To prepare for this review (being a journalistic shaman, I always require extensive preparations before any sacred album review ritual), I gave a listen to Shannon Wright's older band, Crowsdell. Their album "Dreamette" is a fantastic peice of 1995 indie rock, like a nice rough backrub with jangling Fender guitars, or an afternoon of too much coffee with your female friend that you are not so secretly in love with. This was a good idea, since it provided the clarity I felt I've missed in my past attempts to absorb her new album, "Let In The Light".
This new one is not quite in the early Cat Power/comfortably depressing mood of her last few albums, but not quite the rambling light conversation of Crowsdell either. The album has an in-between feel, stuck between going somewhere else and staying behind, saying what it really means while holding back at the same time. I can't get a grip on it. I don't know if it's half what it should be, or half-invisible.
The overcooked, compressed production and mixing distracts from the lyrics and fries the mood until it's burnt. The songs drift between pleasurably driving and aimlessly drifting.
There are some very good tunes, but this release never quite came together all the way for me. The final third of the album is excellent, though, and saves the overall listening experience.
4.5 (out of 7). Worth a listen if you are into the artist/sound.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Neurosis, "Give To The Rising"
Neurosis is a band that makes me glad to be alive right now, at this point in musical history. This feels like an album that could only be made today.
Something has been changing, evolving, in the primordial stew of hardcore punk and metal. It's finally crawled out on to the land. Previous albums were like a single green, scaly Swamp Thing arm thrust up from the murk into the swirling mist. Now, on Given To The Rising, the beast is among us, knocking us down, cracking open some skull and feasting on the nutricious brains within.
The degree to which theyve evolved is staggering. Those aformentioned roots of hardcore and metal are but one color in the tapestry, along with folk storytelling and ambient noise. Other bands use the same instruments and styles they do, but here every element joins together to form a singular whole. There is not a single word or sound or note out of place, no one member vying for the spotlight. There is just the entity, the ALBUM. No sick finger tapping solos, bro, sorry. This is not a band you'll be seeing in Guitar Hero, ever.
The compositions are layered and melded together with soul, fury, and an organic flow. This is the all encompassing peak of their writing abilities, incorporating the most potent essence of the 4 previous albums. I would give this album to any music fan with an attention span, without a second thought.
Notice I said "attention span" there. Not to pidgeonhole this as "smart" or "intellectual" music, but...it is. This is music that will reward your full efforts to integrate it within your mind. It may certainly be difficult, and a little scary at first, but within 3 or 4 listens you'll begin to see the truth.
Something has been changing, evolving, in the primordial stew of hardcore punk and metal. It's finally crawled out on to the land. Previous albums were like a single green, scaly Swamp Thing arm thrust up from the murk into the swirling mist. Now, on Given To The Rising, the beast is among us, knocking us down, cracking open some skull and feasting on the nutricious brains within.
The degree to which theyve evolved is staggering. Those aformentioned roots of hardcore and metal are but one color in the tapestry, along with folk storytelling and ambient noise. Other bands use the same instruments and styles they do, but here every element joins together to form a singular whole. There is not a single word or sound or note out of place, no one member vying for the spotlight. There is just the entity, the ALBUM. No sick finger tapping solos, bro, sorry. This is not a band you'll be seeing in Guitar Hero, ever.
The compositions are layered and melded together with soul, fury, and an organic flow. This is the all encompassing peak of their writing abilities, incorporating the most potent essence of the 4 previous albums. I would give this album to any music fan with an attention span, without a second thought.
Notice I said "attention span" there. Not to pidgeonhole this as "smart" or "intellectual" music, but...it is. This is music that will reward your full efforts to integrate it within your mind. It may certainly be difficult, and a little scary at first, but within 3 or 4 listens you'll begin to see the truth.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Over The Rhine, and also their new album "The Trumpet Child"
Over The Rhine is a fairly obscure band that should be much more popular than they are.
They have the surface elements of most of the crap that clogs the radio waves, innocuously pushes air molecules in Starbucks, and buzzes about in the stuffy clogged up brainspaces of indie web tastemakers. But they also give you real, beautiful human soul and songwriting that burns permanent marks all over you. Sales numbers and media coverage be damned, they will endure beyond vanilla fluff like Norah Jones and KT Tunstall ("Do you guys haff dat CD wif da "woo-ho" songonit???").
If your musical worldview is limited to popular media, you'd think most female fronted groups are merely a pleasant diversion, or made solely for consumption by teenage girls. There is still a bizarre social stigma that keeps women musicians that truly pour their heart out in a ghetto. You have to really dig deep and search if you want to find the unfiltered female musical perspective, even though they consist of about half the world population last time I checked.
I'll save a more fully formed look at this problem for another time, and get to talking about the meat of Over The Rhine's music.
Their sound has been unique and instantly recognizable since their debut, even as they gain and lose band members and flirt with a range of genres and production styles. They are on a journey, constantly searching, never looking back, while still holding strong to the American musical roots that raised them.
Folk, blues, old school rock n' roll, R.E.M., jazz, country, poetry, Neil Young, Velvet Underground, our savior Jesus H. Christ, Bob Dylan, and a whole mess of other things playfully step across the stage of their lifelong drama. They let their influences shine through clearly, proudly displaying what makes them who they are. Yet these roots never overpower or distract, they are the origin point of each album's road trip.
Their lyrics are full with humor, honesty, love, compassion, and appreciation of all life's beautiful highs and lows. Books, dogs, fine wine, and our good pal Jesus make frequent guest appearances as well. While they get frequent coverage from Christian media outlets, no way in the blue flames of Hell are they a "Christian band". In the Over The Rhine world, he's an occasional supporting character, a shadow of a ghost of a lingering memory. They use him for their own purposes, and don't necessarilyexpect us to join in on the worshipping.
Jumping ahead to the present (the back catalogue will recieve coverage on some other wonderful day), they have a new album, "The Trumpet Child". This one is all about, in capital letters, JAZZ. More specifically, that kind of vocal pop jazz that Billie Holiday made way back when.
Brass has been making brief appearances in OtR music since their first album, but here it's the star of the show. This is a playful, sexed up, drinkin' moonshine under the revivial tent (whatever the fuck that is, we don't have it in Rhode Island) and cuttin' some rug (dancing, not vaginal mutilation) album.
This feels like the imaginary album they've been making in their heads for years, to sit on the vinyl rack alongside their old favorites. The flipside of that is it's a very specific consistent mood, with less variety than earlier albums.
Karin's singing is at a peak of maturity and effortless control
The last two tracks on the album, however, must be approached with extreme caution. Track 10 features the shocking, brutal return of Linford(the male half of the OtR partnership)'s spoken word stylings. You thought you heard the last of him on the demos collection "Good Dog, Bad Dog"? You were wrong. Simply put, the man should keep his mouth the fuck away from the microphone. His words are poison, his mashed potatoe mumble drenched in sickening white gravy. The fact that his voice is mixed as the loudest part of the song, with Karin wailing (in pain?) far in the distance certainly doesn't help matters. The song is a Tom Waits tribute, copy, homage, or something. I'd advise excercising your right to vote with the skip button.
The final track is a Political Song. The lyrics are an attempt to playfully put forth those opinions (Hey wouldn't it be great if Neil Young was a senator even though he's friggin Canadian!?), but no amount of country sugar can help to swallow this bitter pill. Somehow, the band knew this, putting it at the very end where it can only cause minimal damage.
So, just make sure to activate that Eject button after song 9 and you're all set. This is far from OtR's best album (2003's "Ohio"), but it is 9 great songs, and worthy of their name. If they keep making unique albums in specific styles like this, the musical world will be all the better for it. I even feel bad for devoting 2 whole paragraphs to the negative aspects; it's just that they've set such high standards with their previous work, and this doesn't have quite as much meat. Still, an essential listen.
They have the surface elements of most of the crap that clogs the radio waves, innocuously pushes air molecules in Starbucks, and buzzes about in the stuffy clogged up brainspaces of indie web tastemakers. But they also give you real, beautiful human soul and songwriting that burns permanent marks all over you. Sales numbers and media coverage be damned, they will endure beyond vanilla fluff like Norah Jones and KT Tunstall ("Do you guys haff dat CD wif da "woo-ho" songonit???").
If your musical worldview is limited to popular media, you'd think most female fronted groups are merely a pleasant diversion, or made solely for consumption by teenage girls. There is still a bizarre social stigma that keeps women musicians that truly pour their heart out in a ghetto. You have to really dig deep and search if you want to find the unfiltered female musical perspective, even though they consist of about half the world population last time I checked.
I'll save a more fully formed look at this problem for another time, and get to talking about the meat of Over The Rhine's music.
Their sound has been unique and instantly recognizable since their debut, even as they gain and lose band members and flirt with a range of genres and production styles. They are on a journey, constantly searching, never looking back, while still holding strong to the American musical roots that raised them.
Folk, blues, old school rock n' roll, R.E.M., jazz, country, poetry, Neil Young, Velvet Underground, our savior Jesus H. Christ, Bob Dylan, and a whole mess of other things playfully step across the stage of their lifelong drama. They let their influences shine through clearly, proudly displaying what makes them who they are. Yet these roots never overpower or distract, they are the origin point of each album's road trip.
Their lyrics are full with humor, honesty, love, compassion, and appreciation of all life's beautiful highs and lows. Books, dogs, fine wine, and our good pal Jesus make frequent guest appearances as well. While they get frequent coverage from Christian media outlets, no way in the blue flames of Hell are they a "Christian band". In the Over The Rhine world, he's an occasional supporting character, a shadow of a ghost of a lingering memory. They use him for their own purposes, and don't necessarilyexpect us to join in on the worshipping.
Jumping ahead to the present (the back catalogue will recieve coverage on some other wonderful day), they have a new album, "The Trumpet Child". This one is all about, in capital letters, JAZZ. More specifically, that kind of vocal pop jazz that Billie Holiday made way back when.
Brass has been making brief appearances in OtR music since their first album, but here it's the star of the show. This is a playful, sexed up, drinkin' moonshine under the revivial tent (whatever the fuck that is, we don't have it in Rhode Island) and cuttin' some rug (dancing, not vaginal mutilation) album.
This feels like the imaginary album they've been making in their heads for years, to sit on the vinyl rack alongside their old favorites. The flipside of that is it's a very specific consistent mood, with less variety than earlier albums.
Karin's singing is at a peak of maturity and effortless control
The last two tracks on the album, however, must be approached with extreme caution. Track 10 features the shocking, brutal return of Linford(the male half of the OtR partnership)'s spoken word stylings. You thought you heard the last of him on the demos collection "Good Dog, Bad Dog"? You were wrong. Simply put, the man should keep his mouth the fuck away from the microphone. His words are poison, his mashed potatoe mumble drenched in sickening white gravy. The fact that his voice is mixed as the loudest part of the song, with Karin wailing (in pain?) far in the distance certainly doesn't help matters. The song is a Tom Waits tribute, copy, homage, or something. I'd advise excercising your right to vote with the skip button.
The final track is a Political Song. The lyrics are an attempt to playfully put forth those opinions (Hey wouldn't it be great if Neil Young was a senator even though he's friggin Canadian!?), but no amount of country sugar can help to swallow this bitter pill. Somehow, the band knew this, putting it at the very end where it can only cause minimal damage.
So, just make sure to activate that Eject button after song 9 and you're all set. This is far from OtR's best album (2003's "Ohio"), but it is 9 great songs, and worthy of their name. If they keep making unique albums in specific styles like this, the musical world will be all the better for it. I even feel bad for devoting 2 whole paragraphs to the negative aspects; it's just that they've set such high standards with their previous work, and this doesn't have quite as much meat. Still, an essential listen.
Friday, June 8, 2007
Newport Film Festival 2007 - "Silver Jew"
"Silver Jew" is a 52 minute video documentary that follows Silver Jews bandleader David Berman through Jerusalem. This is a critical stop on the band's first ever world tour in their 15 year existence. Berman is a recent convert to the Jewish faith, so this journey serves dual purposes. He's making a pilgrimage for spiritual enlightenment, and attempting to reach out and connect to the world around him.
Director Michael Tully follows with video camera in hand, providing an objective unassuming perspective. At times it feels like an intimate family vacation video, except the presence of the camera is ignored. There are about 3 songs worth of bootleg style concert video, riveting yet brief. For a band that has never toured before, they have exceptional stage presence, intimate and inviting. The intensely laconic beauty of the performances holds the viewer tightly.
This is not a story of a band on tour, though. The assembly of footage shows Berman's humanity from all different angles. We see a person searching for their inner strength. There are profound moments of realization that each viewer may interpret differently. Judging by their remarks during the Q and A session, the older Jewish members of the audience quantified it as a religious
epiphany. I wouldn't pin it down and categorize it so specifically, but I do agree with the Jerusalem tour guide that there is a strong energy present in that place.
As a music fan, I had more appreciation for the various stories Berman told. In particular, there is an anecdote about him and Pavement bandleader/Silver Jews collaborator Stephen Malkmus recording songs in their living room in the early 90s. The editing balances these with the personal and travelogue elements in an accesible, approachable way. If you are a human being of any kind, you'll be able to take something to heart from this movie.
Director Michael Tully follows with video camera in hand, providing an objective unassuming perspective. At times it feels like an intimate family vacation video, except the presence of the camera is ignored. There are about 3 songs worth of bootleg style concert video, riveting yet brief. For a band that has never toured before, they have exceptional stage presence, intimate and inviting. The intensely laconic beauty of the performances holds the viewer tightly.
This is not a story of a band on tour, though. The assembly of footage shows Berman's humanity from all different angles. We see a person searching for their inner strength. There are profound moments of realization that each viewer may interpret differently. Judging by their remarks during the Q and A session, the older Jewish members of the audience quantified it as a religious
epiphany. I wouldn't pin it down and categorize it so specifically, but I do agree with the Jerusalem tour guide that there is a strong energy present in that place.
As a music fan, I had more appreciation for the various stories Berman told. In particular, there is an anecdote about him and Pavement bandleader/Silver Jews collaborator Stephen Malkmus recording songs in their living room in the early 90s. The editing balances these with the personal and travelogue elements in an accesible, approachable way. If you are a human being of any kind, you'll be able to take something to heart from this movie.
Thursday, June 7, 2007
Newport Film Festival 2007 - "Great World of Sound"
I just took a bullet for the independent spirit. It fucking hurt.
"Great World of Sound" was directed and co-written by Craig Zobel. The premise he's concocted is intriguing, a seemingly foolproof comedic setup. Scam artists masquerading as record producers set up shop in a hotel room to audition aspiring local musicians. The catch is that the producers require an upfront cash "commitment" from the artists before they enter the studio.
The editing destroys any possible comedic rhythm. The musical auditions are blended into montages, a highlight reel of the least interesting moments. Just as a performer is about to begin their song, we cut to midway through a completely different song. Each cut is more bewildering and alienating than the last. As each minute passes, a sense of dread slowly sinks in. Things are going to get a whole lot worse before they get better.
Pat Healy and Kene Holliday star as the "producers", tasked with pitching this pyramid scheme. Holliday manages to provides the only spark of life, even as he's forced to spew inept sitcom-style racial humor. Healy's performance is a painful display of awkwardness. It's true to the character as written, but this despicable bore of a protagonist singlehandedly sinks the movie.
The scenes between Healy and his stereotypical quirky indie movie girlfriend are deathly. The script artlessly stuffs themes and morals into their mouths, only to dribble out slowly. Every limp personal conflict is telegraphed from miles away, as the audience waits for the movie to catch up.
The film ends with a whimper of inevitability. Yes, I was the one hauling ass out of the theater the millisecond the credits began to roll. I slid by the director as he headed up the stairs for a Q and A with the audience. Had I the will to stick it out, my queries may have included "What the fuck is wrong with you?", "Why did you do this to me?", "Is there a hole nearby I can crawl into and die?", or "Have I just been teleported into a demon dimension?".
"Great World of Sound" was directed and co-written by Craig Zobel. The premise he's concocted is intriguing, a seemingly foolproof comedic setup. Scam artists masquerading as record producers set up shop in a hotel room to audition aspiring local musicians. The catch is that the producers require an upfront cash "commitment" from the artists before they enter the studio.
The editing destroys any possible comedic rhythm. The musical auditions are blended into montages, a highlight reel of the least interesting moments. Just as a performer is about to begin their song, we cut to midway through a completely different song. Each cut is more bewildering and alienating than the last. As each minute passes, a sense of dread slowly sinks in. Things are going to get a whole lot worse before they get better.
Pat Healy and Kene Holliday star as the "producers", tasked with pitching this pyramid scheme. Holliday manages to provides the only spark of life, even as he's forced to spew inept sitcom-style racial humor. Healy's performance is a painful display of awkwardness. It's true to the character as written, but this despicable bore of a protagonist singlehandedly sinks the movie.
The scenes between Healy and his stereotypical quirky indie movie girlfriend are deathly. The script artlessly stuffs themes and morals into their mouths, only to dribble out slowly. Every limp personal conflict is telegraphed from miles away, as the audience waits for the movie to catch up.
The film ends with a whimper of inevitability. Yes, I was the one hauling ass out of the theater the millisecond the credits began to roll. I slid by the director as he headed up the stairs for a Q and A with the audience. Had I the will to stick it out, my queries may have included "What the fuck is wrong with you?", "Why did you do this to me?", "Is there a hole nearby I can crawl into and die?", or "Have I just been teleported into a demon dimension?".
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
Thom Yorke-"The Eraser"-Re-examined, 1 year later
Thom Yorke is paranoid, but that's just because we're watching him.
This is a distinct, seperate entity from the Radiohead canon. It's a work of dystopian fiction via small personal observations, rather than a musical journey.
Each track is a cycle suspended in time, not flowing into each other in the traditional album sense. The sonic pallet is a functionally mechanical housing for the lyrical concepts and mood. They resemble Radiohead laptop loop compositions ("The Gloaming", "Where Bluebirds Fly") in structure, except now coldly sterilized of any ambience.
This is not an album to get lost in. Drifting between the background and active perception, it's like the recurring thoughts in your consciousness. They are simply there; an inevitable product of observing the surrounding world.
"The Eraser" is a freeze frame of Yorke's mind in 2006, dumped onto CD, without any additional flourish. Attempting to dig through the surface will yield a black void. The substance is in how you feel about the void. If you're in a goood mood, then you'll feel perfectly satisfied with the void.
This is not a positive or negative review. It is simply inert, neutral, like the album.
This is a distinct, seperate entity from the Radiohead canon. It's a work of dystopian fiction via small personal observations, rather than a musical journey.
Each track is a cycle suspended in time, not flowing into each other in the traditional album sense. The sonic pallet is a functionally mechanical housing for the lyrical concepts and mood. They resemble Radiohead laptop loop compositions ("The Gloaming", "Where Bluebirds Fly") in structure, except now coldly sterilized of any ambience.
This is not an album to get lost in. Drifting between the background and active perception, it's like the recurring thoughts in your consciousness. They are simply there; an inevitable product of observing the surrounding world.
"The Eraser" is a freeze frame of Yorke's mind in 2006, dumped onto CD, without any additional flourish. Attempting to dig through the surface will yield a black void. The substance is in how you feel about the void. If you're in a goood mood, then you'll feel perfectly satisfied with the void.
This is not a positive or negative review. It is simply inert, neutral, like the album.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Nine Inch Nails "Year Zero" Review
Nine Inch Nails is changing. Our comforting source of articulated rage therapy has chosen a different angle of attack.
Trent Reznor reached the final introspective dead end with 2005's 'With Teeth'. That album was a satisfying, well written collection of tunes that rocked exactly enough to meet the quota. Meeting fan (including myself) expectations does not necessarily make for an enduring piece of art, though.
'Year Zero' arrives exactly 2 years after 'With Teeth'. Reznor has not given himself time to overthink it. With a newfound self confidence and maturity(the result of personal growth, hitting 40, or both), he's trusting his instincts, instead of crushing them with thousands of overdubbed layers of self disguist.
Articulated rage has turned to pointed criticism, cultural observation, and even satire. "Don't give a shit about the temperature in Guata-mo-la", opines the narrator of Capitol G.
As the album flows from song to song, rhythms, melodies, and themes carry over, forming a single shape shifting entity. The lyrics are from 16 different societal perspectives, smashed together into one digitally distorted burst transmission. From the future.
Yes, that's right. The future. We're in sci-fi concept album territory here. Or, "One possible future...", as Kyle Reese put it in 'The Terminator'.
"Year Zero" is singular in form, individual songs benefitting from the context of their companions. While there is no true hit-you-on-the-first-listen single to be found, many tracks will have you involuntarily leaping out of your chair in rhythmic contortions.
The overloaded zapping snares of "Vessel" are like Trent sticking his tongue on the end of your stereo cable, just for kicks. "The Great Destroyer" breaks down as it's MIDI sequence is dropped into a puddle of battery acid. After "The Downward Spiral"s violent barrage, and "The Fragile"s hot needle loaded with a fatal speedball, Trent is directly applying shock therapy to the masses.
The will written and convincing websites (compiled here
http://www.echoingthesound.org/phpbbx/viewtopic.php?t=20265&start=0 ) are a respectable modern update of dystopian futures that began with 1984. They aren't exactly mindblowing, but are a cut above any other supplementary album release material I've ever seen, and well worth the time for those willing to seak them out. As you listen to the album, though, they don't feel directly connected. The sound collage is the primary focus on the record. Trent's vocal tones, ranging from hopeful to sarcastic to whimsical to doped out, as per the perspective of the song, makes for a completely different experience than browsing these websites, where you play the character of the person looking at these digitally distorted internet pages from 15 years in the future. The album isn't Trent as distant narrator; he's changing roles every song, which makes for a unique listening experience compared to other NIN and other music in general. This is a new and different way of approaching the 'concept album', and it works.
Trent Reznor reached the final introspective dead end with 2005's 'With Teeth'. That album was a satisfying, well written collection of tunes that rocked exactly enough to meet the quota. Meeting fan (including myself) expectations does not necessarily make for an enduring piece of art, though.
'Year Zero' arrives exactly 2 years after 'With Teeth'. Reznor has not given himself time to overthink it. With a newfound self confidence and maturity(the result of personal growth, hitting 40, or both), he's trusting his instincts, instead of crushing them with thousands of overdubbed layers of self disguist.
Articulated rage has turned to pointed criticism, cultural observation, and even satire. "Don't give a shit about the temperature in Guata-mo-la", opines the narrator of Capitol G.
As the album flows from song to song, rhythms, melodies, and themes carry over, forming a single shape shifting entity. The lyrics are from 16 different societal perspectives, smashed together into one digitally distorted burst transmission. From the future.
Yes, that's right. The future. We're in sci-fi concept album territory here. Or, "One possible future...", as Kyle Reese put it in 'The Terminator'.
"Year Zero" is singular in form, individual songs benefitting from the context of their companions. While there is no true hit-you-on-the-first-listen single to be found, many tracks will have you involuntarily leaping out of your chair in rhythmic contortions.
The overloaded zapping snares of "Vessel" are like Trent sticking his tongue on the end of your stereo cable, just for kicks. "The Great Destroyer" breaks down as it's MIDI sequence is dropped into a puddle of battery acid. After "The Downward Spiral"s violent barrage, and "The Fragile"s hot needle loaded with a fatal speedball, Trent is directly applying shock therapy to the masses.
The will written and convincing websites (compiled here
http://www.echoingthesound.org/phpbbx/viewtopic.php?t=20265&start=0 ) are a respectable modern update of dystopian futures that began with 1984. They aren't exactly mindblowing, but are a cut above any other supplementary album release material I've ever seen, and well worth the time for those willing to seak them out. As you listen to the album, though, they don't feel directly connected. The sound collage is the primary focus on the record. Trent's vocal tones, ranging from hopeful to sarcastic to whimsical to doped out, as per the perspective of the song, makes for a completely different experience than browsing these websites, where you play the character of the person looking at these digitally distorted internet pages from 15 years in the future. The album isn't Trent as distant narrator; he's changing roles every song, which makes for a unique listening experience compared to other NIN and other music in general. This is a new and different way of approaching the 'concept album', and it works.
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