It's hard sometimes, when a band has released a brilliant album - like, say, Exile in Guyville - to accept the fact that the following decade of uninspired and occasionally terrible music is not slow spot, or an aberration. Sometimes, you keep listening to the Pinkerton's of the world, and tell yourself that a band with an album this good in them must get lucky again sometime. But sometimes, you just have to accept that someone got lucky, and it's never going to happen again.
Exile in Guyville has some truly brilliant songs in it. "Fuck and Run" knocks me out everytime, and I find "Flower" running through my head more often than appropriate. But we all need to accept the fact that Liz Phair has devoted her life to destroying our ability to love her music.
One of the things that the last decade has shown us about her is that a lot of the things that were praised about Guyville - the bracing, profane confessionalism, for example - was really a gimick. I don't know any other way to interpret "Flower" now that she has released two albums of mall-teen shock-rock. It used to be possible to hear "Flower" and think that it was an extremely naked and honest look at sexual fantasies from a female perspective, but when Phair writes a song as obvious and clumsy as "H.W.C." there's no other conclusion - this girl is now, and has always been trying to sell records. The lo-fi thing, the indie rock thing - it's all been an angle.
Another way to say it - "Flower" was, maybe, an honest song about sexual fantasies. "H.W.C." is about what she thinks people want her fantasies to be - it is exactly as calculated as "I Kissed a Girl", just with a less effective hook.
I'm sorry to say all this, because "Why Can't I" isn't actually a bad song. It's not a great song, but it's no better or worse than your average pop song - it has a hook, not a bad guitar riff, etc. But Phair hasn't committed career self-immolation with "Why Can't I" - it's all the other crap she puts on the album.
I actually find it's best to imagine it's someone else singing, who happens to be named Liz Phair. Otherwise, everytime I hear her sing "I want a boyfriend" I won't think of the plaintive, hurt, and sad voice singing it, but of a hipster girl trying to play every hipster guy at once.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Was Liz Phair, now Olafur Arnalds
I was totally going to talk about Liz Phair tonight, but I listened to the BBC on the way home, and think instead I'm going to talk about an Icelandic ex-thrash metal drummer turned classical composer, named Olafur Arnalds.
Some of his music was played on the radio, and I managed to track it down when I got home- he apparently released a song a day for a week, and it's collected on an album called Found songs.
The music is deceptively simple, usually a piano, and a couple of strings - a violin, maybe a cello. I'm not sure if he recorded it himself, or what, but judging by the constraints imposed (song a day) it seems likely. What's interesting to me (besides the stark, haunting, beautiful music) is how this music is kind of punk version of classical music.
Arnalds said in the interview that he left his composition program in college after a year, partly because of his career taking off, and partly because they didn't like his kind of thing. He sees modern classical music as too complex, as trying to be so complicated that it's only written for other music students; he on the other hand wants to make music anyone can listen to.
In some ways, this is the reverse side of my pro prog rock argument. He champions music that isn't challenging, isn't too complex for people to listen to. But I don't think so, actually - this is exactly what prog rock is about: taking classical music and putting it in a context that is more accessible. This is still about the genius of the amateur, and while not too challenging, it isn't punk. This is instrumental, still somewhat classical music. It is, in fact, much more "classical" than much of what gets labeled as such. The Classicists saw the Baroque period as overwrought, and were trying to bring some starkness and simplicity into the picture.
I thought for a long time that more classical musicians should take rock music seriously, and one of the things I thought they should try is simpler melodies, and shorter songs - embrace the rock attention span, in other words. These songs on Found Songs are two to three minutes long, and the lyricism of some of the melodies is breathtaking.
So, a classical musicians tries to buck the classical trend, and records simple, accessible music. I'm still trying to figure out if this is highbrow or lowbrow.
Some of his music was played on the radio, and I managed to track it down when I got home- he apparently released a song a day for a week, and it's collected on an album called Found songs.
The music is deceptively simple, usually a piano, and a couple of strings - a violin, maybe a cello. I'm not sure if he recorded it himself, or what, but judging by the constraints imposed (song a day) it seems likely. What's interesting to me (besides the stark, haunting, beautiful music) is how this music is kind of punk version of classical music.
Arnalds said in the interview that he left his composition program in college after a year, partly because of his career taking off, and partly because they didn't like his kind of thing. He sees modern classical music as too complex, as trying to be so complicated that it's only written for other music students; he on the other hand wants to make music anyone can listen to.
In some ways, this is the reverse side of my pro prog rock argument. He champions music that isn't challenging, isn't too complex for people to listen to. But I don't think so, actually - this is exactly what prog rock is about: taking classical music and putting it in a context that is more accessible. This is still about the genius of the amateur, and while not too challenging, it isn't punk. This is instrumental, still somewhat classical music. It is, in fact, much more "classical" than much of what gets labeled as such. The Classicists saw the Baroque period as overwrought, and were trying to bring some starkness and simplicity into the picture.
I thought for a long time that more classical musicians should take rock music seriously, and one of the things I thought they should try is simpler melodies, and shorter songs - embrace the rock attention span, in other words. These songs on Found Songs are two to three minutes long, and the lyricism of some of the melodies is breathtaking.
So, a classical musicians tries to buck the classical trend, and records simple, accessible music. I'm still trying to figure out if this is highbrow or lowbrow.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
A Pumpkins history of the Alternative Revolution
I spent a while last night on Wikipedia reading about Nevermind, and the article stated that Nevermind was the album that launched the alternative rock explosion. I don't disagree with this by the way. Credit where it's due, it's a phenomenal album, bursting at the seams, and manages to make a lot of other music look ridiculous.
Two things, though. First, I bought Nevermind in the same spirit I bought Bob Dylan's Greatest Hits - because it was a band I thought I should get to know. I'd been reading a lot about music, and Nirvana was one of those bands that you have to know, so I bought Nevermind. Like Dylan, I came to really like the album, but from the start for me, it was an "important" album - this helps explain why I still don't own In Utero.
Second, I got thinking - if Nirvana hadn't broken through, for a variety of reasons (say, radio stations hadn't played "Smells like Teen Spirit", or they never made the jump from sub pop and decided to be an indie band forever, or maybe if they just hadn't been a band that had a Nevermind in them, and had released a string of Bleach's) would the alternative revolution have happened? There were a lot of great alternative bands that only got signed, or got major airplay, or whatever because alternative was big - where would Stone Temple Pilots be if Nevermind had flopped.?
To that second question, I realized that the alternative revolution would still have happened. I don't mean that there was this huge scene full of brilliant music waiting to burst forth, because that doesn't matter - Dinosaur Jr. are still nobodies, and it doesn't matter how great Yo La Tengo has been over the last decade, most people probably think they're a Mexican band. No, what would have happened was Siamese Dream.
Nirvana being the greatest band of the nineties is such dogma it doesn't even seem useful to question it, but think for a second. Siamese Dream is every bit as good as Nevermind, and in many ways a good deal better. Jimmy Chamberlain was one of the few drummers alive who could give Dave Grohl a run for his money, Billy Corgan could do the tortured teen angst lyrics every bit as well as Cobain, and Siamese Dream would have hit like an atom bomb if it had come in a vacuum. As it was, it proved that alternative had staying power - this was about more than one great band.
But not only could the Pumpkins do everything Nirvana could do, they could do more. They could do the trademark loud soft loud dynamics - but Corgan could do both at the same time, practically whispering the vocals over "Cherub Rock"'s surging riff. They'd drag that loud soft loud thing out to be a song structure - instead of Verse Chorus Verse, the soft section would be a bridge; in "Silverf***" that bridge would be half the song. Corgan was under the same pressure Cobain was to deliver a killer album (and the same pressure a generation earlier that had led Springsteen to create "Born to Run") but he wasn't tortured by the prospect of being a rock star - he wanted to be a rock star. Of all the alternative bands, Smashing Pumpkins ran most enthusiastically toward stardom.
I once played "Silverf***" for a cousin of mine who was studying classical music in college. I said, "This song has only one chord" and played the intro. She was intrigued, but bored, until the main guitar melody came in - it blew her away. "Nothing harmonically at all, just this drone, and then that lyrical melody over it!"
Okay, I know I'm kind of trying to sell the idea that the Pumpkins were a better band than Nirvana, and in the end that comes down to everyone's tastes. But to me, what I get out of Nevermind is a punk band that loves the Beatles, and is filtering pop through a twisted punk lens. Siamese Dream is an album that is trying to take everything the band loves about the last forty years of rock - spaced out interludes, bone crushing riffs, metal solos, acoustic ballads, punk, metal, Hendrix, Beatles - and funneling it all through a thousand guitars.
I like Nevermind, but I love Siamese Dream.
Two things, though. First, I bought Nevermind in the same spirit I bought Bob Dylan's Greatest Hits - because it was a band I thought I should get to know. I'd been reading a lot about music, and Nirvana was one of those bands that you have to know, so I bought Nevermind. Like Dylan, I came to really like the album, but from the start for me, it was an "important" album - this helps explain why I still don't own In Utero.
Second, I got thinking - if Nirvana hadn't broken through, for a variety of reasons (say, radio stations hadn't played "Smells like Teen Spirit", or they never made the jump from sub pop and decided to be an indie band forever, or maybe if they just hadn't been a band that had a Nevermind in them, and had released a string of Bleach's) would the alternative revolution have happened? There were a lot of great alternative bands that only got signed, or got major airplay, or whatever because alternative was big - where would Stone Temple Pilots be if Nevermind had flopped.?
To that second question, I realized that the alternative revolution would still have happened. I don't mean that there was this huge scene full of brilliant music waiting to burst forth, because that doesn't matter - Dinosaur Jr. are still nobodies, and it doesn't matter how great Yo La Tengo has been over the last decade, most people probably think they're a Mexican band. No, what would have happened was Siamese Dream.
Nirvana being the greatest band of the nineties is such dogma it doesn't even seem useful to question it, but think for a second. Siamese Dream is every bit as good as Nevermind, and in many ways a good deal better. Jimmy Chamberlain was one of the few drummers alive who could give Dave Grohl a run for his money, Billy Corgan could do the tortured teen angst lyrics every bit as well as Cobain, and Siamese Dream would have hit like an atom bomb if it had come in a vacuum. As it was, it proved that alternative had staying power - this was about more than one great band.
But not only could the Pumpkins do everything Nirvana could do, they could do more. They could do the trademark loud soft loud dynamics - but Corgan could do both at the same time, practically whispering the vocals over "Cherub Rock"'s surging riff. They'd drag that loud soft loud thing out to be a song structure - instead of Verse Chorus Verse, the soft section would be a bridge; in "Silverf***" that bridge would be half the song. Corgan was under the same pressure Cobain was to deliver a killer album (and the same pressure a generation earlier that had led Springsteen to create "Born to Run") but he wasn't tortured by the prospect of being a rock star - he wanted to be a rock star. Of all the alternative bands, Smashing Pumpkins ran most enthusiastically toward stardom.
I once played "Silverf***" for a cousin of mine who was studying classical music in college. I said, "This song has only one chord" and played the intro. She was intrigued, but bored, until the main guitar melody came in - it blew her away. "Nothing harmonically at all, just this drone, and then that lyrical melody over it!"
Okay, I know I'm kind of trying to sell the idea that the Pumpkins were a better band than Nirvana, and in the end that comes down to everyone's tastes. But to me, what I get out of Nevermind is a punk band that loves the Beatles, and is filtering pop through a twisted punk lens. Siamese Dream is an album that is trying to take everything the band loves about the last forty years of rock - spaced out interludes, bone crushing riffs, metal solos, acoustic ballads, punk, metal, Hendrix, Beatles - and funneling it all through a thousand guitars.
I like Nevermind, but I love Siamese Dream.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
The Lost Art of a Cover
I put my Zune on shuffle at work today, and Aretha Franklin's cover of "Let it Be" came on. My boss hated it; remarking, among other things, that she was "singing it too fast," and that "this isn't the Beatles."
I complain about my boss a lot on this blog, because he and I have very different tastes in music, and even different basic ideas about what good music should be like. For him, the more mainstream music is, the better, and I don't mean better as in more to his tastes - the more mainstream it sounds, the more he feels that it represents good quality. He truly believes that bands that aren't on the radio aren't getting play because they aren't as good - conversely, if they were as good, they'd get played on the radio. I don't subscribe to this view.
Anyway, back to Aretha. I will say, her cover of "Let it Be" is ... idiosyncratic. Her phrasing is either before or after the beat, and the the whole song is uptempo. Basically she sings it like you might hear in a gospel choir. I like it, but it's a very different song than when Paul McCartney sings it. Now, part of what my boss didn't like about this music was its unfamiliarity - this can be especially unnerving for someone when it sounds kind of like something they know, but is clearly also very different. Kind of a musical uncanny valley.
But it got me thinking about cover songs in general. They tend to diverge in two different directions. Some people want a cover to be as transformative as possible (this partially explains the popularity of the punk-cover subgenre) and if the song is nearly unrecognizable, the better. Tori Amos Strange Little Girls is the perfect example. On the other hand, a lot of covers try to be very "true" to the source, and differ from it only in the attempt to put a performers fingerprints on it - i.e., the Beatles own cover of "Mr. Postman."
I don't think either of these is right or wrong, (even though sometimes toward the Tori Amos end of things you start to wonder why you even bother calling it the same song.) but it seems like most artists shoot for the middle - i.e. Hendrix's "All Along the Watchtower".
To me, the truly great covers make you realize something about the song you didn't know before - Aretha's gospel "Let it Be" does this to a degree, but Hendrix's "Watchtower" made Dylan change the way he'd been performing it in concert.
Two of the modern examples I can think of come from Iron and Wine: "Such Great Heights," and "Waiting on Superman" - he truly transforms both songs, but it's in a way that it feels like he's stripped something out of the way - there was something in the songs that he discovered, and pulled out to show us.
I complain about my boss a lot on this blog, because he and I have very different tastes in music, and even different basic ideas about what good music should be like. For him, the more mainstream music is, the better, and I don't mean better as in more to his tastes - the more mainstream it sounds, the more he feels that it represents good quality. He truly believes that bands that aren't on the radio aren't getting play because they aren't as good - conversely, if they were as good, they'd get played on the radio. I don't subscribe to this view.
Anyway, back to Aretha. I will say, her cover of "Let it Be" is ... idiosyncratic. Her phrasing is either before or after the beat, and the the whole song is uptempo. Basically she sings it like you might hear in a gospel choir. I like it, but it's a very different song than when Paul McCartney sings it. Now, part of what my boss didn't like about this music was its unfamiliarity - this can be especially unnerving for someone when it sounds kind of like something they know, but is clearly also very different. Kind of a musical uncanny valley.
But it got me thinking about cover songs in general. They tend to diverge in two different directions. Some people want a cover to be as transformative as possible (this partially explains the popularity of the punk-cover subgenre) and if the song is nearly unrecognizable, the better. Tori Amos Strange Little Girls is the perfect example. On the other hand, a lot of covers try to be very "true" to the source, and differ from it only in the attempt to put a performers fingerprints on it - i.e., the Beatles own cover of "Mr. Postman."
I don't think either of these is right or wrong, (even though sometimes toward the Tori Amos end of things you start to wonder why you even bother calling it the same song.) but it seems like most artists shoot for the middle - i.e. Hendrix's "All Along the Watchtower".
To me, the truly great covers make you realize something about the song you didn't know before - Aretha's gospel "Let it Be" does this to a degree, but Hendrix's "Watchtower" made Dylan change the way he'd been performing it in concert.
Two of the modern examples I can think of come from Iron and Wine: "Such Great Heights," and "Waiting on Superman" - he truly transforms both songs, but it's in a way that it feels like he's stripped something out of the way - there was something in the songs that he discovered, and pulled out to show us.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
New Collective Soul Album
I bought the new Collective Soul album today. It the first album of theirs since Dosage that I haven't bought on the day it came out - it's rough, because they're still my band, but I can tell I've fallen out of love with them.
The first song on the album sounds like classic Collective Soul - well, maybe Blender-classic. It's got a terrific riff, anyway. The songs just aren't as memorable as they used to be, though they still sound phenomenal.
That's one of the things about Collective Soul - they always had this massive guitar sound. They could fill up space like the Smashing Pumpkins, even though they weren't in the same league (and seemed to know it.) When I was in a band, Ed Roland was actually my dream producer if we ever cut a professional album.
In fact, it's surprising he hasn't done production work for other bands. He reminds me of Ric Ocasek, in a weird way - they both have this talent for pop hooks, and this pristine sound. Very few producers really have that sound they're known for - Mutt Lange, or maybe Butch Vig come to mind. Most great producers are more famous for pulling great songs or performances out of bands - Rick Rubin's bread and butter, for example - but if anyone wanted to sound like a 21st century ELO, it seems like Ed Roland would be the one to call.
Anyway, I now once again have every Collective Soul album, except for that live orchestral one. I also have every Ross Childress side-project album, which takes considerably more work.
The first song on the album sounds like classic Collective Soul - well, maybe Blender-classic. It's got a terrific riff, anyway. The songs just aren't as memorable as they used to be, though they still sound phenomenal.
That's one of the things about Collective Soul - they always had this massive guitar sound. They could fill up space like the Smashing Pumpkins, even though they weren't in the same league (and seemed to know it.) When I was in a band, Ed Roland was actually my dream producer if we ever cut a professional album.
In fact, it's surprising he hasn't done production work for other bands. He reminds me of Ric Ocasek, in a weird way - they both have this talent for pop hooks, and this pristine sound. Very few producers really have that sound they're known for - Mutt Lange, or maybe Butch Vig come to mind. Most great producers are more famous for pulling great songs or performances out of bands - Rick Rubin's bread and butter, for example - but if anyone wanted to sound like a 21st century ELO, it seems like Ed Roland would be the one to call.
Anyway, I now once again have every Collective Soul album, except for that live orchestral one. I also have every Ross Childress side-project album, which takes considerably more work.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Prog rock kick
I found a video of Yes playing "Siberian Khatru" on youtube - it's okay, not great, but shows what they must have been like back in the day. And this has kicked off what I'm sure will be a bit of a prog rock kick for me.
First off, I think "Siberian Khatru" is one of the best songs to introduce people to prog rock. It kicks off with a killer guitar riff, and Steve Howe's guitar work is fantastic throughout. Scratch that, he's always fantastic. What makes Siberian Khatru different is that it's a bit flashy, and a bit more mainstream - he has a slide guitar solo that truly screams for example; the guitar isn't as hard to get to know as say, anything off Relayer.
My favorite moment in the song though, is where it breaks down to a keyboard bass and drums part, and Rick Wakeman is playing this superfast harpsichord part, and Chris Squire matches him, playing a bassline in perfect counterpoint. It sounds like a rock band playing baroque music, but it also rocks, and that is a very difficult balance to acheive.
So anyway, thinking about this got me looking up Rick Wakeman on allmusic and that led, strangely enough, to the Strawbs.
I haven't really gotten into the Strawbs, even though I sort of know that they were another prog band back in the day - most of the prog I listen to is the stuff my dad listened to in high school and then turned me on to - Yes, Jethro Tull, ELP, early Genesis. I've ventured a little into King Crimson territory, but the Strawbs were a bit of a different beast.
But I need to check them out. I love Fairport Convention, and the Strawbs were the next best English folk rock band with Sandy Denny as their one-time singer after fairport. Actually, and ironically, one of the few Strawbs songs I know is from when Sandy Denny was their singer, called "All I need is You" - it's a totally great song, but it sounds nothing like later Strawbs or Fairport Convention.
Hmmm...Maybe I'm actually going to go on a kick of listening to Liege and Lief. It's hard to tell now.
First off, I think "Siberian Khatru" is one of the best songs to introduce people to prog rock. It kicks off with a killer guitar riff, and Steve Howe's guitar work is fantastic throughout. Scratch that, he's always fantastic. What makes Siberian Khatru different is that it's a bit flashy, and a bit more mainstream - he has a slide guitar solo that truly screams for example; the guitar isn't as hard to get to know as say, anything off Relayer.
My favorite moment in the song though, is where it breaks down to a keyboard bass and drums part, and Rick Wakeman is playing this superfast harpsichord part, and Chris Squire matches him, playing a bassline in perfect counterpoint. It sounds like a rock band playing baroque music, but it also rocks, and that is a very difficult balance to acheive.
So anyway, thinking about this got me looking up Rick Wakeman on allmusic and that led, strangely enough, to the Strawbs.
I haven't really gotten into the Strawbs, even though I sort of know that they were another prog band back in the day - most of the prog I listen to is the stuff my dad listened to in high school and then turned me on to - Yes, Jethro Tull, ELP, early Genesis. I've ventured a little into King Crimson territory, but the Strawbs were a bit of a different beast.
But I need to check them out. I love Fairport Convention, and the Strawbs were the next best English folk rock band with Sandy Denny as their one-time singer after fairport. Actually, and ironically, one of the few Strawbs songs I know is from when Sandy Denny was their singer, called "All I need is You" - it's a totally great song, but it sounds nothing like later Strawbs or Fairport Convention.
Hmmm...Maybe I'm actually going to go on a kick of listening to Liege and Lief. It's hard to tell now.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Recommending Music
My cousin came over today, and brought her laptop, which meant my brother and I sat over her shoulder for an hour telling her music to steal from our computers via the magic of iTunes homesharing. Inevitably, she'd come across a band she'd never heard of, and say, "would I like this band?"
While this is a completely reasonable question, it's also one I have no idea how to answer. Her music collection had Radiohead, and BBMak, Beastie Boys and Backstreet Boys. I'm hard pressed to describe those tastes (although college girl with a computer that still reflects she was once fifteen comes close).
The problem is, I don't like music by genre, and so I have a hard time recommending music by genre. I try: another cousin who likes country music found me recommending the Band, Neil Young, and Wilco. She didn't like any of them, and I'm at a loss as to what I did wrong.
So I did what I always do - I just recommended my favorite music, regardless of tastes or genre. I recommend by awesomeness - so I said, you should try out Iron and Wine, even if you don't typically like haunting acoustic ballads; you should listen to Vampire Weekend, even if you're not a fan of chamber pop; and you should definitely take Aretha Franklin, even though she's a little before your dad's time.
I really lack the ability to listen through other people's ears; I listen to "A-Punk" and I literally can't understand why people don't think it's the catchiest song they've ever heard. My boss gets annoyed if I put on too much "weird stuff" which I interpret as Radiohead and anything loud (definitely not Queens of the Stone Age, and last time I put on Smashing Pumpkins (!) I got a lecture asking me why I'm so angry, and what I have to be angry about.) So I put on Mates of State. I love Mates of State, and to me, they are pure indie pop; singable melodies, catchy eighties keyboards, etc. But his reaction was "they've got a ways to go before they'll make it" which is his way of saying they don't sound mainstream, i.e. good.
This is the weird contradiction: all he hears is polish, all I hear is melody. And we get to have this argument all the time.
While this is a completely reasonable question, it's also one I have no idea how to answer. Her music collection had Radiohead, and BBMak, Beastie Boys and Backstreet Boys. I'm hard pressed to describe those tastes (although college girl with a computer that still reflects she was once fifteen comes close).
The problem is, I don't like music by genre, and so I have a hard time recommending music by genre. I try: another cousin who likes country music found me recommending the Band, Neil Young, and Wilco. She didn't like any of them, and I'm at a loss as to what I did wrong.
So I did what I always do - I just recommended my favorite music, regardless of tastes or genre. I recommend by awesomeness - so I said, you should try out Iron and Wine, even if you don't typically like haunting acoustic ballads; you should listen to Vampire Weekend, even if you're not a fan of chamber pop; and you should definitely take Aretha Franklin, even though she's a little before your dad's time.
I really lack the ability to listen through other people's ears; I listen to "A-Punk" and I literally can't understand why people don't think it's the catchiest song they've ever heard. My boss gets annoyed if I put on too much "weird stuff" which I interpret as Radiohead and anything loud (definitely not Queens of the Stone Age, and last time I put on Smashing Pumpkins (!) I got a lecture asking me why I'm so angry, and what I have to be angry about.) So I put on Mates of State. I love Mates of State, and to me, they are pure indie pop; singable melodies, catchy eighties keyboards, etc. But his reaction was "they've got a ways to go before they'll make it" which is his way of saying they don't sound mainstream, i.e. good.
This is the weird contradiction: all he hears is polish, all I hear is melody. And we get to have this argument all the time.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Hurst
I don't know if I've mentioned that I'm a huge Collective Soul fan, but I am. They were that first band I got into, and even though part of me recognizes that there are better bands out there, I will never change the radio station when "Shine" comes on.
There's being a Collective Soul fan, though, and being a Collective Soul fan. When Ross Childress quit the band in 2001, I was heartbroken thinking they'd broken up. I've seen the band twice since, and the new guitarist is great, but he ain't Ross. But then, a couple of years ago, I found a website for a project called Early Moses, with Ross as the guitarist. Nothing ever seemed to materialize, but a couple of years later (still a few years ago - I'm trying to sum up like eight years of backstory here) I tracked it back to an album called Hurst.
Hurst, it turns out, is Trevor Hurst, singer for Canadian alt-rock band Econoline Crush. I'd never heard of them. But he was the singer for the project with Ross Childress, and they put out a seven song EP. I own this EP. I think that alone gives me more obscure-album points than owning either a Treepeople album, or Metal Machine Music.
Surprisingly, or maybe not, but the album is really good. (For super fans, some of the songs off of Childress's new project Starfish and Coffee's album started on the Hurst EP). It's not terribly groundbreaking, and the lyrics are too vague to really mean anything, but Trevor Hurst has a real presence as a singer, and a song like "Tin Cup" or "Clear Blue" work basically on sheer personality. That, and the guitar work. The reason I loved Ross in Collective Soul was for the guitar arrangements he came up with sometimes - he wasn't always a flashy guitarist, but he had a talent for layered parts that could be pretty stunning (think "Tremble for my Beloved"). He makes his guitar sound like a string section on "Clear Blue", and on "Not Broken" he gets to pull out all the stops just before the chorus.
The album is pretty good, all round, and I'd recommend it to any Fuel fan, for example, but I think Econoline Crush is a band unknown enough in the US that not many copies of their singer's side project are going to exist. But on the plus side, I have a new band to check out.
There's being a Collective Soul fan, though, and being a Collective Soul fan. When Ross Childress quit the band in 2001, I was heartbroken thinking they'd broken up. I've seen the band twice since, and the new guitarist is great, but he ain't Ross. But then, a couple of years ago, I found a website for a project called Early Moses, with Ross as the guitarist. Nothing ever seemed to materialize, but a couple of years later (still a few years ago - I'm trying to sum up like eight years of backstory here) I tracked it back to an album called Hurst.
Hurst, it turns out, is Trevor Hurst, singer for Canadian alt-rock band Econoline Crush. I'd never heard of them. But he was the singer for the project with Ross Childress, and they put out a seven song EP. I own this EP. I think that alone gives me more obscure-album points than owning either a Treepeople album, or Metal Machine Music.
Surprisingly, or maybe not, but the album is really good. (For super fans, some of the songs off of Childress's new project Starfish and Coffee's album started on the Hurst EP). It's not terribly groundbreaking, and the lyrics are too vague to really mean anything, but Trevor Hurst has a real presence as a singer, and a song like "Tin Cup" or "Clear Blue" work basically on sheer personality. That, and the guitar work. The reason I loved Ross in Collective Soul was for the guitar arrangements he came up with sometimes - he wasn't always a flashy guitarist, but he had a talent for layered parts that could be pretty stunning (think "Tremble for my Beloved"). He makes his guitar sound like a string section on "Clear Blue", and on "Not Broken" he gets to pull out all the stops just before the chorus.
The album is pretty good, all round, and I'd recommend it to any Fuel fan, for example, but I think Econoline Crush is a band unknown enough in the US that not many copies of their singer's side project are going to exist. But on the plus side, I have a new band to check out.
iTunes
iTunes is my nemesis. It's partly my fault - ever since I went legit with my internet music, I've been buying from iTunes, and so I have to admit that I'm buying what they're selling. Still, the things iTunes is, and the things I want it to be are so similar and yet so different that it drives me mad.
This came up because I was thinking about a couple of old Kinks songs I used to have on my computer before it crashed. "All Day and All of the Night" which is my "You Really Got Me" (seriously, how can anyone prefer "You Really Got Me"? "All Day..." is vastly superior) and Dave Davies solo song "Death of a Clown." Dave Davies song has always gotten to me, even though in many ways its obvious and clumsily written, just for the piano opening with the weird effect on the notes.
So I decide to buy those songs, rekindle a little nostalgia. I find them, buy them, and then (and only then) discover that these are not the songs I thought I was buying. Actually, they are, but it's complicated - they are rerecorded versions of those classic songs, because whoever owns the Kinks catalog (definitely not the Kinks) isn't selling the songs online. For reasons unknown. (Seriously, what Luddite is going, "The way to maximize the earnings from this back catalog is to not sell them over the most popular music service ever."
So I get "Death of a Clown" but not the "Death of a Clown" I remember, with the bittersweet piano intro, but a rough acoustic version (which honestly isn't bad, but it's like taking pistachio ice cream when you really wanted chocolate) and a live version of "All Day and All of the Night" performed in the eighties.
Compound this with the fact that I bought a used Zune cheap a while back (I'm poor) and a large proportion of my songs I bought from iTunes won't play on it. I purchased the songs, and they won't let me play them on a competing platform. Instead, they are charging me $80 to update all of my old songs to the new iTunes Plus format without DRM.
This business model strikes me as weirdly as the not-Kinks model - "We'll sell people music, but trick them into buying music they didn't mean to buy, and then charge them extra if they want to play the music they bought and own on another piece of hardware."
I'm holding out, but I don't know for how much longer it makes sense. They're never going to budge, and if I buy from Zune, I'm in the same bind, but backwards.
Too bad no one else has gotten into digital music, someone without a history of abusing their customers.
This came up because I was thinking about a couple of old Kinks songs I used to have on my computer before it crashed. "All Day and All of the Night" which is my "You Really Got Me" (seriously, how can anyone prefer "You Really Got Me"? "All Day..." is vastly superior) and Dave Davies solo song "Death of a Clown." Dave Davies song has always gotten to me, even though in many ways its obvious and clumsily written, just for the piano opening with the weird effect on the notes.
So I decide to buy those songs, rekindle a little nostalgia. I find them, buy them, and then (and only then) discover that these are not the songs I thought I was buying. Actually, they are, but it's complicated - they are rerecorded versions of those classic songs, because whoever owns the Kinks catalog (definitely not the Kinks) isn't selling the songs online. For reasons unknown. (Seriously, what Luddite is going, "The way to maximize the earnings from this back catalog is to not sell them over the most popular music service ever."
So I get "Death of a Clown" but not the "Death of a Clown" I remember, with the bittersweet piano intro, but a rough acoustic version (which honestly isn't bad, but it's like taking pistachio ice cream when you really wanted chocolate) and a live version of "All Day and All of the Night" performed in the eighties.
Compound this with the fact that I bought a used Zune cheap a while back (I'm poor) and a large proportion of my songs I bought from iTunes won't play on it. I purchased the songs, and they won't let me play them on a competing platform. Instead, they are charging me $80 to update all of my old songs to the new iTunes Plus format without DRM.
This business model strikes me as weirdly as the not-Kinks model - "We'll sell people music, but trick them into buying music they didn't mean to buy, and then charge them extra if they want to play the music they bought and own on another piece of hardware."
I'm holding out, but I don't know for how much longer it makes sense. They're never going to budge, and if I buy from Zune, I'm in the same bind, but backwards.
Too bad no one else has gotten into digital music, someone without a history of abusing their customers.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Magnetic Fields
The Magnetic Fields were one of the first indie bands I discovered, back on the old beloved Audiogalaxy site. It was a beautiful cross between Napster and Allmusic.com, that site - everything was organized by genre, with descriptions of the band, and then you could download the most popular songs. Completely illegal, alas...
The Magnetic Fields, more than a lot of bands, hooked me early with their lyrics (alright, it was the cello hook in "All my little words" on the chorus, but it was also the words of the chorus, and then "All the Umbrellas in London"). But at the time, I wasn't a fan of electronic music, and so the early Magnetic Fields stuff where they had a more eighties pop sound I ended up avoiding.
I was listening to my Zune (yes, I know) today, and cycling through MF stuff, and it occured to me how many of my favorite songs are their early songs, now. "Desert Island," "Why I Cry," and "When you were my Baby" are all right up there.
I don't know what caused this change - at what point I forgave the eighties for being the eighties. I do know, that gradually I've decided I can't simply write an entire decade off, and have discovered that a) there was a lot of great non-electronic guitar based pop in the eighties, i.e. the Church, the Smiths, and b) that there was a lot of great electronic pop in the eighties. I've come way around on New Order, and I think it's because of new bands like MGMT, Mates of State, and Franz Ferdinand.
Also, I don't think I could hate a song for long with the lines "I'll be your desert Island, where you can be free/I'll be the vulture, that you can catch and eat."
The Magnetic Fields, more than a lot of bands, hooked me early with their lyrics (alright, it was the cello hook in "All my little words" on the chorus, but it was also the words of the chorus, and then "All the Umbrellas in London"). But at the time, I wasn't a fan of electronic music, and so the early Magnetic Fields stuff where they had a more eighties pop sound I ended up avoiding.
I was listening to my Zune (yes, I know) today, and cycling through MF stuff, and it occured to me how many of my favorite songs are their early songs, now. "Desert Island," "Why I Cry," and "When you were my Baby" are all right up there.
I don't know what caused this change - at what point I forgave the eighties for being the eighties. I do know, that gradually I've decided I can't simply write an entire decade off, and have discovered that a) there was a lot of great non-electronic guitar based pop in the eighties, i.e. the Church, the Smiths, and b) that there was a lot of great electronic pop in the eighties. I've come way around on New Order, and I think it's because of new bands like MGMT, Mates of State, and Franz Ferdinand.
Also, I don't think I could hate a song for long with the lines "I'll be your desert Island, where you can be free/I'll be the vulture, that you can catch and eat."
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Mingus Mingus Mingus Mingus Mingus
I touched on him tangentially yesterday talking about Jazz, but I don't think I've mentioned how much I love the music of Charles Mingus.
Partly it's because Mingus came along at a point in my life where I was desperately trying to like Jazz and desperately hating it. I wanted to be an open minded bohemian, and so I was listening to a lot of Free Jazz - Ornette Coleman, Cecil Taylor, etc. Eric Dolphy came up, and I read he'd played with Mingus, so I check him out, and it basically broke Hard Bop open for me.
"Better Git it in Your Soul" is the quintessential Mingus for me, but I also love "Jump Monk" and basically all of Roots and Blues. I don't know how to describe it, but I think the best way to describe it is that it swings. No, that's insufficient. It swings; the rhythm is so hard and powerful, it almost rocks. The horns don't sound like Kenny G, all rounded off and smooth, but they aren't Ornette Coleman either - it's almost Stonesy, at times.
Mingus opened up Rahsaan Roland Kirk, and while he gets out there, I love "A Handful of Fives." But nothing for me in Jazz will ever be as good as the solo horn break in "Better Git it in Your Soul" when the other instruments drop out, and it's just sax and hand claps. This is what jazz was always supposed to be about.
Partly it's because Mingus came along at a point in my life where I was desperately trying to like Jazz and desperately hating it. I wanted to be an open minded bohemian, and so I was listening to a lot of Free Jazz - Ornette Coleman, Cecil Taylor, etc. Eric Dolphy came up, and I read he'd played with Mingus, so I check him out, and it basically broke Hard Bop open for me.
"Better Git it in Your Soul" is the quintessential Mingus for me, but I also love "Jump Monk" and basically all of Roots and Blues. I don't know how to describe it, but I think the best way to describe it is that it swings. No, that's insufficient. It swings; the rhythm is so hard and powerful, it almost rocks. The horns don't sound like Kenny G, all rounded off and smooth, but they aren't Ornette Coleman either - it's almost Stonesy, at times.
Mingus opened up Rahsaan Roland Kirk, and while he gets out there, I love "A Handful of Fives." But nothing for me in Jazz will ever be as good as the solo horn break in "Better Git it in Your Soul" when the other instruments drop out, and it's just sax and hand claps. This is what jazz was always supposed to be about.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Jazz
I'm going to take a minute to talk about Jazz here, not that it has anything to do with my main thesis, or whatever, but just because I do like Jazz. We'll also be going off topic in a minute.
I heard some Jazz on the radio tonight, and it was one of my favorite instruments that you never hear anymore; the clarinet. It used to be a big Jazz instrument, but with Bop, everyone went brass, and the woodier tones went away.
I own the Django album Douce Ambience and it is terrific, from start to finish. It's his electric album, after he did all those acoustic jazz recordings with Stephane Grappeli. So instead of just playing electric guitar over a new version of the Quintette du Hot Club de France, he put together a backing group that had a killer clarinet player. Seriously, listen to the opening to "Blues Primitif" - there's this scorching run that knocks me out. Plus, the album has a seriously shredding version of "Minor Swing" so, that's pretty cool too.
I really, really hate Wallpaper Jazz. Kenny G, etc. You know it. But unlike most of my friends, this hasn't ruined Jazz for me. I love love love Charles Mingus - listen to the solo sax break on "Better Git it in your Soul" - jazz literally never hit harder than this. So there's some good stuff there. But I think one of the reasons I like good jazz so much is that you get to hear instruments that don't make it into Rock all that much.
Some bands have a horn line, but honestly, how many bands other than Morphine feature a sax (a baritone sax, at that) as a lead instrument? You never hear a clarinet in rock music. I think the guitar drums bass sometimes keys, very occasionally horns lineup has been working in rock for so long, someone needs to shake things up. In short, I wish someone would expand the pallette of rock instrumentation.
There's been progress. The Beatles added harpsichord, strings, and damn near got the sitar in. But what about a guzheng? or a viola da gamba? Indie rock, especially Iron and Wine, seems to be trying to redeem the banjo, but there's a world of sounds out there, and we're content with very few.
I heard some Jazz on the radio tonight, and it was one of my favorite instruments that you never hear anymore; the clarinet. It used to be a big Jazz instrument, but with Bop, everyone went brass, and the woodier tones went away.
I own the Django album Douce Ambience and it is terrific, from start to finish. It's his electric album, after he did all those acoustic jazz recordings with Stephane Grappeli. So instead of just playing electric guitar over a new version of the Quintette du Hot Club de France, he put together a backing group that had a killer clarinet player. Seriously, listen to the opening to "Blues Primitif" - there's this scorching run that knocks me out. Plus, the album has a seriously shredding version of "Minor Swing" so, that's pretty cool too.
I really, really hate Wallpaper Jazz. Kenny G, etc. You know it. But unlike most of my friends, this hasn't ruined Jazz for me. I love love love Charles Mingus - listen to the solo sax break on "Better Git it in your Soul" - jazz literally never hit harder than this. So there's some good stuff there. But I think one of the reasons I like good jazz so much is that you get to hear instruments that don't make it into Rock all that much.
Some bands have a horn line, but honestly, how many bands other than Morphine feature a sax (a baritone sax, at that) as a lead instrument? You never hear a clarinet in rock music. I think the guitar drums bass sometimes keys, very occasionally horns lineup has been working in rock for so long, someone needs to shake things up. In short, I wish someone would expand the pallette of rock instrumentation.
There's been progress. The Beatles added harpsichord, strings, and damn near got the sitar in. But what about a guzheng? or a viola da gamba? Indie rock, especially Iron and Wine, seems to be trying to redeem the banjo, but there's a world of sounds out there, and we're content with very few.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Mash-ups
Someone commented to me that I've been really getting into mash-ups. I didn't think I had, but I guess not being over them as a fad counts at this point.
What I enjoy about good mashups (and most of them are terrible) is the way they recontextualize things. I heard a pretty good one of "Eleanor Rigby" (which is one of the most boring Beatles songs to me) with "Go with the Flow." It added a real sense of menace to the Beatles, which let me see the song in an whole new way.
I also love the Cirque du Soleil Beatles album "Love" - "Lady Madonna" and "Drive my Car" in particular. Here, what George Martin has done is allow me to hear the Beatles with new ears. I know the songs, but they can still surprise me - is this what it was like to be alive in '68, buying the White Album new? Not knowing what was coming out of the speakers next, but knowing it would be brilliant?
What I enjoy about good mashups (and most of them are terrible) is the way they recontextualize things. I heard a pretty good one of "Eleanor Rigby" (which is one of the most boring Beatles songs to me) with "Go with the Flow." It added a real sense of menace to the Beatles, which let me see the song in an whole new way.
I also love the Cirque du Soleil Beatles album "Love" - "Lady Madonna" and "Drive my Car" in particular. Here, what George Martin has done is allow me to hear the Beatles with new ears. I know the songs, but they can still surprise me - is this what it was like to be alive in '68, buying the White Album new? Not knowing what was coming out of the speakers next, but knowing it would be brilliant?
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Afro Pop
I've been listening to Vampire Weekend today, and thinking about all the interviews and articles about how they were influenced by Afro-pop. My question is, would you please give some specific albums other than Paul Simon's Graceland?
Honestly, I'd love to listen to bands that sound like Vampire Weekend - the album is freakishly catchy, and I love Graceland too, and want to follow it all back to the source, but how? Every article just says "Afro-Pop" as if I'm supposed to go, "of course, let me dust off all my Ghanan records and relive freshman year of college."
Complicating things is the fact that I actually have made some inroads on Afro-Funk. I at least know who Fela Kuti is, I've heard a great band called Chopteeth, and there's this Ethiopian band on the soundtrack to Broken Flowers (you know them if you've seen the movie) that is sadly unavailable on iTunes. Unless I want to buy the whole album.
Maybe next time I'll talk about the things about iTunes that drive me insane, but for now, I'm on the hunt for great african music.
Honestly, I'd love to listen to bands that sound like Vampire Weekend - the album is freakishly catchy, and I love Graceland too, and want to follow it all back to the source, but how? Every article just says "Afro-Pop" as if I'm supposed to go, "of course, let me dust off all my Ghanan records and relive freshman year of college."
Complicating things is the fact that I actually have made some inroads on Afro-Funk. I at least know who Fela Kuti is, I've heard a great band called Chopteeth, and there's this Ethiopian band on the soundtrack to Broken Flowers (you know them if you've seen the movie) that is sadly unavailable on iTunes. Unless I want to buy the whole album.
Maybe next time I'll talk about the things about iTunes that drive me insane, but for now, I'm on the hunt for great african music.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Muse
Got in a discussion with some friends today - one of them has become a big Muse fan, and he mentioned, as many people have, that they remind him of Radiohead.
Partly it's because I'm a Radiohead fan, but I don't see it. Their singer's voice sounds kinda like Thom Yorke, but that's it. It's like Creed and Pearl Jam - I guess the singers sound a little similar, but that's where it stops for me. (My friends also say that Creed and Pearl Jam sound alike, and don't get how I don't hear it)
The opposite end of the equation is that the Silversun Pickups sound, to me, like early Smashing Pumpkins. No one else hears it. To me, "Rhinoceros" was the template for the Pickups - not that they aren't original, but the guitar tone, everything - it's all right there.
We decided that I just don't hear music like a lot of other people. I think it has something to do with being a musician - you listen more to the guitar parts, and how the music is put together, and you don't hear more superficial aspects of the music. Maybe.
Partly it's because I'm a Radiohead fan, but I don't see it. Their singer's voice sounds kinda like Thom Yorke, but that's it. It's like Creed and Pearl Jam - I guess the singers sound a little similar, but that's where it stops for me. (My friends also say that Creed and Pearl Jam sound alike, and don't get how I don't hear it)
The opposite end of the equation is that the Silversun Pickups sound, to me, like early Smashing Pumpkins. No one else hears it. To me, "Rhinoceros" was the template for the Pickups - not that they aren't original, but the guitar tone, everything - it's all right there.
We decided that I just don't hear music like a lot of other people. I think it has something to do with being a musician - you listen more to the guitar parts, and how the music is put together, and you don't hear more superficial aspects of the music. Maybe.
Loudness
Apologies for yesterday - relatives in town, but that is not an excuse.
We have a CD player at work, which also gets radio, and can have an iPod or Zune hooked up to it. What music plays is a constant battle - if you don't put something on, my boss will put on a Randy Bachman solo album or something, but if you put on something he doesn't like (i.e., anything more edgy than Matchbox Twenty) he will do the same.
So we get stuck in this 'least objectionable' rut. Objectionable somehow means loud, and loudness, as we all know, has nothing to do with volume. I can crank up Paul Simon with impunity, but if the Yeah Yeah Yeahs come on, at all it's getting changed. We end up with a few of us trying to put on the most adventurous acoustic music we can find - this is almost inevitable Iron and Wine.
I love Iron and Wine - ever since I discovered this Southern Gothic version of Nick Drake, he's had a special place in my collection. He's earned the right to have me buy any album he puts out, no questions asked. So today, we put on the Shepard's Dog. I'll admit, I didn't like this album all that much at first. It's a very different album than his previous stuff, and the melodies take some time to sink into you. This is why I think it would be terrible to be a record reviewer, and why so many reviews are terrible. You don't have time to get to know an album - you get it, listen, review, and move on.
The first time I listened to Shepard's Dog, I picked out "Carousel" as my favorite, and left it at that. I didn't listen to it for almost a week, when the riff for "Boy with a Coin" was going through my head - I also picked up "Flightless Bird, American Mouth" that time. Then, a couple days later, "Wolves" started going through my head. This is how I experience albums, and I don't think I'm alone. I never love an album the first time (ok, occasionally I do, but I always like those less as time goes on) but a riff or line or bridge will stick and draw me back until I can't stop listening to it. I can't be alone in this. I hope I never have to review music any other way.
We have a CD player at work, which also gets radio, and can have an iPod or Zune hooked up to it. What music plays is a constant battle - if you don't put something on, my boss will put on a Randy Bachman solo album or something, but if you put on something he doesn't like (i.e., anything more edgy than Matchbox Twenty) he will do the same.
So we get stuck in this 'least objectionable' rut. Objectionable somehow means loud, and loudness, as we all know, has nothing to do with volume. I can crank up Paul Simon with impunity, but if the Yeah Yeah Yeahs come on, at all it's getting changed. We end up with a few of us trying to put on the most adventurous acoustic music we can find - this is almost inevitable Iron and Wine.
I love Iron and Wine - ever since I discovered this Southern Gothic version of Nick Drake, he's had a special place in my collection. He's earned the right to have me buy any album he puts out, no questions asked. So today, we put on the Shepard's Dog. I'll admit, I didn't like this album all that much at first. It's a very different album than his previous stuff, and the melodies take some time to sink into you. This is why I think it would be terrible to be a record reviewer, and why so many reviews are terrible. You don't have time to get to know an album - you get it, listen, review, and move on.
The first time I listened to Shepard's Dog, I picked out "Carousel" as my favorite, and left it at that. I didn't listen to it for almost a week, when the riff for "Boy with a Coin" was going through my head - I also picked up "Flightless Bird, American Mouth" that time. Then, a couple days later, "Wolves" started going through my head. This is how I experience albums, and I don't think I'm alone. I never love an album the first time (ok, occasionally I do, but I always like those less as time goes on) but a riff or line or bridge will stick and draw me back until I can't stop listening to it. I can't be alone in this. I hope I never have to review music any other way.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Girl Talk
I used to drive my roommates crazy with music - I lived with two really good friends of mine, and we all had pretty similar tastes in music, and I'd come home from work and spend two hours on the computer on Allmusic.com and Audiogalaxy, or Kazaa looking up new bands. I discovered tons of great stuff, and I'd try to get them into the music, but I was always afraid their patience would run out, so I'd just play them the hook, or riff of a song, or the best thirty seconds, or my favorite lyrics, and try to hook them, and get them to listen to the whole song. This ADHD approach drove them nuts, and they always wanted me to play a whole song, but if it had a slow intro, they were gone. I was in a bind.
Girl Talk is like that for me. The mashups are consistently brilliant: "Play Your Part, pt.1" for example, features someone (sorry, I really don't know hip-hop) rapping along to the Spencer Davis Group, and they fit perfectly. He throws Salt-n-Pepa over Nirvana, and uses the drum beat from "Scentless Apprentice" and the piano to "Tiny Dancer" as the background for Biggie Smalls.
It's frequently great, but it's just as ADHD as I used to be. Nothing lasts more than a minute or so - if you don't like what's going on, just wait, because the beat, rap, and everything else will change in a minute. He can't stand to use more than a verse from a song, and so none of the mashups ever sound like a song - there's no sense of returning to a great hook, of building up a theme or melody, of a bridge returning to a chorus - it's like dipping into a club where a DJ is trying to use every record he owns once without having to backtrack.
Contrast Girl Talk to the Grey Album by Danger Mouse. Simple concept - Jay-Z vs. the Beatles (yes I'm just barely getting into the Grey Album, but that's the thing this blog is all about - how often to you discover a band or a song from three, or five, or fifteen years ago? It's new to you, even if it's not to everyone else.) To me, the song that works best is "Change Clothes." All hip-hop should be over baroque samples. It's terrific. And, and this is vital, it builds tension like a real song, until it finally has to break.
I haven't written mashups off - in fact I can't wait to see where things go - but I hope someone builds on Girl Talk soon and and plays me more than just the best parts.
Girl Talk is like that for me. The mashups are consistently brilliant: "Play Your Part, pt.1" for example, features someone (sorry, I really don't know hip-hop) rapping along to the Spencer Davis Group, and they fit perfectly. He throws Salt-n-Pepa over Nirvana, and uses the drum beat from "Scentless Apprentice" and the piano to "Tiny Dancer" as the background for Biggie Smalls.
It's frequently great, but it's just as ADHD as I used to be. Nothing lasts more than a minute or so - if you don't like what's going on, just wait, because the beat, rap, and everything else will change in a minute. He can't stand to use more than a verse from a song, and so none of the mashups ever sound like a song - there's no sense of returning to a great hook, of building up a theme or melody, of a bridge returning to a chorus - it's like dipping into a club where a DJ is trying to use every record he owns once without having to backtrack.
Contrast Girl Talk to the Grey Album by Danger Mouse. Simple concept - Jay-Z vs. the Beatles (yes I'm just barely getting into the Grey Album, but that's the thing this blog is all about - how often to you discover a band or a song from three, or five, or fifteen years ago? It's new to you, even if it's not to everyone else.) To me, the song that works best is "Change Clothes." All hip-hop should be over baroque samples. It's terrific. And, and this is vital, it builds tension like a real song, until it finally has to break.
I haven't written mashups off - in fact I can't wait to see where things go - but I hope someone builds on Girl Talk soon and and plays me more than just the best parts.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Pinkerton
So today at work, we were feeling a little Power Pop, and so I put on Pinkerton. It's almost too punky to be called power-pop, but it's the best album Weezer ever made, so I think those two things cancel.
Rolling Stone now acknowledges Pinkerton as a classic, which is funny because it made their Worst Album of the Year when it came out (ah hindsight.) What's ironic about this to me is the fact that their last three albums have sounded like they were actively going for that award, and yet get respectable reviews.
I can't really blame them though, because apparently back in '96 it was a controversial album. Some people loved it, reviewers panned it, and the band broke up. I discovered it in probably winter of '01, and I was hooked from the moment the heavy guitars came in in "Tired of Sex". I'd heard the Blue Album a year or so earlier, but this was raw - his scream at the end of the verse over those first power chords, the screamed lyrics in the second verse, and all of it building toward the best guitar solo ever in a Weezer song - it's the only solo they've ever done that doesn't feel like every note was written out beforehand.
I was afraid that going back to this album would be a disappointment, because Weezer's last half-decade has been so abysmal. Honestly, songs like "Troublemaker," "Beverly Hills," and "Pork and Beans" strike me as a fan as insulting - it feels like a "let's see if they'll buy this" kind of a toss-off. Rivers Cuomo no longer seems interested in actually communicating anything through his music, and so I feared that listening to their first two albums I might see a hint of that even back then.
Fortunately, it isn't. Pinkerton is still a force of nature, and their songs were still inventive, rather than the formula-written soft-riff/loud-riff sound they've settled on. The album still sounds unsettled, with tempo changes and chord changes that don't always work 100%, but that adds to the sense that this was new to them. They were struggling to make a great record, rather than settling for a mediocre one. I'm not surprised few people bought it, but I am constantly surprised that people buy their new crap.
Rolling Stone now acknowledges Pinkerton as a classic, which is funny because it made their Worst Album of the Year when it came out (ah hindsight.) What's ironic about this to me is the fact that their last three albums have sounded like they were actively going for that award, and yet get respectable reviews.
I can't really blame them though, because apparently back in '96 it was a controversial album. Some people loved it, reviewers panned it, and the band broke up. I discovered it in probably winter of '01, and I was hooked from the moment the heavy guitars came in in "Tired of Sex". I'd heard the Blue Album a year or so earlier, but this was raw - his scream at the end of the verse over those first power chords, the screamed lyrics in the second verse, and all of it building toward the best guitar solo ever in a Weezer song - it's the only solo they've ever done that doesn't feel like every note was written out beforehand.
I was afraid that going back to this album would be a disappointment, because Weezer's last half-decade has been so abysmal. Honestly, songs like "Troublemaker," "Beverly Hills," and "Pork and Beans" strike me as a fan as insulting - it feels like a "let's see if they'll buy this" kind of a toss-off. Rivers Cuomo no longer seems interested in actually communicating anything through his music, and so I feared that listening to their first two albums I might see a hint of that even back then.
Fortunately, it isn't. Pinkerton is still a force of nature, and their songs were still inventive, rather than the formula-written soft-riff/loud-riff sound they've settled on. The album still sounds unsettled, with tempo changes and chord changes that don't always work 100%, but that adds to the sense that this was new to them. They were struggling to make a great record, rather than settling for a mediocre one. I'm not surprised few people bought it, but I am constantly surprised that people buy their new crap.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Great Modern Bands
My last post turned into a rant, but I don't think I'm paranoid in the main thesis - there are a large number of people who think that the majority of the canon of rock and roll was established in the late sixties and early seventies, and has had only minor revisions. They may admit to second or third waves occuring at the beginning of the punk revolution, hip hop age, or even grudgingly grunge/alternative, but these are always secondary to the first great wave.
This goes beyond bands like the Beatles, Rolling Stones, or Led Zeppelin whose position in the upper echelons of the rock pantheon are well deserved. The Kinks often find themselves in this illustrious company - I love the Kinks, but let me ask you, how many Kinks songs can you think of right now? I bet I can think of more Oasis songs. And yet this is heresy - to suggest that not only was Oasis a seminal band of the nineties but one of the great Brit-Pop bands of all time is somehow ludicrous. Sure they had some great songs, but they weren't the Kinks. Besides, the Kinks did it first.
There are a number of albums that get listed in the best albums of the 90's kind of lists, but that I think belong in the best albums of all time category. Siamese Dream, Pinkerton, OK Computer - people make the argument that the Smashing Pumpkins couldn't have existed without the previous twenty years of heavy metal, but the more important point is that they were better than any of those bands. Black Sabbath, Motorhead, Judas Priest - none of them can touch "Silverfuck" or "Cherub Rock." Cheap Trick is usually mentioned as the prototypical power-pop band (maybe the Raspberries, or Big Star, too) but I think the first two Weezer albums stand up against anything they did.
I'm not just trying to compare apples and oranges - to me, Weezer is the natural evolution of power-pop, just like the Smashing Pumpkins were, when they felt like it ("Zero") an absolutely killer metal band.
What I'm arguing for is a more dynamic canon - I think a chart of the greatest albums of the last fifty years should be relatively flat - approximately the same number of great albums per decade. I actually think that with the number of bands that have been formed lately, compared to the number that used to exist, there is a correspondingly larger base for music, which means more total music being made. With more total albums produced per year, if quality or great albums is a constant ratio - maybe the top 1%? - then it's not unreasonable to think that there will actually be more great albums per year than used to be.
I also don't think this is happening, and I have my theories why.
This goes beyond bands like the Beatles, Rolling Stones, or Led Zeppelin whose position in the upper echelons of the rock pantheon are well deserved. The Kinks often find themselves in this illustrious company - I love the Kinks, but let me ask you, how many Kinks songs can you think of right now? I bet I can think of more Oasis songs. And yet this is heresy - to suggest that not only was Oasis a seminal band of the nineties but one of the great Brit-Pop bands of all time is somehow ludicrous. Sure they had some great songs, but they weren't the Kinks. Besides, the Kinks did it first.
There are a number of albums that get listed in the best albums of the 90's kind of lists, but that I think belong in the best albums of all time category. Siamese Dream, Pinkerton, OK Computer - people make the argument that the Smashing Pumpkins couldn't have existed without the previous twenty years of heavy metal, but the more important point is that they were better than any of those bands. Black Sabbath, Motorhead, Judas Priest - none of them can touch "Silverfuck" or "Cherub Rock." Cheap Trick is usually mentioned as the prototypical power-pop band (maybe the Raspberries, or Big Star, too) but I think the first two Weezer albums stand up against anything they did.
I'm not just trying to compare apples and oranges - to me, Weezer is the natural evolution of power-pop, just like the Smashing Pumpkins were, when they felt like it ("Zero") an absolutely killer metal band.
What I'm arguing for is a more dynamic canon - I think a chart of the greatest albums of the last fifty years should be relatively flat - approximately the same number of great albums per decade. I actually think that with the number of bands that have been formed lately, compared to the number that used to exist, there is a correspondingly larger base for music, which means more total music being made. With more total albums produced per year, if quality or great albums is a constant ratio - maybe the top 1%? - then it's not unreasonable to think that there will actually be more great albums per year than used to be.
I also don't think this is happening, and I have my theories why.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Old people
I've kind of danced around the edges of it, but I have to face it - one of the reasons I Hate Rolling Stone is that the editorial direction all comes from former hippies who think music peaked in 1969. Yes, they have younger guys working there now, but it's the same vibe. Nothing released today could possibly be as good as this reissued The Band with new bonus tracks, unless it's a band who wishes they were The Band.
The irony of this is that I love the Band. I think "Makes No Difference" is one of the alltime great songs. But I also think Primitive Radio Gods "Standing Outside a Broken Phonebooth with Money in My Hand" is one of the alltime great songs.
This shouldn't be an argument, but I have it with stupid people all the time. My boss loves Cheap Trick, but if I try to play Weezer or Fountains of Wayne, which to me are a pretty similar kind of music, he hates it. He loves Neil Diamond and Jim Croce, but Iron and Wine? Never.
Rolling Stone is a little more accepting, but you look at their list of the top 500 albums ever - something like half of them were released between '65 and '75. There's this assumption that that was the Renaissance, and the last thirty years have barely equaled those ten.
It's late, and this is rant-y, but tomorrow I think I'll try to put some evidence, some band semi-equivalencies I think I see.
The irony of this is that I love the Band. I think "Makes No Difference" is one of the alltime great songs. But I also think Primitive Radio Gods "Standing Outside a Broken Phonebooth with Money in My Hand" is one of the alltime great songs.
This shouldn't be an argument, but I have it with stupid people all the time. My boss loves Cheap Trick, but if I try to play Weezer or Fountains of Wayne, which to me are a pretty similar kind of music, he hates it. He loves Neil Diamond and Jim Croce, but Iron and Wine? Never.
Rolling Stone is a little more accepting, but you look at their list of the top 500 albums ever - something like half of them were released between '65 and '75. There's this assumption that that was the Renaissance, and the last thirty years have barely equaled those ten.
It's late, and this is rant-y, but tomorrow I think I'll try to put some evidence, some band semi-equivalencies I think I see.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Missing Update
So, I was away from a computer last night. I warned that updates would be light and irregular this weekend, so I won't apologize more than that.
I love a great lyric in a rock song, but ironically, I don't know the lyrics to all that many songs, even songs I love. To paraphrase the movie "Music and Lyrics" (which I liked much more than I thought I would, mostly because the main song in the movie is an absolutely perfect pop gem, courtesy of Adam Schlessinger (and yes, I know that makes three days running with a Adam Schlessinger related post)) music is the first attraction of a song, infatuation; lyrics is when you really get to know someone, when you fall in love with a song.
Unfortunately, a lot of bands overreach, and we end up with heartfelt clunky lyrics, which is like dating the Green Peace Vegan - sometimes you want to let your hair down, you know. The band that overreaches most egregiously, and yet still comes up with a handful of stunners, for me, is the Long Winters. Half of their songs are just cul-de-sacs of cleverness, or Oasis level mixed metaphors. But "New Girl" has lines like "America schools called you 'Starlight'/in fourteen point type" or "Twice, you burned your life's work/Once to start a new life, and once just to start a fire." How can a band like that not knock you out?
Anyway, I'll have a few full, proper posts tomorrow. Goodnight.
I love a great lyric in a rock song, but ironically, I don't know the lyrics to all that many songs, even songs I love. To paraphrase the movie "Music and Lyrics" (which I liked much more than I thought I would, mostly because the main song in the movie is an absolutely perfect pop gem, courtesy of Adam Schlessinger (and yes, I know that makes three days running with a Adam Schlessinger related post)) music is the first attraction of a song, infatuation; lyrics is when you really get to know someone, when you fall in love with a song.
Unfortunately, a lot of bands overreach, and we end up with heartfelt clunky lyrics, which is like dating the Green Peace Vegan - sometimes you want to let your hair down, you know. The band that overreaches most egregiously, and yet still comes up with a handful of stunners, for me, is the Long Winters. Half of their songs are just cul-de-sacs of cleverness, or Oasis level mixed metaphors. But "New Girl" has lines like "America schools called you 'Starlight'/in fourteen point type" or "Twice, you burned your life's work/Once to start a new life, and once just to start a fire." How can a band like that not knock you out?
Anyway, I'll have a few full, proper posts tomorrow. Goodnight.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Someone to Love
So I got into a Fountains of Wayne kick last night after listening to Tinted Windows. One of the first songs I came across on Youtube was "Someone to Love". Watch it; it's a beautifully bittersweet video, and has Demetri Martin in it.
While this has become one of my favorite depressing pop songs, it got me thinking about common song titles. "Someone to Love" or "Somebody to Love" pop up all the time, and they're often great songs. Jefferson Airplane's "Somebody..." is my favorite song of theirs, narrowly edging out "Volunteers"; Queen did a "Someone to Love" which is pretty good.
How about "Dance the Night Away"? Cream did a song with that title, and Van Halen's is my favorite of theirs. Note I'm not talking about covers - these are all different songs with the same title; sometime a kind of unlikely title. Wikipedia also brings up a Europe song and a Mavericks song called "Dance the Night Away."
"Fire" is a title that has been used time and again, and never seems to work quite as well as people thought it would. You'd think a song called "Fire" would be this explosion of killer rock and roll, and somehow it always falls flat. Hendrix's "Fire" is one of my least favorite Hendrix songs; Arthur Brown, Emerson Lake and Palmer, and U2 all gave it a shot, and I can't think of how any of them go. Probably the best is Springsteens, which works mostly because he makes it a ballad rather than a scorcher.
The internet showed me a bunch of songs called either "Rock and Roll" or "Sunday Morning" but I've got to give the win to the Velvet Underground on both.
I had a thought, a long time ago, when I read that song titles couldn't be copyrighted, and that I could write a song called "Every Breath You Take" and Sting couldn't touch me (this is also back when most of my rich and famous dreams involved writing brilliant albums). My thought was to take a famous album, like the White Album, and create an album where the track by track listing would be exactly the same, but the songs would be totally different. You'd have your own song called "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" etc. The idea being to use the titles as a stepping off point for creativity.
While this has become one of my favorite depressing pop songs, it got me thinking about common song titles. "Someone to Love" or "Somebody to Love" pop up all the time, and they're often great songs. Jefferson Airplane's "Somebody..." is my favorite song of theirs, narrowly edging out "Volunteers"; Queen did a "Someone to Love" which is pretty good.
How about "Dance the Night Away"? Cream did a song with that title, and Van Halen's is my favorite of theirs. Note I'm not talking about covers - these are all different songs with the same title; sometime a kind of unlikely title. Wikipedia also brings up a Europe song and a Mavericks song called "Dance the Night Away."
"Fire" is a title that has been used time and again, and never seems to work quite as well as people thought it would. You'd think a song called "Fire" would be this explosion of killer rock and roll, and somehow it always falls flat. Hendrix's "Fire" is one of my least favorite Hendrix songs; Arthur Brown, Emerson Lake and Palmer, and U2 all gave it a shot, and I can't think of how any of them go. Probably the best is Springsteens, which works mostly because he makes it a ballad rather than a scorcher.
The internet showed me a bunch of songs called either "Rock and Roll" or "Sunday Morning" but I've got to give the win to the Velvet Underground on both.
I had a thought, a long time ago, when I read that song titles couldn't be copyrighted, and that I could write a song called "Every Breath You Take" and Sting couldn't touch me (this is also back when most of my rich and famous dreams involved writing brilliant albums). My thought was to take a famous album, like the White Album, and create an album where the track by track listing would be exactly the same, but the songs would be totally different. You'd have your own song called "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" etc. The idea being to use the titles as a stepping off point for creativity.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Tinted Windows
My cousin posted on facebook something about Hansen coming back, which pleased her.
Back in the '90's I hated Hansen, basically because I was required to by law. Teen bands younger than you you just can't like, so even if "Man from Milwaukee" was catchy, I'd never admit it. A couple years ago, a poker buddy's wife admitted that she loved Hansen, and that they continued to write songs and tour. So I checked them out. I still wasn't into them, but there was nothing inherently wrong with them anymore - they were certainly no less talented than The Fray, just not my thing.
Then I heard about Tinted Windows. I've liked Fountains of Wayne and Adam Schlesinger ever since I learned that he was the guy who wrote "That Thing You Do." So that's one plus. And they had James Iha, who I think shows just how much being rich and famous and a rock star can suck: to be one of the "other guys" in Smashing Pumpkins, despite being a talented guitarist and song writer - this must be how Noel Redding Feels.
So I listened to the Tinted Windows album. It has precisely one good song on it, which is the stunningly catchy "Kind of a Girl." Do not be fooled by this single. It's like Matthew Sweet - there is one song that is perfection, and everything else - it's not bad, you just can't remember the melody or lyrics five seconds after it's over.
I firmly believe this is the test of a bad album - if you honestly have no feelings one way or the other after you hear it, or if you can't remember the melody as soon as the song ends, don't think to yourself "It's alright." It's so much worse to be boring than bad. My boss loves bands like this. He'll put on one of several (!) Dishwalla albums he has, and even if it's the one with "Counting Blue Cars" it makes for a bad hour at work. I can't stand it - there's nothing going on. Technically, they're playing chords, and singing, but it's so smooth in the middle and bland that you forget about them instantly. Next time he says he loves the album, I'll challenge him to remember one melody or lyric from it. If he can, I'll shut up.
Anyway, buy the Tinted Windows single, but beware the album.
Back in the '90's I hated Hansen, basically because I was required to by law. Teen bands younger than you you just can't like, so even if "Man from Milwaukee" was catchy, I'd never admit it. A couple years ago, a poker buddy's wife admitted that she loved Hansen, and that they continued to write songs and tour. So I checked them out. I still wasn't into them, but there was nothing inherently wrong with them anymore - they were certainly no less talented than The Fray, just not my thing.
Then I heard about Tinted Windows. I've liked Fountains of Wayne and Adam Schlesinger ever since I learned that he was the guy who wrote "That Thing You Do." So that's one plus. And they had James Iha, who I think shows just how much being rich and famous and a rock star can suck: to be one of the "other guys" in Smashing Pumpkins, despite being a talented guitarist and song writer - this must be how Noel Redding Feels.
So I listened to the Tinted Windows album. It has precisely one good song on it, which is the stunningly catchy "Kind of a Girl." Do not be fooled by this single. It's like Matthew Sweet - there is one song that is perfection, and everything else - it's not bad, you just can't remember the melody or lyrics five seconds after it's over.
I firmly believe this is the test of a bad album - if you honestly have no feelings one way or the other after you hear it, or if you can't remember the melody as soon as the song ends, don't think to yourself "It's alright." It's so much worse to be boring than bad. My boss loves bands like this. He'll put on one of several (!) Dishwalla albums he has, and even if it's the one with "Counting Blue Cars" it makes for a bad hour at work. I can't stand it - there's nothing going on. Technically, they're playing chords, and singing, but it's so smooth in the middle and bland that you forget about them instantly. Next time he says he loves the album, I'll challenge him to remember one melody or lyric from it. If he can, I'll shut up.
Anyway, buy the Tinted Windows single, but beware the album.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Finding Footing
Unlike Before the Ships I didn't have a real strong idea of what this blog was going to be when I started it. It's about music, music I like, and which sometimes Rolling Stone or Pitchfork don't for what seem to me arbitrary and stupid reasons. It's called I Hate Rolling Stone, and I kind of do, for reasons I've outlined.
I guess I wanted a place I could talk about music my way, and time to figure out what that was exactly. I don't really know how to do Rock Criticism, except that everyone else seems to do it wrong, too. They think it's about telling people what they should and shouldn't like, and I think it's about talking about music I like, and I'm not doing it well yet, but I can't really do it worse, so, oh well.
So if anyone is reading this blog yet, forgive me. Give me some time, and I'll eventually say something about a band you like, and we'll be off and running.
I guess I wanted a place I could talk about music my way, and time to figure out what that was exactly. I don't really know how to do Rock Criticism, except that everyone else seems to do it wrong, too. They think it's about telling people what they should and shouldn't like, and I think it's about talking about music I like, and I'm not doing it well yet, but I can't really do it worse, so, oh well.
So if anyone is reading this blog yet, forgive me. Give me some time, and I'll eventually say something about a band you like, and we'll be off and running.
David Bowie
So, right now I'm going through a David Bowie kick. This is probably my second major Bowie kick. My first started in high school when the classic rock station played "Ziggy Stardust" on the radio, blowing my mind, and sending me out to buy the album. So early, glam Bowie staked out a piece of my musical heart early, the same time I was discovering the Smashing Pumpkins and Screaming Trees.
But the last year or so, reaching a fever point in the last couple of months, I've been drawn to the late-seventies Thin White Duke phase of Bowie's career. I bought Low several years ago, and then took the plunge on Lodger but it has been Heroes and Iggy Pop's The Idiot that have really dropped my jaw.
Everyone knows the title song to Heroes (no I'm not going to do this "" marks, it's a pain in the neck.) Almost no one can name a single other song on the album. This album followed Low in having half the album dedicated to electronic soundscapes, and the other half to broken, weird pop songs. I love Low; I love the weird cabaret "Be My Wife" and the weird pseudo-funk "Breaking Glass" and all of it. The songs are so...broken; pieces of abstract songs that got stuck together. Love it.
Heroes the songs are more song-like, but Adrien Belew will keep anything from seeming conventional. The guitar riffs end on weird notes and beats, the harmonies are weird, and he keeps popping up to falsetto in the middle of a phrase. "Joe the Lion" is full throated, roaring rock and roll, and he keeps shouting "get up and sleep." Or in "Blackout" in the middle of this cacophonous song, he croons for one verse "If you don't stay tonight/I will take that plane tonight/I've nothing to lose, nothing to gain/I'll kiss you in the rain..." and it's this beautiful minisong that he has no interest in returning to.
"Sister Midnight" though, knocks me out. Neil Gaiman used it for a stripper in one of the "Sandman" comics, which is brilliant. It's that menacing disco/funk thing that Bowie patented in the seventies, and Iggy Pop rides it for everything it's worth. The only band that can do that same dark dance funk thing right now is Franz Ferdinand, whose last album was a beautiful late night rave in itself.
But the last year or so, reaching a fever point in the last couple of months, I've been drawn to the late-seventies Thin White Duke phase of Bowie's career. I bought Low several years ago, and then took the plunge on Lodger but it has been Heroes and Iggy Pop's The Idiot that have really dropped my jaw.
Everyone knows the title song to Heroes (no I'm not going to do this "" marks, it's a pain in the neck.) Almost no one can name a single other song on the album. This album followed Low in having half the album dedicated to electronic soundscapes, and the other half to broken, weird pop songs. I love Low; I love the weird cabaret "Be My Wife" and the weird pseudo-funk "Breaking Glass" and all of it. The songs are so...broken; pieces of abstract songs that got stuck together. Love it.
Heroes the songs are more song-like, but Adrien Belew will keep anything from seeming conventional. The guitar riffs end on weird notes and beats, the harmonies are weird, and he keeps popping up to falsetto in the middle of a phrase. "Joe the Lion" is full throated, roaring rock and roll, and he keeps shouting "get up and sleep." Or in "Blackout" in the middle of this cacophonous song, he croons for one verse "If you don't stay tonight/I will take that plane tonight/I've nothing to lose, nothing to gain/I'll kiss you in the rain..." and it's this beautiful minisong that he has no interest in returning to.
"Sister Midnight" though, knocks me out. Neil Gaiman used it for a stripper in one of the "Sandman" comics, which is brilliant. It's that menacing disco/funk thing that Bowie patented in the seventies, and Iggy Pop rides it for everything it's worth. The only band that can do that same dark dance funk thing right now is Franz Ferdinand, whose last album was a beautiful late night rave in itself.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Stretching (Evidence/Careers)
So, in discussions with other music geek friends, I've been accused slightly of stretching the evidence to cover the theory - arbitrarily putting albums in and out of my "prime period" to get my ten years. That may be fair - as my dad said (paraphrased), just because he never released an album as great as Blood on the Tracks doesn't mean he didn't release an album's worth of great material afterward.
Partly, I think that is still my point. Partly, that may be fair, but I respond - sing me a Bob Dylan song, and let's see if the first one to come to mind falls in that period or out. One of the things that is interesting about Dylan vs. the other musicians I named is that as a musician noted primarily for his lyrics, his development probably looked a lot different from, say, the Beatles. On the other hand, I was thinking that the Stones were probably a lot more resilient considering their band chemistry and groove-intuition was so good they could do basically anything. I don't know, the Stones to me were more uneven throughout, but if I'm really honest, you've got to give them at least about 15 or 16 years.
Also, REM was pointed out to me, and an argument ensued, involving the relative merits of Murmur which I stick solidly in the "early" career phase and which others put in the "Classic REM" phase.
Well, we'll see. Anyway, the other thing that occurred to me as I was putting together last night's post was that If I compare the Beatles to Pearl Jam, the Beatles eight years covers 12 or 13 albums (depending on your nationality) whereas Pearl Jam has about 5.
Partly, I think that is still my point. Partly, that may be fair, but I respond - sing me a Bob Dylan song, and let's see if the first one to come to mind falls in that period or out. One of the things that is interesting about Dylan vs. the other musicians I named is that as a musician noted primarily for his lyrics, his development probably looked a lot different from, say, the Beatles. On the other hand, I was thinking that the Stones were probably a lot more resilient considering their band chemistry and groove-intuition was so good they could do basically anything. I don't know, the Stones to me were more uneven throughout, but if I'm really honest, you've got to give them at least about 15 or 16 years.
Also, REM was pointed out to me, and an argument ensued, involving the relative merits of Murmur which I stick solidly in the "early" career phase and which others put in the "Classic REM" phase.
Well, we'll see. Anyway, the other thing that occurred to me as I was putting together last night's post was that If I compare the Beatles to Pearl Jam, the Beatles eight years covers 12 or 13 albums (depending on your nationality) whereas Pearl Jam has about 5.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Ten Years
So I mentioned yesterday (slash this morning) that if you're a great rock band, you've got about eight to ten years of absolutely first rate work, followed by an almost inevitable falling off. I'd like to take a moment to try and make my case and then we can talk about the implications.
1) the Beatles. Considering they were only a recording band for eight years, I think this is somewhat generous - I'm essentially giving them everything they ever did as groundbreaking. I'm comfortable with this for two reasons - look at where rock music was in 1962; they were groundbreaking. The entire genre of rock music evolved in response to them, and they stayed at the forefront until they broke up. I don't think you can oversell the Beatles; everything we think of as natural for a rock band - they write their own songs, record their material, put out albums instead of just singles - was because of them. So yeah.
But this is where I'll get the hate mail comments - look at the solo careers each of the major three songwriters in the band embarked on (if you're confused, Ringo isn't one of them.) Paul had a couple of great songs on his first couple of albums, and Wings was a good band, but good isn't what we're talking about. George had one absolutely great album's worth of songs left over from the last couple of years with the group, and he quickly settled into the same kind of McCartney mediocrity.
And John. For all the Lennon history revisionists out there, John's solo career was no better than Paul's. Half a dozen good songs, and I'll give you "Imagine" as great if you'll give me "Maybe I'm Amazed." That's it, really. A covers album of old rock classics. I put the last significant song, album, or recording of any kind by a Beatle no later than 1971.
1) the Beatles. Considering they were only a recording band for eight years, I think this is somewhat generous - I'm essentially giving them everything they ever did as groundbreaking. I'm comfortable with this for two reasons - look at where rock music was in 1962; they were groundbreaking. The entire genre of rock music evolved in response to them, and they stayed at the forefront until they broke up. I don't think you can oversell the Beatles; everything we think of as natural for a rock band - they write their own songs, record their material, put out albums instead of just singles - was because of them. So yeah.
But this is where I'll get the hate mail comments - look at the solo careers each of the major three songwriters in the band embarked on (if you're confused, Ringo isn't one of them.) Paul had a couple of great songs on his first couple of albums, and Wings was a good band, but good isn't what we're talking about. George had one absolutely great album's worth of songs left over from the last couple of years with the group, and he quickly settled into the same kind of McCartney mediocrity.
And John. For all the Lennon history revisionists out there, John's solo career was no better than Paul's. Half a dozen good songs, and I'll give you "Imagine" as great if you'll give me "Maybe I'm Amazed." That's it, really. A covers album of old rock classics. I put the last significant song, album, or recording of any kind by a Beatle no later than 1971.
Rock and Roll Hall of Fame
The Title of this blog is I Hate Rolling Stone, and it's worth a diversion to say why. Rolling Stone was co-founded by Jann Wenner, as was the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Jann himself was inducted for the Lifetime Achievement Award a few years ago. By the organization he helped found, and on whose committee he still sits. Way to go.
Anyway, I don't understand why rock and roll needs a hall of fame. It's a concept that makes sense in sports, where everyone understands (basically) the criteria a player is judged by, and where we know what a good player looks like, basically. This is somewhat simplified, and there are fantastic arguments about who should or shouldn't get in, but these arguments tend to be about the most marginal cases. No one argues about whether Willie Mays or Babe Ruth belongs.
Part of the reason this concept doesn't work in music for me is because music is not a zero sum game like sports. I can like the Beatles without diminishing the Rolling Stones. While I guess I only have so many dollars to spend, and thus only so many albums to buy, one bands gain is not directly another bands loss.
The second problem is that great rock bands don't look the same, the way great baseball teams or players do. I love Bob Dylan, but he can leave other people absolutely cold - there's no sports parallel; a basketball player doesn't score thirty points when I'm watching, but only ten when you see him. Music has no objective measurements.
Finally, the fact of the hall of fame is that there are great bands with long lasting influence, who aren't in. Black Sabbath made it in three years ago - nearly ten years after they became eligible. Genesis have just barely been nominated, and ELO still isn't in.
Anyway, I don't understand why rock and roll needs a hall of fame. It's a concept that makes sense in sports, where everyone understands (basically) the criteria a player is judged by, and where we know what a good player looks like, basically. This is somewhat simplified, and there are fantastic arguments about who should or shouldn't get in, but these arguments tend to be about the most marginal cases. No one argues about whether Willie Mays or Babe Ruth belongs.
Part of the reason this concept doesn't work in music for me is because music is not a zero sum game like sports. I can like the Beatles without diminishing the Rolling Stones. While I guess I only have so many dollars to spend, and thus only so many albums to buy, one bands gain is not directly another bands loss.
The second problem is that great rock bands don't look the same, the way great baseball teams or players do. I love Bob Dylan, but he can leave other people absolutely cold - there's no sports parallel; a basketball player doesn't score thirty points when I'm watching, but only ten when you see him. Music has no objective measurements.
Finally, the fact of the hall of fame is that there are great bands with long lasting influence, who aren't in. Black Sabbath made it in three years ago - nearly ten years after they became eligible. Genesis have just barely been nominated, and ELO still isn't in.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Was Hall of Fame - Now is Pretentious British Twit
I was going to talk about the Rock and Roll hall of fame, but as I came home a CD review on the BBC pushed my buttons, and so away we go.
I heard the last half of the review, but he was describing a band, talking with a female reviewer, and apparently this band was huge in former Soviet countries. The female reviewer said this was because of their classical influence - apparently the band were big fans of Rachmaninov, Prokofiev, and Shostakovich - and the male reviewer interrupted her to call this "pretentious." She replied that the band enjoyed this music, and were having fun with strings sections, etc, when he said something to the effect of: "it's back to the seventies, with orchestras and strings - prog. rock. And it's pretentious."
This in itself would have been enough, but the next album they talked about cemented it. Again, didn't catch the name, but he described it as "Kate Bush meets Bat for Lashes - I really like it."
First off, in what universe is Kate Bush not pretentious? (Same for Bat for Lashes). It's not that I don't like Kate Bush, but she has a song called "Wuthering Heights" - a song which is, let's face it, quite orchestral, and which was produced by Dave Gilmour, of prog band Pink Floyd. Somehow, anything remotely adventurous musically has become "prog" and "prog" is a synonym for bloated pretentious bombastic whatever you want it to mean.
This pushes my buttons for a couple of reasons. First is simply that I like prog music. Hell, I like classical music, including Shostakovich, Mussorgsky, whatever. But much more importantly, it gets back to this idea that has permeated the rock criticism paradigm that there is a right or wrong way to like rock music. Anything that smacks of sophistication, of polish, of virtuosity - scratch that, of musical sophistication polish or virtuosity is bad. Musical is important in there - Kate Bush is as pretentious as they come, but it's her lyrics, so it's fine.
Rock music started with the idea of the genius of the amateur - but amateur classical musicians, I think, are just as valid as amateur punks. There's a lot of pretentious punk out there, but there are people who won't touch Aqualung because it's "prog rock."
This is kind of a mess of a post, and I'll probably try to polish it in the morning. But seriously, how can you call something pretentious and in the same breath praise Kate Bush?
I heard the last half of the review, but he was describing a band, talking with a female reviewer, and apparently this band was huge in former Soviet countries. The female reviewer said this was because of their classical influence - apparently the band were big fans of Rachmaninov, Prokofiev, and Shostakovich - and the male reviewer interrupted her to call this "pretentious." She replied that the band enjoyed this music, and were having fun with strings sections, etc, when he said something to the effect of: "it's back to the seventies, with orchestras and strings - prog. rock. And it's pretentious."
This in itself would have been enough, but the next album they talked about cemented it. Again, didn't catch the name, but he described it as "Kate Bush meets Bat for Lashes - I really like it."
First off, in what universe is Kate Bush not pretentious? (Same for Bat for Lashes). It's not that I don't like Kate Bush, but she has a song called "Wuthering Heights" - a song which is, let's face it, quite orchestral, and which was produced by Dave Gilmour, of prog band Pink Floyd. Somehow, anything remotely adventurous musically has become "prog" and "prog" is a synonym for bloated pretentious bombastic whatever you want it to mean.
This pushes my buttons for a couple of reasons. First is simply that I like prog music. Hell, I like classical music, including Shostakovich, Mussorgsky, whatever. But much more importantly, it gets back to this idea that has permeated the rock criticism paradigm that there is a right or wrong way to like rock music. Anything that smacks of sophistication, of polish, of virtuosity - scratch that, of musical sophistication polish or virtuosity is bad. Musical is important in there - Kate Bush is as pretentious as they come, but it's her lyrics, so it's fine.
Rock music started with the idea of the genius of the amateur - but amateur classical musicians, I think, are just as valid as amateur punks. There's a lot of pretentious punk out there, but there are people who won't touch Aqualung because it's "prog rock."
This is kind of a mess of a post, and I'll probably try to polish it in the morning. But seriously, how can you call something pretentious and in the same breath praise Kate Bush?
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Aging '60's Stars
A while back I was watching a VH1 retrospective on the sixties, and they were talking about all those great musicians who died as soon as the decade was over - Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, and Janis Joplin especially (Duane Allman seems to get no love). They were interviewing David Crosby, and he was saying something to the effect of "...how well would Jimi be playing today? What would Janis be singing today? These were major talents."
I'm a baseball fan, and the sport is filled with guys everyone thought would be the next superstar, who nothing ever came of. Sometimes one of these guys comes along, and then gets injured, and he only ever had two seasons - but they were phenomenal seasons. You wonder (and argue about) would this guy have been a Hall-of-Famer given the chance? One of the things you can do is to compare players who, say, got injured and ended prematurely a promising career, with a player who was approximately as talented, and see where their career went.
So I look at Janis Joplin. Janis was granted one of the most beautiful raspy voices ever to sing the blues, and she was a firecracker on stage. Her posthumously released album Pearl sold a zillion copies and is brilliant from start to finish. It's easy to see a career filled with Pearls and think of the tragic loss.
Now look at Joe Cocker, say 1970. He'd been a relative unknown until Woodstock, where he'd basically set the place on fire. He had the temerity not just to cover the Beatles, but to utterly transform them. Listen to his versions of "She Came In Through the Bathroom Window" or "With a Little Help from My Friends". They're nearly unrecognizable. Joe went on a huge tour called "Mad Dogs and Englishmen" the double live album of which might be the greatest live album ever.
It doesn't seem unreasonable to me to assume that Joe Cocker and Janis Joplin were in about the same place in 1970. She was a little more famous, but I think it's safe to say the talent levels were about equivalent. Let's say we can reasonable expect Janis's career to have followed a trajectory pretty close to Cocker's. Where would she be now?
Probably, nowhere special. The major work of Cocker's career was behind him by the mid-Seventies, and he's been riding his voice and former glory ever since. For every halfway decent song he records nowadays, it's a reminder that he really doesn't have a "The Letter" left in him. Joe Cocker and Janis Joplin were both singers, and neither of them was really a song writer - their careers were only as good as the songs they could get. Even Elvis trailed off by the mid sixties. So what does this say about someone who wrote the bulk of their material, whose talent was in elevating the guitar to point approaching Mjolnir?
So let's look at Hendrix. He's often called the greatest guitarist ever now, and even before his death was basically thought of that way. But in the sixties, the competition was stiffer. Even if Hendrix was first among equals, those equals, everyone knew, included Eric Clapton, Jeff Beck, and a guy thought every bit in the same league, Peter Green.
Eric Clapton's career nearly sputtered out in the mid seventies as well - in fact, heroin almost had him pulling a Hendrix back then, and we'd never have had such classics as..."Tears in Heaven"? Let's face it, comeback or no, Clapton's career by the time he started putting out solo albums was clearly past his prime. He would cut exactly one great album after that, Unplugged, and the highlight of that was a track from 1972.
Jeff Beck fared little better, and Peter Green burned out as hard as it's possible to burn out. Today, his signature song ("Black Magic Woman") is mostly associated with another guitarist, and almost nobody knows that he was even in the band he founded: Fleetwood Mac.
The best case scenario it seems for me for Hendrix is something like Clapton's career - periodically interesting output, with more and more mediocre albums filling in the years. He'd probably have had the occasional comeback tour, maybe be working on an album with Rick Rubin by now, and he'd still be a hell of a guitarist. But he'd be nowhere near the cutting edge. It would have passed him by sometime around 1978, and aside from a guest spot on a Radiohead album here or there, he'd be remember as a living artifact.
Sacrilegious enough?
I'm a baseball fan, and the sport is filled with guys everyone thought would be the next superstar, who nothing ever came of. Sometimes one of these guys comes along, and then gets injured, and he only ever had two seasons - but they were phenomenal seasons. You wonder (and argue about) would this guy have been a Hall-of-Famer given the chance? One of the things you can do is to compare players who, say, got injured and ended prematurely a promising career, with a player who was approximately as talented, and see where their career went.
So I look at Janis Joplin. Janis was granted one of the most beautiful raspy voices ever to sing the blues, and she was a firecracker on stage. Her posthumously released album Pearl sold a zillion copies and is brilliant from start to finish. It's easy to see a career filled with Pearls and think of the tragic loss.
Now look at Joe Cocker, say 1970. He'd been a relative unknown until Woodstock, where he'd basically set the place on fire. He had the temerity not just to cover the Beatles, but to utterly transform them. Listen to his versions of "She Came In Through the Bathroom Window" or "With a Little Help from My Friends". They're nearly unrecognizable. Joe went on a huge tour called "Mad Dogs and Englishmen" the double live album of which might be the greatest live album ever.
It doesn't seem unreasonable to me to assume that Joe Cocker and Janis Joplin were in about the same place in 1970. She was a little more famous, but I think it's safe to say the talent levels were about equivalent. Let's say we can reasonable expect Janis's career to have followed a trajectory pretty close to Cocker's. Where would she be now?
Probably, nowhere special. The major work of Cocker's career was behind him by the mid-Seventies, and he's been riding his voice and former glory ever since. For every halfway decent song he records nowadays, it's a reminder that he really doesn't have a "The Letter" left in him. Joe Cocker and Janis Joplin were both singers, and neither of them was really a song writer - their careers were only as good as the songs they could get. Even Elvis trailed off by the mid sixties. So what does this say about someone who wrote the bulk of their material, whose talent was in elevating the guitar to point approaching Mjolnir?
So let's look at Hendrix. He's often called the greatest guitarist ever now, and even before his death was basically thought of that way. But in the sixties, the competition was stiffer. Even if Hendrix was first among equals, those equals, everyone knew, included Eric Clapton, Jeff Beck, and a guy thought every bit in the same league, Peter Green.
Eric Clapton's career nearly sputtered out in the mid seventies as well - in fact, heroin almost had him pulling a Hendrix back then, and we'd never have had such classics as..."Tears in Heaven"? Let's face it, comeback or no, Clapton's career by the time he started putting out solo albums was clearly past his prime. He would cut exactly one great album after that, Unplugged, and the highlight of that was a track from 1972.
Jeff Beck fared little better, and Peter Green burned out as hard as it's possible to burn out. Today, his signature song ("Black Magic Woman") is mostly associated with another guitarist, and almost nobody knows that he was even in the band he founded: Fleetwood Mac.
The best case scenario it seems for me for Hendrix is something like Clapton's career - periodically interesting output, with more and more mediocre albums filling in the years. He'd probably have had the occasional comeback tour, maybe be working on an album with Rick Rubin by now, and he'd still be a hell of a guitarist. But he'd be nowhere near the cutting edge. It would have passed him by sometime around 1978, and aside from a guest spot on a Radiohead album here or there, he'd be remember as a living artifact.
Sacrilegious enough?
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