Monthly Archive for February, 2011

Radiohead: The King Of Limbs

thekingoflimbs

Since 1997’s OK Computer- perhaps even since a few moments during 1995’s The Bends- Radiohead has excelled in conveying our ongoing love/paranoia relationship with technology.  Machines: Can’t live without ‘em, yet their relentless onslaught will gradually drown what’s left of our humanity by the end of the 21st century.  Right, folks?

But while most of Radiohead’s post-Bends material seems to take place within ultra-modern civilization- in hazardous metropolises, in hi-tech supermarkets, in aerodynamic luxury cars, in undeveloped sectors of cyberspace- The King Of Limbs appears to exist in a remote neck of the woods.  The cover art leads us into a deep, dark forest (albeit one haunted by some kind of graffiti-drawn Pac-Man ghosts).  Several song titles and some of the more discernible lyrics describe a realm inhabited by sprawling plant life, feral creatures, jellyfish, dragonflies, and thieving magpies.

Continue reading ‘Radiohead: The King Of Limbs’

Telekinesis: 12 Desperate Straight Lines

TELEKINESIS_12_DESPERATE_STRAIGHT_LINES_300x30012 Desperate Straight Lines sounds sort of like a cross between Phoenix and early solo Paul McCartney. Now, depending on your tastes, that simplistic assessment could span from high praise to damnation, but happily for everyone I’d say the truth lies somewhere in the good part of the middle. There’s plenty to applaud on this sophomore effort, its few arguable missteps generated by production choices and not a lack of talent, which in its own way would be less frustrating and more easily dismissed.

At least on record, Telekinesis is one guy: Michael Benjamin Lerner. This collection of songs is an impressive demonstration of his talents. Beyond the extreme catchiness of his melodies and his arrangements, his drumming is precise but not heartless, his bass playing remarkably tuneful, his guitar work everywhere from murky to bright, simply percussive to sparsely melodic. Continue reading ‘Telekinesis: 12 Desperate Straight Lines’

Cloud Nothings: Cloud Nothings

There’s a lot stacked against me liking Cloud Nothings. There’s my history of having heard so many other bands like them. There’s the simplistic nature of the songwriting. There’s the style-over-substance appearance of the album. Still, I find myself wanting to hear them more. And more. It’s to the point where I was so obsessed with the band that I asked friends to listen to them and tell me why they are so good. It was a friend of mine on a short road trip that pointed out that Cloud Nothings are good because their style doesn’t belie their sensibility. “They’re so poppy, but these are some dark lyrics. It’s awesome.” Simple pop structures and vocal transpositions aren’t just tools, they’re choices on this album. There’s a dark side to this record and it is masqued beautifully with juxtaposed lightness of pop.

Each song being an exercise in brevity and shortsightedness, “Understand At All” kicks off the party well. Not many chords, not much song, nary a note out of place, the opening to Cloud Nothings is an enjoyable window into the easygoing-yet-troubled mindset of the writing. This theme continues in “Not Important.”  An angry underbelly shows a resistance to boredom with the song centering around a broken relationship not worth fixing (rather than the usual opining of a successful relationship that marks the genre). “You’re not that important now/ and that will always stay the same.” Brutal truths are usual the most bitter ones, but in the case of this record, it seems the truths are both self-evident and easily dealt with.

In the dreamier and prettier “Should Have,” a positivity shows up that isn’t prevalent on the album. “I always knew I’d follow you/ but now I know that it’s much better.” A sweet and loving song– a soft side to the dark corners of the other songs– moves the listener toward mid-album rockers like “Heartbeat.” The listener is later re-inundated with the normalcy of negativity, but “Should Have” rounds out a pretty great album early on. “Forget You All the Time” follows that feeling up with a sense of atonement– life has ups and downs– and an explanation that communication is not the strong point of either the known-known (the relationship in the song) or the known-unknown (the communique between the listener and writer). It’s an under-the-table apology of sorts; the idea that while not much is communicated, there is still meaning in short space. And, in a way, its a fitting way to circumvent talking too much about the songs themselves.

And perhaps that Cloud Nothings’ purpose. “I don’t have a heartbeat, why do you?,” “You love me but now we’re both dead,” “I am understanding but I can’t believe what you’ve been through,” “I’m getting old forever so I’m getting old so fast.” These are the earmarks of the best songs on the album. The catchiest and most provocative times for Cloud Nothings are when the album is both confessional and vaguely teaching. It’s a rock album, it has soul and it is a guilty pleasure all at once. Going too far in depth on the songs is actually self-defeating, and yet the album invites the criticism: “It’s happens all the time, at least that’s what they know.” That’s the last line on the album, the closing nugget of information on this, a lurid distraction. And it might be the most important. What we know is what we’re told, and that’s really all we need from a simple, fantastic set of anthems.

Industries of the Blind: Chapter 1 (Had We Known Better)

After listening to Chapter 1 (Had We Known Better), I enjoyed a long silence. Sure, I heard cars traveling by on a busy street, near-muted announcers speculating about Carmelo Anthony, and the slamming of cabinet doors while my head was still swirling with musical motion. All that, but the lights were out and, to be perfectly honest, I was happy not to think. Managable cold crept in through my window as dark settled in. For a little while I was motionless. Yeah, 13 minutes is a long time for one song, much less two in a row that length. Yeah, the repetition can get to you sometimes. All I thought about, though, was the demonstrative brilliance of their songs; the language the music possesses despite the absence of linguistics. How can an EP say nothing, but speak so violently? In the brilliance of the moment, I suppose it really doesn’t matter. The best thing about Industries of the Blind’s debut is their uncanny ability to empty the listener’s mind. Instead of considering the origins of their story, the complexity or simplicity of their creation, or even the beauty of the songs, the listener is emptied out. Whether driving and expansive or hollowing out into echoes, this EP beats and swells and pounds the listener. By the end, there is nothing to do but nod in concordance and hear it again. Continue reading ‘Industries of the Blind: Chapter 1 (Had We Known Better)’

Hello Later: Where I’m Calling From EP

A two-man outfit from NYC, Hello Later’s Where I’m Calling From is less slapdash than a new side project. Seven songs in around 13 minutes, Hello Later aren’t trying to overload you. This is an introduction, plain and simple: you get the charming “Hello Later,” the meaningful yet clever “I Won’t Mind,” and even the overtly ridiculous “Little Black Suitcase.” Where I’m Calling From is a first date with an attractive and off-kilter mate that both surprises you with style and makes you want to see more.

The most impressive work on the EP are the more serious tracks. “I Won’t Mind” is stylistically perfect– swells of electric guitar accompany a pretty riff. Easy, faraway drums move the song along gently and conversational lyricism resonates well. “Signs are not always right,/ but it seems like I’m holding on.” Each song is short– sometimes abnormally so– but this one is the right length. Once “I Won’t Mind” ends, you feel like everything has been said despite not much having been said at all. That’s the basis of a powerful song: the story is told, the instruments are solid and the listener wants the song again.

“What Day It Is” is more of a classic folk jam. “Sky’s painted gray/ the sun is gone away/ No one cares what day it is,” the song is an exercise in using referential and plainspoken information. Two minutes long, “What…” casts an innocuous light on a vague situation, but the listener is compelled to understand. The conflict of the song is so unimportant that it is never actually defined. While this is common in pop music, Hello Later redefines the descriptive narrative to hint at an underlying dread. And it is that dread that specifically defines their importance.

The haze of Hello Later shines most on their upbeat songs. Winter as a thematic choice is strange, since the songs including seasonal imagery are three of the most bright. “Elephant (Winter Version)”  even includes background whistling. This might be a pattern, it might be a coincidence. There’s not much evidence to go on in three short songs, but it does add to the overall aesthetic of the band’s introduction. The lazy haze of the EP is absent in winter songs, but invoking Winter at all still shows the easygoing ethos the band works to accomplish.

Hello Later is a spry, young idea awaiting to blossom. Thing is, all we have is what we’re provided. Seven short songs, a lot of potential and the waiting game. This EP is an accomplishment; a Pyrrhic victory. “I Won’t Mind” is one of my favorite songs of the year thus far and this EP is a good one. That said, the first date is only part of the battle. If there’s a next EP/Album, these two gentlemen have work cut out for them. As simple and unassuming as they may be, they’ve made an impression on me. Now, concurrently, I have expectations. Hello Later have won me over for now, so our next date is gonna be interesting. It’s all I can ask from a band that gave me no expectations upon meeting.

You can download the EP– name your own price– or stream it HERE.

PJ Harvey: Let England Shake

Pjharveyletenglandshake

It was either Frank Black or Shakira who said, “You don’t have to understand 1970s British politics to understand that London Calling is great.”  Or something like that.  I remember reading that quote like 10 years ago in some print magazine that’s apparently dead and doesn’t archive its back issues online.   Nevertheless, Frank Black or Shakira made an excellent point.  Social commentary is all well and good for ambitious musicians, as long as the tunes are strong enough to transcend the current events that inspired them.

After 7 albums of impassioned, goth-shaded songs about love, lust and loss, PJ Harvey has released Let England Shake, an impassioned, goth-shaded reaction to the present state of her nation.  I know this because on the album she says “England” so often it’s like she’s the Dean of England Studies at the University of England.  But fortunately for someone like me who isn’t exactly hip to the modern English zeitgeist, the music on Let England Shake is stirring and chilling enough to overshadow all the sociopolitical statements, however astute (or awkward) they may be.

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Ghostface Killah: Apollo Kids

In recent years, Ghostface albums have been in abundance. This isn’t necessarily wonderful news, and his past sins are really the business of this blog. That said, the past two Ghost albums (and the Meth/Ghost/Rae album) have served to remind the public that no matter how hard he works to shift his image, fans want the coke, the blood, the rampant sexual thrills and the exterior of Ghost’s stories. And they want the edges of absurdity he so famously flaunts. Sometimes the production varies, sometimes the impetus of his creativeness changes, but Ghost, at heart, still has stories to tell.

Apollo Kids, the ninth full-length from Ghost, has brought out the headhunting, “clarity” seekers– the people looking for the old days and the new swag alike. While this album has garnered high praise, it seems that the album is too accessible for some folks. Seems that Apollo Kids is a good album that isn’t good enough. While I normally try to keep my vitriol saved for politicos and bad drunks, I’m a little rabid at the idea that a good album can’t just be good. See, since members of Wu Tang must always be perfect, the fact that Apollo Kids isn’t Supreme Clientele (or even Fishscale) is a sin in and of itself.

However, focusing on what the album is, I’ve found that I enjoy the hell out of it. “2getha Baby” is one of the best Ghost songs in years, “Purified Thoughts” is a phenomenal opener and the final two songs are a complete success. “In the Ghetto” uses one of the more creative samples in the Wu catalog, and “Troublemakers” is outstanding. Joell Ortiz crushes his verse on “Drama” and nearly makes The Game’s pedantic namedropping and Compton schilling worth it. Ghost himself shines brighter than Busta Rhymes on “Superstar” which is no small feat. Busta always seems to have a verse ready for Ghost that brings the best out of his counterpart. Even the strange combination of Ghost and Black Thought on “In the Park” works while the two of them intertwine old-school hip hop heads and their personal stories of triumph.

The album works despite its cursed availability. The usual shark-jumping and cultural oddities of a Ghostface album aren’t readily accessed, yet the album is solid throughout.  Playful, descriptive and above-all damned good, Apollo Kids isn’t just a shined relic; a rehash. The album is more than a reminder. AK is a fully fruitful listen again and again with tracks that will stand the test of time. As much as we blame the folly of continual releases and mock the elder rappers once they lose fervor, we don’t laud the brilliance of the best often enough. Ghost may not have released an instant classic, but he certainly didn’t destroy his credibility. In fact, I’d venture to say anything less than good for his tenth album will still be a letdown. As it always has been, the bar is still amazingly high.

James Blake: James Blake

James Blake Album

The first thing that strikes you about James Blake is all that singing. His acclaimed EPs didn’t have much of that. But on his self-titled, debut album, Blake’s voice is the most immediate entrance into the albums emotion. Or, perhaps, “emotionalism” is a better word. Blake sounds like a person who feels things strongly, but rather than excite similar emotion in the listener, his emotion itself seems to be the subject matter. Listening to James Blake is then a strangely voyeuristic enterprise, where a subject is seen to be exhibiting signs of, for instance, pain without creating a reciprocal or empathetic relationship with the listener.

If you think of art as a way for someone to create a shared space of meaning, then, it seems like James Blake should be a failure. Continue reading ‘James Blake: James Blake’

Deerhoof: Deerhoof Vs. Evil

PRC-209 - Deerhoof vs. Evil - Cover Art

Deerhoof is like some fantastic genetically-engineered creature with the head of Hello Kitty, body of brontosaurus, agility of mongoose, brain of dolphin, and invincibility of cyborg, which occasionally shoots fluorescent bottle rockets from its nostrils.  Starting with 2002’s Reveille, the albums this band has made with its current core members (guitarist John Dieterich, bassist/singer Satomi Matsuzaki, and drummer Greg Saunier) have either been quite good or goddamn phenomenal.

Perhaps because I first saw Miyazaki’s Spirited Away around the same time I started getting into Deerhoof, the band’s music often reminds me of that movie.  They both blur the line between “precious” and “sinister” so much that the words become practically synonymous.  They both seem to flow according to an ancient dream-logic that’s utterly bizarre and yet, somehow, totally sound.  And both are so full of creativity and invention that no matter how many times I experience the same old parts, they often fill me with the sense of childlike awe that I thought I’d lost forever.

The band’s most recent release, Deerhoof Vs. Evil, offers plenty of those hallmarks.  Yet it feels less like an illustration of Deerhoof’s greatness and more like a constellation, a bunch of spaced-out bright spots which form a lopsided outline of the mythical being it’s supposed to represent.

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