Starting tomorrow, L Magazine--which MS readers might know as my sometimes employer, who I mention a lot--will be launching their inaugural Northside Festival around the legit, kinda legit, and seriously sketchy venues around Williamsburg. I'll be flitting about, taking notes on dozens of sets, and filinf morning reports over on the mag's website. Sounds like there will be six or so correspondents out and about for their coverage (including, apparently MTV's John Norris?!?), so that will be your one-stop for a comprehensive look at the previous night's goings on. The full schedule of gigs is here, and it's pretty easy to navigate, so I'll spare you a run down of each and every name band playing. Below though, just for insight, are the shows I'm likely to report on:

Thursday:

- Julianna Barwick, Ducktails, @ Cameo Gallery

Been really smitten with Julianna Barwick's nearly devotional vocal loops. Very eager to see if they have a bit more dynamic movement when performed live. Since I'm gonna be there anyway, I'm more than willing to let Ducktails dissuade me of the notion that they are Wavves from New Jersey. The actual convincing is on them.

- Marnie Stern, Magik Markers, @ Shea Stadium

No, not the Shea Stadium. Apparently there's a venue called that not but a few blocks from my apartment, that I've never heard of. AND it's hosting the best one-two headlining punch of probably any show during Northside's confines. Maybe the best I've gone to this year? Fingers crossed. MMs Balf Quarry is a mess, but I like it a lot.

Friday:

- Pop Tarts Suck Toasted showcase, @ Public Assembly

Just a crush of bands playing both rooms of Public Assembly this night, so I"ll probably use that place as a defacto home base, and make outings from there. No reason to fling in too many directions Friday, as a short walk/cab from No 6th can take me to catch some pick-a-mix of Sunset Rubdown at the Music Hall, Real Estate at Death by Audio, Golden Triangle at Union Pool, Tune Yards at Spike Hill, or the Beets at Bruar Falls.

Saturday:

-Battering Room showcase @ Bar Matchless

As previously mentioned, I will be stationed at this fine free show during the daytime hours, dropping "tune bombs" on those trying to enjoy an afternoon drink up. Bands in the Greenpoint bar's back room are free for all as well, so there's no reason not to pop your head in...

- IMPOSE showcase @ Death By Audio

A big freaky electronic line up with some names I'm familiar with, and some I"m not so much. But I'm psyched on that sort of thing. Synth textures to the slaiughter and all. But a good place to be popping in and out of I figure. Much more central than the Less Artists More Condos show at the Shank in Greenpoint, though, if you have to park it all night that bill, with Woods, Kurt Vile, and Grooms is a winner. With hopes to maybe catch Cymbals Eat Guitars at the Music Hall, I'm gonna stay closer afield.

Sunday:

- The Dodos @ Studio B

5 PM is a good time to catch some layered indie-folk, yeah? I don't usually partake in said, so its optimum timing escapes me. The cavernous confines of Studio B will make it seem like blackest night no matter what.

- The Drums @ Public Assembly

Florida's blandly named The Drums had a world of buzz coming out of the recently stacked NYC Popfest, so they get the red pen circle for me in the later evening. Other than that, I'll just let my fatigued feet go where they need to. Perhaps three steps into the Brooklyn Vegan metal showcase (and then four steps back out again). Although that seems like quite a silly walk to Greenpoint just for a bit of genre dilletantism.

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 02:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

By now you probably already heard how Pearl Jam filmed a commercial for their forthcoming album's distribution deal at the curiously fashionable big-box store, Target. (Off topic - Brilliant case of advertising doing it's job when Target > Walmart when in all reality Target = Walmart). You may have also heard the screeching outrage from fans shocked - Shocked! - that one of the more vocal of the remaining alt-rock stalwarts against corporate influence decided to take this route. Since you probably already heard about all the excruciatingly banal details, I assure you that this post is not about those things.

This morning I left a lengthy comment with my measured take on the "controversy" on this polarizing post on popular Colorado-based Fuel/Friends blog run by friend and superblogger, Heather Browne. Those familiar with her blog know she is kooky for Pearl Jam, so when she dropped word about the her break-up with the band in light of their management's tight grip on information, it immediately stoked violent reaction in the comments section. Typical to the Internet - some were less than rational. You'd a thunk Pearl Jam slit the throats of dozen puppies live on the Disney channel. Though to be fair, and giving credit where it's due, it is a testament to the smart, passionate audience her blog attracts when most comments do reflect a more pragmatic response.

I normally refrain from this kind of uber-specific meta blogging, because quite frankly it's boring as shit, but it was lengthy enough that I decided to re-post on my own soapbox. After the jump -- my thoughts on why this is another case of Oink! like misguidedness (see here and here) and why we really shouldn't give a crap about any of it because it doesn't matter any.

-- -- --

Last night, in a night of debuts, Pearl Jam played "Get Some" on Conan's first night hosting the Tonight Show. The video can be found all over the blogs. It was meh at best. Much like most of their recent output. Blog chatter seems focused on the poor sound, I'd focus on the lack of a hook!

Continue reading "Pearl Jam stirs up the blogs, mehs it up on Conan" »

Posted by Merry Swankster at 01:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

[Alternative to fine print stating: Entering premises absolves band of medical liability]

I know I know, we are not the quickest cats when it comes to turning around live music reviews. What's that? The whining angry mob is in my imagination only? Oh okay...

I wanted to just take a minute to point out some information for anyone who was at Fridays My Bloody Valentine show in Denver and is still wallowing in deaf confusion. That last song the band played, the epic 10-minute tsunami of sonic mayhem that either a) destroyed your eardrums, or b) proved why pricey earplugs cost what they do is called "You Made Me Realise." Born as the title track to the EP preceding the shoegaze classic, Loveless, which happens to be the same EP we uncharacteristically shared with the Internets back in November of 2007 (Ed note - Original disclaimer still applies).

Because, or in spite of my lack of eloquence with real-time observations, here is Professor David Klein's recap of his experience with "You Made Me Realise", which is currently splitting the ears of a nation as the coda of My Bloody Valentine's show:

I witnessed the song played live, on a frigid New York night, at a venue no longer there in the west 20s. The gig also featured Screaming Trees and Dinosaur Jr. In retrospect, I’m surprised I can still hear at all. The volume of the show was plenty loud throughout, but toward the end of MBV’s set, the band unleashed a sustained segment of sheer, shrieking, earsplitting noise, six or eight minutes’ worth, that was shocking even to a room full of pretty jaded NYC listeners. Coming at the end of the stutter-step phrase before the title words are sung, the squall of noise constituted a provocative gesture far beyond anything that could be done by flipping the bird or acting snotty. It was almost frightening. Scores of people headed out to the lobby until it stopped, and I might have been one of them. What McGonigal says is that halfway through this assault, something weird would happen: it started to sound like this beautiful otherworldly music you’d never heard before. Perhaps it was only the sound that our ear cells make when they die, but he theorizes that this otherworldly noise became the inspiration for the never-to-be duplicated sounds of Loveless, the sound Shields pursued with obsessive deliberateness on a record that he did virtually everything on.

See? Much better than "Holy fucking shit."

My Bloody Valentine - "You Made Me Realise"

Previously: Realising Our Commitment to Public Service

Posted by Merry Swankster at 06:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

" We had all seven kids there for the first time ever. It is part of the new vibe: Less intoxication and debauchery and more family," says Phish bassist Mike Gordon in the June issue of Relix. "We're people to have dinner with rather than to party down with and that doesn't make for a less intense relationship or even a less intense jam. Maybe it's more intense in a sense because we're not clouded and can better sense the subtleties of what's happening in our relationship."

Previously from the files:

Jon Pareles on meta blogging
Black Eyed Peas head new socially aware Genre?
Kanye West is a professional
50 Cent no longer following US Election
Indie crowds discover dancing
Anita Baker is not a rapper
Shilling funds Honda, terrorism
Pitchfork prefers Britney to the Strokes

Posted by Merry Swankster at 01:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

Here once again, is Volcano Suns bassist and newfound MS guest blogger, Jeff Weigand. While his previous post found him in a fighting mood, he joins us today to pay respect to recently deceased literary giant JG Ballard....(JK)

--

So Ballard has died. I knew of course that this was coming as he has been sick with cancer since 2006...but still it shocks and stuns me that he is no longer here.

Ballard's works had a great influence on the Suns...at least for me and Jon. I remember picking up Crash and High Rise and it simply changed the perspectives on what life was not only about, but it's possibilities. What you had been told, simply was bullshit and if you looked a bit harder you might find a more interesting real beneath the safety of all the established systems that had been set up for you under the guise of what is supposedly best for you. It was a freeing in a real sense...like finding an odd set of glasses while walking on the beach and for the first time noticing the fine grains of sand, rather than the usual bland washout. Hell, if you really looked you might even see the sand-fleas.

Of course, being a band, Ballard held no influence to the actual music we played but it was the spiritual freeing Ballard provided which loosened the music. Similar to finding the great work of the Surrealists, Ballard provided a different way of seeing and actively looking...all the while giving a sense of serious fun and gamesmanship...life was a game to be played and we had/have one shot at it.

In short, Ballard was very punk rock...or more exactly, punk rock was very Ballard...tho, I think, punk rock had not much knowledge of that fact.

Ballard's most notorious novel was Crash. For some reason, the novel still seems to freak many folks out. The very idea that people could be turned on by death and destruction, that their unexamined desires could in fact satisfy some innate nature they are in fact programmed by still runs counter to any sort of new age idea of peace, love, and misunderstanding.

People, after all, love their delusions.

That people are turned on by aggression, violence and deeply masochistic seems to me as real and true as the fact that I need to put gasoline in my car tomorrow...the atrocity exhibition, indeed.

Ballard was, in my view, the best and most original interpreter of Freud bar none...he did this creatively which is pretty much the only way to really use Freud and actually the way it was intended to be used. Freud always believed, as did Ballard, that the human species is the most dangerous. Freud set that up, and Ballard took it from there.

A few years ago, Ballard was offered some title by the Queen...to a knighthood, or whatever the fuck...he asked if he could call himself "Commander Ballard" for the rest of his short time...when told that he couldn't, he told them to stuff their title...you can't get more punk rock than that.

- Jeff Weigand

--

For a brief look at JG Ballard's impact on pop music, check this article at the BBC. J. Weigand's favored Ballardian track below...

Brian Eno - "The Big Ship"

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 08:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

A few more reviews of mine to peruse, now online:

- Yeah Yeah Yeahs - It's Blitz!

- the Mayfair Set - "Already Warm" 7"

- Swan Lake - Enemy Mine

UPDATE: Oh, doi, these too...

- Fever Ray - s/t

- Lotus Plaza - the Floodlight Collective

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 12:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Jeff Weigand in the midst of his fellow Volcano Suns, then blissfully unaware of the tragic turns of event that would lead him to our digital shores...

Although I was more likely than most to feel obligated into actually typing it, anyone who read Dave Klein's recent epic interview with original Volcano Suns' bassist Jeff Weigand would have come to the same conclusion I did: this man needs his own Internet soapbox. Awesomely, he agreed to borrow ours from time to time. His first installment touches on the enduring need to "get the band back together," something he and his mates never did. So, without further ado, I give you the wit (and wrath) of Mr. Weigand. Duck and cover... (JK)

Just saw that Phish is getting back together, Phish and the Throwing Muses, two groups entirely distinct yet the same...

Let me just say that I don't understand the need for groups to reunite, or that I do from one point of view: the need for money and attention. The need for money is actually secondary to that of attention. It's like the aging beauty who used to get fucked anytime that she winked and thus get anything she needed emotionally (the far more important part) and finds that beauty fading, actually dying, quickly, as with a polluted pond. But like some sort of junkie, she at last finds herself out in the bowling alley parking lot getting balled by the Primo Plumbing Team.

Reality changes. That is a fact most rock folks can't deal with. They write about getting with the times quite a bit, bitching about stagnation, but most have some pretty serious problems with it as well. The fact of reality changing is the thing most of us semi-developed adults learn to like. For better or worse, your life isn't quite the same as it was five or twenty years ago. Even your cell makeup will tell you that. It does not take a Zen master to realize this or learn to get with life's program. Life, really, is a lot bigger than you or I, and it has its own plans.

I think the king of groups who get back together are the Who. I remember being out skateboarding as a kid and hearing that Keith Moon had died, and that the Who were never going to play again, according to their leader, Pete. Well, we all know that the Who have made an industry of doing "the final tour" A few years ago, when John the bass player died, I said to myself, "I bet they keep going" Sure enough, a few hours later I heard they were playing the gig THAT next night, and there is Pete saying, "John would have wanted it this way..." Of course he would. He wasn't even in the ground and he was saying that.

collage by Jon Williams

I live in Vermont and the Vermont curse is Phish, a band so fucking lame, so fucking disgusting in its shitty musical capabilities and taste that it is hard to imagine anyone coming up with something worse. But someone probably will, and I only hope they don't come out of Vermont. Phish has truly done some serious damage to the good name of our state if you ask me. Vermont is a wonderful state. I actually want us to leave the Union, I love it that much, but as for the arts, this state is very very fucked. Phish is one of those reasons. Vermonters have this tendency to promote and love anything that comes out of here. We have tons of painters, all shitty. Do a bad landscape or paint portraits of cats and puppies, and you are great. Be a white kid from Colchester or Milton and rap—of course, you are fantastic, singing about all the local pizza joints (jizz meister logos...) It doesn’t matter; we support our own to no end.

It's like the high school cheerleader who gave hand jobs to the cute quarterback in the back of his Mustang for all those years, and thought every word out his mouth was oh so wise, only to find out later he had some serious issues, but is stuck with him and his progeny. But can't pay the bill.

Of course, that uncritical blind eye leads to one thing: shitty art.

So...Phish. It never ended around here and is beginning again. I know a girl who house-sits for Trey—by the way, his real name is Ernest—and of course he is a total anal retentive when it comes to his big house. She hates his guts, but sits in his house. In these times, who wouldn't?

The first thing Phish has done is call their lawyers. Why is that?

Maybe to legalize weed for all of their fans who need it to get through their long-ass, boring shows? Hardly. Merely to make sure that none of their diehard cult members can sell bootleg T-shirts outside the arena. Admirable in a real hippy dippy way, I suppose.

But in that sense, both Phish and the Throwing Muses are the same. Or the Lemonheads, or Dinosaur or whomever you might want to insert here. It's not about the money, it's about attention, about being in the limelight, and if you think it's about art, you are very confused. And while some do it better than others, it comes down to the same thing: not dealing with reality.

-Jeff Weigand

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 08:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

TV On the Radio - "Dancing Choose" Live on Colbert Report - 2.9.2009

SNL video is hard to come by, but trust me when I say it sounded terrible. Embarrassingly terrible. On Colbert they sounded much better. Anyone watch both, if so what do you think?

Posted by Merry Swankster at 12:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Mad pregnant and performing at the Grammys. "No one on the corner has swagger like us", she says.

Updated with video (while it lasts) - Jay Z, Kanye, TI, Lil Wayne & M.I.A.

Yes.

Posted by Merry Swankster at 10:51 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Is Jim James moonlighting as (newly crowned NFL Champions) Pittsburgh Steelers QB, Ben Roethlisberger?

Previously:
Michael Cera + Demetri Martin = Ezra Koenig?
Eddie Argos & Adam Morrison
Jesse Hughes from EODM = Thomas Jane?
Billy Corgan + Eminem = Gerard Way?

Posted by Merry Swankster at 01:51 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

...it's more '08 year end lists and Animal Collective reviews right? Sigh. But for Jeff-sessives out there (ouch) some more writing from L Magazine has wandered online. Moments of clarity within, anyway:

- Best of '08 (My blurbage covers: Deerhunter, Times New Viking, the Kills, Santogold, M83, and Marnie Stern)

- Animal Collective - Merriweather Post Pavillion

Stay tuned for completely current ranting on the evils of the Bush Administration.

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 11:08 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Elevated above mere singer/pop star, and granted an influential platform to spout off on issues of national import, Bono proves he doesn't even know his music trivia all that well.

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 12:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

If I had made a New Year's resolution to start posting awesome Beets posters in a timely fashion, it would have burned to the ground around yesterday...

The Beets- "I Don't Know"

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 06:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Every year, before I fly back to my ancestral spawning ground of Salem, Oregon, there's a two week period or so when there are an impossible number of tasks to perform, and not nearly enough time to knock them out. Shopping, work, holiday soirees, dodging enormous hippos gliding down 42nd street, etc. Which is all to excuse my blog ghost-ness for the past few weeks. Now that I'm snowed in and re-nested, expect a dedicated stream of content (when you yourselves are busy and least likely to demand it. Rad!) Anyway, as proof that I've still cared, a bit, below are links to a few recent writings from the L Magazine that have not previously been pimped in this space. I also contributed a hearty amount the that publications' "Best of 2008" steez, which will hit the orange boxes on Wednesday, for stationary New Yorkers. Be a bit of that nonsense around these parts soon enough as well...

Later (Soon), JK.

From the L:

- Love Is All - A Hundred Things Keep Me Up at Night

- Max Tundra - Parallax Error Beheads You

- Pavement - Brighten the Corners: Nicene Creeders Ed.

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 03:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

...a few more reviews I've written for the L Magazine have found their way online.

Links for the interested:

- Deerhunter - Microcastle

- Gang Gang Dance - Saint Dymphna

- Memory Cassette - Rewind While Sleeping / The Hiss We Missed

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 10:05 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

...it's a more recent flyer, from the Beets! That's like my favorite ongoing comic strip.

I'll try to get on this before the show next time guys, I swear.

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 12:45 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Ever find yourself wondering in the first alarm clock moments whether the night before actually happened only to look down and find yourself still wearing your party clothes? The entire city of Philadelphia had that same feeling this morning only to be told that the night before was not only a reality but that it is still going on and technically can last ‘til Thursday. So it seems that the forces of nature that were scheming to cancel Saturday’s After the Jump Fest were also sitting at the same bar with the Baseball Gods. In my experience I have found that there is only one peace offering that can be presented to the powers that be that can turn the stormy green and yellow blotches on a Doppler radar into deep blues. So just in case any of the aforementioned Baseball Gods are also MS readers, I offer you a song that has proven to sound even better when in puddles with soaked socks (even if these puddles are collecting around 2nd base).

Elmore James- “The Sky Is Crying”

Posted by Yonah Korngold at 12:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Hey folks. As you probably read elsewhere, the big outdoor Saturday show we'd been planning for weeks was a victim of cruel and fickle mother nature. We tried to swing it elsewhere last minute, but it fell through in the end. Hopefully, none of the MS faithful travelled out to deepest Bushwick at my urging, only to be gripped by a sudden wave of anxiety, that perhaps they were about to be murdered in an elaborate scheme to steal buckets of fancy iPods and new fangled phone devices. If any of you did, I owe you a hug, beer, or non-sensual backrub. For real.

Thanks though, to everyone who struggled against circumstance to try to get it off the ground, and especially to Todd P who nearly saved us.

The only consolation I can give to those disappointed (including myself) is that the amazing lineup we had planned will be the rule for After the Jump shows going forward, not the exception. Thanks to everyone who showed for our showcase at the Knitting Factory on Wednesday. It was totally great, and I'll have more to say about it soon. We're working on some future events as I type that will blow your socks off, and then pick them up politely and return them to you, only to then knock them out of your hands into the dirt and laugh. Serious business.

As for me, I'll try to treat this episode like the time the girl I had a crush on for years in my college French courses finally told me to meet her at a bar, but because a drunk I was friends with took a header into the pavement on the way there, I never made it. I.E., I'll get over it...slowly. I'll be aided by the fact that unlike the previous situation, all those great bands involved did not immediately start dating douchebags (as far as I know).

Sincerely,

Jeff Klingman

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 03:30 PM | Permalink

Chief music critic at The Gray Lady states the obvious:

At these CMJ shows there sometimes was as much documentation going on as partying, with audience members taking notes and constantly shooting digital images, probably destined for blogs on blogs. Even Gang Gang Dance, playing pulsating electronic dance beats topped with echoey vocals and glints of African and Caribbean music, had a hard time putting bodies into motion. On Tuesday afternoon Oxford Collapse, a Brooklyn band whose burly songs try to bridge post-punk and arena-rock, looked into its audience between songs and asked, “Anybody need time out to blog?” (via)

Endquote.

Previously from the files:

50 Cent no longer following US Election
Anita Baker is not a rapper
Indie crowds discover dancing
Shilling funds Honda, terrorism
Pitchfork prefers Britney to the Strokes
Kanye West is a professional
Black Eyed Peas head new socially aware Genre?

Posted by Merry Swankster at 04:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Hey, I obliquely mentioned this in the midst of that Stereolab write up, but I've been writing record reviews for the L Magazine for a couple months now. It never actually occurred to me to mention it earlier. But in case your interest was piqued here are links for all the ones that have been published so far. On the stands tomorrow will be a few lines on those swell Memory Cassette EPs so look out for that as well.

Previously published reviews:

- Oneida - Preteen Weaponry

- the Fiery Furnaces - Remember

- Jaguar Love - Take Me to the Sea

- Horse Feathers - House With No Home

- Passion Pit - Chunk of Change EP

- High Places - s/t

- Jay Reatard - Matador Singles 08

- Juana Molina - Un Dia

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 10:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Bob Dylan, London, England, 1966
- BARRY FEINSTEIN, 1966

In the game of poetry Bob Dylan has cut into Dylan Thomas’s once insurmountable lead by two as the September 22nd issue of the The New Yorker will publish two pieces from the former dating from the early 60’s. Dylan originally wrote the text after the photographer Barry Feinstein asked him as a joke to write some copy to accompany some of his Hollywood snapshots. The project, forgotten for enough decades to now be mysteriously labelled as a “Lost Manuscript,” was revived when Barry Feinstein went digging through his archives and found bundles of photographs accompanied with bundles of prose. Initially the project was canned in the early 60's due to the publisher’s fear of being sued by Hollywood elite. Now with a November 2008 release date, Simon & Schuster have bravely stepped up to the plate to publish this Dylan fellow in a work titled Hollywood Foto-Rhetoric: The Lost Manuscript (warning: the title may be confused in a Google search as "Hollywood Photo Erotic"). I did a quick check and it seems the last work of original poetry published by Simon & Schuster this year was Verbal Penetration: Punany Poets. I am sure somehow I could make a connection between the two but I wouldn't even know where to start, perhaps at one point the Punany Poets did a cover of "All Along the Watchtower."

The poems featured in The New Yorker are revealingly named “#17” and “#21.” The first is matched to a Ferris Bueller's Day Off type of photo involving a crashed sports car under a chandelier. Dylan doesn’t waste a single word and aptly gets straight to the point:

after crashin the sportscar
into the chandelier
i ran out t the phone booth
made a call t my wife. she wasn’t home.

“#17” continues with a litany of things gone wrong and bad thoughts until the poem is finally pulled out of the darkness of everyday troubles by a non sequitur distraction that comes from where else but Hollywood.

i went home an began writin
a suicide note
it was then that i saw
that crowd comin down
the street
i really have nothing
against
marlon brando

The second piece, “#21,” follows the elegiac tradition as Dylan wrestles with the idea of the deceased moving from this world to the next by purposely removing the female subject from the poem and instead transfers her “body” to other objects in the text.

death silenced her pool
the day she died
hovered over
her little toy dogs
but left no trace
of itself
at her
funeral

If only The New Yorker had jumped on the idea of using lines from Dylan sooner they may have avoided all the trouble that came with their failed attempt of satire by using his opening lines from the song “Idiot Wind” to explain this…

Someone’s got it in for me,
they’re planting stories in the press
Whoever it is I wish they’d cut it out
but when they will I can only guess.
-Dylan "Idiot Wind"

Posted by Yonah Korngold at 01:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

"Babe, I've got the style, you've just got the shoes"

-Annie, "My Love is Better," Don't Stop.

Another totally solid album. We seem to be breaking out of a summer slump pretty emphatically.

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 07:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

"He's the sort of guy who would leave you in a K-hole, while he went to play HALO in the other room."

- Kevin Barnes, Of Montreal, "Beware Our Nubile Miscreants," Skeletal Lamping.

This album is WAY over the top. I kind of adore it.

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 12:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

And if you thought this headline was offensive, you definitely did not watch it.

PS - Except McLovin

Posted by Merry Swankster at 12:10 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

the Eggs - "the Government Administrator"

Yo La Tengo - "Barnaby, Hardly Working"

the Smiths - "That Joke Isn't Funny Anymore"

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 01:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

[Image from NYDN]

The lack of historical perspective for the below quote from someone billed as an 'executive' whatever to a group called the Creative Coalition should not only baffle anyone with even minuscule knowledge of musical history, but must call into question how they can honestly answer as they did when referring to the Black Eyed fucking Peas.

"The Black Eyed Peas represent a growing genre of music that emphasizes increased social awareness," said Robin Bronk, executive director of the Creative Coalition (via).

(Emphasis mine) Endquote.

Previously from the files:

50 Cent no longer following US Election
Anita Baker is not a rapper
Indie crowds discover dancing
Shilling funds Honda, terrorism
Pitchfork prefers Britney to the Strokes
Kanye West is a professional

Posted by Merry Swankster at 02:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Given my rabid and vocal fandom, it took me a surprisingly long time to track down and digest the lone original track from Love Is All's recent covers EP. But once enough pennies had been sufficiently tossed and "Wishing Well" finally found my earbuds, it was familiar instantly. Not because it had the same giddy excitability of all the band's swell tracks, but because it blatantly lifts two bars of the distinctive organ burst from 1981's indie-pop classic "Tally Ho!" by my Kiwi heroes, the Clean. It was hard to distinguish the exuburant notes in the previously posted live video, but in the studio version's compressed mp3 glory, it couldn't be plainer. So obvious a musical reference that I was pretty perplexed that Marc Hogan's Pitchfork review failed to mention it (especially since Marc's something of an indie pop connoisseur I gather), and other write ups I've seen neglected to mention it as well. Are the Clean still such a well kept secret, even in an internet era?

Now, I'm not accusing LIA of plagarism or anything. I can't believe that Gothenburg's finest meant it as anything more than an homage; one generation of rambunctious savants tipping their cap to another. Its presence on a covers collection might also be a clue to intent. Although I think front gal Josephine Olausson is actually playing the refrain, I'd place their borrowing firmly in the recent tradition of her fellow countrymen. Jens Lekman often places recognizable motifs from well-known pop hits into his tracks, and other Swede pop acts (like my recent crush Air France) are
even more dependent on sampling. For me, their use of recognizable bits usually leaves something to be desired. The best uses of sampling in rap music succeed because they recontextualize a bit of music, recognizable or not, and warp it to fit an entirely new genre. It's making music out of music. But when Jens Lekman borrows a Belle and Sebastian melody, or Love is All swipe from the Clean, they are basically just plopping someone else's work into compositions of a similar type. Sure it sounds good, but it's not exactly illuminating to discover that the "Tally Ho!" organ line sounds great in the midst of an energetic pop song, you know?

Listen for yourselves...

Love Is All - "Wishing Well"

the Clean - "Tally Ho!"

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 08:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

[Photo Cred]

Kanye unleashed his fury in the direction of Bonnaroo organizers on his blog:

"WE WERE OBVIOUSLY DEALING WITH FUCKING IDIOTS WHO DIDN'T REALLY HAVE THE CAPACITY TO REALLY PUT ON THIS SHOW PROPERLY."

The angry diatribe (CAPS LOCK!) is full of name calling, excuses for his perfectionism and not surprisingly, completely out of touch with perspective. I get that the guy has incredibly high standards and all, but in the interest of common sense, you should have just gotten on with the show man. Shit happens, you know? In short, Kanye wants us to know that he works really hard on his tour set, cannot perform many songs, especially "Stronger" in daylight, and ends with a sympathy grab that only an oil executive may find solace with:

"I'M SORRY TO EVERYONE THAT I DIDN'T HAVE THE ABILITY 2 GIVE THE PERFORMANCE I WANTED TO. I'M SORRY... SOMETIMES I GO 2, 3 DAYS W/O SLEEP WORKING ON MY PERFORMANCE... I HAVE TO ICE MY KNEES AFTER EVERY SHOW AND THEY HURT WHEN I WALK THROUGH THE AIRPORT... HAVING AN EXPENSIVE STAGE CUTS MY PAYDAY IN HALF... CALL ME WHAT YOU WANT BUT NEVER SAY I DIDN'T GIVE MY ALL!!!" (via)

Endquote.

A bunch of disgruntled 'roo goers took out there frustration with um, creative artistic expressions to convey their feelings towards West. Check out the first page on Flickr for a taste.

Previously from the files:

50 Cent no longer following US Election
Anita Baker is not a rapper
Indie crowds discover dancing
Shilling funds Honda, terrorism
Pitchfork prefers Britney to the Strokes

Posted by Merry Swankster at 01:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

So, I've fallen in love with the Ting Tings, and its two songs on YouTube. Presumably these are the singles, but do people even make singles anymore? I bought the album on iTunes, and it's not an immediate love affair. But maybe more song will sink in after repeat listens. But, for now, Great DJ and That's Not My Name.

Ting Tings - Great DJ

No embedding allowed; sorry. First, does this not sound like Eddie Money's "Baby Hold On?" I guess that's a good thing, because I like it. Also, bonus points for sort of reminding me about Clor's dance moves.

Ting Tings - That's Not My Name

No embedding allowed; sorry. What does it for me, I think, is Ms. Ting's (Katie White's) great sense of vocal timing. Especially in the chorus, where she rushes the repetitive part "That's Not My Name" slightly off rhythm. That's the point - it's natural - those who are irritated are likely to rush their comments.

Anyway, I haven't written here in forever ages, so my musical criticism skills are a bit rusty. So I'm just saying I like these two songs. What say you?

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 02:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

It's fine when we tease people with commentary on music we've heard before them. But when PopJustice does it to us? And when it involves Annie? My title speaks for itself.

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 09:36 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Hey, radio disc jockey/magazine or newspaper album reviewer: You know those promotional CD's you get* in the mail from record companies hoping that you'll hype their product?

Well, turns out that Universal Music Group is claiming that they still own those disks, and, citing copyright infringement, is suing at least one ebay seller for resellling the discs he bought at a used CD store. Not only can you not sell these promo CD's, according to UMG, but you can't give, or even throw, them away. (Don't want the hobos scoring any free Def Leppard.)

The Electronic Frontier Foundation is taking the UMG to task. Thanks, Consumerist.

* = Maxim magazine: No.

Previously: Ticketmaster

Posted by Randall Monty at 11:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

[Coachella ticket is $269 before fees. ]

[Handsome Furs ticket is $12 before fees.]

I know this has been said a million times before, but just because of that doesn't mean it is acceptable. Why the fuck does their "convenience charge" change on the price of the ticket? Extortion! We need more Pearl Jams testifying in Congress.

Posted by Merry Swankster at 02:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

From what I sincerely hope is a wildly transparent 4/01 joke press release...

"Ben Gibbard is Just Jazzin'

BENJAMIN GIBBARD ANNOUNCES NEW SIDE PROJECT

Benjamin Gibbard (Death Cab For Cutie) is proud to announce a new musical project called Just Jazzin'. Born out of an interest in exploring music free from rules and convention, Just Jazzin' offers the world a chance to see another side of Ben.

"....There's this side of me and my music that desires a lack of structure and Just Jazzin' does that for me because I am allowed to just play whatever note comes into my head.", says Ben."

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 02:57 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Above image taken from everyone's favorite yellow journalist. I don't know what is more retarded, the fact that this article exists or that Drudge linked to it - with alarmist red font! Feed your intellectual curiosity with even more stimulating tidbits from that other bastion of hard hitting scoops at MTV News to see why fiddy is so conflicted.

But...in case you don't. Here is the quote that prompted such a shocking headline:

"To be honest, I haven't been following that anymore. I lost my interest," he said. "I listened to some of the debate and things that they were saying, and I just got lost in everything that was going on. ... Don't look for my vote, for me to determine nothing on that. Just say, '50 Cent, he don't know, so don't ask Fiddy.'

It gets better. And/or more confusing:

"There's a lot of people that agree with me that may not voice their opinions, and I don't blame them for not voicing their opinions, but you need me."

Endquote.

Posted by Merry Swankster at 06:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Thanks for reminding us what anticipation feels like. Thanks for giving everyone a fair shot at a virgin listen.

To record labels, leaks are impossible to ignore, like finding cash on a deserted street. Even the most righteous amongst us will pocket found treasure without question or guilt. As far as I'm concerned the ones that deny it are either out of the loop, or lying.

Previously:
On Radiohead, where I'm compelled by the Zeitgeist

Posted by Merry Swankster at 10:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

As pleased as we were to hear that Bristol, UK heroes Portishead were lumbering out of their pain cave to finally release a new record, cursed cynicism still tempered our excitement. I mean, if they had anything left to say then why such a long absence? It seemed silly to think that really could have been spending a decade crafting 11 songs. But then the heavens split to offer this record to us, and fuck if that scenario doesn't seem slightly plausible. There were probably more than a few coffee breaks, but still.

Third is a confident and exciting record that'll easily rate among the best of the year. It can't not sound like Portishead with Beth Gibbons spectral presence flickering in front of every song, but it presents a much more versatile group than the one who pulled a disappearing act on us in our young and vulnerable states. This album is only now trickling out to the shadowy corners of the pirate web. We can't betray our secret source by posting tracks that could easily be traced back. But we've all been rolling it around on our palettes for a couple weeks and we're prepared to let you know what you're in for once looser lips inevitably sink the secret ship.

Third, one-by-one:

1)"Silence"

Third albums are always tricky, and so are comebacks. You need an instant grabber. “Silence,” track 1 on Portishead’s Third, is that grabber. As the galloping beat gradually comes to include shards of glacial jagged guitar and sustained minor-key strings, we are already in gleeful darkness before it lurches to a halt and in comes that voice. From an outfit that trades so heavily in slo-mo cinema, this is something new: an action sequence, and it’s quite a pleasant slap in the face. The lyrics, on the other hand, are indeed your grandmother’s Portishead: naked expressions of longing, vulnerability and isolation, somehow made alluring by virtue of Beth Gibbons’ singular instrument. -D. Klein

2)"Hunter"

"Hunter" sounds like the theme song to the next Bond flick, Fuck to Kill (working title: Kill to Fuck) that Portishead was never asked to write. Not that I'm treading on new ground by aligning this band with spy movies; they've done as much themselves. "Hunter" travels continuously upwards like the scrolling of credits or smoke climbing from a clove cigarette. Maybe F2K will be filmed partially in India, like Octopussy was. In a very un-Bondsian turn, the quick drum roll (3:19) leading into the drowsy Television-esque finish is a total blue balling tactic. - R. Monty

3)"Nylon Smile"

I knew a girl in college who was animate in telling me that her favorite band was Morcheeba. I didn't know how to respond to that bit of information. It was like someone telling me there favorite basketball player is Derek Harper. I mean, I'm glad you have a favorite and all, but that particular choice doesn't really facilitate any further conversation. Jeff had an immediate response, however: "Why not just go straight to the source material and listen to some Portishead?" Well, on "Nylon Smile", Portishead seem to be the ones reveling in their own influences. To my western ears, the instrumentals en masse come across with a north African vibe (somewhat reminiscent of Damon Albarn's forays into Moroccan music). But the real star of the track is Beth Gibbon's voice, which has never sound more weathered. - R.M.

4)"The Rip"

“The Rip” is a spare song at first: spindly acoustic guitar, a chalk smear of theremin, and a subdued, mournful vocal by Beth Gibbons. But midway, the rhythm kicks in, along with a pulsing analog synthesizer, and “The Rip” spreads its wings and flies, perfectly embodying a song about transcendence. - D.K.

5)"Plastic"

A lounge-like track distorted somewhat by a helicopter- like sound effect. Like most tracks on Third, it would seem out of place on either of Portishead's first two albums, but is more of a heir to Portishead than Dummy. - K. O'Brien

6)"We Carry On"

As dark as this track starts, it's tempting to recast its title as "We, Carrion." Again, it's jarring how little this conforms to our old idea of Portishead. When David slipped this into his DJ set at last weekend's Neon Lights show, no one in the room even really knew to lose their shit. Until we mentioned to select folks that it was Portishead, and said shit was promptly lost. Geoff Barrow was always obsessed with beats, but molasses slow ones. This is steady krautrock clockwork, with Beth's soft pleas threatening to become completely overwhelmed and unhinged by the clatter around her. This is before the cascades of sinister post-punk guitar start to persecute her further. To my ears, the record's masterpiece. - J. Klingman

7)"Deep Water"

Who would have thought we’d find Beth Gibbons, a ukelele, and 4 part harmonies in-between the pulsating “We Carry On” and a song titled “Machine Gun?” “Deep Water” is certainly the eye of the storm track. It’s unique, well placed, short, and sweet. This is the long awaited song for the Portishead fan working at a tiki bar in Hawaii. -Y. Korngold

8)"Machine Gun"

The record's first single is it's most brutal track. Almost industrial drum patterns and spastic synth shocks practically besiege the soaring and angelic vocal. Hearing it I picture a small woman, holding a candle that remains improbably lit despite a punishing thunderstorm that continues to grow in intensity until its contempt for her persistence snuffs them both out for good. At that point an oddly funereal synth line mourns with us. - J.K.

9)"Small"

A lamenting story, “Small” starts off with a haunting, candlelit kind of melody my Great-Grandfather would have used to tell his children about being chased out of Russia by the Cossacks. Halfway through the song though Great-Grandpa gets the urge to dance (or at least bounce from side to side) and kicks in some rhythm and a brooding organ to help tell his tale of heartbreak in hard times. -Y.K.

10)"Magic Doors"

In a sane world, this would make a strong appeal for radio play. A cowbell intro blends into a languid, muted synth that allows Gibbons' voice the spotlight. At the break, the piano kicks in - as Gibbons warbles about losing her self (or herself). It's the simple song that the Coldplays of the world have failed to make for years and years and years. - K.O.

11)"Threads"

"I'm always so unsure," goes Beth's mantra in this slow burning closer. Given the decade long absence from recording, it seems deeply felt. Maybe someday we'll hear dozens of versions of what Third could have sounded like; babysteps towards opening their sound towards so many new textures without betraying the band's noir essence. By containing the album's most harrowed vocal performance,"Threads" implies a life coming undone. It's sonic precision presents a band who finally got it together. - J.K.

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 05:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Bottom of the barrel bloggers > Maxim.

RAPPER Nas was shocked when Maxim gave his new album, "N - - - - r," a 21/2-star review - because it isn't even finished yet. "I'm finishing the album now, and it will be out April 22," Nas told Page Six. Maxim has since apologized for the premature review, but Nas doesn't care. "I'd prefer [a review from] Playboy," the rapper said. "That kind of stuff doesn't reach my radar or effect anybody around me. I don't know what a music rating from Maxim is . . . I don't know what it even means really." (via)

Previously:
Maxim reviews new Black Crowes without hearing it

Posted by Merry Swankster at 11:56 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Back in November of 2006, in a review of Asobi Seksu's Denver show, I wrote the following:

I have always suspected critics' most detrimental reviews are written ahead of music actually reaching their ears. While I have no way of proving this theory, and I would eagerly accept suggestions that debunk me, I believe that a measurable percentage of critics consistently practice the type of reprehensible journalism my conspiracy rich imagination allows me to concoct. One would really have to try hard to get caught writing a review for a Rolling Stones concert that they didn't attend. Sprinkle in the obligatory walking dead mentions, adjective synonyms for awe at Jagger's still swaying hips and Reynolds-wrap it with a longing to witness the band 30 years ago and voila! Ready for print.

Hey guess what Maxim magazine just did?!

Of course, we always prefer to (sic) hearing music, but sometimes there are big albums that we don’t want to ignore that aren’t available to hear, which is what happened with the Crowes. It’s either an educated guess preview or no coverage at all, so in this case we chose the former.’”

One reason why this is not important: the journalistic integrity of Maxim is not exactly rubbing elbows with the upper echelons of literary giants.

One reason why this is important: Using a relevance scale similar to mother nature's food chain, legitimate magazine writers for magazines occupy a higher slot of influence than music bloggers. Naturally within the magazine caste exists its own separate hierarchy depending on the reputation of each publication, but surely due to immense reach and cultural penetration, even the sleaziest magazine gets more eyeballs than the best music blog. So while it's easy to write off a lazy, stupid decision by a "journalist" at Maxim, truth is it does matter. (via)

Posted by Merry Swankster at 07:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

John McCain's daughter is a music blogger (via Pitchfork)

New to me: Joanna Newsom is related to SF Mayor Gavin Newsom.

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 12:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

There are two acceptable options if you wish to express an opinion about Vampire Weekend.

Vampire Weekend is a very compelling, interesting, and unique band, even though its sound is based in the Paul & Simon, preppy, Afro-centric rhythms mold.

OR

Vampire Weekend is a decent band - they're technically proficient and kind of catchy - but they're not my style.

You lose your cred card if you say one of the follow two:

Vampire Weekend cures cancer
Vampire Weekend doesn't deserve its hype and, in fact, causes cancer

FIN!

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 02:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

[Actor Michael Cera, Comedian Demetri Martin]

This may be too high a dosage of nerdy celebrity hipsters for one post...careful.

[Vampire Weekend's Ezra Koenig]

Previously:
Eddie Argos & Adam Morrison
Jesse Hughes from EODM = Thomas Jane?
Billy Corgan + Eminem = Gerard Way?

Posted by Merry Swankster at 02:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

This is an odd, but true statement. Lil Wayne's prodigious output is degrading his status because he's putting too much effort in his songs. For realz.

The five-track The Leak EP, which features songs from sessions for the forthcoming Tha Carter III, is too serious and boring. That saddens me. It's a bit callous to be nitpicky about a man's craft when he's staring down three felony charges.

It is confirmed: Lil Wayne is best when he's the hardcore version of Kool Keith - that is, to say, scatological, nonsensical, irreverent. When he's talking about stuntin like his daddy (who is 100% not his daddy), I feel like there's something missing, something ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

But when he's all "Great... Scott... Scott Storch, can I borrow your yacht?", like on "We Taking' Over (Remix)", I'm listening. So that brings us to "Love Me or Hate Me," the overwrought track from The Leak. He begins with a tried (paraphrase) "Never fall like Niagra, keep coming up like Viagra). Yawn. While I will admit, Lil Wayne wields those pop culture references better than most, I could as easily see Kayne West or Jay-Z or, well, anyone saying the same thing.

But, then, the brilliance. With no set-up; explanation; or, to my mind, attached metaphor: "I am agriculture."

So, if he can't beat the felony wrap, I hope he slows down his roll and finds the crazy we enjoy so much. Good luck, Weezy. Strop trying so hard to be the best MC, please.

Lil Wayne - We Taking Over (Remix)

Lil Wayne - Love Me or Hate Me

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 10:08 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Everyone's canned answer to that question should be a simple - yes. It doesn't make a lot of sense to pay the same price for digital versions of records when a CD costs the same. I'd rather get the hard copy of the music on CD, along with the artwork, liner notes, and whatever other goodies are included for the money if the costs are comparative. After all, it's not all that much work to rip CDs.

Downloading is mega convenient in that it's practically instant, and for singles it can't be beat, but the lack of the rest of the package washes away the urge for immediate gratification when it comes to digital albums. The Compact Disc is a remarkably good value and convenient in comparison to downloads when considering the latter allows only a one time opportunity to download the music. For digital music player fans, the plastic CD is useless in terms of need for listening, until it becomes an invaluable backup source in case of hard drive or digital music player failure. Anyone whose ever lost the contents of a hard drive can testify to the painful realization of losing the equivalent of their digital life. Losing an entire library of music is one of my most tragic nightmare. And yes you can always backup, but how many of you actually do? Right.

iTunes policy states you don't get second chances to download purchased songs after that initial download. However my CD collection has no such built in mechanisms stating how often I can rip the songs onto my hard drive, or anyone else's for that matter. The RIAA may think differently, but at least they aren't literally inside my music forcing the issue.

Before iTunes started moving away from copy-protected files, I used to be spit that last part about the embedded DRM protection with a bit more venom when explaining my decision to shy away from the download marketplace. However, increasingly DRM-free times have afforded an oppurtonity to realize that not even the lure of higher bit rates and removal of DRM is enough to change the manner in how I choose to receive my music. DRM concerns, while completely valid in these uncertain technological times, are not the real reason why most people do not download music and neither a legitimate barrier to why we are not seeing a true spike in the adoption of legal avenues for downloading music.

It's the cost, stupid!

Continue reading "Should music downloads cost less than CDs?" »

Posted by Merry Swankster at 09:53 AM | Permalink | Comments (6)

This is what kind of great guy I am, it's my birthday and I'm giving you, the loyal MS reader, a gift. A gift of a horribly memorable, and quite possibly profoundly disturbing, personalized birthday song that's been laser engraved into my cerebellum since I was very small. It was tracked down by my sister and brother in law, on the anniversary of my arrival to existence. Seeing as it is by the wildly popular (if not wildly versatile) "Captain Zoom" perhaps you know of what I speak. Only my fellow Jeffs can really enjoy this particular version whole heartedly though. So Jeffs of the world, you're welcome/I'm sorry.

Captain Zoom - "Happy Birthday (Jeff)"

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 11:57 PM | Permalink | Comments (10)

If you've had the misfortune of interacting with me over the past two weeks, you've heard me talk about the smooth brilliance of Yacht Rock. Created by the people who brought to bear VH1's apparently short-lived Acceptable.TV, the show's 10 episodes catalog the heady days of 1976-1984 where hell-raisers like Michael McDonald, Kenny Loggins, and Steely Dan lived like Rock Gods... smooth, Yacht-music-creating Rock Gods. To try to explain the greatness of the shows is to fail. So, here's one of the best episodes.

Like other great programming (It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia comes to mind), you have to give it some time before its brilliance sinks in.

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 12:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

My Bloody Valentine - You Made Me Realise EP

So much of the My Bloody Valentine legend is caught up with the band’s crowning achievement, the indie rock touchstone Loveless, which according to legend, nearly destroyed Creation Records due to the perfectionist Kevin Shields taking so long to finish the thing. Many people consider the record one of the greatest, or even, the greatest, but it’s odd that many of these Loveless worshippers are not even unaware of the two EPs, both released in ’88, which preceded Loveless by three years. And it’s not simply in a geeky completist manner that I consider the lack of availability of this music something to lament; it’s essential listening. I find the EPs to be the band’s most accomplished non-Loveless work. If I’m not feeling ethereal, I will definitely listen to songs from the EPs, like “Slow” or “Drive it All Over Me” over Loveless. A brawny mix of noise and hooks, these songs retain the band’s trademark sensuality while incorporating its initial embrace of pop—demonstrated on the first singles like “Sunny Sundae Smile.”—as well as rap. According to Shields, the vocals on “Slow” were inspired by hip-hop, along with the Jesus & Mary Chain single “Sidewalkin.’”

Especially pleasing on these songs are the fierce, Keith Moon-influenced chops of drummer Colm O’Ciosoig, which is to say they feature a live drummer, something all but two songs on Loveless lack. I also find the music much more compelling than the transitional LP Isn’t Anything (1988). Beyond the power of the songs, Mike McGonigal, author of the excellent 33 1/3 book about Loveless, posits that the title track of the You Made Me Realise EP was directly responsible for the types of sounds Shields would pursue on that magenta-hued classic record of his. Not the song on the EP, so much as what the band did when they played it in concert.

Continue reading "Realising Our Commitment to Public Service" »

Posted by David Klein at 08:40 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I read this CNN Money article (linked from Brooklyn Vegan, natch) this morning defending the need for record labels. Headlined with the urgent and overused catch-all: “Why record labels matter now more than ever.” Brushing aside the inane conclusion from such a headline – clearly one can make an equally convincing argument how artists now more than ever have a greater opportunity to achieve success without help from record labels – in the way it relates to large acts trying to relive past success in today’s marketplace, it paints an interesting picture on how the publicity hustle is evolving. Jumping off that previous tangent, one problem I have with the piece is that two years ago the same article trumpeted the exact opposite point and Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, Pitchfork, Myspace et al., featured prominently.

As I step back to observe from a high level I find the most interesting aspect of the article is not the point it makes, but the fact that CNN devoted an article to a band most people thought went away with the late 90s, and how blogs (hi!) will eat this up by either a) cycling the same regurgitative snark in posts on an allegedly “irrelevant band” (without any credence to the history of 28 million units (!) sold), b) respond with earnest condemnation why things such as a 41 page marketing plan are reasons exactly why labels are not needed while devoid of good reasons why other than stroking quasi-anarchist ideals, or c) referencing the “Radiohead model” as an end solution to everything. The blog-oh-sphere has gotten predictable.

In other words when all is said and done, thousands (millions?) more people will know Matchbox Twenty has a new record coming out when they otherwise wouldn’t. For a sizable chunk of the music loving population it’ll be from the conversation it begets rather than any of the ridiculous amounts of media blitz tactics from that 41 page marketing plan. Makes you wonder whether that factored in as part of the goal all along. If so, I tip my hat to the clever marketing people banking on viral coverage of ancillary details in order to push product awareness. Without trying to overemphasize the audience of indie skewing music blogs, my money is that it’s working.

Brace yourself for the campaign strategy condemnation from people that have no idea what marketing is all about, what record labels actually do, and the piles upon heaping piles of steaming rationalizing from people saying “this is EXACTLY why we steal music.” Emphasis will be theirs, no doubt.

Posted by Merry Swankster at 12:47 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

Some MS.com'ers had a bit of discussion Friday re: this Sasha Frere-Jones article, (what I deem) a bad exercise in using an important publication to draw tenuous conclusions and justifications based on a personal opinion.

Sadly, the New Yorker, one of my favorite publications, tends to allow this from time to time. The piece had the lack of cohesion and rhythm as the bands (he claims) that seemed to influence his thesis. Also, Wilco and Decemberists do not make up indie rock (and are not incredibly relevant today, when compared to other artists). Spank Rock, LCD Soundsystem, Rapture, Of Montreal... I could go on.

I won't belabor my dissatisfaction with the piece (and subsequent podcast), but to say that it's my belief that SFJ truly does think (and know) way more about music than me, and, thus, he will be likely to have transcendent pieces and very bad pieces mixed in his resume, while I will be doomed to good, average, and pretty bad. What did you think (about the piece, not my mediocre estimations of my music criticism career).

And also (via Gawker), here is an update.

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 10:28 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

And with its last dying breadth, it uttered “And I am a writer, writer of fictions…”

Oddly, it isn’t all that rare an occurrence when I’m offered something “that fell off the back of a truck”. As it turns out, I know a guy who knows a guy, a relationship that, coupled with my ’04 fantasy football winnings, helped to create the perfect storm known as iPod ownership. It probably isn’t wholly necessary for me to tell you that music-listening-wise, the past almost-three years have been the best of my life. Countless songs and stories, each one more randomly shuffled than the one before it, so I suppose it's coda track is rather fitting.

True: I have straight-faced, and on more than one occasion called the iPod my “favorite invention ever.” So it is with surprisingly little regret that I meet its passing.

Mine didn’t end with a frowny-face or a battery with an exclamation point. There were no flying sparks or loud bangs. Instead, it went gentle into that good night without any fanfare or pomp and circumstance. (Although in its livelier days it could have played us some Elgar.) Looking back, I suppose I would always prefer it that way; no fuss. It was over without much argument or discussion. Still, it is impossible not to lament this loss, or more appropriately, the impending loss of another $250.

When it comes my time for my corpse to be set a drift a flaming ship, here's what I want soundtracking:

Posted by Randall Monty at 10:51 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Against my better judgment I participated in arguing with an OiNK defender. Internet arguing...yeah. The Zeitgeist encourages extreme anger and hope in equal measures. Be careful what rock you pick up and know which to avoid like the plague. This week I went over to the darkside, and at the end of the day nothing changed. I just feel dumb for even trying.

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.

Posted by Merry Swankster at 05:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Jeff and I have been blowing our figurative tops via IM this week discussing the ridiculous reactions since the OiNK fallout. While our official response/rant to the matter is still being worked on, I feel the need to spotlight the insanity published by Alex Carnevale, editor in chief of This Recording blog. Most of it follows the same ideologically unsound, misguided rantings littering blogosphere alleys, until this little gem appears.

"What scares me the most about all this is the loss of a revolutionary feeling. Why are all these people, most of them young people, on the side of the government? Do you know what the government does? Are you familiar with the 60s? Before civil rights, were these the same people who were like, “Well it’s the law, so let’s go lynch some peeps.” (Note: yes, lynching was the law in the South. It was the law.)" (via)

Did he compare the crystal clear, un-muddled moral righteousness of the US Civil Rights movement with the delusional idea of OiNK being a spark for revolution in the music industry by implicitly advocating theft of intellectual property? Holy fuck. What's next? Comparing the atrocity of 9/11 with OiNK's shutdown? Oh wait.

Posted by Merry Swankster at 12:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

(Alternate titles for this post: Keeping the Honest, Honest; No Loose Lips When There's No Ship To Sink)

Radiohead incited an Internet riot last week when they suddenly announced a new album was completed, but also it's imminent availability on October 10th, AND the fact fans could name their own price for the rights to download a copy. As of yet, I haven't come to a conclusion on what it all means, but I don't count myself as subscriber to the conventional wisdom declaring this to be the landmark, flatlining moment of the -- as we know it today -- music industry. However, as Jeff Klingman commented to me during a discussion on the topic, "it could very well end up being an important footnote in the eventual obituary."

** ** **
I just wanted to say how cool it is to look forward to a new record without getting spoiled with a leak months in advance. Nothing to frame the yet unheard recording but anticipation. If nothing else, I hope this is what is remembered most from this stunt. Does that ultimately make this novel idea a terribly sad one? Perhaps, even though its obvious and well overdue.

//Radiohead - In Rainbows - buy

Posted by Merry Swankster at 07:34 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Today's out of context excerpt is especially relevant considering the Retrohump selection. Bill O'Reilly and Juan Williams chalk up black society's social ills to hip hop (via MM4A):

WILLIAMS: It really corrupts people, and I think it adds, Bill, to some serious sociological problems, like the high out-of-wedlock birth rate because of this hypersexual imagery that then the kids adapt to some kind of reality. I mean, it's inauthentic. It's not in keeping with great black traditions of struggle and excellence, from Willie Mays to Aretha Franklin, but even in terms of academics, you know, going back to people like Charles Drew or Ben Carson here, the neurosurgeon at [Johns] Hopkins [University]. That stuff, all of a sudden, is pushed aside. That's treated as, "You're a nerd, you're acting white," if you try to be excellent and black.

O'REILLY: You know, and I went to the concert by Anita Baker at Radio City Music Hall, and the crowd was 50/50, black/white, and the blacks were well-dressed. And she came out -- Anita Baker came out on the stage and said, "Look, this is a show for the family. We're not gonna have any profanity here. We're not gonna do any rapping here." The band was excellent, but they were dressed in tuxedoes, and this is what white America doesn't know, particularly people who don't have a lot of interaction with black Americans. They think that the culture is dominated by Twista, Ludacris, and Snoop Dogg.

End quote.

Posted by Merry Swankster at 11:41 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Slate mentions LCD Soundsystem, Daft Punk. Tries to be funny (cool?), fails miserably (link).

"This year, LCD has released one of the year's strongest albums (The Sound of Silver) and best singles ("All My Friends"). In an even greater feat, the group has converted countless "indie rock crowds"—traditionally as dynamic as a queue at the DMV—into pulsing, fully functional dance floors."

End quote.
-- -- --

Our own Keith O'Brien pontificated on the Daft Punk phenomenon last week. Read: "One More Time". [ed note: submitted to slate, rejected by slate.]

Posted by Merry Swankster at 01:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

A few weeks ago, the MS readership increased by one small girl, namely Eva Grace, the brand new daughter of our valued contributor Randall Monty. When an mp3 blog wants to collectively congratulate, said congratulations must take the form of a list of posted songs and text. This is also its response towards condolences and a particularly delicious empanada. She is a limited medium.

So, the non-Monty members of our little corner of pixels have taken it upon themselves to each recommend a song that we felt the newborn might enjoy. With one notable exception, these suggestions have not been field tested in any way, and some are perhaps even wildly inappropriate. We leave it to the proud papa to enlighten us as to which those might be.

On with it, and congratulations from us all...

Merry Swankster:

"Mayonesa" is neither the best song (under any criteria), nor a song for a newborn, let alone best song for a newborn, but certainly a fun Latin dance track with a silly name. And from what I know about babies they love fun, dancing, and silliness so there you go.

Translated from the Spanish word for mayonnaise, this cumbia-candombe hybrid was a giant hit in the Rio de la Plata region of South America circa austral summer 2001. I'll save the Google search for those of you geographically challenged, I'm specifically referring to Uruguay, Argentina and environs. In 2001 I took an extended trip to the region and this song was defined by the infectious ridiculousness of the subject matter as much by the ubiquitous of the track. It was everywhere. I can't really vouch so much for how many other countries Chocolate infiltrated with their hit, but I did hear the song a few times later that year in Spain. Twice to be exact, once at a disco and again in a television commercial for what else, mayonnaise. Little Monty, the world is flat, welcome.

Chocolate - "Mayonesa"

David Klein:

I'm recommending this swinging rockabilly thang because of personal experience. My iTunes shows that "Freight Train Boogie" has a play count of 406, making it our most popular song of the past few years, because my twin sons had to hear it several times a day between the age of 1 and 2 (they are now 3). They demanded it by name (they dubbed it "Wah-wah" for obvious reasons.) John Lee Hooker's "Boom Boom" was a close second (393 plays).The song has a kid-friendly bounce and a nice woody bucolic feel. And that "ooh ooh wah wah" train thing is totally primal and childlike. Michael Stipe once said that "murmur" was one of the easiest words in the English language to say; ooh ooh and wah wah are even easier, hence their appeal to moppets. Many congratulations to you and yours.

the Louvin Brothers - "Freight Train Boogie"

P.S. Check out "Pink Thing" by XTC. That was my second choice for you.

Koren Zailckas:

Congratulations Monty! Because it sounds like a nihilistic nursery rhyme or maybe a School House Rock lesson in gun safety ('My daddy has a gun, it's not a toy but it's loads of fun'), I'm giving you and your new babe 'Fairy Stories.' Additionally, I hear infants enjoy the sounds of other infants. And prior history tells us those Black Lips could use a Huggies diaper.

Black Lips - "Fairy Stories"

Yonah Korngold:

It turns out that my attempt to do a wide search for the term “baby” in a song lyric didn’t really narrow down the possibilities. So I picked the most famous song ever to be inspired by baby talk. I had to turn a blind eye to Muddy Waters and give the nod to Clapton’s version for after all, when you're talking babies, you can’t really deny a song that’s featured on an album titled From the Cradle.

Eric Clapton - "Hoochie Coochie Man"

Congrats and best wishes to the Monty family and may your new one grow up strong and take after her Pa by displaying her unabashed disdain for Pearl Jam’s Ten.

Keith O'Brien:

Hello - I listen to some depressing, lyrically (emotionally) unstable music. No way for a baby to enter the world.

I ran through a number of songs. First that resonated was Sufjan Steven's "Vito's Ordination Song," which always struck me as a good celebratory song - (wedding, graduation, successfully returning to abode with ice cream in slightly-frozen state), and it is a beautiful, if wussy song. But Eva Grace is not a son, and, even if we ignore genders, I can't tell whether the father and son relationship is about Sufjan and God, or a fictional character and his son, or a same-sex relationship. Neither can anyone else.

So, Eva Grace will have enough confusion with religion at some point; that is not going to be my doing.

I thought the song structure of most shoegaze pop - anthemic - would be motivating, inspirational - but damn if all of those songs are not about love lost. And I can't proffer the beauty by ignoring the scarily-titled "A Violent But Flammable World" of Au Revoir Simone.

For not more than four seconds, I thought, "Why not, 'Stay Fly?' by Three 6 Mafia? Underneath the warnings of not leaving your weed near DJ Paul, it's fundamentally a song about motivation. The "hustle" is metaphorically translatable to the hustle Monty will insist on the soccer pitch.

Then I tried to reverse course and go with M83's (short on the lyrics) "Teen Angst", but the soaring synths might be a little too much for developing ears to bear.

I really wanted to go with something from Low - specifically from Things We Lost in the Fire, one of my favorite albums of all time. Not because I hoped to irrevocably depress Eva Grace before she could even start formulating emotions, but that the melodies are so gorgeous that (if we're to believe these songs hold weight) she would seek out the entire album 18-20 years in the future - you know, when we're battling our nanobot-controlled toasters. But it just didn't fit.

Next, Nico's "Time of the Season" - but it doesn't really bespeak of my experience growing up.

So what does speak to my experience growing up? Nirvana (next); Public Enemy (I'd prefer she first learn about racial equality (read: existing racial inequality) without the undertones of sexism and anti-semitism.

So that lead me to Portishead's "It's a Fire." It's gorgeous, and it's melancholy, but hopeful. And it's my song for Eva Grace.

Portishead - "It's a Fire"

Jeff Klingman:

My pick for the newborn may be a bit too on the nose, as it is basically a musical mobile. A hyper active toddler would surely have no patience for the sweet piano circles of Brian Eno's Music for Airports, but for a crib bound tyke, it seems like just the thing to soothe a confused little head. My lovable, though jam band loving, college roommate used to say in regard to the incomprehensible information infants were constantly given, that babies were perpetually "tripping balls." Maybe these static and deceptively lovely notes will serve as a necessary calming influence. I know that when I feel like sobbing, spitting up, or shitting my pants, this is where I turn.

Brian Eno - "1/1"

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 10:10 AM | Permalink | Comments (8)

Why everyone loves the new Daft Punk concerts (hint: it's not the light show) and what is says about what we want from our musicians

[Photo cred: Jeremiah Garcia]

The two humans responsible for the greatest concert of this century would prefer you think of them as robots (who are trying to become human). And it's this very conceit that has left people of all musical persuasions and psychographics praising the duo in all caps across the Internet. Shocking pretty much everyone, Thomas Bangalter and Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo, the men behind Daft Punk, have finally, truly arrived in the US a decade after they first flirted with ubiquity.

It may surprise some to learn that the 2006 Coachella Festival, the ground zero of Daft Punk's deification, actually featured over 90 bands, including the bizarrely still-popular Tool and 80s stalwarts Depeche Mode. More than a year later, Daft Punk continues to dominate the Coachella discussion, drowning out the fact that Rage Against the Machine (directly in the center of the musical Venn diagram of fratboys and anarchists) reunited to a massive crowd at the 2007 festival.

So it now seems inscribed in rock scripture that Daft Punk, performing for the first time in the US since the 20^th century, descended from the heavens to play an hour-long set in the Sahara Tent, which caused music bloggers and Internet denizens, returning from the festival in Indio, California, to express near-biblical adoration and admit impulses for masochism.

"HOLY GOD!!! AWESOME."

"I was there and will remember this as the greatest set ever. Fuck, they made me want to punch myself in the face it was so goddamn good."

Continue reading "One More Time" »

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 05:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Highlights

Schreiber's semi-favorable review, which begins in earnest after a six-paragraph preamble comprising a long list of baroquely rendered, seemingly unrelated anecdotes peppered with obscure references, summarizes music as a "solid but uninspired effort."

And

"In the end, though music can be brilliant at times, the whole medium comes off as derivative of Pavement."

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 09:50 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

...but I tried watching and didn't feel like slitting my wrists tonight, just too messy. Britney is still a mess, Sarah Silverman still makes people uncomfortable, and MTV is as irrelevant as ever. We've said our piece, back to Giants vs. Cowboys.

P.S. Just checked back in at halftime. Umm...I'm confused. Was the theme this year to make the VMAs look like a Youtube video with better production values? All the different rooms, the dark hues. Very strange.

Posted by Merry Swankster at 09:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

"I have never contemplated how, what or if I should do this or that. I was raised to discipline myself to be the best that I can be. Good will, decency and positive energy drives my everyday. Always has, always will. My music and dreams have lives of their own. Unstoppable." - Ted Nugent (El Paso Times 8.24.07)

End quote. [emphasis added - MS]

Posted by Merry Swankster at 05:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

From muscle memory alone, it seems odd to hover in a laptop's glow without getting hot and bothered about this band or another. My fingers feel wrong when not typing vague adjectives like "ethereal" or "propulsive." So, although there are many great bands playing Saturday's After the Jump Festival on which to expend pixels, it's important to fight through the alien sensation of focusing on something a bit bigger than pop music for a minute. Last week, along with my Neon Lights' cohort D (madam of the word brothel known as Soft Communication, as you well know) had a jovial beer with Michael Everett-Lane, the Executive Director of Donor's Choose Northeast. After briefly interrogating him about his musical tastes (Mountain Goats, the Pipettes, with a big ol' softspot for Journey's Escape) and his own blogging pedigree (Mike maintains the Ishbadiddle blog and was a founder of the now on hold NYC Bloggers site) he let us in on the details of the organization that will directly benefit from this weekend's event, and why the work they do is so important.

Donor's Choose was born to help address the massive funding shortfall in this country's public school system. 40% of public school teachers in the United States don't have enough money for textbooks, let alone the supplementary supplies that would make their jobs easier. This year the average teacher will pull an average of $520 dollars from their own not nearly overstuffed wallets in order to give their students a proper education. Mike notes the larger implication that, "Nationwide, public schoolteachers pay billions of dollars a year on average for items that are not covered by their budgets." Frustrated by the bureaucracy of the system as it existed, Bronx schoolteacher Charlie Best founded Donor's Choose in 2000.

The key innovation of Donor's Choose is that, like blogging does for would be writers, it allows individuals to pursue causes that interest them on a specific and personal level. Teachers submit proposals to the organization, and after they are carefully vetted by the National Office (in reality a 40 man garment district office Mike likens to "a sweat shop") they are placed online to await possible donors. While they only fund programs in select parts of the country at the moment, the charity will soon open its doors to proposals from all 50 States. "Teachers know best what they need in their classrooms," explained Mike in regard to this direct micro-scale approach. Requests run the gamut from basic needs like a classroom set of To Kill a Mockingbird to more elaborate and ambitious enrichment programs. Based on their own philanthropic desires, donors choose to fund their preferred proposal large or small, partially or in full.

This level of choice has pulled in people who never would have have contributed before, either due to a previous lack of ease or skepticism that their money would make any kind of tangible impact. From the Brooklyn 1st Graders who held a bake sale to buy their North Carolina counterparts some classroom puzzles to the individual donor who purchased a $27,000 playground set, folks who help Donor's Choose know that their effort is not putting leather couches in the Superintendent's office. To exponentially increase the warm and fuzzy quotient, every single donor receives a comprehensive feedback package of student thank yous, a letter on the impact of their donation from their aided teacher, and photos of their funds in action. It's philanthropy in its purest form.

So, besides a good time what will buying a ticket to Saturday's Night Show at Studio B accomplish? Well, your ticket will help the students at the Bronx High School for the Visual Arts purchase the DJ equipment they'll need in order to teach nearly 400 students how to mix, produce, and perform compositions of their own design. For once, having a drink and a dance could actively nurture the next generation of beat makers and rappers, rock stars and future dance floor fillers. Misanthropists take note, with the Virgins, Soulico, Free Blood, and Riot in Belgium in full swing, you will hardly notice that you're being a good guy.

Advance tickets are available now on Ticket Web for $12 dollars, and it jumps slightly at the door to a still reasonable 14. Kids planning to only attend the free day show should be aware that raffle tickets purchased at the event, which give you a shot at hundreds of CD's, DVD's, boxed sets, concert tickets, and maybe even a $500 dollar all access pass to this year's CMJ Music Festival, will be directly aiding the cause as well.

So buy your tickets right here now, or find your pet cause on Donor's Choose.

Frivolity will now resume...

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 02:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

[POTUS doesn't get it either]

Pitchfork's Matt LeMay reviews the new This is Next compilation and gets himself in a tizzy over why the record exists when most if not all of the songs are freely available online. Fair enough for a spokesman of the venerable Pitchforkian institution to be confused by such a release. Blinded is he who takes for granted the "joy" of downloading MP3s and perusing the Internets for tunes. Obviously this album isn't for him, or for most of us for that matter. With a tracklist that reads like the top 15 Elbo.ws tracks of the last two years, this is a compilation for the uninformed, the casual shopper; or, people with priorities that exist outside the musical underground - a term used very loosely in this context, but perfectly on point for the potential owners of the disk.

The coup de grâce:

None of which is to say that indie rock shouldn't be reaching a large audience. Nobody wants good bands to fail, just as nobody wants to be that insufferable asshole fruitlessly trying to protect his favorite music from the uncool masses. Even so, as a shoddy, transparent, and poorly packaged ploy to sell indie rock cachet to the "casual" consumer, this compilation is far more condescending than some dude who gets pissed off when he sees a Shins CD at Starbucks. Not every attempt to bring underground music to a wider audience is well-intentioned and praiseworthy, and the recent popular emergence of indie music is a product of circumstances that can't really be corralled or replicated. Ironically, these very circumstances stand to thoroughly undermine This Is Next. If nothing else, this album is a reminder that it's not the bands that sell out, it's the business.

Kudos for pointing out irrational fickleness from the indie folks, but then again the entire review can be summed up as so: "This is Next is shit. People should just buy these bands' albums." Which of course would likely be followed by another F-bomb laden tirade from the news desk should the Wal Marts of the world start carrying the latest Merge releases. Confused yet? So am I. Clearly Mr. Average Joe living his day ignorant of this little niche in the music world benefits by the availability of these compilations, because that guy is never going to purchase the Of Montreal album. However, after listening to "Heimdalsgate Like a Promethean Curse" (included in the comp.) he might just go out and buy the amazing Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer? which of course is the point of these releases. Am I missing something here?

Posted by Merry Swankster at 11:31 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Deerhunter - "Heatherwood"

I knew it was wrong, but for the longest time I thought Bradford Cox was singing "Noxema Girl."

Click after the jump for the famous commercial.

Continue reading "Noxema Girl?" »

Posted by Merry Swankster at 01:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

On "Galang" being used for Honda commercials:

M.I.A.: "I think Honda is a real immigrant, refugee car. Every Sri Lankan I know has one. My mum had a Honda for 15 years."

SPIN: If Ford had asked to use the track, you would've said no?

M.I.A.: "Probably, yeah!"

End quote.

[From 8.07 issue of SPIN]

Previously:
Pitchfork prefers Britney to the Strokes

Posted by Merry Swankster at 12:01 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Videos for you.

Lil' Mama and Avril Lavigne - Girlfriend (Remix)

M.I.A. - Boyz (Note: I am not responsible for any seizures suffered by visiting this page)

Eve - Tambourine (Note, it's getting hard to work with YouTube these days)

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 09:35 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I know short posts are not our style, but, here it goes. I have a feeling I am going to dislike Kanye West's new album... a lot. The "Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger"-sampling song is very bad, and I feel I cannot suffer through one more lyric about the irony about being spiritual, but succumbing to material goods. My lords! Get over it.

[UPDATE: Here is the video for the song in question - M.S.]

Kanye West - "Stronger"

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 02:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

Dizzee Rascal, a very talented British MC, has trouble breaking the states.

Dizzee’s 2003 debut, Boy in da Corner, sold 58,000 copies here, while sales dropped to just 16,000 for the 2004 follow-up, Showtime.

Keith O'Brien, a boy in the states, appreciates Dizzee's flow and would like to showcase his work on his modestly-trafficked blog. Dizzee, apparently, hates America.

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 08:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Ginger Reyes

Though the latest lineup for the Smashing Pumpkins consists of just two original members (Billy Corgan and Jimmy Chamberlin) it appears the "hot female bass player" quota has been filled according to the unofficial job description.

Following the lusted lineage of previous lady-Pumpkins D'arcy Wretzky and Melissa Auf der Maur, new girl Ginger Reyes (aka Ginger Sling) should soon be making the rounds of those silly "100 Hottest Rock Babes" lists Blender magazine is so fond of.

[Follow the jump for short "where are they now" updates on D'arcy & Auf der Maur.]

RELATED:: The Newest Smashing Pumpkin's Shoegazy Past

//Site
//MySpace

Continue reading "Smashing Pumpkins: Keeping hot bass players employed since 1988" »

Posted by Merry Swankster at 04:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I overheard this last night while working on the Radiohead tournament (as I have a Veronica Mars-watching lady dwelling with me). Some character in VMars , Stosh "Piz" Piznarski, was fictitiously offered an internship at Pitchfork Media in last night's episode. Per Idolator...

Piz wound up turning down the internship--even though the 'Fork has already allowed him to get his snob on--to be closer to Veronica, and, presumably, farther away from people who enable him to discuss his "Altavista stalking" in public.

There must have been some VMars-Forkian synergy because, the character actually "reviewed" Säkert!'s album here. How savvy!

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 03:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

The NY Post reports that:

Kindergarten kids in ritzy L.A. suburb Calabasas have
been coming home to their parents and talking about the
"weird man" who keeps coming to their class to sing "scary"
songs on his guitar. The "weird" one turns out to be Bob Dylan,
whose grandson (Jakob Dylan's son) attends the school.

Just in case these kindergarteners wanted to combine their fear of clowns with their fear of Dylan...

Posted by Yonah Korngold at 07:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The Daily Texan, the student newspaper of the University of Texas, completed its list of the best 25 modern rap albums” today. If you’ve read the previous post on this topic, you could probably name 5-1 for me right now. Eminem, Outkast, Dre, Kanye and Jay-Z are certainly five of the biggest names in hip-hop, and perhaps that was the primary driving force behind the Texan’s list. Or maybe they just strung together their 25 favorite albums. Or the first 25 they could think of. Moreover, I don’t want to dwell too much on what could have and I thought should have been included (madvilliandeltronmissyelliotcannibaloxpossiblydizzeerascalorthestreets), because I’ve got my own venues for that. But all hyper-criticism aside, I really want to applaud the staff of the Daily Texan for putting this together.

While, on one hand, it can be viewed as easy filler for year-end issues (experience tells me it is), it’s also a living indictment of one’s tastes. When expressing your beliefs with regards to religion and politics in a frank and quantitative manner, level-headed people tend to admire and even appreciate it. However, when expressing your personal tastes, especially with music, all bets are off.

Maybe in ten years or so, when I’m working with the next big media outlet, I’ll stumble across some twenty-somethings’ tournament of White Stripes songs or top 25 ranking of laptop-dance albums and I’ll about it write with scathing wit and derision. But even then I will do so under the recognition that not long too ago, that was me.

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 10:12 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Ladies and gentlemen, Randall Monty

College newspapers, God bless ‘em. I’m not the only writer on this site that can boast of having laid countless hours to waste writing, editing, publishing, and delivering issue after issue of such a publication, only to have the papers spend the next week largely untouched, collecting dust on various dormitory common rooms. Hell, the Student Voice is indirectly responsible for my current life in the Rio Grande Valley. So as dust to dust, I move from paper to paper, from a weekly SU rag to the circadian University of Texas publication, The Daily Texan.

Not to speak too greatly of this site’s influence (I know how much MS hates “the I-word”), but it seems those kooks up north have been bit by the historically-ranking-music-in-an-almost-entirely-arbitrary-manner bug. This past week the staff of the Texan has been counting down their own list of the “Top 25 Modern Rap Albums”. With the exception of the running article’s title, no explanation as to the process involved in making the list is given; for certain, no gmail chat (gchat?) transcript has been included. Judging by the list thus far, “modern” in this instance appears to mean, “since I was in high school”. I don’t want to completely give the staff of the Daily the ol’ Sports Guy treatment, but if you’re gonna make any “best of” claim, particularly when you live in arguably the Live Music Capital of the World, your list should be strong, reasons justified. And yes, the total list is yet to be revealed, but going on what’s already been included, you can just tell that a lot will remain desired, to say the least. That being said, let my cowardly onslaught begin!

The list starts off countdown fashion with numbers 25-21, although not necessarily in that order. The first album on the list is It’s Dark and Hell is Hot by gruffy-sounding DMX. From reasons unsubstantiated, the writer calls DMX “the hip-hop Johnny Cash”. That’s a very Spin-esque claim: the components are familiar, yet it still makes no sense.

Busta Rhymes’s Extinction Level Event: The Final World Front, which makes the list seemingly based solely on its accompanying videos; Lil Wayne’s Tha Carter, Vol 2; Wyclef Jean’s the Carnival (which is implied as being better than the Score); and something called The Big by someone named Big L. Priority, round out this group.

Tuesday’s Daily continues in the uncounted-counting, giving us five more albums to take in. It starts off strong with the MS-fawned Hell Hath No Fury by the Clipse. But then credibility seems to fade as Get Rich or Die Tryin’ by 50 Cent, Get Ya Mind Correct by Paul Wall and Chamillionaire and Common’s Be. Ded Prez is a somewhat surprising addition, but I well reserve judgment on how deserving it is until the last of the list is revealed.

Fifteen through 11 are in proper countdown format, starting with Lupe Fiasco’s debut Food and Liquor. I do really like this album, but I tend to disagree with assertions about a particular artist or album, in effect, “rescuing” a genre. Nine times out of ten, that’s just the writer being lazy. But I’ve heard (read) this sort of claim a number of times with regard to Lupe, but mostly from rock fans. Supreme Clientele follows; I guess that’s going to be the obligatory Ghostface album. Then it’s Big Pun. Better than Ghostface. Hmm.

It’s New Zealand time for the next two, Jay-Z’s fake retirement masterpiece the Black Album and the Talib Kweli / Mos Def hook-up Black Star. Now we’re getting somewhere. One point of contention: when exactly did Jay become the “best rapper of the past decade”? Not that I can provide precise evidence to the contrary, but what is the precise instance of this happening? He was a popular, but not critically acclaimed hip-pop artist, and then next thing I know, P’fork calls The Blueprint the #2 album of the decade and Jay-Z is the new Beatles. What did I miss?

While I don’t necessarily agree with Scarface’s The Fixx filling in at #8, I can understand the sentiment; he’s pretty much the only rap legend from this state. Albums by Nas, Jay-Z, Biggie and 2Pac round out the 1-6 set, none of which, in my opinion, represent the corresponding artists’ best work. There’s an odd time frame being set here, as “modern” keeps inching back in time year by year, placing the new starting point as 1996. Considering that there’s apparently over eleven years to work with, some of the selections on this list are real head scratchers.

Tomorrow I will update with the Daily Texan’s top five.

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 04:51 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

It's reminiscent of the moment when Andy Dufresne emerges from the sewer umbrella-less and opens his mouth to the pouring rain outside the walls of Shawshank. If music can be a visual process, then Explosions in the Sky must hold the copyright to the Hollywood moment where the guy who all of the sudden (after a leisurely thought provoking stroll through the rain) begins to sprint in the other direction after the girl who is off to the airport. For some reason Hollywood has made me believe that all dramatic moments must occur in a downpour. Nevertheless, for these moments there is a certain haunting musical feeling that all of the sudden can erupt into a euphoric pounce that captures the moment of revelation. For all these rain soaked moments there is a music, and one of the bands that personify this sound is Explosions in the Sky.

The idea that these visual moments come to mind while listening to Explosions is of course the very reason why they were chosen for the soundtrack of Peter Berg’s Friday Night Lights. But the band will be the first to share their amazement on how their audience has grown with every tour. This points to the fact that Explosions have managed to simultaneously become a solid studio instrumental band while developing a stage presence that can hold the attention of a sold out crowd through even the most ambient corners of silence.

The story that Temporary Residence signed the band in 1999 after only listening to half of their demo, which was delivered with the attached note "This totally f$cking destroys," speaks to the emotional power of the music. However, it also highlights a critique that someone can take one sniff at the beaker and know exactly what goes into the formula regardless of its exploding power.

This is the critical scale in which their most recent album All of the Sudden I Miss Everyone has been viewed.

Most have lauded the recent release but also feel it necessary to comment on the point that the band is still using the same recipe for all three meals. I have a similar take on the matter but, for what it's worth, I usually skip breakfast anyway and am all for eating chicken for dinner and chicken salad for lunch.

Below are two tracks, the first from their 2003 release The Earth is Not a Cold Dead Place which is followed by "Welcome, Ghosts" from the new album. With their fierce attack in moments of intensity and inventive approach during periods of calm, drummer Christopher Hrasky and bassist Michael James are the chemical ingredients of the explosion in Explosions in the Sky. Seeing the band last weekend at the Starlight Ballroom in Philadelphia only heightened my respect for these two members.

First Breath After Coma

Welcome, Ghosts

The repetitive guitar riffs make these songs seem hauntingly familiar while also giving the music some air before the sound is grounded by the rhythm section. Christopher Hrasky’s Darth Vader-esque marching beat countered against the lightness of the guitar riff drive these songs into motion and propel them forward.

I'm real interested to see what kind of direction this band takes as critical pressure to change with every album grows. But for now we will have to suffice with my cheap explosion metaphors. So... even though the rebels may blow up the Death Star in every episode, the Empire will keep building it and I will keep watching the pyrotechnics.

// NPR's recent stream of their 9:30 club performance here
// All of the Sudden I Miss Everyone buy

Posted by Yonah Korngold at 06:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

In spite of its reputation for bursting at the seems negativity and immediate backlash generation, the music blogosphere is actually overwhelmingly positive. The rationale being that, given complete editorial control over your own little tyranny, why waste time talking about stuff you can't stand? Well, how about to take a stand? A stand against boring music being exalted and revered, so that those poor souls who have been bored (or are downloading right now in anticipation of being bored) can be vindicated (or perhaps saved the trouble).

Yes, I realize that saying that, and then providing the tracks to prove that they are boring, is a little bit like saying, "Hey come smell this milk, it's totally gone bad," but this is the medium in which we work and it's just something you do...

Wilco - "Either Way"

Now, seemingly no one has noticed that Wilco have actually been getting worse since Summer Teeth, but they certainly have. The lucid dream surrealism of career highpoint "Via Chicago" gave way to empty refrigerator magnet poetry on the much loved but overly fussy Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, and despite some token krautrock influence and back pills anxiety, Ghost is Born slipped further into irrelevance. Now, with their last chance to capture my attention (surely their most prized secret ambition) we hear material from Sky Blue Sky, and it's boring from the title down.

To be fair, "Either Way" starts out being mostly inoffensive, with an acoustic lullaby strum and harmless piano dragging Jeff Tweedy's "I'm saying absolutely nothing" lyrics into the realm of the ignorably pretty. Then, around the 1:50 mark, with bloated strings acting as rattlesnake warning, comes some of the most horrendous jazz lite guitar noodling I've ever heard outside of an elevator. "Maybe the sun will shine today, and the clouds will roll away" reads Tweedy (presumably off a Hallmark card), while I for one hope they stay long enough for a judicious lightning strike. Some have labeled Wilco's brand of soft nothing, "Dad rock," though "dead rock" might be even more appropriate. If you're excited by this, do an immediate pulse check to make sure you aren't recently deceased.

Voxtrot - "Future, pt.1"

The quality of Voxtrot's output has been steadily decreasing as well, and at an alarming rate. Their first self titled EP was wildly derivative sure, but at least it was bouncy and fun. In an attempt to create a distinctive "Voxtrot sound" the emphasis has shifted towards sappy over arrangement and increasingly saccharine and clumsy wordplay, sacrificing the sharp dynamic shifts and tasteful appropriation that was the band's only likable attribute. "Future pt. 1" from their forthcoming debut is no exception. Over a terminally mid tempo backdrop, the beaten to bloody death theme of growing up at the cost of precious innocence is kicked again, just to make sure. The point, as cliched as it is, is muddled further by imprecise lines like "I could pretend to think fondly of the summer that I spent in the wilderness/ playing soccer and kissing girls." I mean, if you're positing that we get cruel and hard as we get older, then wouldn't you sincerely look back fondly on a summer like that? Sounds rad, guy. Bad lyrics are epidemic in this sort of dreamy indie nostalgia rock, and maybe we could forgive if the sharp songcraft let them speed by, but the whole point here seems to be to slow down in order for the words to gain some kind of poignancy. It's just wrongheaded, and the result is safe but completely forgettable.

In another of the album's songs, singer Ramesh laments, "I watched the world get boring, there's too much restraint in the mix." Have you no self awareness, man?

Beirut - "Fountains and Tramways"

I almost feel bad slagging off young Zach Condon, whose work I've so far enjoyed. Quality control is an underrated virtue in an enduring artist, however, so a completely unnecessary release, be it eMusic exclusive or no, is worth a quick comment. Coming right on the heels of the lovely Lon Gisland EP and not so far removed from last year's Gulag Orkestar, the two track "Pompeii EP" just seems half baked and unfinished. When trying a new, glitchy electronic flavor to his croon-smanship, it's shocking how much ZC sounds like the similarly middling Thom Yorke solo material that landed with a thud several months ago. Old hand Thom can still wring some dark edge from his beats and bleats though, and Zach's gentility just leaves this texture in search of a tune. I hope this is just a momentary blip.

If you're still looking for an additional Beirut fix, go here for the recently surfaced demo of the pleasingly Beatles-esque "Interior of a Dutch House."

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 02:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (14)

by Randall Monty

Is there anyone else who remembers the Dinobots? They were characters from the Transformers series that could turn into dinosaurs rather than automobiles. For a childhood me, this was much more than a toy line, it was a spectacular turn of events that I could only describe as serendipitous. Simply put: Two of my favorite worlds had collided. When the Dinobots burst onto the scene, it seemed as though the entire universe were aligning for my personal benefit. How did anyone know? The whole was even greater than the sum of its parts and I couldn’t believe how it happened. It was with a similar mix of disbelief and excitement that I approached the Tragic Treasury, a collection of songs written and performed by Stephin Merritt (this time incarnated as the Gothic Archies), and demarking the various books of the Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events collection of children’s novels.

This is much less than a coincidence, as Daniel Handler, the man in front of the Snicket pen name, is the same Daniel Handler that played accordion on the Field’s magnum opus, 69 Love Songs, one of my four or five favorite albums of all time, (although not specifically for the sqeezeboxing). Still, it is unlikely that my interest and excitement could have gotten higher were any other musician commissioned for the task of soundtracking these books.

Of course, there is a solid likelihood that I’m completely missing MS’s target audience here; but I’m sure that even the most cynical of you child-hating New York liberals have at least heard of Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events, (and perhaps even some of you have read them). For the uninitiated, the ASOUE books tell of the various trials and tribulations of the three Baudelaire orphans in the year following their parents’ mysterious deaths. The time and place of the stories are purposefully vague, although it seems to be first quarter 20th Century American. The novels, while intended for younger audiences, provide frequent moments of mature humor, allusion and linguistic play. (Imagine if Colin Malloy and Edward Gorey collaborated on a book.) To that point, these are much more than mere children’s; they are a collective enterprise that have spawned a feature-length film, a video game, countless imitators (such as The Spiderwick Chronicles and The Time Warp Trio), a revitalized mall-Goth culture, an oddly humongous fanbase for A Nightmare Before Christmas and, arguably, the careers of My Chemical Romance and Panic! At the Disco. (OK, so not all of it’s good.)

I think what’s most important is that the ASOUE books manage to get kids enthused about reading, and I have little ill to say about anything that accomplishes that. In any event, I figure it’s my duty to step up and run these companion pieces through the ol’ rhetorical analysis machine. Here is my book-by-book and track-by-track take on the series and the album:

Continue reading "the Gothic Archies: the Tragic Treasury (an album review / book report)" »

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 09:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

If Leonardo da Vinci followed a somewhat different professional career by dropping out of art school in order to form a new wave/post punk rock band only to follow up its great success by carving out a unique solo career in which he would do everything from art installations, book collaborations, to hosting four nights of musical perspective at Carnegie Hall, he would be well...David Byrne. The only thing that might set the two renaissance men apart is that Byrne pulled off all these post Talking Heads feats since October.

Byrne is in the fact living the creative dream. He has the ability to act on all of his impulses, maintain critical/ peer respect, and at the same time remain in good eyes to the masses. A recent article in the New York Times even proclaimed Byrne's status when they titled the piece “Indie Rock's Patron Saint Inspires A New Flock.” I had no idea the New York Times had enough power to start canonizing saints. In this respect Merry Swankster will start knighting people every other Friday starting with Prince in order to give him another royal title for his first name.

Sir Prince?

Last weekend Byrne served as curator for the “Perspectives” series at Carnegie Hall. The four night extravaganza included two nights of original material composed by Byrne. One of the highlights included the performance of “Here Lies Love,” the much anticipated musical collaboration with Fat Boy Slim which was centered around the life of the former first lady of the Philippines, Imelda Marcos. Many reviewers had different takes on the series but no one could question Byrne’s creative risk taking philosophy in performing raw material in front of an audience of critics on one of the biggest stages in the world.

In celebration of Byrne’s recent entry into indie rock sainthood I picked up his art-book Arboretum published by Dave Eggers and McSweeney’s a few months back. The book contains 92 sketches of trees which allow Byrne to do a sort of subconscious free writing in which he scientifically charts an abstract idea from the roots of the tree to its top branches. For example here is the piece called “Music of the Future” in which he contemplates future genres that might end up being Grammy categories.

“and the winner for hard cheeze album of the year is…”

more words after the jump...

// Byrne's website here
// more examples of Byrne's tree drawings here
// "Why?: An Introduction" from Mcsweeney's here

Continue reading "Byrne and the Science of Nonsense" »

Posted by Yonah Korngold at 01:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

[Painting: "The Interior of Bedlam," from A Rake's Progress by William Hogarth]

"Not Ready To Make Nice" by the Dixie Chicks won Record of the year over Gnarls Barkley's "Crazy." The Recording Academy appears to think that sending a message to the jingoistic sect controlling the insular Country music world, and their blackballing of the Chicks, is more important than recognizing the "best". Gnarls should have won and had the award retired for five years from the strength of "Crazy." But this is the Grammys, so par for the course.

Previously:
Merry Swankster wants you to stop eating poo

Posted by Merry Swankster at 11:55 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

The Grammys suck balls. Sorry kids, they do. No, it is NOT ok to like the Grammys. That would be like patting a puppy on the head when he eats another dogs shit. Its not cute, its not good for the puppy and its not ok. Someone might say, "Don't worry about it. Dogs do that from time to time…he'll be fine." Well maybe. But you know what? Nothing changes the fact that your dog just ate shit. Puppies eating shit is like people watching the Grammys and bitching about how horrible it is. I bet if dogs where smarter they would do the same thing. "Damn. I just ate that bulldog's shit and wow…that was just awful. Why do I do this?" We complain about them every year, and they still suck.

As in recent years the sound of sucking will be deafening during the speech against music piracy by the Recording Academy Chairman. Consider this a preemptive warning for the stomachache you'll be nursing Monday morning if you don't listen to me and spend Sunday night watching the Grammys.

While on the topic of Grammys, and for that matter - shit, I republish the best sentence ever written on the topic (link):

"Allowing yourself to become frustrated by the absurdity of the event is like bringing your toddler to the doctor every time he fills his diaper, demanding to know why he’s broken."

Posted by Merry Swankster at 07:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

it's not often that I throw myself to the mercy of the lurking readership as I do now, but we all know how frustrating it is, in our continually coddled music consumption orgy, to not be able to find something. I believe this is known as a "bleg." Much like "blog" itself, which we've all had to live with, this is a horrible word.

Anyway, I've been punching myself in the head trying to find the song "Cool," by eighties Athens band, Pylon. I've searched means both legitimate and shady. I've drawn a total blank. So if anyone out there has it, if you could drop me an e-mail, or leave some sort of You Send it link in the comments. I'd be much obliged.

I'm not coming to you empty handed, though. No, perish the thought. I will offer up, in the accepted mp3 and video drenched currency, some background on my shameless demand...

Love of Diagrams - "No Way Out"

I've spent a good chunk of time listening to the Love of Diagrams EP that was just released on Matador Records, for the purpose of an upcoming Prefix review. It'll pop up sooner than later, but for the sake of brevity: Pretty good, not quite there, keep an out for the full length, Mosaic. Above, I've included the video for their decent single, "No Way Out." It'll give you a sense of the nouveau post-punk sound we're dealing with. There's a bit of the old, audio not quite synched thing that You Tube throws at you now and again, but I trust you're sophisticated enough to just look at the pretty colors.

Included in the Aussie group's place holding EP is a live cover of "Cool" by the afforementioned Pylon, who I'd definitely heard of but never actively investigated. A quick allmusic search gave the necessary frame of reference, placing them as more of an inspiration for than a contemporary to Georgia's favorite sons R.E.M. By the time their city of Athens had emerged as a college rock factory, they had disbanded. They reformed briefly to capture a bit of the spotlight that had eluded them, and then quickly dissolved again within a few years. All of their records now appear to be firmly out of print, with a greatest hits compilation fetching 32-60 dollars used on Amazon.

Love of Diagrams - "Cool" (live Pylon cover)

Now, I don't want to knock Love of Diagrams' version, because it's super faithful and the necessary musical energy and muddled vocal delivery that the track demands is well handled. The only thing knocking it down a peg is the murky live recording, no match for the bare bones delight of the 1980 single. A single I've only been able to hear, mind you, via this clip...

Dance-O-Rama featuring "Cool" by Pylon

Here is the original song in its natural habitat. According to its You Tube parent, who goes by the eminently trustworthy name "Mr. Pussypants," this clip is taken from an Atlanta region public access show, recorded on some date in the early eighties. Pylon are not present, but a cross section of diverse paleo-hipsters "dance" in their honor. Also, according to "Pussypants," the roughly 8 foot tall gentlemen dressed as a maraca player is a young non-drag RuPaul. That passes the eyeball test. My favorite participant is the bearded shimmier in shorts who has his star turn in the middle of a questionable video production wipe. That guy is probably somebody's dad right now, and I can only hope that those kids stumble across this clip as proof that their old man was once an unimpeachable badass.

As for the track itself, it falls into the arty, squeaky, female fronted dance monster category where records by the Slits, Bush Tetras, Delta 5, Kleenex, Malaria!, and many others rest. I love that stuff. The vocals here have that off-kilter Raincoats thing going on as well, which is harder to pin down than either the flatly disaffected or stridently angry/political poles that music of this sort usually gravitates towards. So, it's great, and I want it. No, eMusic or iTunes or LimeWire or aggregator or record store can help me. I take my sense of obscure track entitlement directly to the people...

// Love of Diagrams - Love of Diagrams EP buy
// Pylon - Hits get gouged by Amazon

UPDATE: "Bleg" success! From one of our columnists, but still. Thanks, Klein.
For all...

Pylon - "Cool"

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 10:50 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

FACT: Philadelphians love their Wings.

"Band on the Run!.... Band on the Run!"

Even Better, Philadelphians love their Chicken Wings

Even better than that, Philadelphians love to gather 20,000 strong at 5:00 AM in order to watch a celebration of gluttony as 25 contestants place as many wings as possible into their mouths and arteries in half an hour's time.

This morning Joey Chestnut, in a 45 wing come from behind victory, defended his Wing Bowl crown by eating 182 wings. Chestnut beat out other International Federation of Competitive Eating contestansts Patrick Bertoletti and one-hundred pound Sonja "Black Widow" Thomas. Little known is that the 15th anniversary of the Wing Bowl is actually a scientific study trying to determine what sports fans do for entertainment when their city has been deprived of a championship for 24 years. Rumor out of championship deficient Cleveland is that 50,000 fans are gathering to watch Willie Mays Hayes, Pedro Cerrano, and hot shot pitcher Rick 'Wild Thing' Vaughn in a chili cook-off.

"your chili is worst then your fastball"

Posted by Yonah Korngold at 03:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

A few weeks back Nayio Media announced that they were unveiling a free internet humming -based search tool in the US. Using this search, one could hum a few bars from that song that has been driving them crazy and then have the database search Napster for the song much like Google.

Users must be fairly warned that if they hum the Crash Test Dummies’ “MMM MMM MMM MMM” song into the search engine then the system will short circuit, self destruct, and the earth will open up and swallow Silicon Valley whole.

you were warned!

Yes, I must confess that I posted this information solely for the Crash Test Dummies joke but even so, this technology could have been very useful in solving the mystery of the song in the Paperwork Forest Visa Commercial. Turns out the song that no one really knows the name of is not yet fully a song but was made by Christopher Fiazi.

Posted by Yonah Korngold at 04:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Arcade Fire meet Radiohead.

Judging from the e-mails I've received and the coverage I've read, the whimsical band from Montreal is more universally adored than any other band since, well Thom Yorke's lads. At least that is what I've witnessed.

That's my thought of the day.

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 01:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Because the post on writers invoking My Bloody Valentine as a descriptive adjective drew a short, yet healthy discussion in the comments section, I feel the need to dumb it down with a simple image using TuneGlue's audio mapping tool :

Previously:
Sounds like My Bloody Valentine...?

Posted by Merry Swankster at 01:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Alright kids, let's get literary... A few months ago, Sam James of New York's folk-rock three-piece The WoWz gave me a volume of his as-of-yet unpublished poetry. It was entitled Name Games and, for reasons unknown (international travel?), it bore a photocopy of his passport on the cover. Inside, to my delight and horror (to my delighted horror), I found 41-pages of brain-raping delirium.

I shouldn't have been so surprised. WoWz lyrics, after all, are dripping with the same punchy humor and perverse logic: "Dogs wear leashes / to keep the blood from going to their heads;" "Everybody loves the one who makes them come," etc. Assertions that, at first listen, may sound like the mutterings of a madman. But then, given the right circumstances and (ahem) the right controlled substances, might just take on a level of prophecy.

At any rate, after my brain attained rape-crisis counseling--"seek medical attention," "remember it wasn't your fault," "recognize that healing takes time"--I asked Sam if I could post his verse here, so it could violate your craniums too. Below are two untitled poems, extolling, among other things, the virtues of oral over anal; obesity over anorexia; the Bible over the First Amendment; and, if my interpretation serves, Sam James over the Bible?

Oh, and for you illiterate bastards (I wouldn't dare leave you out), I've also tossed in some WoWz mp3s: ditties that have the jingle jangle of Mr. Tambourine Man-era Byrds, complete with a hint of Blonde on Blonde imagery, Beatles For Sale-esque harmonies, and the kind of PBR-induced hootenanny you'd find at Doc Holliday's on a Tuesday...after the jump.

Continue reading "Thus Spoke the Poet WoWz" »

Posted by Koren Zailckas at 09:50 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Excellent glitch pop band The Blow (authors of the fabulous Fists Up) continues to leave an indelible mark on my ears.

On YouTube, Sylvester "Orange Julius" Stallone continues to elude, but not The Blow. The Blow is unafraid to show you just exactly how it rolls.

Here's some Fader footage of True Affection

And the video for Knowing The Things That I Know

//The Blow - Paper Television - buy
//The Blow - site
//The Blow - Myspace

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 07:38 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Earlier in Autumn, I was flummoxed to hear this phrase on Sportscenter: "What James Mercer is to the Shins, Carlos Beltran to the Mets," which I assumed was an anomaly. Not so!

Via Pitchfork Media, I found this Web site, which detailed the indie rock pinings of one Sportscenter anchor John Buccigross, author of said phrase.

While a perusal through a recent column shows some questionable taste, there is, at least, a man out there trying to combine sports and the Decemberists - which is pretty okay in my book.

ESPN should further pursue this strategy, allowing viewers to chose an anchor who serves up the arcane references of their choice.

"And with that rebound, Shaquille O'Neal gets his double-double; and He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you."

Courtesy of the above-linked site, Local Cut, here's a They Might be Giants reference.

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 09:31 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

In the nascent days of this blog, I talked about the third album from yesteryear fave The Strokes. At the time (somewhat confirmed since), the buzz was that the Strokes would take the fabled third-album leap of artistry, effectively abandoning what made them popular and embracing true passions (seafaring-tinged songs, an Opera about the New York Mets, whatever).

Not content to give all the fun to the artists, I feel like the listening public has created its own protocol for the third album: ignore them. Or maybe it's just me.

But. in the early part of this young century, I was obsessively listening to The Rapture's Out of the Races and Onto the Tracks, The Shins' Oh, Inverted World!, The Yeah Yeah Yeah's S/T EP, and TV on the Radio's Young Liars. This year, all four released either their third album or the third technical release (I'm counting the YYY, Rapture, and TVoTR EPs as release #1).

Considering how into these four bands I was in 2002-2003, it's seemingly criminal how I've ignored their 2006 releases.

The YYY's release was initial embraced (for Gold Lion, Cheated Hearts, Turn Into) then forgotten; I have admittedly not yet been able to devote time to the Rapture's new album past the known singles; TV on the Radio's album got a spin twice and then forgotten, and today, nearly 1.5 months after I received it, is the first time I've actually listened to the Shins album.

I was planning on reviewing The Shins, but, honestly, I don't feel like it. Is it a dereliction of duty? Perhaps.

What say you? You giving third albums from well-liked artists a fair spin? What are your favorite third-album artistic statement bombs?

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 05:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Yesterday I whined and complained about too many "sounds like My Bloody Valentine" descriptions with regards to noisy rock bands. I culled a short list of blog posts with the text "..sounds like My bloody Valentine.." written in the post.

You knew this was coming:

-On Boris - Sounds like My Bloody Valentine covering "Sister Ray." [Tim's Store Picks]

-On Sigur Ros - “Myrkur” from Von sounds like a My Bloody Valentine song. [Mog]

-On Asobi Seksu - Sounds like My Bloody Valentine fronted by a J-Pop Hipster Star. [Bohemian Playboy]

-On HTRK - The whole ep sounds like My Bloody Valentine if they'd have been elegant but deadly dominatrixes, hooking up with Chris & Cosey for a candlelit dungeon-set 'collaboration'. [20 Jazz Funk Greats]

-On Serena Maneesh - (neo-shoegaze -- sounds like My Bloody Valentine meets 60s Garage Rock) [Sgt. Politeness]

-More Serena - My Bloody Valentine gets tossed around a lot in the unoriginal reviews of this album. [Genius Trainwreck]

-On Kashmir - Featured on the new album are Lou Reed and David Bowie himself singing on "The Cynic" which sounds like a My Bloody Valentine song. [Palms Out Sound

-On Broadcast - Broadcast sounds like My Bloody Valentine crossed with the good Stereolab songs. [Sound of Crickets Chirping]

-On a song in the works that I'm actually looking forward to hearing someday - I'm making bilan a song about my favorite friday the 13th movie (part 8 - jason takes manhattan) and it sounds like my bloody valentine producing the soundtrack to the NES classic "mega man 3". [Duk]

-On Arcade Fire (dear lord) - 'Rebellion (Lies)' sounds like the Pixies to my ears. The rest of it sounds like My Bloody Valentine (so good! so good!) [hehehe!]. [I've Lived on a Dirt Road all my Life]

-On Autolux - kinda sounds like my bloody valentine. [Door Spirit]

I am Pot, you are kettle. We both black.

-On Dalek - If we want to be facile, think My Bloody Valentine meets the Def Jux crew. [Merry Swankster]

-On Serena Maneesh - Noisier AND sweeter than My Bloody Valentine, though not usually at the same time. [Merry Swankster]

Posted by Merry Swankster at 03:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

If not in the know, one could attend a screening of the Will Ferrell vehicle Stranger Than Fiction (as I did last night), and enjoy what seems like a tapestry of a soundtrack. But rather than assemble a number of artists to submit their work, the music in the film was compiled by Spoon's Britt Daniel and many of the musical interludes featured his band's work. Two things: one, it demonstrated how well Spoon's upbeat understated rock works in celluloid. Two, it made me want to revisit the band. Two examples.

Vittorio E - from Kill the Moonlight (2002)

Sort of sounds like Sister Morphine, if it never broke into a sweat. Choral notes as a simple drumbeat and guitar scale up and down gives foliage for Daniel's declaration "It goes on."

The Way We Get By from Kill the Moonlight (2002)

Spoon's anthemic entry - the chugging piano intro leads to tales of backseat pot adventures, shrugging bar conversations, and magazine reading - the nerdy white kids' (diffident and indifferent) hustle (sort of) tale.

//Spoon - Kill the Moonlight - buy
//Spoon - site
//Spoon - Myspace

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 10:28 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Halloween isn't officially until tomorrow but the grown-up version of trick or treating, i.e. getting tanked in a silly costume, hit its prime over the weekend. A few sights and sounds...

the Vaselines - "the Day I Was a Horse"

I, horse.

//the Vaselines - the Way of the Vaselines: a Complete History - buy

Modest Mouse - "Trailer Trash"

J. Drake, aka Cassettes Won't Listen (gold tooth not pictured).

//Modest Mouse - the Lonesome Crowded West - buy

Black Flag - "TV Party"

New wave zombie humps TV.

//Black Flag - Damaged - buy

Múm - "Asleep on a Train"

As sweet a scene as the L train is likely to produce.

//Múm - Yesterday Was Dramatic - Today is OK - buy

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 08:40 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Im calling out bullshit on the conventional wisdom behind music driving the growth of Myspace. The Myspace music player sucks big time. Fix that shit. I feel sorry for everyone that I resorted to venting about something that is a futile cause to complain about. I'm embarrassed now, here is a Beck tune.

Beck - Broken Train

Posted by Merry Swankster at 11:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

College students, present this to your philosophy professor:

If Billy Corgan spawned a love child with Eminem would a pussy emo king from Jersey be the fruit of their labor?

Gerard Way of My Chemical Romance.

Previously:
Eddie Argos & Adam Morrison
Jesse Hughes from EODM = Thomas Jane?

Tags: Billy Corgan, Eminem, Gerard Way

Posted by Merry Swankster at 11:35 AM | Permalink | Comments (43)

[Franklin Stucco in Franklin Square, NY is overtaken by the orange and blue. Click for large image.]

Octoberitis strikes the Merry Swankster

Is there anything better than playoff baseball when your team is in the thick of it? My beloved Mets face the Cardinals tonight in a pivotal game 5 placing the winner one game away from a Fall Classic date with the Tigers.

Last week I mentioned the slower stream of posts was the result of extra attention being placed on finishing the 3Q Podcast. While technically true, I should mention that trips to LA for game 3 of the NLDS and an escape to Shea for the first two games of the NLCS also played a large role in sucking my attention from the rawkness. You can never take this stuff for granted, so for better or worse my lifetime loyalty to the Metropolitans is taking center stage. Everything else falling by the wayside. The dog is starving, the laundry is piling up and I'm pretty sure I'll be fired from my job if the Mets advance to the World Series.

I don't want to taint this this medium for partisan purposes, as I have no intention of alienating our strong St. Louis base (Merry Swankster carried Missouri in the 2002 election -ed). So I'll bring it all back to MS relevance using Yo La Tengo, whose band name invokes the ancient 1962 Met team and their language barriers:

[Yo La Tengo's] name comes from a baseball anecdote. During the 1962 season, Richie Ashburn, the center fielder of the New York Mets, was collliding again and again with Venezuelan shortstop Elio Chacón. When Ashburn went for a catch, he would scream, "I got it! I got it!" only to run into Chacón, who spoke only Spanish. Ashburn learned to yell, "Yo la tengo! Yo la tengo!" which is "I've got it" in Spanish. (via Wikipedia)

Yo La Tengo - Meet the Mets

See also: The Young Manhattanite blog has a rundown of Mets theme songs.

Tags:Mets, NLCS, Yo La Tengo

Posted by Merry Swankster at 02:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

The increasing sales of digital music may have an unintended consequence - the end of album art. I know that at least two-thirds of Merry Swankster partners fondly adhere to the official CD release for both artifact and as a physical representation of one’s music collection. The value, accessibility, and portability of music digitization has been a wonderful thing, but there is something to be said about flipping through a CD (or album) collection and reminiscing with memories tied to particular records that cannot be duplicated with the quick scrolling of an iPod.

The Apple people understand the emptiness that naysayers of digital music have towards the medium and are clearly striving for that visceral feeling that comes only with rich visuals that album art provides. The latest iTunes version (7.0) has a nifty feature that allows browsing by album cover which actually gives more of a jukebox feel than a scan through a CD tower, but its close and better than bland text on a screen. (That is of course until the iPod brain implant version gets released.)

Why am I saying all this? Because I support the “full package” of a CD release. Artists take time in planning the cover art, lyrics layout and thank yous to their family and producer. Also, because without them we would never enjoy this video which is one of the greatest things I have ever seen. Tell me that different episodes of your life did not flash through your mind upon seeing the classic covers used in the video and I’ll call you a liar, or you’ll call me a big music geek. (From: Motionographer via: Stereogum)

Posted by Merry Swankster at 01:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The weather is dreary here in Greenpoint, the epicenter of the Polish-American meets lower-income hipsters universe, but that doesn't mean we can't shimmy-shimmy, yeah in the Brooklyn Zoo.

Pants off, dance off.

Vitalic - Bells

If My Friend Dario was not an acquaintance in 2006, you have issues. It's time to get on the Vitalic boat. While Friend was more a straight-forward electronic thrash, this is a more meandering and house-rific track - full of chord scales, volume breakdowns, and ethereal phrase repeatance. MMM. Delicious.

Whitest Boy Alive - Done with You

WBA, part of the Royksopp/Kings of Convenience world, drops an assuming, but altogether solid EP of IDM. This is the standout track - which manages to build the tempo during the entirety of the song, while Øye repeats, to no one in particular, that he is done with him or her or them. Ride the baseline as guitars check in and out.

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 02:19 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

We're still exactly two months out from the release date of Swan Lake's Jagjaguwar debut, but given the rabid interest, I'm surprised this record hasn't exploded all over the blog world. Any non-sanctioned leak postings of the Canuck supergroup have been quickly addressed and disabled by their label, leading me to believe that anything I might give you would be treated likewise. I've been listening feverishly since fate saw fit to bring us together, and want to do something for those also quaking with ancipation. Hopefully, this track by track preview will give you a good idea of what you're in for with this sometimes lovely, sometimes befuddling record. Better than nothing, right?

"Widow's Walk"

Murky guitar and synth spiral in place without much forward movement, as Bejar is the first to make his presence known. The second as well, laying a pained wail over top the more prominent "Ba da da da duh da dum" non-lyric. The impressionistic warbling takes the place of Dan's usual enunciated ramblings, only gasping out bursts of proper lyrics occasionally. Nothing in the track feels particularly developed, structurally. Key loops, clacking percussion, and restless guitar poke their head in but never get comfortable. For an opening track, a bit tentative feeling and sometimes bordering on cacaphony. Tough to make heads or tails of what's going on, especially on first listen.

"Nubile Days"

A more propulsive guitar strum and a quickly discarded carnival keyboard intro quickly segue into Spencer's maniacal delivery. The hurried lyrics, surreal as you might expect, give only glimpses of meaning. "Nubile days are the days that cling to a hunter's face," for example could use a crib note. The music again is very fluid, not taking any kind of traditional shape. A tense video game score under the surface, guitar scrapes to the side. For the second song, articulated words aren't featured as prominently as the "la la la la la" and "whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh"ing. Distinctive voices and odd music make for intriguingly alien texture, but so far it's all very intangible. Not much to grab by the shoulders and size up.

"City Calls"

Some more low key noodling, with faded, crashing drums behind. Carey Mercer makes his entrance, but in disguise. A chorus of Carey, treated and screwed, sounding sometimes angelic and mostly deranged. Again, lyrics hardly decipherable. Krug tunes a piano in an adjoining room. A bit short of the two minute mark, Bejar starts echoing the Mercer mass, spotlighting non-sequitar lines about bones (their relationship to milk, the fact that you've got two broken collar bones, etc.). At some point Krug creeps in unnoticed and CM himself disentangles, upping the mob's strength with his own more familar delivery. Basic rhythyms emerge at the end, weirdly just as the track loses some steam. If this all sounds confusing, then I'm getting my point across.

"A Venue Called Rubella"

Another Dan Bejar dominated song, although he begins it in duet with Krug. The contrast between Dan's nasal blue blood and Spencer's unhinged prophet is interesting when pops up occasionally. Despite the cameo, lines about "Union Street ingenues" and the like obviously tie it to the Destroyer catalogue although the lurching backdrop would be conspicous on the more even keel Rubies. The production is still unnecessarily busy at the start, but soon an ancient piano tone heralds the tightening of form. The song's title repeats and marches towards infinity, as close to a sing a long possibility as we've seen in the disc thus far.

"All Fires"

I heard this one was released in advance by the record label, did anyone get around to posting it? Anyway, what seemed like a hype-holding middle of the road choice at first is now revealed as a triumphant album highlight and complete breath of fresh air when put into its proper context. The key is the stripped down clarity. After four tracks of unconventional instrument pile ups and overwhelming vocal production, a little strum and story is a welcome change. Krug's lyrics here are terrific, selling a tragedy with matter of fact reportage.

There was a flood/ a world of water/ the Mason's wife/ swam for her daughter/1000 people/ Did what they could/ They found a steeple/ Tore up the wood/ 500 hundred pieces/ mean 500 float/ 1000 people means/ 500 don't"

"the Partisan But He's Got to Know"

The momentum keeps up with this track, that has to be a Mercer composition. Carey's Frog Eyes dementia is at about three/quarters strength and sweetened by Bejar's echoing. The brutal, flailing guitar that characterizes much of the Eyes output is replaced with sweetly bouncing synth and a subliminal strum, making it sound much more lighthearted. Around the two thirty mark, the tempo slows further and Krug takes over the lead. It's odd that it took this long for the three Bowie devotees to evoke the sound of the Old White Duke, but it sounds cosmically delicious. The album hits its stride here, sounding finally how we all though it might when the project was announced.

"the Freedom"

The song for all the bummed Destroyer fans to clutch grimly to their chests. Dan strums and get teary for "the Freedom to be alone with the freedom." Sounds like he had the freedom to be alone with the mixing board as well, as this could have been a Rubies b-side. Carey's crazy ass backing vocals make it through the soundproof glass, but just barely.

I shouldn't have to tell you, but the rest of the verdict comes beneath the fold...

Tags: Swan Lake, Wolf Parade, Destroyer, Frog Eyes, Sunset Rubdown, Jagjaguwar

Continue reading "Swan Lake's Beast Moans, a Track by Track Preview" »

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 12:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The first post by old pal and Texico based MS correspondant Randall Monty caused a big stir and a flurry of comments. His follow up, detailing the virtue of some judiciously used Bowie in his alter ego as scool teacher, is gonna cause more controversy than ever. I mean, there are just as many folks ready to dissect public education standards and techniques as there are dudes ready to drop everything to discuss minor points of contention in the music taste of trivial sportswriters aren't there? (crickets) Sigh. Well, without further ado, I give you Mssr. Monty

Teaching With Bowie
by Randall Monty

The College Board, the, ahem, “non-profit” group behind the SAT and Advance Placement and other standardized forms of acceptance examinations recently released their SpringBoard curriculum for middle and high school math and English classes. From the CB website:

“SpringBoard is the College Board's rigorous and coherent plan for schools and districts in Mathematics and English Language Arts for students in grades 6 to 12. You know that students need essential knowledge and problem-solving skills to succeed in college. But did you know that the College Board offers the premier program that addresses the academic requirements needed for success in the first year of college?”

Don’t think of SpringBoard as your every day, run or the mill sort of curriculum. Instead, it is a set of instructional activities that are intentionally designed to help students prepare to do better on standardized tests, specifically the ones created by the College Board. (Funny how that works.) At first perusal, SpringBoard appears really to be a bunch of worksheets with movie clips and sound bites to decorate them up, and for the most part, that’s exactly what it is. But buried beneath the miles and miles of consumables can be found some rather interesting pedagogical techniques, such as the lesson revolving around the David Bowie song, “Heroes” (mp3) . Now I know there is no bigger education cliché than the tale of the teacher that uses music to reach his disenfranchised students, but I’ve got to admit this particular lesson worked roughly a thousand times better than I expected it ever would, and is initiated arguably the single most effective day of teaching of my entire (and relatively short) career.

Tags: David Bowie, Education, Real Jobs

Continue reading "the College Board" »

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 09:47 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Five wishes I have for the music scene

1) That Eleanor Friedberger will get to record a solo album, free from Matthew's noodling and, perhaps, 60s-girl group-inspired.

2) That M83, Caribou (nee Manitoba), and Ms. John Soda form a super group, tapping Regina Spektor, Isobel Campell, and Trish Kennan to sing.

3) That Portishead's new album is as Portishead-esque and good as Mission of Burma's latter albums have been MoB-like.

4) That the Long Blondes forget the LP format and just continually release singles as they complete them. Rough cuts are fine.

5) That Spank Rock becomes the go-to producer for hip-hop people, displacing a tired Pharrell Williams.

Bonus wish: someone would send me an active link to the CSS J-Lo song.

I am but a meager man with meager wants.

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 01:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Vacation. Monteray Bay Aquarium. Jellyfish Exhibit. Zissou.

Mark Mothersbaugh - "Ping Island / Lightning Strike Resuce Op"

Tags: California, Mark Mothersbaugh, Team Zissou, Jellyfish

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 03:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Stereogum has been posting the ugly instances of collective stupidity at the Reading Festival. Fans have pelted bottles at performers. First Brendan Urie of Panic! at the Disco gets knocked in the face by a bottle and now it appears that My Chemical Romance have also been targeted for felling via bottle blows from irate (see: drunk) “fans.”

Without passing judgment on the quality of musical output of these groups, bands getting intimate with the wrong end of hostile Brits' flying missiles is all fairly idiotic and reminiscent of 1999’s ill-fated Woodstock debacle. While fires and rapes have not yet replaced “bottling” headlines, attacking artists performing onstage makes as much sense as throwing cream pies at the cunty, verbal diarrhea spewing Ann Coulter. Walk away people, just walk away.

All of this nonsense comes amid reports that crime is down at this years festie.

Maybe the true sign of a free society is not freedom of movement or freedom of speech, but the chance to be a complete jackass and aim your misguided anger at powerless figures while in a faceless mob. Pussies.

Here are some YouTube vids of "bottlings":

-50 Cent & G-Unit @ Reading (2004)
-Fightstar @ Reading (2005)
-Nickelback @ Portugal Fest

Switching gears from lobbing bottles in substitution for boos to tossing mud in place of hugs is this Green Day clip from the 1994 edition of Woodstock (the less rioty and fiery, but muddy one).

Green Day - "Not Becoming a Mud-Hippy" - Saugerties, NY - Woodstock 1994

Tags: Reading Festival, Panic! At the Disco, My Chemical Romance, Fightstar, 50 Cent, G Unit, Green Day

Posted by Merry Swankster at 01:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Criminally, critically underrated is a new feature that will tackle some well-known (and some unknown) recording artists and make an argument that their artistic achievements have perhaps been unappreciated. It is wholly unscientific and slightly hyberbolic.

There are some universal truths in credible hip-hop historical analysis.

Most mainstream music lists on hip-hop are whack. Rakim is perhaps the greatest MC of all time. Nas’ Illmatic is perhaps the greatest album of all time, or, at the least, represented what a hip-hop album should feel or sound like. 2Pac should not be anywhere near the top of the list. Both Eminem and Jay-Z’s careers are like if Tiger Woods won that 2000-stretch of majors, but spent the rest of his career dominating regular tournament play, but only winning one or two more majors.

Lost in this commentary, I feel, is one MC who does not get as nearly enough critical props for his contribution to hip-hop. That man is Ice Cube.

Bursting on the scene with NWA, a super group that arguably only had one truly competent rapper (guess who?), NWA is a great study in music and the human condition. They had absolute very little to say redeeming to say about the plight of the inner city, but conveyed such a raw, emotional reaction to the environment that made everyone else overreact to think that NWA’s popularity portended a rise against the police and government. In reality, many people dug NWA the way that frat boys dug Rage Against the Machine: a form of amping oneself up. I don’t doubt there are plenty of Bush-supporting conservatives with RATM still in their stereo, despite its obvious anti-establishment pathos.

Ice Cube, as a neighborhood storyteller, is surprisingly unparalleled (save for Nas’ early work, Slick Rick, and Ghostface Killah). His evocations of a protagonist's thoughts of the day can seem as rich and realistic as any poet. Save for the few murderous daydream scenarios involving his Tech-9, Cube applies a sociologist approach to his rap craft. Unfortunately, Cube’s (and his narrators') viewpoints are incredibly misogynistic, racist, and anti-Semitic. As I am in the not putting myself in the position of critiquing the positive contribution of his overall world view, these facts, while important, do not apply much here. But what is most fascinating about Ice Cube is that he HAS that world view, devoid in a music community today where mainstream acts celebrate the spoils of the victors (all fine, in my opinion), but fail to contemplate what that means for anything (wasted effort).

If you listen to today’s rap, it is surprisingly collegial. Unidentified foes (haters) always lurk, but it’s oft “all good in the hood” and females are clean, sexy, and suppliant. Not so, in Cube’s world vision, where real enemies were the next block over, hos had mass sexual diseases, and the world was incorrect in its assumptions. Cube’s anthems were not salutary, but quite the opposite: his fear was that everyone would willingly accept the world as a Champagne-toting affair had he not speak.

Ice Cube hated (or feared) nearly everyone, but the Nation of Islam and ten percenters. He even hated (of feared) Ice Cube: some of his sharpest incisions felt Cube-ward. Many salute Enimen for his elucidating the confusion of the human condition in his songs, but his mea culpa seem too clean, too calculated, too non-freestyle. Cube was (no longer is) a crazy mutherfucker who said any and everything, and what it wrought was a muddled mess that holds no shape other than the human form. As if it wasn't clear before, much of what actually popped out of Ice Cube's mouth is indefensible. But it is art.

As Jeff Chang wrote in his inhumanly brilliant book Can’t Stop Won’t Stop, “It was as if Cube had taken Public Enemy’s gunsight off the young Black male, and was waving the weapon from target to target, at each and all those lined up around and against him.”

Thanks to the Cornerstone Mixtape series, I will post some snippets of some tracks and an analysis.

Look Who’s Burnin’ – Ice Cube visits the free clinic and tells stories about the afflicted denizens.

How to Survive in South Central LA- The wordplay is just brilliant – “Rule number one: get yourself a gun; a nine in your ass will do fine.”

A bird in the hand - “Fresh out of school, cuz I was a high school grad; got to get a job because I was a high school dad.” Find any modern day rapper on Hot 97 speaking about out-of-wedlock children in the first person.

And, perhaps, the catchiest song about murderous rage: When Will They Shoot? So bouncy, it will have white men mouthing “White man is something I tried to study, but I got my hands bloody.”

You may not like you attraction to the song, but it's there nonetheless.

Ice Cube does not deserve to be in the top five MCs of all time, but a case could be made for top ten, if using the arguments above.

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 07:40 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Our hyper picky parsing of Pitchfork's recent 200 Greatest Songs of the 1960's feature continues today as promised with the final two categories; Artists who were underrepresented by the epic list, and pet obscurities that we might have fought for if given the chance.

Read part 1 here.

Shafted:

One of the strongest singer/songwriters in any decade, Leonard Cohen might have suffered for his longevity in the compiling of the list. His best song not included, "Famous Blue Raincoat", came from the seventies, after all. The two songs that did make the cut, "So Long, Marianne" (#190) and "Suzanne" (#41) get no dispute, but Cohen deserves at least to tie Pasty Cline (3 entries) and beat out the Monkees (2 entries) as far as I'm concerned. A worthy third prize goes to the beautiful and surprisingly bouncy "Hey, That's No Way to Say Goodbye." I love that in contrast to alot of the forlorn lovesick tracks in the Canuck's arsenal, this is basically a cheer-up song. It's so eloquent and convincing that at the end his crying lady friend is sweetly chiming in behind him.

Leonard Cohen - "Hey, That's No Way to Say Goodbye"

Dusty Springfield is one of my absolute favorite vocalists of the sixties, and almost certainly the finest British female pop star of that decade. Her voice is huge, crystal clear, and evocatively sensual. While I agree that if you could only give her one song it'd be stupid for it not to be "Son of a Preacher Man" (#45), I think she deserved a bit more credit. Quite a few other tracks could have been pulled from the immortal Dusty in Memphis album, but since it did get a tiny bit of love, we'll go with an earlier single. While the lyrics under a microscope almost amount to the troubling advice of "Hey girls, put out!", her delivery is all so joyous and filled with hope that you have to think a few thankful Sixties teen boys had to benefit from Dusty's powers of persuasion.

Dusty Springfield - "Wishin' and Hopin' "

Until the rise of 90's electronic artists Air and Daft Punk, Serge Gainsbourg was pretty much the only French import to have any impact at all in the American consciousness (discounting a couple drops in the post punk bucket). To this day, the "next Serge Gainsbourg" tag is a blessing and a curse for surly unshaven French singers the way that "next Dylan" is for any midwestern kid with a guitar and some political consciousness. So basically, the dominant figure in the music of a whole country in the midst of its last great decade of pop music gets one measly performance slot ("Bonnie et Clyde" #56) and one writing nod (France Gall's "Laisse Tomber les Filles", #181). Worse, his greatest, most enduringly relevant song ("Reqiuem for a jerk" in English) is nowhere to be found. The air of sleaze, the Gallic bongo rhythm, and the choked/ strangely sexual electric guitar line are all so casually cool. It's as if it were possible for a piece of music to dangle a cigarette from its lips. Probably the number one song I'd like to have seen on the list that wasn't.

Serge Gainsbourg - "Requiem Pour un Con"

Donovan is not seen as a real cool dude. Singing about "eee-lek-tric-al banana"s, doing long spoken word pieces about the nation of Atlantis, and being a huge ass hippy will do that for you. Pitchfork only gave in to the Scot's charm once, with the unusually dark "Season of the Witch" (#140) being the one you could safely hang your cred on. I love that one too, but I think the more undeniably memorable track comes here, in all it's psychedelic, comic book name checking, nerd glory. I love that big exotic guitar part at the beginning, the "you've got to be joking" drug repudiation of the first line, and the disconcertingly agressive "You're GO-ing to be mine" chorus. It's fucking far out, man.

Donovan - "Sunshine Superman"

Obscurity Wrangling:

One of the most striking aspect of the list was the dominance of pop singles from relatively obscure girl groups. I suspect if this undertaking had been attempted a few years ago this might not have been the case. Here, in a post One Kiss Leads to Another box set world, the floodgates are open. There's nothing inherently wrong with using knowledge gained from key re-issues to re-evaluate a decade's output. I mean you can't un-hear something and guide your choices by feigned ignorance. You have to think though, that when dealing with a trove of singles so obscure that they are unlikely to have been very truly influential at all, it all comes down to highly subjective pick and choose.

So, I give you my pick, "I'm Afraid They're All Talking About Me" by Dawn. Maybe the most supremely paranoid single I've ever heard, this track glides along like a building nervous breakdown. There's no respite, ever. Even at the chorus it's all just pleading for help. I can understand how something this harrowing might not have broken out on radio of the time, but as long as we're playing revisionist history, you don't get much more sophisticated girl-pop than this.

Dawn - "I'm Afraid They're All Talkin' About Me"

From intense paranoia to whiplash confidence, my second choice comes from lady rockers the What Four. Displaying a shockingly forward for the time wish "to make that boy my lover", the WF level the sexual playing field in a way that makes the Pipettes sound both timid and redundant in comparison. Long before women were given any measure of genuine respect in the rock field, here lies this rarity, kicking ass unashamed.

the What Four - "I'm Gonna Destroy That Boy"

In the zero-sum game of list dominance, probably the greatest loser stemming from the increase in girl-groups is garage rock. The less current thrill of discovery coming from the Nuggets anthology can't compare to the still recent crush of One Kiss it seems. My choice for a great gem from the diminished in stature form is this mid-tempo melody bomb from the lost to time Beau Brummels.

the Beau Brummels - "Laugh, Laugh"

A last trend of note was the inclusion of many not typically considered pieces of film and television music. With "Linus and Lucy" (#43), "The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly" (#32), and "Dr.Who" (#76) all getting props, I wish there was a bit of shelf space cleared for my favorite, Krystof Komeda's haunting theme to Roman Polanski's "Rosemary's Baby". I recently wrote about this one at length, so I'll save my breath (fingers), and quote this one's charm in it's own words. La La La La. (dread) La La La La. (dread).

Krystof Komeda f. Mia Farrow - "Rosemary's Baby" (main title)

...and scene.

Tags: Pitchfork, Leonard Cohen, Dusty Springfield, Serge Gainsbourg, Donovan, Dawn, the What Four, the Beau Brummels, Krystof Komeda, Mia Farrow

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 02:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

We had the weekend to let Pitchfork's Greatest 200 Songs of the 1960's list sink in. Now, friends, is the time for the nitpicking to begin in earnest. For the most part I think it was a pretty good effort by the 'forkers. There were clearly great pains taken to expand the usual Rolling Stone magazine conventional wisdom, include underrespected genres, and oust some terrible Doors songs. Any attempt to assign rank and number to a decade's worth of music is going to be imcomplete, however. In calling to light some material that didn't make the cut, the intention isn't to be some kind of scolding corrective, just a continuation of the discussion.

Sub-dividing our topics of inspection, we have: Songs by titanic artists left off due to editorial limits, token entries for cult artists that could have been better selected, underrepresented artists, and obscure choices that may or may not actually be "the greatest". The first two categories tackled below;

Sophie's Choice:

The most innovative editorial decision of the Pitchfork list was putting a cap on the number of entries a single artist was allowed to have. While this definitely made for a more interesting and eclectic read, it also strips some of the weight from figures who towered over the decade, and robbed the list of some classic songs that were easily better than what finally made the cut. Maxing out at five we had: the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, the Supremes, the Kinks, the Beach Boys, and the Velvet Underground. The five Supremes singles chosen are pretty set in stone, and I'm no Beach Boys scholar, so we'll leave that round of second guessing to others.

The Beatles inclusions are really hard to take issue with. You have the masterpiece ("A Day in the Life" #5), the character study ("Eleanor Rigby" #47), the evil psych monster ("I am the Walrus" #26), the traditional ("I Want to Hold Your Hand" #58) and the dive into the deep end ("Tomorrow Never Knows" #19). A well rounded bunch. For our sixth place alternate pick, I'd go with Rubber Soul's "Norwegian Wood".

Here you get the boys starting to expand their sonic palette into other cultural sounds and themes a little deeper and more complex than dancing and holding hands (some hints of infidelity, and some darkness with the lyrical finish). It's all still reigned in and in the service of a nicely effective melody. Call it the sleeper.

the Beatles - "Norwegian Wood"

Pitchforkers know their Kinks too, although the relatively low placement for their most perfect track ("Waterloo Sunset" #29 ), just gives more weight to their younger brother status behind the Beatles and Stones. While the Kinks tunes might be tastefully picked, on their own they fail to represent the super goofy playful side of the band that made them more lovable than the countrymen overshadowing them. This song, from perhaps their silliest Sixties album, the Kinks are the Village Green Preservation Society, is concentrated fun.

the Kinks - "Starstruck"

For all the love that the Stones get for their evil junk phase, I find their earlier R&B pop incarnation to be more (sorry) satisfying. Hindsight historians are careful to apologize for the Stones theft and resale of songs from lesser known black artists. While that's a fair criticism, it should also be pointed out that their own original songs from the same formative period frequently matched or topped the purloined tracks in quality.

the Rolling Stones - "Heart of Stone"

The song limit seems a bit crueler when we get to Dylan. His post-folk rock albums are so littered with brilliance that summing them up in five tracks is too limiting a proposition. Gone for instance is much sense of Dylan as performer. Room was made in the ranks for James Brown's live sweatshow, so it's a shame that Dylan's baby faced prophet act was a rule casualty. Here, from the infamous 1966 Royal Albert Hall acoustic/ electric performance, we get Dylan, a guitar, and a harmonica. That's it. The harmonica has slways been my least favorite aspect of the early Dylan mystique, but I have to make an exception for this. With Bob stripped alone on stage it's a raw, bleeding release valve for its otherwise subdued master. A performance so stark in its power, that when the sound is amped up in the subsequent set, he's literally called a "Judas" for building on it.

Bob Dylan - "4th Time Around"(live @ the Royal Albert Hall, 1966)

Which is not to say that I was sorry to see the mouth organ go. On "Queen Jane Approximately", fleshed out rock-Dylan reigns supreme. While the myth of the man usually rests on righteous fury or surreal charm, "QJA" gives us a warmer Robby Z. The track is commonly used as a stand in for carefree rememberance in many a self-aggrandizing baby boomer produced 60's drama. How passionate we were, how carefree, and all that shit. But you can't blame Bob for making typical teen naivety seem awfully romantantic when remembered with this as a soundtrack.

Bob Dylan -"Queen Jane Approximately"

One would suspect that the top of many a Pitchfork staffer's list would be real heavy on VU, but when all was tallied they failed to crack the top 25. I'd like a look at those ballots, frankly, because no one band has as much genetic material passed down to the spectrum of music the Fork typically embraces as Lou and his goons. The song limit sets the focus almost entirely on the first, monumental Velvet Underground and Nico album, with four of that record's songs included (making it the most honored album of the decade). The sole induction from the rest of their discography is the deranged "Sister Ray" (#148). While as an "anything goes" statement that song makes sense, the better choice is the title track from the same album, White Light/ White Heat. In its tattered catchiness, simplicity, and brevity, "WL/WH" is the easiest place to see punk stumble from the ocean and begin to take some steps.

the Velvet Underground - "White Light/ White Heat"

The focus on the roots of the Underground also robs the list of Lou Reed's most empathic, human material, the third Velvet Underground album. Here, in a calmer, prettier set of songs he shows a gift for straightforward melody that is shocking when listened to immediately following the raw WL/WH set. Listening to his elegy for Warhol drag icon Candy Darling, it's hard to imagine the depiction being so rich and well rounded if it had been written in the decadent haze of VU and Nico. "Pale Blue Eyes" follows up with the Velvets' most sincere love song. Sure it's about adultery, but that's only a briefly mentioned detail, not a shock value focus. The early Factory soundtrack might be more glamorous an image, but to forget this material is to lose the heart behind the somewhat ghoulish facade.

the Velvet Underground - "Candy Says"

the Velvet Underground - "Pale Blue Eyes"

Cult Representation Quibble:

With their spot as ressurrected headliners for this year's Pitchfork Music Festival, you knew there had to be room set aside for Brazilian weirdos, the Mutants. Although that token selection "A Minha Menina" (#160) might be the most easily digestible rocker to be found, a pick more representative of the group's lasting influence is "Panis et Circenses." Melding indigenous Brazilian music to folk-y strum and adding a deep Nico-esque vocal, it holds up to the most affecting world music of the decade. The real thrill lies in the fearless invention of the song's latter part, shrugging off simple beauty for odder, more inventive terrain. Echoes of the fearless exploration can be found almost forty years on in the compositions of Matthew Friedberger, although here it's much more cohesive than some of Matty's more half-baked moments.

Os Mutantes - "Panis et Circenses"

Our favorite Germany based ex-pat method actor Army brats, the Monks, cracked the list in a token spot as well. While the Pitchfork selection "Monk Time" (#165) might be useful as a self-mythologizing mission statement, it's got nothing on this one. The catchiest song laid to tape by the Friar punks, it sports the delighful call and response, "I hate you baby, with a passion/ But call me! But call me!" More importantly, it loses none of its stomp and bile for the added wit.

the Monks - "I Hate You"

In appropriately Pitchforkian drawn-out cocktease fashion, the second part of this post comes at you tomorrow. Until then, discuss.

Tags: Pitchfork, the Beatles, the Kinks, the Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, the Velvet Underground, Os Mutantes, the Monks

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 10:54 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Iggy Pop is a musical hero of mine, so I like to see him keeping busy. Sadly, it's obvious that his critical faculties are a bit fried and he's ready to collaborate with any old body. I believe his last record had a Sum 41 dude on it. Don't get me started on that horrible Peaches duet (although the video where they fight zombies is a little redemptive). The man does wonders with simplistic faux stupid, but he can't save actual stupid.

Here are some nice uses of Iggy's talent.

Teddybears featuring Iggy Pop - "Punkrocker"

Swede party rockers Teddybears, have recruited a bunch of featured vocalists, received alot of blog postage, and been, for the most part, pretty boring. One thing that they definitely deserve credit for, however, is understanding that our man Pop is perhaps a finer crooner than he is a shouter (and he's in the pantheon of all time great shouters). Being a little boring is almost an asset here too, as the self proclaimed "Chairman of the Bored" can do disaffected apathy with the best of 'em. Here he elevates some banal lyrics about reckless driving and car chases, mixed in with some new age-y hokum about listening with sincerity by sounding totally above it all. His deadpan reading makes him sound positively regal. Like he's so unimpeachably a punk rocker that asserting so over a wishy washy Cars / Weezer backing track isn't contradictory in the least.

Mogwai - "Punk Rock:"

A novel take on an Iggy cameo came in the lead off track to Mogwai's '99 album Come on Die Young. Over spooky, plaintive acoustic guitar an echoed out Pop gives an egomaniacal rant about punk rock (he wasn't so keen to claim the term at the time) and his own staggering ability. With the subtle vocal tinkering and shivering background, he sounds like a prophet gone mad from gazing into the abyss. Which is just about right.

This ruins the effect of the song a little bit, becasue the sample is so perfect that it's nice to think that it just materialized in the fog, but I had always wondered where the hell this came from. To the surprise of no one in our current instant gratification video landscape, once I thought of it I had it within two minutes.

Iggy Pop - CBC Interview 1977

Any guesses as to what our man is on? I say coke and booze, but horse pills is a strong contender.

Iggy Pop - "China Girl"

Once again, David Bowie leads the pack in getting something, rescuing Iggy from near obscurity (and a brief stay in a mental hospital) to record two classic albums, the Idiot and Lust for Life, both released in 1977. Here we see what Ig. Pop can do with good material, moving away from a primal punk sound, just as that aesthetic was beginning to get some traction. This version predates and destroys the later more famous Bowie hit. Where the Bowie (with a hurting hand from Nils Rodgers) rendition layers on more cheese than an Italian mother to suit the eighties airwaves, his own earlier production is ragged and restrained. Minimal xylophone hits add a more palatable Asian touch than the goofy synth lines in Bowie's, and here, thankfully, Stevie Ray Vaughan is not allowed anywhere near a guitar solo.

Production tastes aside, what really takes it over the top is the vocal performance. For sure Bowie had the stronger voice in general, but he over-emotes on his version and just doesn't sound like he means it. Pop sounds slurred and wasted as always, but with his assertion that "I'm just a wreck without my China Girl" that's sort of the point. By the time he gets to full throated screech at the 2:07 mark, its supremacy seems undeniable. Also worth noting are Pop's lyrics, "I feel tragic like I was Marlon Brand-oooo", just a gem among many. Iggy might have been a glorious fuck up, but he's still a pretty smart songwriter.

Tags: Iggy Pop, the Stooges, Teddybears, Mogwai, David Bowie

Posted by Jeff Klingman at 03:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Giant Drag - This Isn't It

Because you're having lunch. And it's Friday.

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 12:47 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

How do I diplomatically submit this? I suppose I just submit, without comment. But I can't resist. Wow, this is ungood.

I know it's not in our charter to mock bands, but we are charged with contributing to the community. I watch MTV at 6am, so you don't have to.

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 06:23 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

[Today we debut a new contributor to MS.com. From the bowels of the Texas-Mexico border, rabid Red Sox fan, newly Married guy, and overall sweet dude, Randall Monty. When not doing part time work spotting border jumping indie rockers for the alterna-Minutemen, Mr. Monty updates his blog.]

Greetings Deadspin readers. Pawtucket Pat calls us "perfect"; Big O says we're "pathetic" and "loser(s)."

Stick around after you make your judgment; learn about the Long Blondes.

Bill Simmons, ESPN’s “Sportsguy”, is one of today’s most beloved sportswriters, with a readership that extends well beyond those who share his particular fanaticisms for the Boston Red Sox, NBA and fantasy football. Perhaps this is because Simmons’s importance as a sports journalist, or even as a writer in general, has little to do with his actual output or even his opinions. What makes Simmons such an important name in the industry is the way he uses the medium to his advantage, that is, he uses the Internet as a platform to dispense his opinions of various sports-related topics, largely (at least it seems) without the assistance (or nuisance) of an overseeing editor.

Somewhat ironically, considering his regard, Simmons isn’t a very good writer or journalist. Generally, his writing is somewhat sophomoric and highly repetitive; very rarely does he scoop any worthwhile stories. He’s certainly no “reporter.” However, he excels in an area that nearly every other sports writer fails: he makes his product interesting to the reader with colloquial and humorous anecdotes while also analogizing sports to other areas of popular culture.

Originating with his personal (now-defunct) online journal, “The Boston Sports Guy”, Simmons has been an active blogger for longer than the term has been around. His frequent pop culture referencing and everyman’s approach to sports and sports reporting, have helped create an intense following among his initial fanbase, which grew almost exclusively through word of mouth. In addition, he has always been ridiculously prolific, banging out 5,000+ word columns more than once a week for the past decade or so. Simmons’s online writings and subsequent popularity eventually led to jobs writing for ESPN.com’s Page 2, ESPN the Magazine, and the Jimmy Kimmel Show, as well as numerous guest spots on various ESPN television and radio programs.

Not only is this path emulated and dreamed about by pretty much every other start-up writer with a modem, it is also mimicked by hoards of indie music acts attempting to achieve fame via MySpace, eMusic or any number of online content sites or message boards. Whether conscious or not, Simmons’ success embodies the DIY aesthetic of a small-time band making it big, and his rise exemplifies how someone (or a group of some) can ideally manipulate an online community to their utmost benefit.

Because of this, Simmons’ name is often a point of contention for many of his fellow sportswriters, and as a result, he exists as sort of an outsider within the world of sports journalism in spite of, or perhaps because of, his popularity. This comfortable place outside the mainstream allows Simmons to loudly voice his and his readers’ collective disdain for things going on inside the world of sports in a manner that would cause most “real” journalists to lose their valuable connections and/or jobs. While Mike Wilbon (of Pardon the Interruption and the Washington Post fame) is far and away a better writer, his adamant adoration for pro golf and the WNBA don’t align with those of the demographic that supports his business (males 18-35). Likewise, John Clayton is one of the best football journalists, in the sense that he consistently digs up the newest information available, but he’s about half as fun to read as W. H. Auden.

Bill Simmons certainly has his finger on the pulse of American popular culture, or at least what the aforementioned prized demographic would consider such, for instance Rocky movies, reality television, gambling, professional wrestling, HBO and MTV. The problems arise, however, when he attempts to bring music into the equation. For all his knowledge of sports, cheesy ‘80s flicks and mundane television, it’s painstakingly clear that he doesn’t know a damn thing about music.

Continue reading "Music criticism versus Bill Simmons" »

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 12:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (32)

Lost in the comments was Jeff's earnest advice about 60s-70s bands outside of the typical mainstream.

His suggestions:

Lost in all this was the really earnest kid who wanted recommendations for 60/70's bands who aren't on the radio.
in brief:

60's:
Velvet Underground
Stooges
mid-era Kinks don't get played on US radio but are a close third to Beatles/Stones (especially Something Else by the Kinks)
Love (RIP Arthur Lee)
Leonard Cohen
Serge Gainsbourg if you don't mind French
Dusty in Memphis by Dusty Springfield
the Left Banke

70's (sooo many, but)
Modern Lovers
Brian Eno/ Bowie
Roxy Music
T rex
Joy Division
Television
early Taking Heads
Devo
Big Star
Wire

Good for a primer...

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 11:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Walking to work yesterday, I found the true rock songs that should have been #1 and #2 (and perhaps the only songs on the list). It's from a band that left-leaning indie rock snobs have had to reconcile with the reality that the band (or at least lead singer) likely didn't share its world view. Now I've known right-leaning indie rock critics out there, so the songs' non inclusion must mean that those people don't read the NRO.

I speak of Modern Lover's Roadrunner and Modern World. Behold the lyrics and see if you agree.

Roadrunner

Roadrunner roadrunner; Going faster miles an hour

(libertarian traffic laws)

Gonna ride by the Stop-n-Shop; With the radio on

(buy American)

I'm in love with Massachusetts

(state's rights)

The highway is your girlfriend as you go by quick

(save yourself for marriage)

Said hello to the spirit of ol' 1956

(traditional values)

Modern World

I'm in love with the USA

(unvarnished patriotism)

Put down your cigarette, and act like a true girl, oh

(traditional values, redux)

Put down your cigarette, and drop out of BU

(avoid liberal indoctrination)

Well the modern world is not so bad; Not like the students say

(2006 prescience)

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 11:05 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Jeff's earlier post of Zappa on Crossfire inspired me to dig further into the Frank Zappa world of anti-censorship. With tongue firmly in cheek, Frank Zappa's "warning label" on Frank Zappa Meets the Mothers of Prevention album:

"This album contains material that a truly free society would neither fear nor suppress. We guarantee that you will not go to hell from listening to the aforementioned material. This guarantee is as real as the threats from the video fundamentalists who use attacks on rock music in their attempt to turn America into a nation of check-mailing nincompoops in the name of Jesus Christ. If there is a hell, its fires wait for them, not us."

Read more here.

Buy the album on Amazon.

Tags: Frank Zappa, Frank Zappa Meets the Mothers of Prevention, Censorship

Posted by Merry Swankster at 06:38 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Thanks to the fairy Godmother of music promotions, Merry Swankster HQ has gotten hold of a pair of 7” Raconteurs singles and because you are all so awesome, we're giving them away! The record includes the first single, “Steady As She Goes” and “Store Bought Bones.” However, unlike 'Nam there are rules here. The whole world has not gone mad Mr. Sobchak..

-- -- --
Contest Rules:

1) Email a picture of the “Merry Swankster” name appearing with something of interest to contest@merryswankster.com.

2) MS staff will judge all submissions and two winners will get a Raconteurs 7” single, as well as their picture published on the site.

3) Deadline is Monday July 31st at 8pm ET.

Pretty simple. "Something of interest" is pretty broad, so we expect anything and everything from you guys. Anything goes - from farm animals, to urban landmarks, to desolate desert wastelands (going out to those of you with .mil domains, we can see you). Now get out there and show us what you got!

Suggestions:

-Do you know Zinedine Zidane? Get him to headbutt something with the Merry Swankster name on it and send it in.

-Are you reading this site subversively in North Korea? Prove it and slap a piece of paper scribbled with the MS name on one of those type-o-dong missiles your boy Kim Jong-il is so fond of.

-Are you Scarlett Johansson? Pose and send a picture in. I will personally deliver the record to you.
-- -- --

You got 5 days folks, start snapping some good stuff so we can amuse ourselves. Internet bloggery gets so very lonely on weekends...

Yours always,

Merry Swankster

Previously: Boy Least Likely To & The Raconteurs - It's just fine

Tags: Raconteurs, Contest

Posted by Merry Swankster at 01:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

See previous entry...

This time, the random will only stop on songs I know off the bat. All the rules apply.

Ted Leo: First to Finish, Last To Start. Hearts of Oak

I know that not everyone is down with TL, but you can't deny that he brings it on every song. I've always had problems reconciling with the disaffected; I give bonus points to those who seem to be feeling something while singing (note: this doesn't necessarily have to mean energy). This song is no "Where Have All the Rude Boys Gone," but I like the chord breaks.

A Tribe Called Quest: Check the Rhyme, The Low-End Theory

For whatever reason, this group (more than Naughty By Nature, more than Wu-Tang Clan) was the hip-hop group that everyone from my predominately white school listened to. Scenario was given national anthem-like status. I was in seventh grade when this album hit, and, thus, it always evokes some adolescent memories. Tribe's lyrics were always wack (at least De La had some gems mixed among Me, Myself, and I) and the jazz-flushed beats don't hold up that well, but this song maintains its listenability many years later.

Flaming Lips: Race for the Prize, Soft Bulletin

I have to be a very particular mood to listen to the Flaming Lips, and this is not it. I'm trying to think of any bands that embrace such supernatural leanings in their songs that I like. I like Del tha Funkee Homosapien's album Deltron and Dr. Octagon, but not much else. The music on this is okay, but it seems like it's better on paper than in practice.

Talking Heads: Artists Only, The Name of This Band is the Talking Heads

At some point in time in everyone's life, it seems, they will have the chance to go through The Talking Heads back catalogue and come to find out just how amazing this band was. It's funny how my first exposure to the band was on VH1 when it released Wild, Wild Life (even though its better than a lot of pop, I bet we all want a mulligan on that one). This song reminds me of Talking Head's prowess. You would probably never to think to put this on a mix, but it's a clean, great song. The road is littered with bands that would maim (further littering the road) in order to present one of the Heads' lesser tracks as their masterpiece.

Tori Amos: Barons of Suburbia, The Beekeeper

Is this a good album? No. Certainly not. Is this a good song? I think so, but I've gotten into so many fights about Ms. Amos (some worthwhile, some with me outrageously claiming that Ms. Amos was more important to the women of my generation than a certain pre-Why Can't I Liz Phair) that I've ceased discussing her. But here's an interesting story about life and memory. I've told the story many times that I was once necking as an adolescent when Me and a Gunsuddenly came on the stereo. But it just occurred to me that that story might have stemmed from my fear that one day I might be necking with a girl and that song would come on. So I've ceased telling that story (or, at least, tell the story as I just did - that it either did happen or it's become engrained in my brain as a false memory predicated by fear). I should never talk about Tori Amos again. So before I close that door; I will state that I don't think an album has affected me during a certain period in time more than Little Earthquakes did when I was 14. Fin

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 05:44 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

A music blog is nothing without lists or a feature that apes another publications feature. So on this Saturday, I provide Merry Swankster's Random Honesty, borrowed very liberally from The Onion's Random Rules, where the satirical newspaper invites celebrities to put their mp3 player (like it's not an iPod) on random and explain (or make excuses) for the songs that come up. I will similarly explain (or make excuses) for five songs that play on my iTunes that play randomly.

A blog has nothing but its honesty, so I kind of hope something embarassing comes up to prove this experiment was done ethically. I will "live blog" it, without looking at the title, so if I lauded some album awhile back, but could not recognize the song when it played initially, well, I shall be embarrassed. Ready? I'm not....

Sonic Youth song, definitely, but I don't know which one. I've never sat through an afternoon listening to all the back-catalogue stuff I received from Jeff. I'm a big fan of the epics - The Sprawl, .

This one is typical Sonic Youth; jagged guitars. What song is it? Pipeline/Kill Time from Sister.

Next song...

This one is not registering initially. Sounds like it could be a really bad Talking Heads song. Blur. I never really listen to Blur; perhaps it's because I don't really like the voice/petulance of a lot of britpop bands. I like Jarvis Cocker, because he's a bit of a tool (and seems to know it). I've always found the glam-stylings of Pulp to be more interesting than the PiL-borrowing of Blur. But that's just me. What song is it? London Loves from Parklife.

Next song...

Shoegaze song (I've been listening to a lot of that lately). I'm bad at picking songs immediately. I like it, but it has to either be a track that I've not listened to from an album I've barely listened to -- or something I've yet to plow through from that 713 download torrent file from SXSW. I'm guessing I should know this. The showgazing has turned into something quite straightforward, guitar solo-laden. I should know this. What song is it? Allisson Krause from the Stills; Logic Will Break Your Heart. I like Yesterday Never Tomorrow and the new song In the Beginning. The do straightforward indie rock very well.

Next song... (where's the hip-hop)?

Slow guitar intro; traffic and bird sounds. Not placing this one either. 0-4. I do listen to music; I swear! I wish I found a song I knew. What song is it? Medicine from Building Something Out of Nothing, Modest Mouse. By the time I peaked, it clearly was a Modest Mouse song. But I'm keeping it real.

Next song... (Seriously, I listen to more than indie rock)

Beatles - from the rareties or Anthology. I swear I've not listened to this song. Real Love? Is that the song they posthumously recorded? Jeebus. It's actually quite decent. I remember being underwhelmed when it was recorded.

I won't give you the exact number of songs I have on my computer, but I have 2,053 artists with at least one song, according to my menu. Anyway. Ouch, this didn't make me look too good. But transparency, my friends, transparency.

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 05:19 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

While YouTube can be viewed as the savior of video (and, in particular, music video), I might argue that the rise of YouTube and the failings of MTV and (to a lesser extent Fuse) have crippled one vital part of any music afficianado's life: adulating music video directors.

Accustomed to seeing the director's name at the fore of videos, we were able to process that bizarre videos were not random, but due to the brilliance of Anton Corbijn and Michel Gondry (this was known much before any Criterion Collection-esque DVD series).

And, so it seems, AOL has given us a spot for the online equivalent of these videos. But, harbinger alert, David Meyers is apparently the next wave of talent (ah, bullshit, if we're offered up Dave Matthews Band's 'Dream Girl' and Korn's 'Twisted Transistor' as evidence).

But this is a blog; we want to know about a budding star before AOL does.

And that star is Nima Nourizadeh. Though his Web presence is currently a mere yellow landing page and a MySpace page, his video work has spanned some of today's well-thought-of bands.

Look I'm not going to go to death battle for Hot Chip's "Over and Over" (and I can guess at least one-third of MS.com would challenge me on it being a DFA-ish retread), but that song is stuck wonderfully in my head. And, I relish the idea that these British nerds lugged out their Casio/Moogs/whatever and have developed a rapid fanbase.

But I will go to bat(tle) on the video's greatness: a wonderful take on the green screen.

Our Web site-less Mr. Nourizadeh was also the director behind Art Brut's kitschy "Good Weekend" and White Rose Movement's "Love is a Number."

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 10:18 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Even though Pitchfork Media has always wanted you to know it has strong opinions about music, it's not been so helpful in actually finding those opinions, maintaining a truly dreadful search function.

But oh Pitchfork, you've joined the oughts and finally introduced some new medianess, including, most importantly, genre metatags for singles (why not albums?).

And the search has been improved, so you can search by albums and keywords, as well as distill searches by scores and dates.

Unfortunately, the Web site does not return results with a unique URL (every search returns with a URL of http://www.pitchforkmedia.com/search/record_reviews/query, so I cannot send you the direct link, but you are now able to search all albums that received no higher than a 1.

Heavy hitters are Death From Above 1979, Weezer, Liz Phair, and, yes, the infamous Travis Morrison . I suppose you could use the same technology to find out which bands they endorse, but I can't see any practical use for that.

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 01:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I'm not ready to be disappointed again (100th Window, anyone?), but NME reports that Portishead is almost ready to release a new album (via Information Leafblower).

At least they seem cognizant of what a misstep could sound like, via the band's MySpace blog:
(I cleaned up the grammar)

"It's great; it's nice to think us old gits have a few tunes in us without sounding like coffee table Zero 7 - Moby - chill out shit!!"

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 02:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

There's nothing quite like strolling to your local record shop to get exposed to something ethereal. And that's exactly what I got when ostensibly going to pick up Regina Spektor (neine, I will perhaps pick it up on my fourth try) and walking home with Asobi Seksu's second album Citrus.

The SoundFix descrip. focused on Cocteau Twins and My Bloody Valentine influences, but I'm more swayed by the Talulah Gosh similarities, the female twee pop milieu that evokes dandelion picking and open-fields running.

Yuki's voice jerks from playful to forceful to diffident (as well as English to Japanese) in verses, and the steady drumming, sliding, psychedelic guitar scales up and down, pausing for some Interpol riffs during the chorus ascension.

I will align with Insound and provide you with Thursday, the album's third song, a forceful melancholy track that follows a drumline and sparse guitar to a second-verse subtle explosion. Sublime.

Download: Thursday

More goods here.

Extra credit:

Inasmuch as we seem to discuss bands that receive a lot of blog hype, but who fail to register in magazines, I wish to highlight a band that gets its Time Out, Fader-like props (not literally, I'm merely saying I've seen them in traditional publications) that hasn't seen its share of blog love. I am referring to 60s-inspired Essex Green.

While I first gave EG a second listen after hearing Don't Know Why (You Stay), a simple, carefree track, I'm more tempted to put Cardinal Points up here, for its Stars meets Stereolab sound.

Download: Cardinal Points

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 05:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Yesterday’s Deutschland centric posts coincided with the dramatic 1-0 World Cup win over Poland in extra time in a match that was perhaps the best yet in this young 2006 World Cup. The timely entries are not part of a massive blog-wing conspiracy or an attempt to brand any MS partisanship by Jeff. I swear.

To prove this I present one of the more awesome goal celebration dances by England’s 6’7” Peter Crouch. The gawkiest man in British football is famous for his robot dance after scoring. He unfortunately omitted the celebrated celebration after drilling a score deep into the Trinidad & Tobago net after heading the perfect cross from David Beckham. So no robot tonight on Sportscenter, but YouTube broadcasts a previous dance to electro pop like a robot from 1984:

Peter Crouch – Robot Dance

Previously: Retrokraut Day, Retrohump Day - Kraftwerk

Tags: World Cup, Peter Crouch, England, Robot Dance, Germany

Posted by Merry Swankster at 02:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

If anything good comes out of this, it's that the boys from Jesus Jones this week got a visit from the Technorati fairy, creaking into motion, delivering a slew of hits for a band so devoid of them.

Our retread moment is upon us! Oh, cue up the minivan! Press attention! Who? What? Conservatives? Will they pay?

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 06:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

In case you missed it, the National Review threw logic to the wind (as well as throwing political/social intentions of artists under the train) in a feature where it named the 50 best conservative songs.

Look... politics aside, the Democrats have the run of the creative mill. No one should be denying that these days. Perhaps, for the Democrats, there are too many artists and not enough leaders... I covered the RNC for my magazine. The celebrity quotient there was Ron Silver... and Ron Silver (Jesus, his IMDB.com profile even mentions his anomalous political affiliation!).

Anyway, representing your conservative staples in the Top 50: The Who, Bob Dylan, Rolling Stones... U2. Evoking Dr. Evil (as I so rarely do), Riiiiight.

The writer, John R. Miller, gets off to a pallid start.

On first glance, rock ’n’ roll music isn’t very conservative. It doesn’t fare much better on second or third glance (or listen), either.

That's the point where most writers would take the ball home and say, "This assignment is untenable."

But not NR: online ridicule awaits.

And, oh, WTF? The New York Times republishes it all, without any context. Nice abdication of editorial control, boys. Or is that aggregation?

Here are my favorite reactions:

Hypebot:

Next week Hypebot will be publishing a Top 50,000 Liberal Songs with a surprisingly similar Top 10.

DCeiver:

As shown by the National Review, it takes only a few ingredients to turn that rebel rock song you've been pissing your parents off with into a down-home paean to the redistribution of a nation's wealth into the hands of degenerate fatcats. All it takes is the following:

1. Extreme cognitive dissonance.
2. The willingness to ignore anything fact-esque.
3. The ability to discard the truth of an author's intent while savoring the delicate morsel of truthiness you manage to construct.

* Giant Drag song title - I'm not going to give you what the acronym really means. Listen to it yourself.

Posted by Keith O'Brien at 05:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Thomas Jane (Boogie Nights, Punisher, 61*) or Jesse Hughes (Eagles of Death Metal singer aka J-Devil)?

Previously: Eddie Argos & Adam Morrison

Tags: Thomas Jane, Jesse Hughes, Eagles of Death Metal

Posted by Merry Swankster at 02:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

My dream tech toy has always been an iPod like system that is controlled by thoughts and plays in my head. No wires, no headphones and no scrolling. Simply thinking a song cues the track and it immediately begins playing. Version 2.0 can have a Terminator style pop up graphic in your field of vision for searching through the dozens of blogger approved MP3s that get regularly downloaded.

Sounds far out? Brain waves can’t control electronics, that’s super sci-fi nerd stuff. Or is it?

In a step toward linking a person's thoughts to machines, Japanese automaker Honda said it has developed a technology that uses brain signals to control a robot's very simple moves. In the future, the technology that Honda Motor Co. developed with ATR Computational Neuroscience Laboratories could be used to replace keyboards or cell phones, researchers said Wednesday. (Link via AP)

The next move is a joint operation with Cupertino, CA to get cracking on my dream iPod. iThink? Is that already a Mac app?

The feeling returns/Whenever we close out eyes
Lifting my head/Looking around inside…
I’m still waiting…I’m still waiting - Talking Heads

Tags: Robots, Honda, iPod, Brain waves

Posted by Merry Swankster at 12:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Guest blogging, Yonah Korngold:

The real change in the book market is not the big guy vs. the little guy, or chain vs. indie stores. Rather, it's the reader's greater impatience, a symptom of our amazing literary (and televisual) plenitude.
-Tyler Cowen (via Slate)

I can’t wait to chew on a handful of the newest focus pills and then chase is with a triple latte. I curse furiously when there is traffic in the EZ pass lane. I should have a little more patience, after all I learned at an early age from The Jetsons that even in an ever expanding universe inhabited by aliens, robots, and his boy Elroy, standstill bumper to bumper traffic in mid air is a constant. Some might call me a little impatient, but then again I am only the by-product of a society full of fidgety masses drowning in Ritalin, whose attention span can no longer support the local indie book and music store.

But maybe it’s my fault that indie music and book stores are following the Republican Party and Britney Spears down a hole six feet deep. I have to take part of the blame because not only do I buy books at Borders but am a former employee. But as Tyler Cowen points out in his article on Slate.com, I can’t really be the one to blame. After all I was only following a culture of impatience. I was only following society! I continue my plea to the jury at Nuremberg.

Continue reading "...little patience, mm yeah, ooh yeah" »

Posted by Merry Swankster at 08:04 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Taking a break from persuing college students, dead grannies, and banging their heads into walls, the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA) filed a federal lawsuit against XM satellite radio.

SKY Report reports:

The Recording Industry Association of America, which counts as members major labels such as Universal Music Group, Warner Music Group, EMI and Sony BMG, filed the suit late Tuesday in New York federal court. The litigation accuses XM of "massive wholesale infringement," and seeks $150,000 in damages for every song copied by XM customers using the device, which went on sale earlier this month. The litigation involves the Pioneer Inno XM2go radio.

XM responded in a statement:

"These are legal devices that allow consumers to listen to and record radio just as the law has allowed for decades," the company said in a statement. "The music labels are trying to stifle innovation, limit consumer choice and roll back consumers' rights to record content for their personal use." XM also claimed the suit "is a negotiating tactic on the part of the labels to gain an advantage in our private business discussions." The company said it's the largest single payer of digital music broadcast royalties, and royalties paid by XM go to the music industry and benefit artists directly. XM said it will "vigorously defend this lawsuit on behalf of consumers."

My comments after the jump.

Continue reading "XM Radio sued by RIAA" »

Posted by Merry Swankster at 01:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Clearly, though, what Miller and others fear is that the culture of literacy that indie bookstores help cultivate and nurture—the eccentric interests, the peculiar niches—will be lost in the routinized world of the superstore. Part of the value of indies was that they helped introduce us to new titles; Shakespeare & Co. in Lower Manhattan features different books than does Barnes & Noble.

- From a great article from Final Four-appearing-George Mason University professor in Slate.

If there were a dictionary police patrolling the streets and (fortuitously apt) independent music stores, they would be hauling in hipsters by the truckloads for their claims of indie music.

The Fiery Furnaces are indie. The Liars are indie. The Yeah Yeah Yeahs have abdicated that indie designation. And that's fine because YYYs sound indie! Point being, independent as is espoused by the music-loving, corporate-fearing public is more an aesthetic statement than anything relating to P&L sheets or corporate hierarchy.

So rather than chortle as they crush enough truly independent store due to infrastructural cost-savings or distribution heft, the major book and music retailers should try to create seperate stores (or sections within their suburban palaces) that evoke a feeling of the much-loved independent stores. Pay a knowledgeable music lover a good salary, give him free music, and brand it as independent thinking, major retailer pricing. B/c, face it: the customer-facing employees of the independent stores (save for unique situations) are probably not getting a great deal of money for their work. Maybe we've confused jadedness for financial situation-based anger. So those people we salute as tastemakers at store might even draw a better salary from a chain (unless, perhaps, they run an ad-supported music blog).

If anyone is angered by the above suggestions, let the record state that I try to shop at the lovely SoundFix and enjoy coffee at its sister cafe. But... if indie stores are being crushed, their consumers need to be served elsewhere. And that patronage is up for grabs.

Notes: Jeff Klingman swears by the amicability of the staff at NYC