer here is Gil Norton, the same guy who did Doolittle and Bossanova. Trompe might be more explicitly poppy than either of those records, but it also rocks harder. The metallic songs are fantastic, too. Go ahead, count the hooks in "Space"... I always get lost along the way.
6. For diversity of songwriting, nothing in the Pixies' catalog tops Trompe (who puts "The Sad Punk" in-between the pop heaven of "Alec Eiffel" and a Jesus and Mary Chain cover that's better than anything that band ever did?). For quality, it ranks a close second behind Surfer Rosa. Or maybe not. Surfer rides mostly on its ferocity. Trompe gets by on its twisty, anthemic, gorgeous melodies.
7. Indeed.
1/7/12: Wilco: Yankee Hotel Foxtrot
I revisited this one with my brother while traveling back from Charleston, New Year’s Day, 2012. I hadn’t noticed before how downright depressed the whole thing is. (Important: not “depressing”… “depressed.”)
The “depression” manifests itself in two ways:
1. The rather slow and passionless singing and playing
2. The outrageously sad and self-pitying lyrics of Jeff Tweedy
Concerning point #1: there ain’t a single “happy” song here. More than that, there’s hardly even a “bright” song here. I would not call Summerteeth a “happy” record, but its cynicism was expressed in punchy, colorful ways; “I’m Always in Love” had huge drums and synths, and sappy hits like “She’s a Jar” had touching harmonica mini-solos. The somewhat joyful moments on Yankee Hotel Foxtrot—the piano parts on “War on War,” the annoying guitar on “I’m the Man who Loves You,” the choruses of “Heavy Metal Drummer” and “Jesus, Etc”— are still overlaid with a smothering blanket of sad ambience. Tweedy’s melodies are mostly beautiful, but the man makes no effort to draw them out, mumbling most of his words and practically demanding you to shout along at a higher octave. The less experimental and perhaps more “classic” Wilco tunes, such as “Camera” and “Pot Kettle Black,” are double-tracked in a manner that I’d call anti-Lennon: the second voice kills off the energy inherent to the melodies.
I haven’t even mentioned the three maudlin monsters of the record, which are far removed from the Wilco of Summerteeth, but still not quite as “far out” as people would have you believe. “I Am Trying to Break Your Heart” is probably the best and most unique of them, with its rambling folk melody and kind of serene cacophony. “Ashes of American Flags” is not quite as successful (for reasons I’ll explain in a second), but it’s still pretty epic, I suppose. It has guitar and piano hooks that its near-cousin “Reservations” (the final song on the album, and one of my least favorites) lacks.
Concerning point #2: Jesus fucking Christ Jeff Tweedy. Why the fuck are you so fucking sad? You have a wife and kids. You are the lead singer of a pretty great band, one that’s recording their first album with Glenn motherfucking Kotche. You live in America in what I can only assume is a nice neighborhood. And yet you give me this:
“I’m down on my hands and knees everytime that a doorbell rings / I shake like a toothache when I hear myself sing”
“Phone my family, tell em I’m lost on the sidewalk / And no it’s not OK”
“Cheer up, honey I hope you can / There is something wrong with me”
“I want a good life with a nose for things / a fresh wind and a bright sky to endure my suffering”
C’mon, man! Seriously? You don’t suck that bad. You don’t suck at all. So suck it up.
Some people probably respond to these lyrics, and to them I apologize. To me, they’re just a little overdone. Tweedy’s bludgeoning us with emotions. Perhaps I wouldn’t mind so much if he expressed himself in the style of “Misunderstood”—i.e. screamed— but he just mumbles these bits alongside everything else, ho hum.
The depressed-ness of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot makes it a unique record, but not a great one. I prefer a more varied emotional palette, like on a Ghost is Born, a record that’s less “produced” and more satisfying. Does there have to be a light in the darkness? I don’t think so. But if you’re gonna do something that’s entirely grey, you gotta have different shades. And maybe, I don’t know, try to actually “sing” a few tunes.
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