Knut destroys. Wonder is the new Knut album. Therein, it also destroys. Wait, if Knut destroys, and this is a creation of Knut, is Wonder therein a destructive force by proxy? Or is it allowed to breathe on its own and be destructive? Is proxy relative to the Knut-ish whole or a creation of force? What is force? Who are we if we are not Knut? We are but simple humans caught in the metallic whirlwind that is Wonder. And so it shall be: we cannot attain Knut, though we can own it.
Here’s the deal: 5 years ago, Knut was a band, then I assume there weren’t for awhile. They were out in Switzerland, and due to my limited knowledge of the area, I assume they were kicking asses and devoting their time to neutral stances on world politics. And doing cool-dude shit. I assume they did some drinking and drugs and laughed at the poor, lifeless souls using metal as a brand name rather than a conquest portal. Then, in 2009, they decided they’d had enough, rose from the dusted pavements of their metropolis to reign down significant riffage and power upon us. And, in return, we cower and kneel before their power, as we should.
Continue reading ‘Knut: Wonder’
I don’t know how to recommend this album to people. Is it a pop record? Is it a rock record? Is it dancey and fun? Is it a serious record? Who are Tokyo Police Club, exactly? I so eagerly anticipated this album’s release, I tweeted that it would be one of the most-hyped albums this year. I believed it would be their breakout– the album that launched them into pop-rock iconography. Then, I was removed from the world upon it’s release. In an internet-less haze, I’ve not heard word one about how the album has done or what people think of it. Even friends who love the band have moved on to rant and/or rave about new, exciting albums. And I’m stuck in the (month-long) past, still plugging along with one of the better records to come out this year. Continue reading ‘Tokyo Police Club: Champ’
The evils of classic rock are laid out beautifully on the radio: long guitar solos, brash body worship, clueless love lyrics that equate to unintelligent, formless limerick lines and dude-centric bullshit littering the American Dream. Sure, I like some classic rock, but for every Tom Petty there’s a .38 Special and for every early Chicago, there’s, well, a late Chicago. I struggle to find intellectual balance in classic rock. One part of me just wants to rock out and bang my head for metal health, the other wants to analyze this thing that’s called radar love. The middle ground, for me, lies within the beast itself: meaning. Is there a purpose to the rambling and rollicking? Why is this solo here? Are these lyrics really worth the time to sing them? Continue reading ‘Phosphorescent: Here’s to Taking It Easy’
I suspect that this will be a divisive record, and it’s easy to see why. The Suburbs seizes occasionally, like an epileptic, recalling the jarring, fresh sensibility of the Arcade Fire’s debut, Funeral. And right now, book it: “Sprawl II” is the second-best song of the year. The title track and “City With No Children” each proceed with a stylish shuffle. Songs like “Empty Room” and “Half Light II” rush out as towering, four-on-the-floor vehicles for propulsion. They offer what Arcade Fire is good at: melding the classy, high-register foliage of strings to slick, crashing guitars. You kind of expect frontman Win Butler to proffer one of his silly, winsome yelps. But Win doesn’t yelp anymore. Win doesn’t yelp anymore because Win is epically bummered. You see, after leaving his Québécois paradise to tour America, Win witnessed the great tragedy that threatens constantly the very edifice that makes us human in the most transcendent sense: Urban Sprawl. Continue reading ‘Arcade Fire: The Suburbs’
Best Coast’s debut album Crazy For You is like a lot of things: Lying in the sunny spot on the shag carpet trying to pick bits of weed out from Chips Ahoy crumbs and cat fur; a bitter slice of life from the frontiers of post-feminist living; the sort of music Oedipa Maas would listen to as she journeys around California on her ultimately deranged quest. But what it’s most like is too many scoops of cotton candy ice cream in an overflowing glass of cognac and Coca Cola. Continue reading ‘Best Coast: Crazy For You’
I often wake up with songs already stuck in my head. However, this phenomenon rarely involves music I’ve been deliberately sticking into my head. Even when I’m ribs-deep in an album I’m reviewing- and even if it’s an album by a Top 40 hook machine like Lady Gaga- I don’t really wake up hearing its tracks inside my brain. Usually this just happens with random cheese from the ’80s and early ’90s that I haven’t heard since childhood.
But in the few weeks since I’ve started listening to Maps & Atlases’ Perch Patchwork, I’ve awoken nearly every morning with one of its tracks spinning in my mental stereo. And I don’t mean just one of its tracks. I mean most of the album’s songs have had at least one turn waking me up. This album is that absurdly catchy. Yet these melodies aren’t merely absurdly catchy. They’re nimble and sophisticated and precise, like Eastern European acrobats. Propelled by refreshingly unorthodox rhythms, intricate riffs, and singer Dave Davison’s tastefully poignant voice, the tunes frequently ascend toward heaven like fluttering moths before trickling back down to earth like misty rain.
Continue reading ‘Maps & Atlases: Perch Patchwork’
Is it possible to hear the sound of approaching doom? Does approaching doom sound kind of like room tone, but darker? Can we hear approaching doom squeezing a singer’s nerves tightly in its clutches? Can we physically sense the presence of approaching doom as it plays maestro to an ill-fated orchestra?
For instance, some people seem convinced that they could hear Kurt Cobain’s demons lurking in the shadows of Unplugged In New York. Yet how many of those claims come from keen human intuition, and how many are simply embellished memories revised by tragedy? Hard to tell. Continue reading ‘Classic and Unappreciated: Cambodian Rocks’
Caw! Caw! should be more well known. Unless you were searching specifically for this review, chances are you’ve never heard of Caw! Caw!. Yet, they’ve been playing music in and around their native Chicago since 2001 and have been independently releasing their music through a 2008 EP and a MySpace music page. From what I’ve discovered in the backwaters and far corners of the internet, the band’s been winning over fans one at a time the old fashioned way: with high-energy house shows, mini-tours, and artistic sincerity. 2010’s Bummer Palace is their wildly ambitious full-length debut, a sprawling statement proclaiming the obsolescence of genre descriptors and musical boundaries.
It’s difficult to write about how Caw! Caw! move from indie rock to post-rock to pop to punk, adding flourishes of soul or ska or new wave, all with a soaring falsetto reminiscent of Sigur Ros. It’s clear that Caw! Caw! draw from an ever-growing body of influences, and I’m sure that the unfamiliar reader is probably about ready to dismiss this band as one that suffers from the sheer sum of its parts. However Caw! Caw!’s sound is remarkably cohesive and Bummer Palace is surprisingly devoid of jarring transitions. Continue reading ‘Caw! Caw!: Bummer Palace’
Seemingly, being in Wolf Parade is a simple process. Pick a riff, pick a strange name (Yulia, Anastasia, etc.), pick a catch phrase, repeat all ad naseum. Predictability is all the rage. While I like aspects of their newest effort, I find that most of the time I am tuned out, waiting for the next song, eager to be able to move to another album. It was quite the same way I felt about the newest Black Keys record. While rock bands struggle to find new ways to execute the same tired material, certain bands have just decided to embrace their inner-70s/80s and make good use of some old tricks.
I’m not totally against Wolf Parade on this. I actually like the path they’ve chosen. I understand their decisions on this album, for the most part. Expo 86 feels like a mixtape of Wolf Parade’s favorite bands– a list of influences combined with their off-kilter lyrics. Then, after all the dot-connecting dust settles, the listener is left with a quandary. Do we like what Wolf Parade likes? Are we that into their panicky vocals, their friskiness, their overly-simple keyboard warbles? Depends on the person. I’d like to explain why I am not happy with the album, but it’s difficult. Difficult because I like what they like, I want to like what they do. The manic energy, the overall aesthetic– Expo 86 is an album I am inclined to love. Yet, for all it’s charm and sing-along rollicking, I don’t love it. Continue reading ‘Wolf Parade: Expo 86′
Let’s say you’re watching a horror movie where the villain is this Lovecraftian beast, as old as time itself. Despite its gargantuan size and blob-like physique, this beast can move with the force of a rhino and the agility of a mongoose. It has the insouciant attitude of a high school bully in his third senior year. It could maul an asthmatic little girl, then turn right around and high-five his beastly bros while they all chuckle like dumb stoners.
And just as this beast is lurching toward one of its victims, ready to strike- suddenly you see the zipper on the costume start to unzip. Then the dude inside the costume jumps out, looks right into the camera and plays 6 verses of “Oh Susanna” using armpit farts. Continue reading ‘The Melvins: The Bride Screamed Murder’