Radiohead: Kid A

Things to dislike about Kid A:

1.  Very pretentious.

2. The lyrics sound like they were drawn out of a hat.  And that's because they were.  Which is a pretty pretentious way of coming up with lyrics.

3.  "Fodder for the animals / Living on Animal Farm."  That's a coherent lyric, I guess.  But aren't Orwell references in rock songs kind of passe?  Like, leave that shit to Roger Waters.

4.  Very few of the songs resemble traditional rock and roll, even traditional art rock.  There are few things you could describe as "choruses."  One of those things goes "I'm not here / This isn't happening."  Which, like, you're a rock star, get over your shit.

5. It's hard to dance to.  I suppose you can jump around to "Idioteque" the way Thom Yorke does.  But even that requires you to be pretty weird.

6. If the album is indeed a concept record, then it is a maddeningly vague one.  Because, again, the lyrics were drawn out of a hat.  The frozen landscapes on the cover have some folks saying the record is about the apocalypse.  And that might be true.  But if that is the case, then how come Thom is so concerned about the goddamn furniture on "Morning Bell"?  Like, the fucking world is ending, man!  Ice Age coming, Ice Age coming.  He's probably talking about the movie Ice Age.

7. Where are the guitars?

8. Where are the hooks?

9.  Guitar hooks?  Nowhere!

10.  I guess the band was kind of embarrassed by how fun and rocking OK Computer was/is.  They seemed determine to make a record that didn't rock at all.  Though I guess some it rocks.  "Optimistic" has that heavy riff.  "The National Anthem," too, with that bassline that doesn't change at all.

11.  Very repetitive.  "Everything.  Everything.  Everything.  Everything.  In its right place."  Did you really need four everythings to make that clear?

12, "Treefingers" isn't all that great.

The Stooges: Raw Power

Two kinds of people: Bowie mix people, and Iggy mix people.

Bowie mix people:

"Ooh, look! Some art!  How delightful!  What a fine piece to observe while drinking tea and listening to the fuzzy, artsy stylings of the groundbreaking Iggy Pop and the Stooges' record, "Raw Power."  Yes, oh.  Just me and my students observing art and listening to Iggy Pop in New York, how great.  What a cutting edge transition between the Velvet Underground and Patti Smith!  It's the missing link, oh."

Iggy mix people:

"YEAHHHHHHHHH!  YEAH, YEAH, YEAH!  WHOOOO!!  ROCK!  AND!  ROLL!"




I'd much rather be around the latter group.

Rolling Stones: Black and Blue

Mick hates it.  But who cares what Mick thinks, really?  Does his distaste for this record come from the fact that it's not so typically "Stonesy"?  The band has been playing themselves playing themselves for decades now, and seem to have forgotten that what made the Stones great was not just the stupid dirty sexy rock image: it was the songs, and the variety.  "Black and Blue" has eight, tremendously varied songs.  I think it might be the band's most underrated record ("Satanic Majesty" seems to have finally found the freaky cult it deserves), and maybe their third best from the 70s.

It's loose, it's jammy, it's all about grooves.  But, again, different grooves.  "Hot Stuff" does the pre-"Miss You" disco thing.  "Hand of Fate" is a Keith riffy rock groove.  "Cherry Oh Baby" is a reggae cover.  "Melody" is smoky barroom jazz groovy fun, with Billy Preston!  "Hey Negrita" is filthy!  "Crazy Mama" is great!  And you want ballads?  Well, the near clones "Memory Motel" and "Fool to Cry" kill!

Still, no questions the diversity of the record, and most people hate it, still.  So why is it all so great?  I think the production helps.  The band seems to have temporarily kicked their drugs, at least in the studio... So everything is crystal clear.  The songs that were designed to be great, like "Fool to Cry," are so made greater, and the songs that are obvious "throwaways," like "Cherry," are pretty damn fun to sing along to.

This is the Stones REALLY being the Stones, i.e. not being "The Stones, the planet's best rock band, or whatever."  This is the Stones experimenting!  This is the Stones branching out!  That's the Stones, guys!  That's the real Stones!

D'Angelo: Black Messiah

The immediate response to "Black Messiah" has been positive, to say the least.  So allow me to anticipate the backlash to this very good record with a bit of my own contrarian shittiness.

The typical crack on D'Angelo is that the man doesn't really have an identity of his own.  Yes, he has a "sound" that is easy to identify as the "D'Angelo sound"-- think spare but groovy percussion, put super high in the mix; some guitar licks and keyboard riffs sprinkled in here and there; multi-tracked falsetto vocals all over the damn-- but that sound is really just a mixture of previously existing soul sounds.  "Voodoo" was Al Green and Marvin Gaye; "Black Messiah" adds in a bunch of Funkadelic guitars and Parliament studio whackery.

For me, the lack of "sonic originality" isn't too big of a deal.  As Dave Marsh has pointed out, soul music is syncretic: getting from one act to another usually just involves adding or subtracting a few time-tested elements (example: The Isley Brothers are Motown funk with Hendrix pyrotechnics).  What bugs me, then, at least on "Black Messiah," is the seeming lack of "vision."  The timing of the record's release and its somewhat pompous liner notes ask us to view it as a political album (certainly, 90% of the critical establishment has not had a problem following these cues).  But I dunno.  What is political about "Black Messiah" isn't exactly deep-- cool a couplet as it may be, "All we wanted was a chance to talk / 'stead we only got outlined in chalk" says not-a-whole-lot about contemporary race relations-- and what isn't political about "Black Messiah," is, well, most of the record.  Lyrics like the aforementioned couplet get pasted to the front of the mix every so often, which might lead one to think that the majority of the record is social commentary.  But what about all those words you can't locate any meaning at all for, given how mumbled D's vocals are and how much noise his band creates?

"1000 Deaths" is an angry rock song, so, alright, we'll say that one is political.  "The Charade" has that line I just quoted... So obviously that too.  That leaves us with 10 songs, i.e. the majority of the record.  "Ain't That Easy" is a classic D'Angelo boast.  "Sugah Daddy" is about, uh, a Sugah Daddy (I'm assuming... again... It's VERY hard to make out the words on this album... the insane amount of vocal effects does not help.)  "Really Love" is a love song.  "Another Life" probably is, too.  "The Door" is a break-up song.  "Til It's Done" and "Prayer" COULD be political, but only if we interpret them in the loosest metaphorical sense.  Same goes for "Back to the Future": a biased critic might see "I just wanna go back baby / Back to the way we were" as some longing for a better political past, but it could just as easily be a lament for lost love (especially as the past for blacks in America has not exactly been, you know, GREAT).

What I'm trying to say is that "Black Messiah" is not a political record.  If it is about anything, then it's probably about the subject of all D'Angelo's prior records: himself.  This is not necessarily in itself a bad thing.  I mean, shit... He IS the Black Messiah: I don't care what his liner notes say.  He knows that only HE is making this sort of soul music in the year 2014.  He knows that if he doesn't resurrect these smooth rhythmic sounds for this generation, no one will.

But even if we imagine that "Black Messiah" is a record about bringing the past to life-- a record about resurrection-- it doesn't really hold together.  In some respects, this is a great thing.  For one, these songs are fantastically diverse: ranging from funk-metal ("1000 Deaths," which I HAVE to mention again, if only because everyone else has mentioned it a million times, too) to pop-jazz ("Betray My Heart," which might be the closest we get to a "classic D'Angelo ballad" here, and also doubles nicely as a statement of purpose), and then from rough-hewn soul ("Ain't That Easy," which would be a perfect opener if not for the distracting VOCAL EFFECTS, GOD) to psychedelic tapestries of sound ("The Charade" is pretty bad-ass).  Sadly, the diversity has a dark side: too many of these songs feel underdeveloped, included to show D'Angelo's breadth... at the tragic expense of his depth.  "The Door," for example, is nice, but I really do wish the man had come up with a melody line that didn't just mimic the whistle and guitar part to a tee.  "Sugah Daddy" is a ton of fun, but jeez, is it ever lightweight: even "Chicken Grease" seems to have more edge to it.  Part Two of "Back to the Future" is just a reprise of Part One's admittedly cool bridge: why does it exist?

This gets back to what I was saying about vision.  D has put together some very, very nice sounds here.  But... Dammit... What's the POINT?  Where's the EMOTION?  Where's the MEANING?  Show me one song here that is even a fraction as affecting as "Africa."  You can't.  Shit, you can't even show me one that's as balls-out as "How Does It Feel?," which was a SINGLE last time around.  None of the love songs on "Black Messiah" are as sexy as "The Line," and none are as intimate and beautiful as "The Root."

Essentially, D'Angelo comes off like a schizophrenic musical sociopath on this, his comeback record.  It's like he felt the need to touch every soul base but forgot to include, err, SOUL.  All the time and effort put into "Black Messiah" SHOWS: what's lacking is the spark that turned nearly everything on "Voodoo" into a stone classic.

But what do I mean by "spark"?  Honestly... It's hard to say.  There's just something missing here.  You know what it might be?  It might be D'Angelo's voice.  On "Brown Sugar" and "Voodoo," D makes it very clear what his most valuable asset is.  He puts it up front, he enunciates his lyrics, he double-tracks it, layers it, and does everything with it: coos, yelps, cries, croons, shouts, raps, etc.  On "Black Messiah," D obscures his voice, and constantly.  There are very few places here where we really care about what D himself has to sing-- the focus is always on someone or something else, be it a crazzzy horn part or an army of distorting effects.

Which makes me wonder: D'Angelo is pushing forty.  Has he lost his voice?

I shudder when I think of these things.  If I've seemed harsh this time around, know that it's because I love the man.  Truthfully, there is much to love about "Black Messiah," and a handful of songs that easily belong in the D'Angelo canon.  But we all need to settle down a bit, I think.  Let's think about how we appraise lest the backlash overwhelm any hope of a true soul revival.  Yes?

D'Angelo: Voodoo

"Voodoo"... a fine title, indeed.  It is a stew of influences, this record: a smooth blend of Sly Stone horns, Marvin Gaye voices, Prince rhythms, Al Green come-ons, and, err, Method Man and Redman.  But the way it works on you, the listener, is a kind of Voodoo, too: it takes a while, but once it gets you, it fucking absolutely fucking POSSESSES you.

I remember the first time I listened to it.  It didn't seem like much, then; in fact, it struck me as a record that would be fairly easy to dismiss.  The drum tracks all seemed identical, and you could probably count to ten in the space between any two snare hits.  The bass grooves were deep, but also simple, mostly based around a couple notes repeated to infinity.  And D'Angelo himself was charming, but not too original-sounding: a guy who had a million voices, none of which he could truly call his own.

So I let the CD sit there and I composed little invectives against all the samey-sounding tracks on the record... The way "Playa Playa" started the record off weakly, the jarring inclusion of Method and Red, the general lyrical corniness, the go-nowhere-ness of "The Root," etc.

Imagine my surprise when I sorta started to like "Spanish Joint," and started to see it as a weird detour on a record that was otherwise very monotonous.  The speed of the groove got me into it... The near zaniness of D'Angelo's vocal arrangement kept me there.

In being kept there, I gradually got invested in "Feel Like Makin Love," the album's next track, as well.  Not D'Angelo's song, but still: that goddamn drum sound.  That huge drum-and-clap-and-organ beat that just could not be denied.  And the horn break, which was straight out of "There's A Riot Goin On"...But did even Sly ever come up with a groove so irresistibly groovy?

Can you see where this is going?  Next came the single, "How Does It Feel?," which sports one of the all-time great soul guitar licks.  After that, "Chicken Grease," bolstered by, again, an infectious guitar line and a seemingly bottomless groove.  Then "The Line," with its incredible chorus, so full of innuendo but still smooth and sly as fuck.  "Playa Playa" soon became a GREAT way to start a record-- both an epic brag and utter proof of the boast-- just as "Africa" became a perfect closer-- hushed, intimate, and utterly beautiful.

I still haven't gotten into "One Mo Gin."  Gimme some time... I'm sure I'll come around.  "Voodoo" is an immaculately written and conceived record, through and through.  I still cannot tell you exactly why.  At a certain point, though, songs that begin by sounding identical all develop unique identities, from the Sam Cookey balladry of "Send it On" to the gritty social commentary of "Devil's Pie."  D'Angelo finds that special place that Stevie Wonder once occupied, a musical zone where everything feels both intensely personal and appealingly universal, and he keeps it up for SEVENTY minutes.  It's an incredible achievement.

The Velvet Underground: White Light, White Heat

It seems safe to say that the Velvet Underground are one of the most overrated bands of all time.  Yes, everything they did was very, very, oh-so important, and all the album covers are iconic, and Lou Reed, and Nico, and feedback, and Warhol, yes, yes, so influential.  But have you listened to their records lately?

"White Light, White Heat" has a reputation as one of the first and best "noise rock" or "proto punk" records.  Noisy, it unquestionably is.  The thing is drenched in feedback, and not of the stylized, great-sounding Hendrix variety: we're talking raw explosions of guitar dissonance.  We're talking "Sister Ray," which is seventeen minutes of the same, distorted-ass three-chord guitar riff.  We're talking "The Gift," which is eight minutes of sludgy jamming underneath a stupid story that you probably thought was clever in high school but is actually kind of overwrought and meaningless.

"The Gift" could stand for the entire record, in fact.  Like much of the Velvets career, the whole thing is just so damn surface level.  It's goal is not to make you dance, and certainly not to MOVE you: it's to shock you.  It's to make you think, "Wow, these guys are so smart and clever!"  The first time you hear the super HILARIOUS IRONICAL ending of "The Gift"-- O. Henry lite, if ya ask me-- you think, "Wow."  But once you're over that initial state of shock, there's not much else to do.  It's hard to latch onto the actual music of "The Gift," which is based around TWO chords for, again, EIGHT minutes.  TWO chords, EIGHT minutes, no variation, no sub-riffs, no melodic ideas.  Yeah, important.  But good?

"The Gift" is an art project.  The Velvet Underground is an art project.  They had talent.  Lou Reed and Sterling Morrison were great guitar players when they wanted to be-- check out the riffs and solos on the band's excellent self-titled release for evidence.  They seemed capable of terrific rock and roll, but "White Light White Heat" is, by and large, NOT rock and roll.  It is arty noise, or noisy art.  And not even great art, because, once more, there ain't much depth to it.  It's all about visceral thrills.

Course, "visceral thrills" do work in rock and roll, and quite well, if done right.  "Fun House" by the Stooges doesn't have a great deal of variety or philosophical weight, but it is tremendous rock and roll, because the Stooges seem to believe in it, and the invest a time and effort into their music that seems to be too passe for super-cool New Yorkers.  The tracks on "White Light White Heat" that COULD be as exciting as, say, "Down on the Street"-- "I Heard Her Call My Name" and "Sister Ray" in particular-- are sabotaged by poor production and poor songwriting decisions.  The two-chord (see a pattern?) groove that occupies most of the space of "Call My Name" could have been masterful, like the band's later "What Goes On," but they spoil it with muddy drums and endless guitar noodling.  (How come it's cool when Lou does it, but lame when Yes does it, by the way?)

The two songs here that I'd say work as both great rock and possible art are, surprise, the two shortest and most "conventional."  The title track is a Phil-Spector-by-way-of-hell masterpiece-- everything seems pushed up to the front, and Lou Reed is in full-on bad-ass don't-give-a-fuck mode.  And "Here She Comes Now" is pretty!  (Though Nirvana would later turn it into the sort of "actually rocking" rock song that the Velvets were always too pretentious to attempt.)

The rest are just so terribly flawed.  Is is supposed to sound this way, i.e. shitty?  I don't care.  You can be lo-fi and still write engaging melodies (see Guided by Voices).  You can be noisy and still dynamic (see "Let it Bloom" by the Black Lips).  You can be arty and still FUN (see... shit... Richard Hell?).

Time to stop sucking up to the New York press, rockers.  A "knowingness" about rock does not indicate a "rockingness" about music.

ICEAGE: You're Nothing

Alternative rock, indie rock, rock and roll-- everyone knows it's sissy and lame now, so it's great to hear a band attempt what ICEAGE attempts on "You're Nothing," i.e. aggressive, high-energy guitar music, with screaming and feedback and noise and short, punchy tracks.

The problem for me here, then, is in the execution.  Simply put, there's hardly a hook to be found.  I don't mind this too much on the songs that attempt chaos (though even then, the band seems to be using chaos as a thing in itself, and not as a thing that can articulate, oh, cool songwriting ideas).  My beef is mostly with the songs that slow down and attempt something "arty."  They just don't work.  The guitar playing is not interesting enough, the singer is not dynamic enough, the rhythm section is mired in punk rock cliches.  At some points, the band even sounds TIRED, which is NEVER good for a hardcore-ish album.

But it's not an awful album, no.  I'll take a hundred copies of this record over whatever New Order ripoff shit money-grubbing useless tool band is playing on your local indie rock station.  Still, one wishes the album had more songs like its pretty amazing title track, which grabs hold of your attention and throttles it, with somehow increasing fury, for two minutes.  "YOU'RE NUUTTTTTHINGGGG"... That's a tremendous hook.  That's some Ian MacKaye shit.  That's what ICEAGE needs to do more.

The Walkmen: You & Me

Sometimes I put this record on and I think, "I wish every record sounded just like this.  You know, with a nice soft rumbling foundation of nostalgic organ, reverbed guitar, and deep percussive grooves.  And a guy yelling awesome lyrics on top."

And sometimes I think, a second later, "No no no.  There can only be one."

Fucked Up: Glass Boys

"Glass Boys" is a serious record made by a band that is doing exactly what they want to do.  As a 40-minute long reflection on aging, punk ethics, and the business of rock and roll, it has to count as a major success.  You'll find more quotable lyrics and potent observations in any one song here-- particularly if you select one written by Mike Haliechuk, the band's guitarist, who seems to me a far more efficient wordsmith than the occasionally verbose Damian Abraham, the band's singer-- than in the entire discography of, say, Green Day.  The arrangements are fittingly fleshed out and frequently, err, pretty sad.  There's a sense when listening to "Glass Boys" that it will be the band's swan song.

Which is a shame, because while "Glass Boys" is philosophically profound, it doesn't really "rock."  And if you ask me, the thing Fucked Up does best-- as demonstrated by their masterpiece, "Hidden World"-- is rock.  Early Fucked Up songs were smart, too, but they were also fun.  Fun as hell!  Is the political content of "Crusades" just a little more obvious than the political content of "Warm Change"?  Sure.  But one song feels alive, free, wild... and the other feels like a mechanism for distributing political content.

This brings me to the question that I think Fucked Up themselves discuss in "Glass Boys": is punk music even a reliable way to communicate complex ideas?  As time goes by, and nothing changes, I increasingly think, "No... It is not."  Because punk music is distorted.  Because punk music makes you sing and dance.  Because punk music is fun.  And because fast tempos often demand that lyrics be garbled.  And because garbled lyrics of the complex-ish kind often require very simplistic melodies to convey them.  Very simplistic melodies that are, in turn, not much fun to listen to after a while.

The melodies on "Glass Boys" are better than those on "David Comes to Life," I think, but they still feel restrictive, lame.  They wear you out.  Damian Abraham is a good frontman when, like his band, he has space to breathe, as on all of "Hidden World" and most of "The Chemistry of Common Life."  Here, he just sounds kind of... neutered.  It doesn't help when the production is dense like a mattress of rock... The only things the listener is allowed to pick out of the mix of "Glass Boys" are the things which the producers have decided to float to the top occasionally-- a stray guitar line, drum beat, or Damian.

All of which is to say I admire "Glass Boys," and I think it could be a classic album, but not because it is rocking or fun or even very good, musically speaking.  Which could mean it's an "anti-classic," or something.

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.