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(02/01/07 5:00am)
Pop stars don't have a reputation for possessing much in the way of brains. This might be somewhat unfair -- Madonna, for example, has a reputation for savvy-ness (at least, before she started getting weird). I suspect most of us think of Britney Spears' and Jessica Simpson's profound dimness. Or the "American Idol" formula, where folks with vocal talent get ahead by singing others' songs -- where they're automatons shaped and controlled by producers and Svengalis. "Who cares what they're singing," the thinking seems to go, "as long as they sigh on the beat?"\nThus, Lily Allen isn't merely a breath of fresh air -- if Alright, Still catches on in the United States like it has already in Britain, she might be a bit of a revolution. As her sweet, cockney-inflected voice flows over 13 tracks of (mostly) sunny, (mostly) dub/reggae-influenced, highly polished pop, she unleashes rhymes as sharp as razorblades -- and, indeed, just as cutting. Forget mindless seduction, treacly laments or empty "girl power" sloganeering. \nIn Alright's first six songs, Allen revels in the miseries of a cheating ex ("Smile"), shreds sleazy pickup artists ("Knock 'Em Out"), provides vivid (and incisive) tribute to the sordidness of life in London ("LDN"), fires a wave of bitter sarcasm at life's inequities ("Everything's Just Wonderful"), hands-down perhaps the most brutal revenge song against a former boyfriend that you'll hear all year ("Not Big" -- yes, it's about what you think), and paints her sardonic view of club life ("Friday Night"). Lyrics like "in the magazines they talk about weight loss / if I wore those jeans, I could look like Kate Moss" (from "Everything's Just Wonderful") are combined with tight-as-a-drum instrumental backing (listen to how the club noises are incorporated into "Knock 'Em Out"), sing-along choruses and hooks that require surgery to remove from your gray matter.\nThis is a pop album and, true to form, it's a bit uneven. While good, the next four tracks don't shine as bright as their predecessors (although, to Allen's credit, the lyrics are consistently strong). But things are redeemed by the witty character-studies, "Alfie" and (50-Cent parody!) "Nan You're A Window Shopper" -- lampooning Allen's stoner brother and grandmother, respectively. The concluding remix of "Smile" is interesting, but fails to better the original. So do the smart thing -- give the lovely Lily a listen. Before she gets mad …
(02/01/07 3:15am)
Pop stars don't have a reputation for possessing much in the way of brains. This might be somewhat unfair -- Madonna, for example, has a reputation for savvy-ness (at least, before she started getting weird). I suspect most of us think of Britney Spears' and Jessica Simpson's profound dimness. Or the "American Idol" formula, where folks with vocal talent get ahead by singing others' songs -- where they're automatons shaped and controlled by producers and Svengalis. "Who cares what they're singing," the thinking seems to go, "as long as they sigh on the beat?"\nThus, Lily Allen isn't merely a breath of fresh air -- if Alright, Still catches on in the United States like it has already in Britain, she might be a bit of a revolution. As her sweet, cockney-inflected voice flows over 13 tracks of (mostly) sunny, (mostly) dub/reggae-influenced, highly polished pop, she unleashes rhymes as sharp as razorblades -- and, indeed, just as cutting. Forget mindless seduction, treacly laments or empty "girl power" sloganeering. \nIn Alright's first six songs, Allen revels in the miseries of a cheating ex ("Smile"), shreds sleazy pickup artists ("Knock 'Em Out"), provides vivid (and incisive) tribute to the sordidness of life in London ("LDN"), fires a wave of bitter sarcasm at life's inequities ("Everything's Just Wonderful"), hands-down perhaps the most brutal revenge song against a former boyfriend that you'll hear all year ("Not Big" -- yes, it's about what you think), and paints her sardonic view of club life ("Friday Night"). Lyrics like "in the magazines they talk about weight loss / if I wore those jeans, I could look like Kate Moss" (from "Everything's Just Wonderful") are combined with tight-as-a-drum instrumental backing (listen to how the club noises are incorporated into "Knock 'Em Out"), sing-along choruses and hooks that require surgery to remove from your gray matter.\nThis is a pop album and, true to form, it's a bit uneven. While good, the next four tracks don't shine as bright as their predecessors (although, to Allen's credit, the lyrics are consistently strong). But things are redeemed by the witty character-studies, "Alfie" and (50-Cent parody!) "Nan You're A Window Shopper" -- lampooning Allen's stoner brother and grandmother, respectively. The concluding remix of "Smile" is interesting, but fails to better the original. So do the smart thing -- give the lovely Lily a listen. Before she gets mad …
(01/31/07 4:08am)
This Sunday I'm going to my first Super Bowl Party since I was an undergraduate. As an Ohioan, I don't have any particular affiliation with either team. (My corner of the state is now Steelers' territory, thanks to the success of local hero Ben Roethlisberger.) And while I like football, I don't follow it closely -- I don't even know the (I'm sure) dramatic back stories behind these two teams. Also, I much prefer college ball to the NFL. The half-time show is almost guaranteed to be awful, not to mention nipple-free. Yet here I am, excited about it nonetheless.\nTo state the painfully obvious, I'm clearly not the only one. Last year average viewership was 90.7 million people, with an estimated 141.4 million people seeing at least a portion. From the way that all networks except CBS (this year's host) are lining up thoroughly expendable programming against the game, you get the impression that not even they plan on watching their channels. \nThe National Retail Federation said "this year, 21.5 million consumers plan to throw a Super Bowl party while an additional 54.6 million people plan to attend one." The American Institute of Food Distribution has claimed that it's America's No. 2 day for food consumption, while the NFL says "there are more pizzas sold on Super Bowl Sunday than any other day of the year." Consulting firm Challenger, Gray & Christmas has estimated that the week before the Super Bowl costs employers $800 million in lost productivity as employees are distracted by pre-game chatter and party preparations.\nYou get the picture. An absolutely ridiculous number of folks are looking forward to gathering around the tube with their friends, and eat many of the same foods, at the same time. But just think of how unusual that is anymore. Following the communications revolution brought on by satellites, cable and the Internet, the prevailing trend in all media has been toward individual preferences, specialization and narrower audiences. Mainstream mass communication -- the film industry, the basic TV networks, the major record labels -- that depends on trying to appeal to as many people as possible, are all struggling to compete.\nYet, Super Bowl Sunday bucks all this. Why? Beyond the game, I suspect it might be the model for the 21st century mass holiday. You don't have to belong to a particular religious, ethnic or language group (not even the localities of the two teams). You don't have to restrict it to family. You don't have to travel far, or dress up, or buy gifts, or cook. You don't even have to move off the couch. It asks little more than that you hang out with friends, watch TV and eat.\nSure, it lacks other holidays' deeper meanings -- but, in this day and age, there's something to be said for simply pulling people together for a common experience once in awhile, no strings attached. \nAnd, uh … Go Colts! Or whatever.
(01/26/07 5:00am)
If there's one lesson to take away from Clap Your Hands Say Yeah's second album, Some Loud Thunder (out Jan. 30), it's this: Ambition is a fine thing, but ambition alone is not enough. Indeed, for those of us who love out-of-the-mainstream music, it could serve as an aesthetic test: Can we distinguish complexity from quality? Can we tell the difference between something that's difficult-but-rewarding and something that's simply difficult?\nIn recounting the indie-Cinderella tale surrounding CYHSY's debut album -- "unsigned band catapulted to success by Web-based tastemakers" -- not enough credit is given to the actual quality of the band's songs. Sure, it was a neat example of how Internet buzz can translate into sales, but it never would have happened if the album itself (save the irritating opening track) hadn't been terrific fun. The hook-filled instrumentals rung out and shuffled and charged, while singer Alec Ounsworth's unique love-it-or-hate-it nasal yelp managed "the Michael Stipe thing," unleashing cryptic but intriguing lyrics. The result was uncompromising, but deeply fulfilling to those who "got it."\nSome Loud Thunder, on the other hand, is mostly just uncompromising. On first hearing the album, those without adventurous tastes (or who aren't already CYHSY fans) will likely retreat in horror at what sounds like a discordant mess. For those few who stick around: Sure, it gets better with multiple listens. Buried under a layer of distortion so heavy as to make it sound like a bootleg on its 1,000th reproduction, opening and title-track "Some Loud Thunder" could otherwise have fit on the debut album. With its hell-as-dance-club motif, "Satan Said Dance" has a neat concept (although its lack of compelling beats or hooks undercuts ol' Beezlebub's command). And careful listening (with a good pair of headphones) will allow you to pick out all sorts of interesting little tidbits buried throughout. Repeat this practice enough, and you'll find that many tracks are all right -- but that's the problem, they're just all right. "Emily Jean Stock," "Mama, Won't You Keep Those Castles In The Air & Burning," "Goodbye To The Mother & The Cover," "Yankee Go Home" all slowly reveal their merits, but there are no grand revelations, no sublime moments, no overarching purpose to the madness. It's an awful lot of work for an album that turns out to be, ultimately, kind of boring -- and, really, life's too short.
(01/26/07 1:24am)
If there's one lesson to take away from Clap Your Hands Say Yeah's second album, Some Loud Thunder (out Jan. 30), it's this: Ambition is a fine thing, but ambition alone is not enough. Indeed, for those of us who love out-of-the-mainstream music, it could serve as an aesthetic test: Can we distinguish complexity from quality? Can we tell the difference between something that's difficult-but-rewarding and something that's simply difficult?\nIn recounting the indie-Cinderella tale surrounding CYHSY's debut album -- "unsigned band catapulted to success by Web-based tastemakers" -- not enough credit is given to the actual quality of the band's songs. Sure, it was a neat example of how Internet buzz can translate into sales, but it never would have happened if the album itself (save the irritating opening track) hadn't been terrific fun. The hook-filled instrumentals rung out and shuffled and charged, while singer Alec Ounsworth's unique love-it-or-hate-it nasal yelp managed "the Michael Stipe thing," unleashing cryptic but intriguing lyrics. The result was uncompromising, but deeply fulfilling to those who "got it."\nSome Loud Thunder, on the other hand, is mostly just uncompromising. On first hearing the album, those without adventurous tastes (or who aren't already CYHSY fans) will likely retreat in horror at what sounds like a discordant mess. For those few who stick around: Sure, it gets better with multiple listens. Buried under a layer of distortion so heavy as to make it sound like a bootleg on its 1,000th reproduction, opening and title-track "Some Loud Thunder" could otherwise have fit on the debut album. With its hell-as-dance-club motif, "Satan Said Dance" has a neat concept (although its lack of compelling beats or hooks undercuts ol' Beezlebub's command). And careful listening (with a good pair of headphones) will allow you to pick out all sorts of interesting little tidbits buried throughout. Repeat this practice enough, and you'll find that many tracks are all right -- but that's the problem, they're just all right. "Emily Jean Stock," "Mama, Won't You Keep Those Castles In The Air & Burning," "Goodbye To The Mother & The Cover," "Yankee Go Home" all slowly reveal their merits, but there are no grand revelations, no sublime moments, no overarching purpose to the madness. It's an awful lot of work for an album that turns out to be, ultimately, kind of boring -- and, really, life's too short.
(01/24/07 12:39am)
As the Chicago Bears advance to the Super Bowl and the infamous "Super Bowl Shuffle" video makes the rounds via YouTube, it has made me wonder -- have we finally managed to turn the clock all the way back to the 1980s?\nLet's look at some of recent international events, shall we? There was the well-publicized story of the Russian spy killed by radiation poisoning in London -- which might not have been so reminiscent of the Cold War if it hadn't come after years of building authoritarian and anti-American behavior in Moscow (keep in mind that we still don't know if the Russian government actually did him in). More recently, Russia has expressed anger at U.S. plans to establish missile bases in Eastern Europe -- echoing the controversy over the United States' mid-80s deployment of Pershing II missiles in Western Europe. The modern case is different, of course, in that the new missiles are being deployed to counter an Iranian attack -- but that brings us to another corollary: Iran is back in the news again calling us "The Great Satan" seemingly every other day.Given that China reignited a classic "Star Wars" concern by blowing a satellite out of orbit Jan. 11; the rise of Hugo Chavez in Venezuela and Evo Morales in Bolivia is generating talk of socialist populist movements spreading through Latin America; and that Western Europe might be back to being international terrorism's top destination once again (this time of a jihadist, rather than communist or nationalist, variety) -- it's hard to shake the feeling that we've heard this tune before. \nOr take the U.S. economy. Since 2001, the economy has been growing rather steadily, but just as from 1982 to 1990, this growth has been dogged by pessimism -- and over the same concerns: the gap between rich and poor, and international competition. The only changes being, on the first count, that we don't have a new term for "yuppies," and on the second, that fear of Japan has been replaced by fear of China and India. Of course, with a Republican president and a Democratic Congress, divided government could well deepen the similarity.\nAnd, finally, lets look at pop culture. Having been a kid in the '80s, it's striking for me that all the old toys are back -- G.I. Joe, Star Wars action figures, Transformers. Then you also have slasher movies making a dramatic return (not to mention Hollywood's countless remakes). And while hip-hop dominates instead of hair metal, much of the mainstream commercial stuff is just as mindless and decadent (fortunately, the return of synth-powered new wave appears to have died out in 2005). And don't think I haven't seen some of you ladies trying to resurrect the leggings, baggy off-the-shoulder shirt and hoop-earrings combo.\nWhat to make of these developments? Is this the work of some shadowy, widespread yuppie conspiracy? Is some higher power nostalgic? All I can say is this: Invest in shoulder pads.
(01/18/07 5:00am)
The Shins' Wincing The Night Away doesn't come out until Jan. 23, but how about an early heads-up? Help you take a bit of the gamble out of pre-ordering, perhaps?\nLets cut to the chase. Shins fans: Don't worry, they've still got it. While Chutes Too Narrow remains my favorite, Wincing is very satisfying -- falling well within that difficult balance between freshness and familiarity. \nFor more casual acquaintances, say, those who just know the songs from "Garden State" -- you'll find that it doesn't have quite the narcoleptic dreaminess of those and other tracks from their first album, Oh, Inverted World. However, with lusher instrumentals and frontman James Mercer's voice incorporated deeper into the mix (making his perennially discontented lyrics a bit less obvious), it has an easier-going sound than the rather angry Chutes, and may be more to your taste.\nIn "Sleeping Lessons," a slightly-vocodered Mercer is accompanied by a quiet, spacey xylophone-like keyboard run, then by a little ambient fill, then a little whisk percussion, then a little guitar strumming, which build and build. Then, at about the two-and-a-half-- minute mark: BANG! Guitars and drums charge in and carry off the listener to sing or bounce along. This rolls into the shamelessly enjoyable guitar-pop swing of "Australia" -- then a pause with the album's least-necessary track, "Pam Berry," a nearly minute-long build-up to the first single, "Phantom Limb." \n"Limb," a gorgeous track ostensibly about a lesbian couple's tribulations among small-- town small minds is, more generally, an anthem for outcasts -- sweeping hooks combine with precise lyrical imagery that should resonate with anyone who grew up artsy or geeky in a rural community. In "Sea Legs," Mercer's voice, bent through trippy effects, soars over a simple drum/guitar beat, while "Red Rabbits" combines sweet, whimsical instrumentals with bittersweet, whimsical lyrics. \nNeither song disappoints, but the next real highlight is "Turn On Me," a piece of classic jangle-pop akin to the dB's and early-'80s R.E.M. "Black Wave" provides a hushed, detached break, followed by the angsty-cool, slightly post-punk (think War-era U2) "Split Needles" and "Girl Sailor," a song reminiscent of Elvis Costello's mid-70's take on doo-wop. Finally, things wrap up with "A Comet Appears" -- the closest the album gets to invoking Oh, Inverted World. In short, get it -- or you'll make Natalie Portman cry.
(01/18/07 5:00am)
Mew. If there's any justice left in the world of popular music, you'll be hearing that name in terms of top 40 rock radio and nationwide stadium tours. A big success in Europe since 2003, the Danish band finally brought their huge, spacey, melodic prog-rock to the United States in 2006 with their fourth album, And The Glass Handed Kites, which, despite Pitchfork liking it, is really quite excellent. Now, perhaps as a sign of faith in future U.S. sales, Sony will release their original 2003 breakthrough Frengers in the United States on Jan. 23. So, what should you expect?\nA casual survey of names dropped by other reviewers presents a whole host of competing musical references: Radiohead, My Bloody Valentine, Sigur Ros, The Cure, The Delgados, Stars, Dinosaur Jr… Instead, let's keep things simple: Mew sounds like a cross between Muse and Air. Like the British band Muse, they rock out with big power chords, booming percussion and an embrace of melodrama (although, to their credit, unlike Muse, they keep the lyrical matter simple and generally free of eye-rolling silliness). Like the French electronica duo Air, Jonas Bjerre sings with a tenor (rather than an emo whine or a metal monster-growl, etc.) and the band isn't afraid to lighten things up and let sweet, delicate pop melodies take hold. \nFrom song to song, Frengers is a calculation of ratios between these two tendencies. For example, in "Am I Wry? No," mighty surges of drums and bass begin the song, but are replaced by a tender combination of Bjerre's voice and a ringing guitar progression (and violin strings, and piano); while in "157," bursts from the rhythm section (with soaring choruses) punctuate vocals harmonized with chilly ambient washes. "Snow Brigade" gallops through a more traditional loud-quiet-loud model, while "Eight Flew Over, One Was Destroyed," "She Came Home For Christmas" and "She Spider" likewise play off this tension to varying degrees. On the lighter side are the stirring anthems "Behind The Drapes" and "Comforting Sounds," and two beautiful duets: more conventionally rocking "Her Voice Is Beyond Her Years" (with Stina Nordenstam), and quiet piano/guitar piece "Symmetry" (with Becky Jarrett).\nFrengers' only weakness is it gets a little repetitive, but when an album is this good (and only 10 tracks long), you can forgive Mew. And besides, if you want more variety, there's And The Glass Handed Kites.
(01/17/07 10:44pm)
The Shins' Wincing The Night Away doesn't come out until Jan. 23, but how about an early heads-up? Help you take a bit of the gamble out of pre-ordering, perhaps?\nLets cut to the chase. Shins fans: Don't worry, they've still got it. While Chutes Too Narrow remains my favorite, Wincing is very satisfying -- falling well within that difficult balance between freshness and familiarity. \nFor more casual acquaintances, say, those who just know the songs from "Garden State" -- you'll find that it doesn't have quite the narcoleptic dreaminess of those and other tracks from their first album, Oh, Inverted World. However, with lusher instrumentals and frontman James Mercer's voice incorporated deeper into the mix (making his perennially discontented lyrics a bit less obvious), it has an easier-going sound than the rather angry Chutes, and may be more to your taste.\nIn "Sleeping Lessons," a slightly-vocodered Mercer is accompanied by a quiet, spacey xylophone-like keyboard run, then by a little ambient fill, then a little whisk percussion, then a little guitar strumming, which build and build. Then, at about the two-and-a-half-- minute mark: BANG! Guitars and drums charge in and carry off the listener to sing or bounce along. This rolls into the shamelessly enjoyable guitar-pop swing of "Australia" -- then a pause with the album's least-necessary track, "Pam Berry," a nearly minute-long build-up to the first single, "Phantom Limb." \n"Limb," a gorgeous track ostensibly about a lesbian couple's tribulations among small-- town small minds is, more generally, an anthem for outcasts -- sweeping hooks combine with precise lyrical imagery that should resonate with anyone who grew up artsy or geeky in a rural community. In "Sea Legs," Mercer's voice, bent through trippy effects, soars over a simple drum/guitar beat, while "Red Rabbits" combines sweet, whimsical instrumentals with bittersweet, whimsical lyrics. \nNeither song disappoints, but the next real highlight is "Turn On Me," a piece of classic jangle-pop akin to the dB's and early-'80s R.E.M. "Black Wave" provides a hushed, detached break, followed by the angsty-cool, slightly post-punk (think War-era U2) "Split Needles" and "Girl Sailor," a song reminiscent of Elvis Costello's mid-70's take on doo-wop. Finally, things wrap up with "A Comet Appears" -- the closest the album gets to invoking Oh, Inverted World. In short, get it -- or you'll make Natalie Portman cry.
(01/17/07 10:43pm)
Mew. If there's any justice left in the world of popular music, you'll be hearing that name in terms of top 40 rock radio and nationwide stadium tours. A big success in Europe since 2003, the Danish band finally brought their huge, spacey, melodic prog-rock to the United States in 2006 with their fourth album, And The Glass Handed Kites, which, despite Pitchfork liking it, is really quite excellent. Now, perhaps as a sign of faith in future U.S. sales, Sony will release their original 2003 breakthrough Frengers in the United States on Jan. 23. So, what should you expect?\nA casual survey of names dropped by other reviewers presents a whole host of competing musical references: Radiohead, My Bloody Valentine, Sigur Ros, The Cure, The Delgados, Stars, Dinosaur Jr… Instead, let's keep things simple: Mew sounds like a cross between Muse and Air. Like the British band Muse, they rock out with big power chords, booming percussion and an embrace of melodrama (although, to their credit, unlike Muse, they keep the lyrical matter simple and generally free of eye-rolling silliness). Like the French electronica duo Air, Jonas Bjerre sings with a tenor (rather than an emo whine or a metal monster-growl, etc.) and the band isn't afraid to lighten things up and let sweet, delicate pop melodies take hold. \nFrom song to song, Frengers is a calculation of ratios between these two tendencies. For example, in "Am I Wry? No," mighty surges of drums and bass begin the song, but are replaced by a tender combination of Bjerre's voice and a ringing guitar progression (and violin strings, and piano); while in "157," bursts from the rhythm section (with soaring choruses) punctuate vocals harmonized with chilly ambient washes. "Snow Brigade" gallops through a more traditional loud-quiet-loud model, while "Eight Flew Over, One Was Destroyed," "She Came Home For Christmas" and "She Spider" likewise play off this tension to varying degrees. On the lighter side are the stirring anthems "Behind The Drapes" and "Comforting Sounds," and two beautiful duets: more conventionally rocking "Her Voice Is Beyond Her Years" (with Stina Nordenstam), and quiet piano/guitar piece "Symmetry" (with Becky Jarrett).\nFrengers' only weakness is it gets a little repetitive, but when an album is this good (and only 10 tracks long), you can forgive Mew. And besides, if you want more variety, there's And The Glass Handed Kites.
(01/17/07 4:17am)
When I'm with my parents somewhere that has an oldies station playing on the radio, my dad will name the songs, who sang them, the month and year they came out and whether they played in southern Ohio, where my folks grew up.\nI do the same thing -- except, as an indie-rock fan, my music doesn't get much airplay. Instead, I have to do it with the background music to commercials. "That's The Postal Service!" (in a UPS ad). "That's M.I.A.!" (in a Honda ad). "That's Goldfrapp!" (in a Verizon ad, in a Motorola/Alltel ad, in a Target ad).\nI have decidedly mixed feelings about this. Don't get me wrong, I'm not yelling "sell out!" -- at least, not in most cases. (Of Montreal's rewrite of "Wraith Pinned to the Mist [And Other Games]" into an Outback Steakhouse jingle really pushes the line.) I've never been one to think that being able to make money off your art made an artist any less legitimate. I'm happy to see that bands are successful, that they're able make their music and still eat and put roofs over their heads.\nAnd, after all, what can you do when most of radio is limited to tiny, nationally homogeneous playlists dominated by the major record labels (and their marketing -- sometimes, payola -- budgets)? What do you do when, out of any given day, about 18 hours of MTV's programming, and all of its prime-time, is dedicated to reality shows? What can you do when practically the only place you can get MTV-style exposure as an indie band is MTV2's "Subterranean," a program that regularly airs from 1 to 2 a.m. on Mondays?\nHow does a band get the word out? The Web does help, but sorting through the sheer volume of competing bands asks a lot from potential listeners (not to mention that the best known source for such music -- MySpace -- is so irritating it can make them want to gouge their eyes out).\nIn Michael Azerrad's history of '80s underground rock, "Our Band Could Be Your Life," he shows that indie pioneers such as Black Flag and the Minutemen had to endure seriously grueling conditions to produce and publicize their work. If getting a bit of a song in a commercial saves you from having to go through that, more power to ya.\nMy real worry is this: What does it say about our culture when commercials have better music than our major mass-media sources? When it's nearly the only way for great new, original rock and pop to reach your normal, non-Web dwelling person? When advertising executives clearly have keener ears than top-flight record executives?\nThis can't be healthy. In the oppressively politically correct future of the sci-fi movie "Demolition Man," what's the hottest music around? That's right -- 20th-century advertising jingles! So, if you see Wesley Snipes running around with his hair dyed blond, know this: I told you so.
(01/12/07 8:53pm)
Hissing Fauna, Are You The Destroyer? isn't due out until Jan. 23, but thanks to the generosity of the band and Polyvinyl Records, it's already available for listening on the Polyvinyl Web site, so, how about a preview? (And after reading this review, you don't have to just take my word on it, check it out yourself at www.polyvinylrecords.com/hissing.)\nIn its first track, "Suffer for Fashion," Hissing Fauna starts off with an explosion. The song's charging guitars, swirling synths and glitchy beat not only grip you by the ears, but set the tone for the rest of the album. Don't expect the sweeter, twee-er, Magical Mystery Tour-esque sound of earlier Of Montreal (say, The Gay Parade or Aldhil's Arboretum), Hissing Fauna follows directly from the sound-change begun in Satanic Panic in the Attic and manifested in The Sunlandic Twins. It's weird, hyperactive, candy-coated disco even more intensely so than Sunlandic Twins and this makes it great fun, if not as lovable as its predecessor.\nThe second track, "Sink the Seine," starts promisingly but is over in an eye-blink. However, afterward, Of Montreal gets on an absolute tear with "Cato as a Pun," "Heimdalsgate Like a Promethean Curse," "Gronlandic Edit" and "A Sentence Of Sorts In Kongsinger." Lyrics about depression and loneliness contrast with bright, funky, danceable instrumentals in this terrific, and surprisingly consistent, four-song run ("Heimdalsgate" narrowly edges out the others to be the album's finest single).\nProblems arise, however, with "The Past Is A Grotesque Animal." Sitting smack in the middle of the album, and sounding like a brighter version of Public Image Ltd., "Past" seems to be building toward something and keeps building and building, and ultimately takes an absurdly long time to go nowhere. It's not that bad, but it breaks Hissing Fauna's momentum.\nFollowing tracks "Bunny Ain't No Kind of Rider," "Faberge Falls for Shuggie" and "Labyrinthian Pomp" are goofy fun but unfocused and lax. It isn't until the hooky dancefloor-burner "She's a Rejecter" that something matches the album's "Cato" to "Kongsinger" height. "We Were Born The Mutants Again With Leafing" concludes things nicely, but isn't as memorable as Hissing Fauna's best moments. Final score? Fans and more-adventurous types will be pleased, but the uninitiated might want to try out Sunlandic Twins first.
(01/12/07 8:51pm)
These weeks immediately after the holiday shopping season are a wasteland for new releases. So why not dig up something that slipped through 2006's cracks? And, indeed, what I'm recommending slipped so deep that seemingly only mp3 bloggers and mole men know about it.\nOriginally released in Britain in 2005, Art Brut's Bang Bang Rock and Roll didn't get U.S. distribution until mid-2006. Therefore, what publicity it received came before the album was widely available and, once available, folks had moved on. This is a shame, as it was not only widely acclaimed by those few who heard it (for instance, it was No. 3 on Pitchfork's Top 50 albums of 2005 list), but also because it's one of the best punk albums of the last 20 years.\nWhen I say that, don't expect Mohawks, super-fast guitars and calls for anarchy. Bang Bang Rock and Roll instead recalls punk's origin as an aesthetic (rather than political) movement based on the idea that rock needed to be rescued from prog-rock's bloated pomposity, that passion was more important than technical skill. This spurred The Ramones, The Clash, The Sex Pistols and The Buzzcocks to form, and Art Brut carries the idea forward, simultaneously attacking rock's pretensions while celebrating its essential values. And they do this with humor, heart and endlessly quotable lyrics.\nUnable to sing due to speech-affecting learning disability, lead vocalist Eddie Argos speaks/shouts like The Fall's Mark E. Smith except rather than spouting oblique poetry, he tells witty, sad-sack stories reminiscent of Pulp's Jarvis Cocker. This is supported by vibrant "three-chord" garage rock that provides the key subtext behind Argos' lyrics (not to mention that it'll get you bouncing up and down).\nThus armed, they display surprising range. For example, in "Formed a Band," "Bang Bang Rock and Roll," "Moving to LA" and "Bad Weekend," Art Brut attacks egotism, banality, elitism and general silliness in the rock world; while poking (sympathetic) fun at hipsterism in "My Little Brother," mocking their "art punk" classification in "Modern Art" and (rather literally) deflating rock machismo in "Rusted Guns of Milan." And yet, in "Emily Kane" and "Good Weekend," they manage to craft stirring pop-punk love songs worthy of The Buzzcocks or The Undertones.\nSo, check it out. You might find it's not for you but, then, if it were for everybody, it wouldn't be punk, would it?
(01/12/07 8:33pm)
Switchfoot's Oh! Gravity is a frustrating album. Beyond being wildly uneven, it seems like the product of a Bizarro World in which experimental is mainstream and mainstream experimental. Just as the complaint against some of the more "out-there" indie acts (say, the Fiery Furnaces or Animal Collective) is that they alternate between pop perfection and artsy hooey, in Oh! Gravity, Switchfoot alternates between tracks of shockingly good garage rock/pop-punk and bland, by-the-numbers post-grunge dross. Perhaps, perched, one on each of singer/guitarist/chief songwriter Jonathan Foreman's shoulders, whispering in his ears, are a tiny Scott Stapp and Julian Casablancas (the Is This It? version, that is). Indeed, rarely will you hear an album so torn between rock good and rock evil. Thus, there's only one way to break it down:\n- Paradise: I must confess, based on my previous exposure to Switchfoot, I did not have high expectations. Quasi-Christian, adult alternative mainstream rockers who got their big break via the Mandy Moore film, "A Walk To Remember"? Oh, hell. But then I heard the first two songs. The title track, "Oh! Gravity," and "American Dream" are great, energetic, snotty, hooky pop-punk ditties true to the Buzzcocks' tradition. Then, later, Switchfoot unleashes their inner 'Stones in the terrifically fun ode to the frustrations of 21st century romance, "Amateur Lovers."\n- Purgatory: Being the realm of tracks that are satisfying, if not superb. Best of these is the slightly sappy, but nonetheless touching elegy "Yesterdays." Next are the better-than average, but contrived stabs at U2/Foo Fighters arena rock, "Awakening" and "Burn out Bright." Then a brave, but flawed experiment: the Eels-esque "4:12."\n- The Pit: Reigning in darkness are the awful "Dirty Second Hands" (imagine emo-screamo choruses grafted to the retro-blues of Black Rebel Motorcycle Club's Howl), "Circles" and "Head Over Heels" (both examples of the Creed formula: sensitive-guy vocals plus slow, heavy, loud grunge instrumentals; standard quiet-loud-quiet-loud dynamic). Cringing in the corners: the dull, didactic tale of satanic temptation "Faust, Midas And Myself" and the clumsy, meandering, baroque ballad "Let Your Love Be Strong."\nPerhaps it's wishful thinking, but this album's schizophrenic nature gives me the impression of a band (or band members) dissatisfied with the strictures of lowest-common-denominator rock. Could something better be in their future? For now, though, Oh! Gravity represents just the sort of album that iTunes was made for: The type where you can buy three tracks and leave the rest.
(01/12/07 5:00am)
Switchfoot's Oh! Gravity is a frustrating album. Beyond being wildly uneven, it seems like the product of a Bizarro World in which experimental is mainstream and mainstream experimental. Just as the complaint against some of the more "out-there" indie acts (say, the Fiery Furnaces or Animal Collective) is that they alternate between pop perfection and artsy hooey, in Oh! Gravity, Switchfoot alternates between tracks of shockingly good garage rock/pop-punk and bland, by-the-numbers post-grunge dross. Perhaps, perched, one on each of singer/guitarist/chief songwriter Jonathan Foreman's shoulders, whispering in his ears, are a tiny Scott Stapp and Julian Casablancas (the Is This It? version, that is). Indeed, rarely will you hear an album so torn between rock good and rock evil. Thus, there's only one way to break it down:\n- Paradise: I must confess, based on my previous exposure to Switchfoot, I did not have high expectations. Quasi-Christian, adult alternative mainstream rockers who got their big break via the Mandy Moore film, "A Walk To Remember"? Oh, hell. But then I heard the first two songs. The title track, "Oh! Gravity," and "American Dream" are great, energetic, snotty, hooky pop-punk ditties true to the Buzzcocks' tradition. Then, later, Switchfoot unleashes their inner 'Stones in the terrifically fun ode to the frustrations of 21st century romance, "Amateur Lovers."\n- Purgatory: Being the realm of tracks that are satisfying, if not superb. Best of these is the slightly sappy, but nonetheless touching elegy "Yesterdays." Next are the better-than average, but contrived stabs at U2/Foo Fighters arena rock, "Awakening" and "Burn out Bright." Then a brave, but flawed experiment: the Eels-esque "4:12."\n- The Pit: Reigning in darkness are the awful "Dirty Second Hands" (imagine emo-screamo choruses grafted to the retro-blues of Black Rebel Motorcycle Club's Howl), "Circles" and "Head Over Heels" (both examples of the Creed formula: sensitive-guy vocals plus slow, heavy, loud grunge instrumentals; standard quiet-loud-quiet-loud dynamic). Cringing in the corners: the dull, didactic tale of satanic temptation "Faust, Midas And Myself" and the clumsy, meandering, baroque ballad "Let Your Love Be Strong."\nPerhaps it's wishful thinking, but this album's schizophrenic nature gives me the impression of a band (or band members) dissatisfied with the strictures of lowest-common-denominator rock. Could something better be in their future? For now, though, Oh! Gravity represents just the sort of album that iTunes was made for: The type where you can buy three tracks and leave the rest.
(01/12/07 5:00am)
These weeks immediately after the holiday shopping season are a wasteland for new releases. So why not dig up something that slipped through 2006's cracks? And, indeed, what I'm recommending slipped so deep that seemingly only mp3 bloggers and mole men know about it.\nOriginally released in Britain in 2005, Art Brut's Bang Bang Rock and Roll didn't get U.S. distribution until mid-2006. Therefore, what publicity it received came before the album was widely available and, once available, folks had moved on. This is a shame, as it was not only widely acclaimed by those few who heard it (for instance, it was No. 3 on Pitchfork's Top 50 albums of 2005 list), but also because it's one of the best punk albums of the last 20 years.\nWhen I say that, don't expect Mohawks, super-fast guitars and calls for anarchy. Bang Bang Rock and Roll instead recalls punk's origin as an aesthetic (rather than political) movement based on the idea that rock needed to be rescued from prog-rock's bloated pomposity, that passion was more important than technical skill. This spurred The Ramones, The Clash, The Sex Pistols and The Buzzcocks to form, and Art Brut carries the idea forward, simultaneously attacking rock's pretensions while celebrating its essential values. And they do this with humor, heart and endlessly quotable lyrics.\nUnable to sing due to speech-affecting learning disability, lead vocalist Eddie Argos speaks/shouts like The Fall's Mark E. Smith except rather than spouting oblique poetry, he tells witty, sad-sack stories reminiscent of Pulp's Jarvis Cocker. This is supported by vibrant "three-chord" garage rock that provides the key subtext behind Argos' lyrics (not to mention that it'll get you bouncing up and down).\nThus armed, they display surprising range. For example, in "Formed a Band," "Bang Bang Rock and Roll," "Moving to LA" and "Bad Weekend," Art Brut attacks egotism, banality, elitism and general silliness in the rock world; while poking (sympathetic) fun at hipsterism in "My Little Brother," mocking their "art punk" classification in "Modern Art" and (rather literally) deflating rock machismo in "Rusted Guns of Milan." And yet, in "Emily Kane" and "Good Weekend," they manage to craft stirring pop-punk love songs worthy of The Buzzcocks or The Undertones.\nSo, check it out. You might find it's not for you but, then, if it were for everybody, it wouldn't be punk, would it?
(01/12/07 5:00am)
Hissing Fauna, Are You The Destroyer? isn't due out until Jan. 23, but thanks to the generosity of the band and Polyvinyl Records, it's already available for listening on the Polyvinyl Web site, so, how about a preview? (And after reading this review, you don't have to just take my word on it, check it out yourself at www.polyvinylrecords.com/hissing.)\nIn its first track, "Suffer for Fashion," Hissing Fauna starts off with an explosion. The song's charging guitars, swirling synths and glitchy beat not only grip you by the ears, but set the tone for the rest of the album. Don't expect the sweeter, twee-er, Magical Mystery Tour-esque sound of earlier Of Montreal (say, The Gay Parade or Aldhil's Arboretum), Hissing Fauna follows directly from the sound-change begun in Satanic Panic in the Attic and manifested in The Sunlandic Twins. It's weird, hyperactive, candy-coated disco even more intensely so than Sunlandic Twins and this makes it great fun, if not as lovable as its predecessor.\nThe second track, "Sink the Seine," starts promisingly but is over in an eye-blink. However, afterward, Of Montreal gets on an absolute tear with "Cato as a Pun," "Heimdalsgate Like a Promethean Curse," "Gronlandic Edit" and "A Sentence Of Sorts In Kongsinger." Lyrics about depression and loneliness contrast with bright, funky, danceable instrumentals in this terrific, and surprisingly consistent, four-song run ("Heimdalsgate" narrowly edges out the others to be the album's finest single).\nProblems arise, however, with "The Past Is A Grotesque Animal." Sitting smack in the middle of the album, and sounding like a brighter version of Public Image Ltd., "Past" seems to be building toward something and keeps building and building, and ultimately takes an absurdly long time to go nowhere. It's not that bad, but it breaks Hissing Fauna's momentum.\nFollowing tracks "Bunny Ain't No Kind of Rider," "Faberge Falls for Shuggie" and "Labyrinthian Pomp" are goofy fun but unfocused and lax. It isn't until the hooky dancefloor-burner "She's a Rejecter" that something matches the album's "Cato" to "Kongsinger" height. "We Were Born The Mutants Again With Leafing" concludes things nicely, but isn't as memorable as Hissing Fauna's best moments. Final score? Fans and more-adventurous types will be pleased, but the uninitiated might want to try out Sunlandic Twins first.
(12/08/06 7:51pm)
At the time of my writing this, Incubus' has been getting fairly positive reviews -- from Allmusic.com, the Associated Press, the L.A. Times and so on. This has led me to consider and reconsider my initial reaction to this disc. But each successive spin has only reaffirmed my conclusion: Someone has to stand up to this madness -- to butcher the famous Edmund Burke quote, "All that is required for (mediocrity) to prevail is for good (critics) to do nothing."\nLight Grenades represents a conflux of two powerful currents of mainstream dullness -- the generic post-grunge sound that refuses to die out no matter the horrors wrought upon it (Candlebox, Creed, Nickelback); and the generic, feel-good, pop therapy lyrics most commonly associated with Coldplay's Chris Martin. Thus, Light Grenades is not merely generic, but hyper-generic -- like products in the 1984 cult classic film "Repo Man," its album artwork should be a plain white wrapper with "Rock Band" printed across the front.\nThis isn't to say that it's as notoriously dreadful as Creed or Nickelback -- Incubus brings the rock effectively, if familiarly, on tracks such as "Anna Molly," "Light Grenades" and "Rogues." The hooks are there, the energy's there and the lyrics play a decidedly secondary role to the spirited drums, blasting guitars and raw timbre of Brandon Boyd's voice.\nProblems arise when things slow and quiet down -- and for a nominal rock group, you'd be surprised how often this occurs on Light Grenades. With the instruments dialed back, you can't avoid paying attention to what Boyd is singing -- which is usually an unbearably sappy variation on "don't worry, things will be all right" (worst offenders: "Dig," "Love Hurts" and "Diamonds and Coal").\nLight Grenades is so powerfully bland, it'll probably sell a zillion copies. But please know that there's an abundance of exciting, original music out there -- you don't have to settle for this.
(12/08/06 5:00am)
At the time of my writing this, Incubus' has been getting fairly positive reviews -- from Allmusic.com, the Associated Press, the L.A. Times and so on. This has led me to consider and reconsider my initial reaction to this disc. But each successive spin has only reaffirmed my conclusion: Someone has to stand up to this madness -- to butcher the famous Edmund Burke quote, "All that is required for (mediocrity) to prevail is for good (critics) to do nothing."\nLight Grenades represents a conflux of two powerful currents of mainstream dullness -- the generic post-grunge sound that refuses to die out no matter the horrors wrought upon it (Candlebox, Creed, Nickelback); and the generic, feel-good, pop therapy lyrics most commonly associated with Coldplay's Chris Martin. Thus, Light Grenades is not merely generic, but hyper-generic -- like products in the 1984 cult classic film "Repo Man," its album artwork should be a plain white wrapper with "Rock Band" printed across the front.\nThis isn't to say that it's as notoriously dreadful as Creed or Nickelback -- Incubus brings the rock effectively, if familiarly, on tracks such as "Anna Molly," "Light Grenades" and "Rogues." The hooks are there, the energy's there and the lyrics play a decidedly secondary role to the spirited drums, blasting guitars and raw timbre of Brandon Boyd's voice.\nProblems arise when things slow and quiet down -- and for a nominal rock group, you'd be surprised how often this occurs on Light Grenades. With the instruments dialed back, you can't avoid paying attention to what Boyd is singing -- which is usually an unbearably sappy variation on "don't worry, things will be all right" (worst offenders: "Dig," "Love Hurts" and "Diamonds and Coal").\nLight Grenades is so powerfully bland, it'll probably sell a zillion copies. But please know that there's an abundance of exciting, original music out there -- you don't have to settle for this.
(12/06/06 5:04am)
In September, the IDS ran an Opinion front reacting to the findings of Cathy Small, a Northern Arizona University anthropology professor who enrolled as a university freshman to gain insight into her undergraduate students' behavior. During the course of my term as the IDS Opinion editor, I've felt a lot of kinship for Small. I'm a double outsider: a graduate student in a mostly undergraduate organization (though more grad students are involved than you'd think) and a nonjournalist who's working for a newspaper.\nThis isn't to say I've felt unwelcome -- my colleagues have turned out to be terrific friends -- but it gives me a somewhat detached perspective and perhaps a bit of cover to say a couple things that others might want to say but can't.\n• On the School of Journalism. Look, I'm not a journalism student -- I've never even taken a journalism class -- so I can only comment on what I've observed. That said, throughout this semester, I've heard students repeatedly express concern about the education and services provided by the School of Journalism. There is frustration that the courses offered are more focused on abstract theories (say, about the media's impact on society) than how to actually perform professional journalism. There is also criticism aimed at the school's difficulty in placing students after graduation. Perhaps these are persistent, unavoidable gripes -- professors necessarily focus on theory and journalism is a hard field to make it in. All I can say is that the dissatisfaction is there, and as all schools and departments are continually looking for areas to improve, these might be some places to start.\n• On undergraduate life. As an alumnus of the College of Wooster, a small liberal-arts school in Ohio, my undergraduate experience was considerably different from that of an IU undergraduate. This semester has been a real window into the life of an IU undergrad -- far more so than my 4 1/2 years of giving lectures. Now, the IDSers aren't typical undergrads. The newsroom regulars have to be highly driven to keep up with the paper's demands. They're more engaged in campus events and they're embedded in a more expansive social network than, I suspect, your average atomized student. But I think there are some things to take away from their experience For one, they crave relevance from their courses. Academics (including yours truly) might value knowledge for its own sake, but if you want to get through to your students, you have to demonstrate that your course is important to their lives. For another, many are struggling to balance complex schedules of classes, jobs and social activities, and it makes me wonder if making them sit through a 50- or 75-minute lecture is the best way to provide an education under these circumstances.\nI could say much more, but my space is short. I've learned a lot this semester, and I thank all those involved in giving me the opportunity.