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(11/21/02 5:00am)
Kid Dakota (aka Darren Jackson) is the latest incarnation of Buddy Holly, the lanky white kid with black spectacles and an inability to escape himself. From the cards he has laid out for us, it doesn't appear that Jackson has had a very fun time with his life so far. Like so many others, he has embraced the proverbial hellhound on his trail as a viable muse. The songs on So Pretty seemingly lay out a well-bred character, erudite and snobby, fighting against and amongst lower-class issues.\nJackson and bandmate/drummer Christopher McGuire lean toward an experimental attitude of indie-rock. That particular genre of music has been weighed down by redundancy, which has made the lo-fi, guitar-based approach seem formulaic and highly stylized. \nKid Dakota is indie merely by coincidence; in lieu of big dollars for the recording process the band resorts to ad-hoc ideas (such as ice-cube-tray percussion). There is also quite a bit of double tracking of Jackson's vocals, which cements the Holly correlation by giving the album a "Words of Love"-like weirdness. \nThe key to the success of So Pretty, though, is the interplay between Jackson's words and his guitar. He plays a mock rhythm/lead style, never totally giving over to one or the other. His lyrics require some deciphering and hide somewhat literary pretensions.\n"Jesse and I were not looking so pretty / we hadn't been well in a while / we ran out of cash and we ran out of pity / our demeanor lacked what you call style," Jackson sings on the title track, presenting himself at once like an Oscar Wilde dandy and a troubled youth. Later in the song when he sings, "I'm scrapin' bags and double boilin' cottons / I'm looking around for my rig," the problem is clear.\nSo Pretty is a sign of the times, educated and prepared in all the right ways and having nothing to do with that education. Really, Jackson seems to be discovering what those in the lower classes have known for years: problems beget problems. Kid Dakota's debut album follows him down this trail, from inception to recovery.
(11/14/02 5:33am)
For a long time, I assumed that forming relationships was a completely arbitrary action. It was the outgrowth of being thrust into a situation with a certain person and dependent on how impressive you were to them. After four years in college, it has become abundantly clear to me that this is true. \nForming relationships with the opposite sex seemed to be much more of a slippery slope. I would contend that it takes an amount of wile and subversion. The formative years of my life were spent chasing after girls whom I couldn't get and being disappointed with the ones I could. The common denominator in all these pursuits was the fact that I attempted to fool each one. \nIn each case, I was presented with the challenge of "making this girl mine." In order to do so, I assumed that each understood something about beauty, and if I could understand that beauty, I would be able to transform myself into the illustration of their belletristic fantasies. Eventually though, it came down to physical desire. As Oscar Wilde wrote, and I believed, "Woman are the decorative sex. They never have anything to say, but they say it charmingly. Women represent the triumph of matter over mind, just as men represent the triumph of mind over morals." \nAs could be expected, the girls whom I would win over were beautiful, but firmly dead in the head. To my complete exasperation, I would always be severely annoyed by them, until finally I fell under the suspicion that I needed to find a girl of more equal footing. Well, after years of searching, I don't think such a woman exists. I've given the subject long hours of study and careful observation, and here's what I know so far. \nIn an interview with musician Patti Smith, famous writer Nick Tosches asked, "Do you feel that girls want to get slapped around?" \n"Yeah," Smith replied, "it's not masochistic or nothing. I just think that women need help in getting their minds out of bed. It's the plight of women. It took me years to get over that, to be totally, physically involved." \nThis is not really a theory that I'm willing to test out, but I think it is true that women have a secret desire to be dominated. This comes more from the idea of the "feminine mystique," that, ideologically, women were prone to accept the roles as wife and mother as the only destiny, thus they had to live for and through their male counterparts. \nAlso, as Smith was beginning to assert, women are the intellectual sex. They chose their mates through a process of attaining goals, which has repercussions in every facet of their life. They deny themselves physical pleasure in order to have some purpose. \nRather than suggesting that women improve their state of mind, it is my secret desire to take advantage of their weaknesses. Unfortunately for you and me, all I could offer you here is banal clichés about the attraction of the bad boy and women's desire to have control over intimate situations and her man's life. The truth is, I don't think I have the energy it would take to dominate a woman; it seems exhausting to me to build up a relationship with someone by putting them down. \nAt the same time, I remain in utter fear of being dominated by a woman. In 1942, Philip Wylie wrote a book called "Generation of Vipers," in which he brought forth the theory of "momism" and claimed that "the women of America raped the men." Basically, he claimed that the housewife, in acceptance and perturbation about her position, consciously attempted to rule her husband and advocate the dependence of her son. \nNow, I'm not about to assert that women are evil and must be destroyed, but due to the feelings of jealousy and power, independence is lost when it comes to relationships. At the heart of this discussion has to be why. It seems that jealously and power evoke much stronger feelings than love and caring. \nIf this has seemed like a stream-of-conscience analysis, that's because it was and probably always will be. This is the known truth to a guy whose knowledge is half-baked, from half-learned ideas bequeathed from the ivory tower and a great rock-and-roll record collection.
(11/14/02 5:00am)
For a long time, I assumed that forming relationships was a completely arbitrary action. It was the outgrowth of being thrust into a situation with a certain person and dependent on how impressive you were to them. After four years in college, it has become abundantly clear to me that this is true. \nForming relationships with the opposite sex seemed to be much more of a slippery slope. I would contend that it takes an amount of wile and subversion. The formative years of my life were spent chasing after girls whom I couldn't get and being disappointed with the ones I could. The common denominator in all these pursuits was the fact that I attempted to fool each one. \nIn each case, I was presented with the challenge of "making this girl mine." In order to do so, I assumed that each understood something about beauty, and if I could understand that beauty, I would be able to transform myself into the illustration of their belletristic fantasies. Eventually though, it came down to physical desire. As Oscar Wilde wrote, and I believed, "Woman are the decorative sex. They never have anything to say, but they say it charmingly. Women represent the triumph of matter over mind, just as men represent the triumph of mind over morals." \nAs could be expected, the girls whom I would win over were beautiful, but firmly dead in the head. To my complete exasperation, I would always be severely annoyed by them, until finally I fell under the suspicion that I needed to find a girl of more equal footing. Well, after years of searching, I don't think such a woman exists. I've given the subject long hours of study and careful observation, and here's what I know so far. \nIn an interview with musician Patti Smith, famous writer Nick Tosches asked, "Do you feel that girls want to get slapped around?" \n"Yeah," Smith replied, "it's not masochistic or nothing. I just think that women need help in getting their minds out of bed. It's the plight of women. It took me years to get over that, to be totally, physically involved." \nThis is not really a theory that I'm willing to test out, but I think it is true that women have a secret desire to be dominated. This comes more from the idea of the "feminine mystique," that, ideologically, women were prone to accept the roles as wife and mother as the only destiny, thus they had to live for and through their male counterparts. \nAlso, as Smith was beginning to assert, women are the intellectual sex. They chose their mates through a process of attaining goals, which has repercussions in every facet of their life. They deny themselves physical pleasure in order to have some purpose. \nRather than suggesting that women improve their state of mind, it is my secret desire to take advantage of their weaknesses. Unfortunately for you and me, all I could offer you here is banal clichés about the attraction of the bad boy and women's desire to have control over intimate situations and her man's life. The truth is, I don't think I have the energy it would take to dominate a woman; it seems exhausting to me to build up a relationship with someone by putting them down. \nAt the same time, I remain in utter fear of being dominated by a woman. In 1942, Philip Wylie wrote a book called "Generation of Vipers," in which he brought forth the theory of "momism" and claimed that "the women of America raped the men." Basically, he claimed that the housewife, in acceptance and perturbation about her position, consciously attempted to rule her husband and advocate the dependence of her son. \nNow, I'm not about to assert that women are evil and must be destroyed, but due to the feelings of jealousy and power, independence is lost when it comes to relationships. At the heart of this discussion has to be why. It seems that jealously and power evoke much stronger feelings than love and caring. \nIf this has seemed like a stream-of-conscience analysis, that's because it was and probably always will be. This is the known truth to a guy whose knowledge is half-baked, from half-learned ideas bequeathed from the ivory tower and a great rock-and-roll record collection.
(11/07/02 6:07am)
In the '70s and '80s there was a series of albums put out called Environments, which was recordings of things like "Country Thunder Storm" and "Wind in the Trees." Fundamentally, Icelandic band Sigur Rós is an extension of the sensibilities explored in these records. The band is attempting to create visceral experiences with its music by recalling tranquil images. \nThe group's 1999 album, Ágætis Byrjun, had a three-year odyssey in finding its public. It was finally released in the United States last year and has slowly picked up fans by word of mouth and critics' praises. Perhaps, knowing that the bulk of its new audience didn't understand the language, the band's new album is called ( ) and all eight tracks are officially untitled. \n( ) lacks a track with immediate recognition like "Svefn-G-Englar" from the band's last album, although that track had help by being included in Cameron Crowe's movie "Vanilla Sky." Yet, ( ) is a comfortable listening experience, the kind of album that sounds just as good when you're folding laundry as it does during those moments of deep pessimism.\nIf ( ) creeps dangerously close to Enya-style New Age, and Jon Thor Birgisson's falsetto vocals border on lilting, take solace that the group does have a certain amount of indie-cred. Also, where Enya can be glossy and uplifting, Sigur Rós is still just a band (bass, drums, keyboard and guitar) whose sound is more reminiscent of a symphony orchestra recording in a garage.\nAll eight tracks on ( ) sound like they could be the work of a collaboration between minimalist composer Terry Riley and Radiohead. Not only does Birgisson's voice recall Thom Yorke's balladry, but also the treated vocals and synthesizer squeals sound like samples from Kid A. \nSigur Rós is more background music, though, and if ambient music is supposed to reward close listening, this doesn't. The group's new album is onerous at best and pretentious at worst. The melodies are pretty, but a little guitar feedback amongst the pastoral soundscapes does not make a masterpiece.
(11/07/02 5:00am)
In the '70s and '80s there was a series of albums put out called Environments, which was recordings of things like "Country Thunder Storm" and "Wind in the Trees." Fundamentally, Icelandic band Sigur Rós is an extension of the sensibilities explored in these records. The band is attempting to create visceral experiences with its music by recalling tranquil images. \nThe group's 1999 album, Ágætis Byrjun, had a three-year odyssey in finding its public. It was finally released in the United States last year and has slowly picked up fans by word of mouth and critics' praises. Perhaps, knowing that the bulk of its new audience didn't understand the language, the band's new album is called ( ) and all eight tracks are officially untitled. \n( ) lacks a track with immediate recognition like "Svefn-G-Englar" from the band's last album, although that track had help by being included in Cameron Crowe's movie "Vanilla Sky." Yet, ( ) is a comfortable listening experience, the kind of album that sounds just as good when you're folding laundry as it does during those moments of deep pessimism.\nIf ( ) creeps dangerously close to Enya-style New Age, and Jon Thor Birgisson's falsetto vocals border on lilting, take solace that the group does have a certain amount of indie-cred. Also, where Enya can be glossy and uplifting, Sigur Rós is still just a band (bass, drums, keyboard and guitar) whose sound is more reminiscent of a symphony orchestra recording in a garage.\nAll eight tracks on ( ) sound like they could be the work of a collaboration between minimalist composer Terry Riley and Radiohead. Not only does Birgisson's voice recall Thom Yorke's balladry, but also the treated vocals and synthesizer squeals sound like samples from Kid A. \nSigur Rós is more background music, though, and if ambient music is supposed to reward close listening, this doesn't. The group's new album is onerous at best and pretentious at worst. The melodies are pretty, but a little guitar feedback amongst the pastoral soundscapes does not make a masterpiece.
(10/31/02 7:00am)
It was a surreal experience, interviewing the band Low as the musicians ate burritos at a restaurant on Kirkwood on homecoming eve. Singer-guitarist Alan Sparhawk explained to me how he thought they should open a burrito shop in their hometown -- apparently the town was lacking. I had sought the band out to clear up a few questions I had. It turns out that they were as enigmatic and normal as I could have hoped.\nLow is a trio from Duluth, Minn., made up of Sparhawk, his wife Mimi Parker on drums and vocals, and Zak Sally on bass and vocals. Last month, they released their 10th full-length album, Trust.\nWriters often find themselves conjuring up tasty metaphors to describe Low's sound, often comparing the band to frozen lakes and black forests. Truth be told, Low is slow, methodical and deliberate to the extreme of those words' connotations. The band's melodies come around gradually and hypnotically in a way usually reserved for Icelandic techno groups.\nParker plays at her sparse drum set (a tom, snare and single cymbal) standing up. Her simple beats are indiscernibly intertwined with Sally's bass. Sparhawk plays his guitar in an open tuning like a Delta blues player minus the slide. Parker and Sparhawk's harmonies remain uncomfortably close (usually only a minor or major 3rd apart) as their voices plot arduously along.\nTrust features the group's hallmark sound, along with elegiac production flares. Coming on the heels of 2001's masterful Things We Lost in the Fire, Trust can become confusing compared to the former album's cohesive structure. The new album trades off sweeping, epic songs with unsubstantial mid-tempo numbers and ballads.\nI knew, though, that the album's opening track, "That's How We Sing Amazing Grace" was the group's capo lavoro when my friend was startled by its sound one night.\n"This is bullshit," she cried.\n"Speak for yourself, Ferdinand."\nIt was only later in my recoil that I found out she was awakened by the song and believed she was stuck in her nightmare.\nThe song starts out with a distant whistle, reminiscent of "Children of the Corn." The song then falls into a drumbeat that attempts to make the snare sound like a timpani by adding too much echo. Out of nowhere, Sparhawk and Parker sing the first lines, "I knew this girl when I was young / She took her spikes from everyone / One night she swallowed up the lake / That's how we sing 'Amazing Grace'." The song's mood recalls Robert Johnson's "Hellhound on My Trail" ("I can tell the wind is risin' / the leaves are tremblin' on the tree"), with its foreboding nature and doomsday calls.\n"It's about 'Amazing Grace'," Sparhawk says. "The first verse and the chorus kind of came at the same time, and I was trying to figure out what they meant together. You think of 'Amazing Grace,' you think immediately of somebody swallowing up a lake, so to speak, or dying. That's kind of what this record is about, coming to terms with things ending. I really don't think that death is as morbid a thing … it's part of life."\nIf you've listened to Low's records, you might wonder, as I did, what such a caliginous and cryptic band has on its mind.\n"Do you guys ever have the desire to not be so deliberate?" I ask.\nSally replies as if he were attacked, "Deliberate?"\n"Well, after a show, do you listen to metal or bebop?"\n"We listen to nothing," Parker chimes in for the first and only time.\n"We listen to nothing or everything," Sparhawk says politically. "I mean, we don't just play this kind of music and sit around in dark corners all day."\nSally adds, "Sometimes I think we could loosen up or lose some of our deliberateness. Actually, I think it took us quite a few years to realize that those two things don't mix."\nGreil Marcus once wrote of Low, "This notoriously unhurried trio captures the insignificance of human desire as opposed to the fact of a Minnesota winter even as they suggest they might prefer that the weather never change at all."\nIn a blink of an eye, the band was gone from the stage at Rhino's last weekend. Like the last time I had seen them in Chicago, I couldn't remember a thing about what happened at the concert -- it had all seemed like some filthy nightmare. I once heard a piece of paper hit the ground mid-song. The only thing that had brought me back down to earth was when Sally or Sparhawk spoke on stage. They didn't say anything of significance, it was merely banter, but its effect was like an air-raid siren.
(10/31/02 6:06am)
For more than a decade, teenage angst has ruled the sphere of so-called "intelligent" pop music. As great as groups like Nirvana or R.E.M. were, they were alienating. They moved the crises of a person in their mid-20s into kid's music.\nSo, here are the Apples in Stereo, copping all that '60s pop music so ingrained and beloved by all and making music for the young people. The songs have lyrics that don't require thought and melodies that are undeniable.\nThe Apples in Stereo have always been confined by their affinity for the Beatles, but is there any better band to emulate? Not only have they taken the Beatles gift for melody to the hilt, they've also inherited the absolute joy of making music.\nVelocity of Sound races past the listener, leaving one mindless, like after watching a sitcom. It is instant gratification of the best sort -- this is a band that knows its limitations. The guitar tone never turns off the distortion, and the drums never vary from the 4/4 rhythm. \nSongwriter Robert Schneider's impossibly high voice moves all 10 songs along as one gleeful ride.\nLike Brian Wilson, who used to inject lyrics about his troubled youth into his teenage fantasies, Schneider is able to sneak in unsettling snippets into his songs. On "Do You Understand?" he sings, "If I had had my way / I'd tear down the memories / I'm chicken and I wanna run away." It makes one think that if Schneider got a little more personal, he could really be on to something.\nVelocity of Sound is such a slight album that one might be tempted to refuse its impact. While your typical pop stars whine about their success, the Apples are martyrs of the pop world. If you have a problem with it, the album is over in 29 minutes anyway.
(10/31/02 5:00am)
For more than a decade, teenage angst has ruled the sphere of so-called "intelligent" pop music. As great as groups like Nirvana or R.E.M. were, they were alienating. They moved the crises of a person in their mid-20s into kid's music.\nSo, here are the Apples in Stereo, copping all that '60s pop music so ingrained and beloved by all and making music for the young people. The songs have lyrics that don't require thought and melodies that are undeniable.\nThe Apples in Stereo have always been confined by their affinity for the Beatles, but is there any better band to emulate? Not only have they taken the Beatles gift for melody to the hilt, they've also inherited the absolute joy of making music.\nVelocity of Sound races past the listener, leaving one mindless, like after watching a sitcom. It is instant gratification of the best sort -- this is a band that knows its limitations. The guitar tone never turns off the distortion, and the drums never vary from the 4/4 rhythm. \nSongwriter Robert Schneider's impossibly high voice moves all 10 songs along as one gleeful ride.\nLike Brian Wilson, who used to inject lyrics about his troubled youth into his teenage fantasies, Schneider is able to sneak in unsettling snippets into his songs. On "Do You Understand?" he sings, "If I had had my way / I'd tear down the memories / I'm chicken and I wanna run away." It makes one think that if Schneider got a little more personal, he could really be on to something.\nVelocity of Sound is such a slight album that one might be tempted to refuse its impact. While your typical pop stars whine about their success, the Apples are martyrs of the pop world. If you have a problem with it, the album is over in 29 minutes anyway.
(10/31/02 5:00am)
It was a surreal experience, interviewing the band Low as the musicians ate burritos at a restaurant on Kirkwood on homecoming eve. Singer-guitarist Alan Sparhawk explained to me how he thought they should open a burrito shop in their hometown -- apparently the town was lacking. I had sought the band out to clear up a few questions I had. It turns out that they were as enigmatic and normal as I could have hoped.\nLow is a trio from Duluth, Minn., made up of Sparhawk, his wife Mimi Parker on drums and vocals, and Zak Sally on bass and vocals. Last month, they released their 10th full-length album, Trust.\nWriters often find themselves conjuring up tasty metaphors to describe Low's sound, often comparing the band to frozen lakes and black forests. Truth be told, Low is slow, methodical and deliberate to the extreme of those words' connotations. The band's melodies come around gradually and hypnotically in a way usually reserved for Icelandic techno groups.\nParker plays at her sparse drum set (a tom, snare and single cymbal) standing up. Her simple beats are indiscernibly intertwined with Sally's bass. Sparhawk plays his guitar in an open tuning like a Delta blues player minus the slide. Parker and Sparhawk's harmonies remain uncomfortably close (usually only a minor or major 3rd apart) as their voices plot arduously along.\nTrust features the group's hallmark sound, along with elegiac production flares. Coming on the heels of 2001's masterful Things We Lost in the Fire, Trust can become confusing compared to the former album's cohesive structure. The new album trades off sweeping, epic songs with unsubstantial mid-tempo numbers and ballads.\nI knew, though, that the album's opening track, "That's How We Sing Amazing Grace" was the group's capo lavoro when my friend was startled by its sound one night.\n"This is bullshit," she cried.\n"Speak for yourself, Ferdinand."\nIt was only later in my recoil that I found out she was awakened by the song and believed she was stuck in her nightmare.\nThe song starts out with a distant whistle, reminiscent of "Children of the Corn." The song then falls into a drumbeat that attempts to make the snare sound like a timpani by adding too much echo. Out of nowhere, Sparhawk and Parker sing the first lines, "I knew this girl when I was young / She took her spikes from everyone / One night she swallowed up the lake / That's how we sing 'Amazing Grace'." The song's mood recalls Robert Johnson's "Hellhound on My Trail" ("I can tell the wind is risin' / the leaves are tremblin' on the tree"), with its foreboding nature and doomsday calls.\n"It's about 'Amazing Grace'," Sparhawk says. "The first verse and the chorus kind of came at the same time, and I was trying to figure out what they meant together. You think of 'Amazing Grace,' you think immediately of somebody swallowing up a lake, so to speak, or dying. That's kind of what this record is about, coming to terms with things ending. I really don't think that death is as morbid a thing … it's part of life."\nIf you've listened to Low's records, you might wonder, as I did, what such a caliginous and cryptic band has on its mind.\n"Do you guys ever have the desire to not be so deliberate?" I ask.\nSally replies as if he were attacked, "Deliberate?"\n"Well, after a show, do you listen to metal or bebop?"\n"We listen to nothing," Parker chimes in for the first and only time.\n"We listen to nothing or everything," Sparhawk says politically. "I mean, we don't just play this kind of music and sit around in dark corners all day."\nSally adds, "Sometimes I think we could loosen up or lose some of our deliberateness. Actually, I think it took us quite a few years to realize that those two things don't mix."\nGreil Marcus once wrote of Low, "This notoriously unhurried trio captures the insignificance of human desire as opposed to the fact of a Minnesota winter even as they suggest they might prefer that the weather never change at all."\nIn a blink of an eye, the band was gone from the stage at Rhino's last weekend. Like the last time I had seen them in Chicago, I couldn't remember a thing about what happened at the concert -- it had all seemed like some filthy nightmare. I once heard a piece of paper hit the ground mid-song. The only thing that had brought me back down to earth was when Sally or Sparhawk spoke on stage. They didn't say anything of significance, it was merely banter, but its effect was like an air-raid siren.
(10/17/02 4:36am)
By now you are well aware that Indiana University offers a wide array of classes on rock and roll. Whatever your tastes are, you're bound to find it here - survey courses from the '50's through the '80's, courses on Captain Beefheart, the Beatles, the Beach Boys, Zappa, Hendrix, hip hop, etc. While these classes are often a fun diversion from the student's normal studies, does rock and roll really belong in the classroom? To save suspense, I'll tell you that it does.\nI grapple with the way rock is taught at times, but for the most part, there are important lessons to be taught in the music's history. From how the beast of fame in America reveals itself in the self-destruction of Elvis to the atrocities committed against the Black Panthers and how it relates to hip hop, these are momentous and under-taught sociological issues of the latter-half of the 20th century. More often than not, they are best explained to a student group and most clearly manifested within the context of rock music.\nTo my knowledge, no one has yet significantly picked apart the music on a musical basis either. I remember being in Andy Hollinden's Beach Boys class when he was trying to explain the chord structure of "Warmth of the Sun." The class reaction ranged from boredom to confusion. A class that taught Brian Eno's studio methods or Brian Wilson's arrangements or the way Van Morrison and Frank Sinatra are able to string their vocals across the music seems every bit as interesting, relevant and studious as studying a Rachmaninoff score.\nCompared with the way that film is studied in the university, it is a shame that rock and roll is cast aside as a barbaric waste of time (a stinky aphrodisiac, somebody once said). In a film class I took at IU, each film we watched was accompanied with some piece of criticism. Students need to have rock music, which is around 50 years old now, put into perspective these days, too. Why not, while teaching Elvis, have students read Greil Marcus' chapter on the King in "Mystery Train," or teach Van Morrison's Astral Weeks with Lester Bangs' essay from "Stranded"?\nLike the film studies department, rock music should also be able to be studied without the certain chronological issues it is tied to now. Chicago Tribune rock critic Greg Kot told me, "I think you could take the new Wilco album, study it for a semester, and people would come out of that class as better people or at least better music listeners." A class that could delve into Neil Young's unreleased On The Beach, then James Brown's Live at the Apollo and then Public Enemy's "Fight the Power" would be invaluable. How great would it be to have a term paper that was a critical analysis of Pavement's Slanted and Enchanted?\nFor all the strides that rock and roll has made, academia refuses to accept it as a valid art form. There can be a number of reasons for this. Fernando Orejuela, who teaches a hip-hop culture course, said people's conception of what art is has been the Western European ideology. This sentiment was confirmed when I asked my old humanities professor, Gary Casper, about studying hip hop. He answered, "There, I suppose, the sociological and anthropological elements would dominate discussion since the work fails on both poetic and musical grounds."\nDr. Glenn Gass, professor of the Beatles class, told me that each time he thinks about teaching a class on Bob Dylan, he backs down. He said he didn't want to bring him into the classroom and have discussions about what each line of his lyrics means. Kot also expressed fears of demystification, saying, "Rock is more of a feeling. What can you really get out of looking at a Beefheart or Bob Dylan score?" Hollinden said, "People have this idea that if it is fun, it's not good for you, that it's not a real class."\nThat aside, IU's rock studies program has been progressive. Orejuela's class is absolutely riveting, not only because of his lectures and his contiguous historical method, but also the students' discussions. Gass has the ability to get his students excited about something as insipid as James Taylor, and watching him get worked up about the Beatles is transcendent. Hollinden's cool, irreverent approach reflects his passion for the music, and he has a good revisionist view of the rock canon. \nWith this all said, one of my greatest fears and worst reoccurring nightmares is being in an area densely populated by rock critics. An IU full of pretentious rock snobs given a little bit of mellifluous speech would clearly not be a better IU.
(10/17/02 4:30am)
Tom Petty always had impeccable taste in music, designing himself after Elvis, the Byrds and the Flying Burrito Brothers. However, he severely missed the point of his influences, whose eyes were always on creation and progression. Essentially, the Heartbreakers have been making the same, pretty good record for 25 years now.\nOn The Last DJ, though, Petty comes out swinging at the music business; the album is a lament, musically and lyrically. Usually every Petty album contains a track or two of inane brilliance, but The Last DJ gets seriously bogged down by its theme. Petty tries to cram lyrics into his three or four-chord songs, giving no room for the Heartbreakers to dig into the tracks. \nMike Campbell's guitar melodies were always the key to hooking in the listener (and if you don't think so, consider Petty's "Runnin' Down a Dream" or the Wallflowers "One Headlight"). Here, Campbell is muted by Petty's ranting, although a surprise moment comes at the very end of the record, with Campbell interchanging dissonant and ambient timbres on "Can't Stop the Sun."\nPetty was never a lyrical mogul, but his writing for The Last DJ is so grossly literal that it leaves nothing to the imagination. At the beginning of "Joe," he calls out, "My name's Joe / I'm the CEO."\nA few tracks in, he starts to drag his feet and talks a little bit about love and childhood. By the album's end, Petty has clearly lost his muse, as he resorts to incoherent threats on "Can't Stop the Sun" ("Hey mister businessman / be sure to wash your hands / be careful where you stand").\nA record about the evils of the music industry is commendable, but Petty hardly seems like the right man for the job. He complains about the golden circles and having to watch your favorite star on a screen from the back of a stadium. Well, when was the last time the Heartbreakers didn't do a large arena tour? Petty's not dead yet, but he's starting to show his age.
(10/17/02 4:00am)
Tom Petty always had impeccable taste in music, designing himself after Elvis, the Byrds and the Flying Burrito Brothers. However, he severely missed the point of his influences, whose eyes were always on creation and progression. Essentially, the Heartbreakers have been making the same, pretty good record for 25 years now.\nOn The Last DJ, though, Petty comes out swinging at the music business; the album is a lament, musically and lyrically. Usually every Petty album contains a track or two of inane brilliance, but The Last DJ gets seriously bogged down by its theme. Petty tries to cram lyrics into his three or four-chord songs, giving no room for the Heartbreakers to dig into the tracks. \nMike Campbell's guitar melodies were always the key to hooking in the listener (and if you don't think so, consider Petty's "Runnin' Down a Dream" or the Wallflowers "One Headlight"). Here, Campbell is muted by Petty's ranting, although a surprise moment comes at the very end of the record, with Campbell interchanging dissonant and ambient timbres on "Can't Stop the Sun."\nPetty was never a lyrical mogul, but his writing for The Last DJ is so grossly literal that it leaves nothing to the imagination. At the beginning of "Joe," he calls out, "My name's Joe / I'm the CEO."\nA few tracks in, he starts to drag his feet and talks a little bit about love and childhood. By the album's end, Petty has clearly lost his muse, as he resorts to incoherent threats on "Can't Stop the Sun" ("Hey mister businessman / be sure to wash your hands / be careful where you stand").\nA record about the evils of the music industry is commendable, but Petty hardly seems like the right man for the job. He complains about the golden circles and having to watch your favorite star on a screen from the back of a stadium. Well, when was the last time the Heartbreakers didn't do a large arena tour? Petty's not dead yet, but he's starting to show his age.
(10/17/02 4:00am)
By now you are well aware that Indiana University offers a wide array of classes on rock and roll. Whatever your tastes are, you're bound to find it here - survey courses from the '50's through the '80's, courses on Captain Beefheart, the Beatles, the Beach Boys, Zappa, Hendrix, hip hop, etc. While these classes are often a fun diversion from the student's normal studies, does rock and roll really belong in the classroom? To save suspense, I'll tell you that it does.\nI grapple with the way rock is taught at times, but for the most part, there are important lessons to be taught in the music's history. From how the beast of fame in America reveals itself in the self-destruction of Elvis to the atrocities committed against the Black Panthers and how it relates to hip hop, these are momentous and under-taught sociological issues of the latter-half of the 20th century. More often than not, they are best explained to a student group and most clearly manifested within the context of rock music.\nTo my knowledge, no one has yet significantly picked apart the music on a musical basis either. I remember being in Andy Hollinden's Beach Boys class when he was trying to explain the chord structure of "Warmth of the Sun." The class reaction ranged from boredom to confusion. A class that taught Brian Eno's studio methods or Brian Wilson's arrangements or the way Van Morrison and Frank Sinatra are able to string their vocals across the music seems every bit as interesting, relevant and studious as studying a Rachmaninoff score.\nCompared with the way that film is studied in the university, it is a shame that rock and roll is cast aside as a barbaric waste of time (a stinky aphrodisiac, somebody once said). In a film class I took at IU, each film we watched was accompanied with some piece of criticism. Students need to have rock music, which is around 50 years old now, put into perspective these days, too. Why not, while teaching Elvis, have students read Greil Marcus' chapter on the King in "Mystery Train," or teach Van Morrison's Astral Weeks with Lester Bangs' essay from "Stranded"?\nLike the film studies department, rock music should also be able to be studied without the certain chronological issues it is tied to now. Chicago Tribune rock critic Greg Kot told me, "I think you could take the new Wilco album, study it for a semester, and people would come out of that class as better people or at least better music listeners." A class that could delve into Neil Young's unreleased On The Beach, then James Brown's Live at the Apollo and then Public Enemy's "Fight the Power" would be invaluable. How great would it be to have a term paper that was a critical analysis of Pavement's Slanted and Enchanted?\nFor all the strides that rock and roll has made, academia refuses to accept it as a valid art form. There can be a number of reasons for this. Fernando Orejuela, who teaches a hip-hop culture course, said people's conception of what art is has been the Western European ideology. This sentiment was confirmed when I asked my old humanities professor, Gary Casper, about studying hip hop. He answered, "There, I suppose, the sociological and anthropological elements would dominate discussion since the work fails on both poetic and musical grounds."\nDr. Glenn Gass, professor of the Beatles class, told me that each time he thinks about teaching a class on Bob Dylan, he backs down. He said he didn't want to bring him into the classroom and have discussions about what each line of his lyrics means. Kot also expressed fears of demystification, saying, "Rock is more of a feeling. What can you really get out of looking at a Beefheart or Bob Dylan score?" Hollinden said, "People have this idea that if it is fun, it's not good for you, that it's not a real class."\nThat aside, IU's rock studies program has been progressive. Orejuela's class is absolutely riveting, not only because of his lectures and his contiguous historical method, but also the students' discussions. Gass has the ability to get his students excited about something as insipid as James Taylor, and watching him get worked up about the Beatles is transcendent. Hollinden's cool, irreverent approach reflects his passion for the music, and he has a good revisionist view of the rock canon. \nWith this all said, one of my greatest fears and worst reoccurring nightmares is being in an area densely populated by rock critics. An IU full of pretentious rock snobs given a little bit of mellifluous speech would clearly not be a better IU.
(10/10/02 6:54am)
Sept. 11 has without a doubt produced some of the most tragically lame music in history. One would expect artists to explore the intricacies that make such crises exist. Instead, popular music has exploited the public with the most shamelessly jingoistic music ever.\nThe worst of it is coming from the Nashville country music factory. The main culprits are Toby Keith's "Courtesy of the Red, White and Blue (the Angry American)" ("Soon as we could see clearly / Through our big black eye / Man, we lit up your world / Like the Fourth of July") and Alan Jackson's "Where Were You (When the World Stopped Turning)" ("I watch CNN but I'm not sure I can tell you / The difference in Iraq and Iran"), displaying the kind of arrogance and nihilism that propagates our cultural mess.\nSo, in comes historic Nashville outlaw Steve Earle with a song from his new album, Jerusalem, called "John Walker's Blues." A song that -- get this -- offers a different perspective, one from the side of the modern-day Benedict Arnold, not attempting to justify him, but merely telling a story. Surprise, surprise, conservatives around the country cry treason. Did people get this upset when Woody Guthrie wrote songs about Pretty Boy Floyd?\nThe truth is, "John Walker's Blues" is a beautiful song. Offsetting one man's tale is an Islamic prayer and the nastiest guitar tone you could hope to hear. \nJerusalem is truly a cross-section of Earle's life. From a man with six ex-wives, that means you get tales of heartbreak and the inability of men and women to communicate, along with the leftist politics that the times call for him to shout out. \nThe key to the album is that Earle offers no solutions for our problems. After all, this is not a campaign. At times, like on "Conspiracy Theory," Jerusalem's rebel stance can make you nervous, if not for yourself, than for Earle. In the final song, "Jerusalem," peace of mind is clearly made the objective -- "I believe that one fine day all the children of Abraham / Will lay down their swords forever in Jerusalem"
(10/10/02 4:00am)
Sept. 11 has without a doubt produced some of the most tragically lame music in history. One would expect artists to explore the intricacies that make such crises exist. Instead, popular music has exploited the public with the most shamelessly jingoistic music ever.\nThe worst of it is coming from the Nashville country music factory. The main culprits are Toby Keith's "Courtesy of the Red, White and Blue (the Angry American)" ("Soon as we could see clearly / Through our big black eye / Man, we lit up your world / Like the Fourth of July") and Alan Jackson's "Where Were You (When the World Stopped Turning)" ("I watch CNN but I'm not sure I can tell you / The difference in Iraq and Iran"), displaying the kind of arrogance and nihilism that propagates our cultural mess.\nSo, in comes historic Nashville outlaw Steve Earle with a song from his new album, Jerusalem, called "John Walker's Blues." A song that -- get this -- offers a different perspective, one from the side of the modern-day Benedict Arnold, not attempting to justify him, but merely telling a story. Surprise, surprise, conservatives around the country cry treason. Did people get this upset when Woody Guthrie wrote songs about Pretty Boy Floyd?\nThe truth is, "John Walker's Blues" is a beautiful song. Offsetting one man's tale is an Islamic prayer and the nastiest guitar tone you could hope to hear. \nJerusalem is truly a cross-section of Earle's life. From a man with six ex-wives, that means you get tales of heartbreak and the inability of men and women to communicate, along with the leftist politics that the times call for him to shout out. \nThe key to the album is that Earle offers no solutions for our problems. After all, this is not a campaign. At times, like on "Conspiracy Theory," Jerusalem's rebel stance can make you nervous, if not for yourself, than for Earle. In the final song, "Jerusalem," peace of mind is clearly made the objective -- "I believe that one fine day all the children of Abraham / Will lay down their swords forever in Jerusalem"
(10/03/02 4:00am)
There was a time when I thought about Bob Dylan every day, all the time. It was like he was my father or my best friend, or my right hand. I used to walk around saying things like, "And the lightnin's a-flashing and the thunder's a-crashin', and the windows are rattlin' and breakin', and the roof tops a-shakin', and yer whole world's a-slammin' and bangin', and yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm," with a straight face.\nThen I read "Positively 4th Street" by David Hadju and found out that Dylan was a liar. He had walked around tellin' people he had been Elvis Presley's piano player and that he had written a song when in actuality it was a 16th-century Scottish folk ballad. Then I watched D.A. Pennebaker's film "Don't Look Back" and found out that Bob was a paltry jerk, treating everyone around him like garbage.\nDon't get me wrong, I still think Dylan is great and I love his work, but that is it. I don't know the man. In fact, by putting up the altar as I had, I was betraying his directive: "don't follow leaders."\nIt's hard to say now what I even thought I had in common with Dylan during my formative years. In the early '60s, when he was singing protest songs, his themes held no social alliance to me, nor did I even have a social agenda. In the mid-'60s his songs were about speed as much as anything else, which was not a drug I knew about at that time. In the late '60s and early '70s he sung about comfort and dilettante when I was a nervous mess. In the mid-'70s, when his songs were about the inability of husband and wife to communicate, I wasn't communicating with any girls. In the late '70s he wrote about God; just then religion's holes were revealing themselves to me.\nThis past summer I was talking with my friend Rob over Budweisers late one night when I said to him, "I'm really tired of being seen as the eccentric one."\n"It's just a comparison people make to themselves," he said. "It's hard for people to categorize you when they only know how to listen to you."\n"Is it because I want things to be perfect? I don't think it's that big of a deal. When I take a girl out, I like to have Scott Walker's Scott 2 playing in the car and a copy of Dubliners carelessly placed in the passenger's seat."\n"Well, I imagine she'll be impressed by that."\nIt's enough to make me wonder what I even see in a number of things. Idolatry, like a great many other encumbrances, can be status conscience. I suppose I loved Dylan for meter, melody and aesthetic as much as I ever said his songs meant something to me.\nDylan himself was given to bouts of finding the wrong leaders. As a young man, he worshiped Woody Guthrie. Bob reproduced the Guthrie act, and it broke him into fame. Only later did he realize that protest music meant nothing to him, and he 'fessed up that he had been faking it a bit. \nHe wrote in his notes to the always-appropriately-title album The Times They Are A-Changin', "Woody Guthrie was my last idol, he was my last idol because he was the first idol I'd ever met." After his next album, Another Side of Bob Dylan, people started vehemently calling him Judas. Two years later he would break off all comparisons by writing, "i would not want to be bach. mozart. tolstoy. joe hill. gertrude stein. or james dean / they are all dead."\nSo here I am, Bob, glaring back at you with tears in my eyes like a forsaken paramour. I'm calling it quits, not you, and you mean nothing to me now. When the tears pour down like molasses, empty fodder, it's all you and your head buried in the sand like pirate's treasure. You are no longer the Episcopate to me, and you've never written a song as pretty as "Moon River"
(10/03/02 12:24am)
There was a time when I thought about Bob Dylan every day, all the time. It was like he was my father or my best friend, or my right hand. I used to walk around saying things like, "And the lightnin's a-flashing and the thunder's a-crashin', and the windows are rattlin' and breakin', and the roof tops a-shakin', and yer whole world's a-slammin' and bangin', and yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm," with a straight face.\nThen I read "Positively 4th Street" by David Hadju and found out that Dylan was a liar. He had walked around tellin' people he had been Elvis Presley's piano player and that he had written a song when in actuality it was a 16th-century Scottish folk ballad. Then I watched D.A. Pennebaker's film "Don't Look Back" and found out that Bob was a paltry jerk, treating everyone around him like garbage.\nDon't get me wrong, I still think Dylan is great and I love his work, but that is it. I don't know the man. In fact, by putting up the altar as I had, I was betraying his directive: "don't follow leaders."\nIt's hard to say now what I even thought I had in common with Dylan during my formative years. In the early '60s, when he was singing protest songs, his themes held no social alliance to me, nor did I even have a social agenda. In the mid-'60s his songs were about speed as much as anything else, which was not a drug I knew about at that time. In the late '60s and early '70s he sung about comfort and dilettante when I was a nervous mess. In the mid-'70s, when his songs were about the inability of husband and wife to communicate, I wasn't communicating with any girls. In the late '70s he wrote about God; just then religion's holes were revealing themselves to me.\nThis past summer I was talking with my friend Rob over Budweisers late one night when I said to him, "I'm really tired of being seen as the eccentric one."\n"It's just a comparison people make to themselves," he said. "It's hard for people to categorize you when they only know how to listen to you."\n"Is it because I want things to be perfect? I don't think it's that big of a deal. When I take a girl out, I like to have Scott Walker's Scott 2 playing in the car and a copy of Dubliners carelessly placed in the passenger's seat."\n"Well, I imagine she'll be impressed by that."\nIt's enough to make me wonder what I even see in a number of things. Idolatry, like a great many other encumbrances, can be status conscience. I suppose I loved Dylan for meter, melody and aesthetic as much as I ever said his songs meant something to me.\nDylan himself was given to bouts of finding the wrong leaders. As a young man, he worshiped Woody Guthrie. Bob reproduced the Guthrie act, and it broke him into fame. Only later did he realize that protest music meant nothing to him, and he 'fessed up that he had been faking it a bit. \nHe wrote in his notes to the always-appropriately-title album The Times They Are A-Changin', "Woody Guthrie was my last idol, he was my last idol because he was the first idol I'd ever met." After his next album, Another Side of Bob Dylan, people started vehemently calling him Judas. Two years later he would break off all comparisons by writing, "i would not want to be bach. mozart. tolstoy. joe hill. gertrude stein. or james dean / they are all dead."\nSo here I am, Bob, glaring back at you with tears in my eyes like a forsaken paramour. I'm calling it quits, not you, and you mean nothing to me now. When the tears pour down like molasses, empty fodder, it's all you and your head buried in the sand like pirate's treasure. You are no longer the Episcopate to me, and you've never written a song as pretty as "Moon River"
(09/19/02 4:00am)
Beck Hansen's last effort, 1999's Midnite Vultures, was a druggy mess of an album. It showed an artist in absolute limbo with his creative direction. Coming off such an anomaly, there was nowhere to go but up, and Beck went way up. Sea Change is the best album that he has ever made.\nIn the past, Beck attempted to form new lyrical theorems. It was a bold move, yet the music was never interesting enough and his lyrics lacked the goofy brilliance of Captain Beefheart (whose lyrical method Beck virtually stole). He came up with a few good, anthemic songs, but his albums always wanted direction and coherence. \nThe big surprise with Sea Change is that it is an album about "stuff." The lyrics express feelings in such an eloquent manner that it makes you wonder why he waited so long to tell us what was going on. They are nuggets of emotions from breakups, the pathos of sadness and obscure musical beauty, turning each song equally into a funeral march and an affirmation of life. \nAfter all, if one thing is true, breakups are not the end of anything physically. The saddest part of depression is the realization that you are not dying and you must consciously make the effort to move on. On the opening track, "The Golden Age," Beck sings, "Put your hands on the wheel, let the golden age begin / with the window down and the moonlight on your skin / the desert wind cool your aching head." \nThe sound of the album reflects Beck's increasing interest in contemporary country icon Gram Parsons and '70s folk artists Nick Drake and Skip Spence. Electronic sound effects, pedal-steel guitar and gorgeous string arrangements surround his voice and acoustic guitar. The strings borrow more than a little from Robert Kirby's arrangements on Drake's Five Leaves Left. The strings on Sea Change, though, take the seductive British-Indian qualities from Drake's album to an aching, American, bombastic conclusion.\nWhen such a private artist puts irrevocable personal sentiment into an album, the listener can't help but be fascinated. Sea Change is the first Beck album that you can say you hold unequivocal love for without lying.
(09/19/02 4:00am)
Ryan Adams has officially attained rock-star status. He's hanging out with Elton John, dating Winona Ryder and Bono is singing his songs on VH1. You can argue until the chickens come home to roost about whether or not he deserves the acclaim, but his talent is undeniable, no matter how nefarious his public presentation becomes.\nDemolition is a collection of demo recordings that were floating around his record company's office for the past several months. Therefore, the songs' production is kept simple, and the tracks highlight Adams' voice and acoustic guitar. The lyrical matter continues on the lovelorn themes that were displayed on his first two albums, Heartbreaker and Gold.\nThe acoustic ballads lack the lyrical presence to overstep the plainness of the music. A typical couplet like, "Two hearts fading, like a flower / And all this waiting, for the power," from "Desire," lacks the geography and personal predilection to get across a point. \nSongs like "Starting to Hurt," with its Replacements-style vocals, and "Nuclear" consolidate Adams' skills much better than other tracks since they are driven by a full-band setting. With the guitars on overdrive, Adams' voice has the push it needs to move beyond his usual stately delivery.\nDemolition is the up-and-down collection demo tapes should be. When the songs are not fleshed out by the band, the album becomes halcyon and tedious. Only when the gravel meets the dust is there the kind of rock and roll that keeps you at rapt attention, and that only happens two or three times here. \nSo far, Adams' career resembles Rod Stewart's: incredible voice, songwriting ranging from transcendent to monotonous and a passion for the roots of rock. Stewart, though, had the intelligence to cover a song when his craft failed him. Adams still remains the man for you if you find Garth Brooks a bit ungainly or haven't wised up to Gram Parsons yet. Adams' lack of progression proves that he'll probably remain like he is, at least until he moves on from marijuana, alcohol and authenticity to coke and sonics.
(09/19/02 4:00am)
I spent my freshman year in my room. Eating greasy sandwiches from the downstairs cafeteria, getting fat and smoking cigarettes. When my roommate was around, I stared at him suspiciously as if the whip were about to come down. I had virtually no contact with the outside world, and it stayed that way, right through classes, through the weekends and until I finally withered away in paranoia and stomach cramps.\nI can't really remember anything specifically about this period of my life, besides watching lots of television and yelling at my roommate when he failed to bring me home dinner. Suffice it to say, my first stint at Indiana University was a short one. The holes in my stomach have since healed, and I get out of the house every once in a while now to buy groceries and records.\nIn my circle of friends, the hermit life is seen as a very chivalrous thing, the ultimate sacrifice to artifice. Virtually everyone I know who fathoms himself creative believes he is disturbed or screwed in some way and must engage in some form of slow suicide, either by drug ingestion or by pure, antisocial antics.\nA fellow I know lives in a high rise in Chicago. He dropped out of art school after two years, feeling that he was misunderstood and couldn't bear the wrath of these trained artists. These days he spends his days working in a bagel joint and sitting in his flat reading Dostoevsky at night. Having a conversation with the guy now is like talking to Marlon Brando's character from "Last Tango In Paris." \nLately his e-mails have taken on a Charles Manson quality. He talks about women a lot. He believes he has a chance with the girls who pass him on the street each day because they don't seem horrified by the sight of him. Once he said he had a old girlfriend up at his place for the night. The next day, after she left, he said he couldn't get her smell out of the place so he was thinking about moving.\nIt is possible he actually believes he is the Underground Man: "I am a sick man … I am a spiteful man. I am an unpleasant man. I think my liver is diseased … My liver is bad, well then -- let it get worse."\nAnother buddy of mine lives out in the woods in a small bungalow. He was once a fine musician and composer. Nowadays, he mostly watches "Cosby" and "Home Improvement" reruns. Once in a while, he'll pick up his guitar and mess around. Usually, though, he ends up playing the theme to the original Zelda.\nHe was never besieged by some enormous disappointment; he just seemed to pack it in. He takes his parents' money up his nose and must weigh around 115 pounds now. The last time I saw him, he told me, "Long ago I had stopped being surprised by anything. Pain took on dull, decaying senses. Once upon a time, I had been so upset and self-loathing that my head was ripped apart with the feeling of 1001 machetes. It may have been the best night of my life. Everything now, I see coming a mile away."\n"Heavy, man," I said. "Maybe you ought to go get yourself some McDonald's or go to a class." He just looked at me like I could not possibly understand his privatized situation. \nThe thing that is important to note about these figures is that they are not getting anything done. In their time and their own way, they once represented to me the achievement that was possible by my peers. They are now getting exponentially deeper inside themselves. Bill Clinton said on Letterman the other night, "Once you're in the hole, why keep digging?" \nI find it hard to think of any sort of creativity that comes out of this lifestyle that can be sustained over more than a short period of time. Time and time again, a good book, album, painting or personality is the direct result of overcoming the diversities of life. The key is movement -- what my friends are doing cannot be determined motion. \nSo stay home if you want to, it makes no difference to me, really. I don't like competition, and I get claustrophobic on campus. I advise you, though, not to give credence to the ideology of the tortured artist. People have been killing themselves for years; it's hackneyed and pretentious now.
