8/19/13: Beck: Midnite Vultures

Midnite Vultures is Beck's most sincere record, as well as his best.  Unfortunately, Midnite Vultures is also fun and funny, which means that most critics were disappointed in it, at least when it came out.  A respectable rock critic near the turn of the century was much more likely to find power and profundity in Sea Change, a draggy folk record that sounds mostly boring now.  There's been a bias against the body in rock criticism ever since... I dunno... Sgt Pepper?... And thanks to this, any record by a white person that has attempted to make you dance in the last several decades has suffered in the critical papers.

But, yeah, this one is Beck's best.  The one where he perfects his strengths (the things absent from Sea Change; you know, like eclecticism and enthusiasm and unpredictability) and minimizes his weaknesses.  Beck's never been a great melody writer, sorry, which is why his folk records (SC, Mutations, One Foot in the Grave, the mediocre half of Mellow Gold) have never as good as his groove records (this one, Odelay, the good half of Mellow Gold).  Midnite Vultures weaves the hooks into the grooves, fusing pop and funk in a near-perfect tribute to the master, Prince.

And it never grows old.  The jokes here are both lyrical and musical and I laugh at them every time.  The banjo and pedal-steel breakdown on "Sexx Lawws."  The entire second verse of "Nicotine and Gravy."  NORMAN SCHWARTZKOPF!  The random, beautiful Johnny Marr guitar break closing out "Milk and Honey."  The ecstatic screams in "Debra."  "You make a garbage man scream!"

Beware, though: the record is fun.  So if you're a serious person, you might hate it.

6/17/13: Jeff Beck Group: Truth and Beck-Ola

Hey, whoa, these albums are a blast!  Like Zep without the pomp, like Sabbath without the evil, like a boozier, cooler, more distorted Yardbirds who just wants to blow your face off with ROCK.  Mostly bluesy stuff and covers, though that stuff's elevated thanks to the great production (dig that rhythm section!  yeahhhh dancin time!!!) and terrific voice of young Rod Stewart, who has a gruffness and manliness that way too many hard rock singers (weirdly) lack.  The non-bluesy stuff is real cool, too... A hilarious (given it's hard-rockin context) Nicky Hopkins instrumental, a beautiful pre-prog-piece called "Beck's Bolero," Jeff's wonderfully soothing interpretation of "Greensleeves," and a few excellent riff rockers.  There's nothing too extraordinary here, and nothing you'll hear on classic rock radio... But that's what makes it great!  This is enthusiastic, fun, unpretentious but not-boring rock music.

And here I thought Jeff Beck was just a big, stupid wanker.

5/30/12: Bruce Springsteen: Born in the USA

So what is this thing?  An epic compromise of Bruce's vision?  Or one of the most subversive "fun" albums ever made?  Either way, it's a jarring experience, for me.  If you gave me just the music to "Workin' On A Highway," I sincerely doubt I'd give it lyrics about abducting a girl and going to jail.  I probably wouldn't arrange the rather bleak lyrics of the title track around the simplest, most stupidly crowd-pleasing synthesizer riff in Bruce's canon, either.

Do we call this fusion of pop and art the work of a "genius"?  Or of a "sellout"?

I suppose these questions beg the larger question of whether "serious" lyrics always require "serious" music.  We've been told for a long time that, yeah, they do.  Hence, "Plastic Ono Band" is a serious album built on seriously minimal pieces ("Ram" is not understood as "serious," because it has colorful arrangements and a less confessional tone.  Bah!).

Isn't this a rather restrictive way to look at music?  Why can't we sing about never wanting to go outside again to the squeal of a fun, funky guitar riff?

I don't know.

4/2/13: Jimi Hendrix Experience: Are You Experienced?

This is the way to experience the experience.  If ya ask me, Jimi was one of those talents who required a structure to play off of-- he's a king noodler without a strong melody or time constraint to guide him.  (Jeff Buckley and Van Morrison are the same away.)  This first record is like a jungle gym for his skills.  There are no long, drippy solos, and even in the longer, more improvisational songs, the emphasis is one bending YOUR mind, not Jimi bending his own.  We have structure here, in the form of short, punchy, unbeatable rock songs ("Fire," "Purple Haze," you know), downtempo but forward-moving, gorgeous pop ballads ("May This Be Love," "The Wind Cries Mary"), psychedelic riffing ("Third Stone From the Sun"), and freaky combinations of all three (the clearly made-up-on-the-spot, but still classic, title track; the best version of  "Hey Joe" ever put on tape, etc).  The whole thing rules front to back, even if the sequencing is kinda funny.  Basically, it's a one-of-a-kind record, the finest document of Jimi's singing, guitar playing, and songwriting, with hardly a wasted moment.  (Compare to the multitude of wasted moments on his other two studio albums, and the multitude of wasted moment albums that have been released following his death.)

3/25/13: Fiona Apple: The Idler Wheel...

One of those "mad genius" albums, in the same vein as Neil Young's "Tonight's the Night," Syd Barrett's "Madcap Laughs," and (I'd argue) Wilco's "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot."  It's probably better than those, though, and certainly more fully realized... Fiona projects her "madness" onto some terrific, and terrifically unconventional, melodies, and the percussion arrangements don't feel tacked on after the fact (like, say, the electronic bloops in "YHF")-- they feel like counter-pieces to her singing.  The result is a kind of duet between  piano and drums, words and emotions.

It's pretty fucking eerie.  Again, these are "mad" songs, "raw" songs, but they are not lazy demo songs.  These chords have been thought out; these vocal inflections, as sudden as they are, all make sense in a way. "The Idler Wheel" is thus an album that will shock you the first time AND hold up to repeated listens.

Very thoughtful lyrics, too.  The way Fiona describes her anxieties ("the fight with her BRAY-YAY-HAY-HAY-HAY-HAY-HAY-HAY-HAINNNN") goes so far beyond the standard "I'm insane" patterns of rock words.  You end up knowing and caring for her protagonist (who is, uh, her), even though she hardly presents a stable, respectable character-type.

Who else is making music like this?  Surely this was THE album of 2012.

3/19/13: The Temptations: Masterpiece

I probably have not listened to this one enough to properly "review" it, but this dumb blog is hardly a proper "reviews site," so forget it.  Masterpiece is not a masterpiece (ho ho ho ho HOOOOO), but it's still pretty damn great.  Why is it not placed in the same echelon as Innervisions and What's Going On and other Motown classics of social commentary (and funk)?  Probably because the Temptations didn't write their own songs.  But who cares, right?  Norman Whitfield DID write these songs, and Norman Whitfield rules.  Sure, it all sounds a lot like "Papa Was a Rollin Stone."  But who cares, right?  "Papa" rules, too, and these are not straight carbon copies.  They're just all (with one exception) dark, and all funky, and mostly paranoid.  Who doesn't like that in music?  "Dark," "funky," and "paranoid"... has that not always been a three-word formula for success?

I'm going to argue that, on this day, Masterpiece, the album, is better than What's Going On.

3/19/13: Titus Andronicus: Local Business

This is going to sound tautological, but here we go: if you're not a true fan of Titus Andronicus, you probably won't enjoy Local Business, the band's third and most poorly received long player.  Everybody loved The Monitor, and with good reason: that angry and ambitious record was the Zen Arcade of the 2010s, a concept record with hooks and ideas galore, a fusion of the Pogues, the Mats, the Boss, and the Conor Oberst that was familiar in its parts but unprecedented as a whole (find me a better, more fully realized lyrics sheet in the past ten years).  The conventional wisdom regarding Local Business is that it is not as good as the Monitor and thus, a pretty major disappointment.

So let's make a list, here.  What does Local Business lack that the Monitor possessed?  There are a few things...
1. A unifying "concept," or at least, an immediately apparent one.  The Civil War allusions of the Monitor held everything together-- there is no such linking piece here.  There are no spoken word bits at all, in fact, something which disconnects Local Business from the band's first record, the Airing of Grievances (which is just ok), as well.
2. Horns.  And bagpipes.  And all instruments other than guitars, bass, drums, and occasional pianner.  The tapestry of sound is not as thick or as instantly impressive as that of the Monitor, I'll admit.
3. Huge shouty hooks.  There are a few things on Local Business that come close to "THE ENEMY IS EVERYWHERE" and "YOU WILL ALWAYS BE A LOSER" and "IT'S STILL US AGAINST THEM"... but the "choruses" here are certainly dialed back a few notches.

These things are all missed, yes, for sure.  I mean, who doesn't love a good bagpipe solo?  Who doesn't love to shout?  The fortunate thing is that Titus Andronicus is a smart band, and they've replaced what's gone from the Monitor with a few new things that are pretty ear tickling in their own right.  Things like...

1. Melodies.  I mean, pretty strong, pretty poppy, pretty pretty melodies.  Not just Irish folk ripoffs.  Patrick sings this time.  There's an element of beauty here that's not on the Monitor, especially on the Springsteeny one-two punch of "In a Big City" and "In a Small Body."
2. An interest in "band dynamics."  I still firmly believe that TA is the Stickles show.  But there's no question that the band on Local Business feels more like a band band.  The guitar and vocal harmonies go far beyond the drunk-punk screaming of the Monitor.  These songs feel less pieced together than the Monitor's, more loose and "organic," I dare say.  Ostensibly dumb throwaways like "I Am the Electric Man" have a breezy charm too them.

And many things remained unchanged, praise the lord, such as...

1. Great, great, great lyrics.  This is rap-level detail (including, of course, the many scatological references).
2. A general interest, despite the intensity and sadness of the band's words, in rocking the fuck out.
3. Combining my first two points: a sometimes disturbing level of Stickles' life and personality on display, reaching its height in "My Eating Disorder," a career highlight, and one of the few rock songs I know to have ever dealt with psychological anxiety in physical pain in such a specific, anxious + painful way.
4. Sweet guitar solos!

In short, if The Monitor was TA's Zen Arcade, Local Business to me seems like their Let It Be (Replacements).  This is a personal album, fraught with disappointment and insecurity, yes, but also joy and hilarity.  It's a guitar rock record with heart and soul, one where even the silly "filler" tracks feel necessary.  It's full of anthems, ups and downs, and hooks, and I love it.

2/18/13: George Harrison: All Things Must Pass

The most Beatley of all the Beatles solo records-- the only one that attempts the sort of epic, life-changing grandeur that defined the Fab Four in their later years.  While John was singing about himself and Paul was singing about cutesy crap (not really, but, you know), George-- at least on this record-- was talking about the world, and God, and life, and really really big things in general.  He supplements his huge themes with some of the biggest, most multi-layered arrangements ever.  "All Things Must Pass"... If John gave an album that title, it'd be a dirge-fest.  For George, it's a celebration, a sweeping embrace of the totality of life, as well as the necessity of death.

Is there a song that's not good and meaningful here?  The Dylan cover has the lamest lyrics on the record, and it still takes on a spiritual cast thanks to George's ridiculously gorgeous slide guitar work.

What the album is, essentially, is a bunch of variations on "While My Guitar Gently Weeps"... Same stately style, same wailing guitars, same cosmic vision... Only here, the vision comes in colors, most of them bright, but a few even darker than we're used to from Mr. Don't Bother Me ("Isn't It a Pity" is like the beautifully sad flip-side to "Hey Jude").

Good for George!

1/23/13: Marvin Gaye: What's Going On

A very difficult album to write about.  It's a beautiful record, with a sophisticated and urban and soulful sound  (it's like the concept of "hope" embodied by notes).  You'd be a fool to dismiss it, but I think you'd also be a little naive to call it an interesting political statement.  Marvin is obviously an interesting guy, and you hear in his voice a sort of nuance, a combination of pain and peace and thwarted ambition and intelligence and compassion and anger, that is simply not in the man's lyrics.  Only two songs here, the masterful singles "Inner City Blues" and the title track, have even a hint of the generation-defining poetry that we've always been told the whole album possesses.

The album's other seven tracks form a kind of super-medley.  They all sound very similar-- you know that incredibly rousing intro to "Mercy Mercy Me," with the glockenspiels and the drums and such?  Yeah, that's pretty much at the beginning of every song.  I don't have a problem with this, though.  If there had to be a Motown album where the musicians deserved back-of-the-cover credit, it'd be this one: there is no other record that sounds like it.  It's a coming out party for the experimental and artsy tendencies of Motown's insanely gifted group of players.  Hence, the middle sevens songs all sound jammy and cool and pretty formless, with nary a tune in sight.

A song works on What's Going On when it successfully combines that sound with enough of a tune to allow Marvin to explore his character, i.e. his voice.  "Songs" like "Save the Children," which is basically a (crappy) poem, are sort of flat and corny.  "Right On" seems like a dream at first-- seven minutes of this sound?  WOW-- until you realize that the jam isn't really going to go anywhere, and that Marvin himself doesn't really plan on adding much to it.

ALL THAT BEING SAID, if I have to tell you how great "What's Going On," "Inner City Blues," "Mercy Mercy Me," or even "Flying High in the Friendly Sky" are, then either...

1. You do not possess What's Going On, and you should.

or

2. You do possess What's Going On, and you are an irredeemable idiot.

1/23/13: The White Stripes: De Stijl

I want to emphasize again the difference between the White Stripes and a typical Detroit garage rock band, a difference which “De Stijl” epitomizes.  A typical Detroit garage rock band rages at you all night with thrashing electric guitars.  The White Stripes, on “De Stijl,” employ pianos, harmonicas, electric fiddles, and other soothing sounds.  A TDGRB writes only about sex and drugs.  The White Stripes, on “De Stijl,” write about school, and birds, and domestic bliss.  ATDGRB pretty much has one mood and one style.  The White Stripes, on “De Stijl,” offer more styles than their already varied debut, ranging from slide-guitar jams (“Little Bird”) to country (“Your Southern Can is Mine”) to pop (“Apple Blossom”) to Led-Zeppelin-ish-stomp (“Why Can’t You Be Nicer to Me”) to balladry (“Sister Do Your Know My Name,” “A Boy’s Best Friend”).

De Stijl is a brave record.  It’s soul-baring and listenable and, often, (gasp) gentle.  It shows the breadth of Jack White’s record collection, his willingness to absorb a huge sum of influences from across the musical map.  And though it’s a very, very simple record, maybe moreso than the debut, it shows an increasing amount of ambition.

First song, “Your Pretty Good Looking (For a Girl)": the best melody Jack's constructed yet.  It helps that the man has discovered a new voice for himself, a sincere and unaffected tenor that he uses for much of De Stijl and White Blood Cells (and would forget about once he became a big flashy rock star).  It gives that "this feeling's still GON-NA / Linger onnn" hook a nice, soft punch, and goes great with a crunchy guitar riff.

What else?  The whole record is full of folksy but mostly non-whimsical melodies, sung well, played with varying amounts of distortion.  The cover of "Death Letter" is one of the great White Stripes songs, turning a classic Son House number into a non-sleazy-but-plenty-slidey dance jam.  (This is how you play a guitar... How does Jack get such a thick, booty-shake-inducing sound with just Meg-- read, no bass-- to back him up?)

So I guess what really gets me about De Stijl is how it's a rock album, no question, just one that has very little to do with "cock."  It makes you move and bob your head and occasionally sit and meditate without filling your head with thoughts about what a worthless, slimy, perverted, semi-misogynist piece of shit you and every other man in the world is.  (AC/DC have always been better at making me feel this way than, say, Bikini Kill.)  

1/23/13: The White Stripes: The White Stripes

The White Stripes were not the only band in Detroit doing garage rock at the end of the twentieth century.  So what made them different?  What set them apart from the dirty, smelly, un-tuned pack, and turned them into internationally renowned superstars?  There’s the obvious things.  The color scheme.  The whole “two members” thing (no bass!).  The weird mythology.  But there was music, too.  Jack White was not the best singer or guitar player or songwriter in 1999 (and he is certainly not that now), but he had a musical vision, even then, and a distinct way of seeing that vision through.  The White Stripes’ first record is a strikingly confident and competent debut— you can tell, listening to it now, that Mister Jack wanted to be much more than a mere player in Michigan music rags.  

What impresses me most, I think, is its variety.  There are the obligatory garage rock rave-ups here (“When I Hear My Name,” “Jimmy the Exploder,” “Screwdriver,” “Broken Bricks” et al… and all wonderfully done), but there’s also cutesy folk (“Sugar Never Tasted So Good”), dramatic ballads (“Suzy Lee,” “Wasting My Time”), heavy blues (“I Fought Piranhas”), semi-political punk (“The Big Three Killed My Baby”) and a pretty daring selection of covers (they do “Stop Breakin Down,” which the Stones did on fucking EXILE ON MAIN STREET, and Dylan’s “One More Cup of Coffee,” and the blues standard “St James Infirmary”).  Jack’s moods swing wildly, from childish joy to bitter rage— pretty impressive, given he’s just using a guitar and Meg to convey this stuff.

“Eclecticism,” yes, that’s the word.  That’s what made the Stripes a band apart, even from the get go.  That, and not caring what the hell cool people think.  Has any other Detroit band ever attempted a rocker as plaintive as “Do”?  Or a popper as disarming as “Sugar Never Tasted So Good”?  (For that matter, has any Detroit band ever sang about “Sugar” without it being a euphemism for the female anatomy?)  These two qualities of the Stripes would be expanded and refined over the group’s next two records.  Jack’s mostly a riff-man on this one—the really strong pop melodies would come later— but his guitar playing already exhibits the kind of efficiency that would make Johnny Ramone nod (see what he does with just TWO notes on “Astro” and “Big Three” ?  THE SAME TWO NOTES, I’m pretty sure).

“The White Stripes” is the band’s only “true” garage-rock album; as such, its one of the best in said genre that I’ve ever heard.  Only a few filler tracks (“Slicker Drips,” “Little People”) prevent it from being on par with the group’s next two semi-masterpieces.