There’s been plenty of talk concerning the state of The Clientele these last couple years, primarily about whether the band would continue to exist beyond 2010’s EP “Minotaur”. The main issue on frontman Alasdair MacLean’s part was apparently a lack of inspiration, the thought that perhaps the project in its current state had reached all the potential it could possibly muster. “Maybe if we were asked to score a film,” he said several months back. So while we wait for an official decision as to whether The Clientele will ever make new music again, MacLean has been busying himself with a new project, one that he’s been working on sporadically in the last few years. Amor de Dias is his collaboration with Lupe Núñez-Fernández of the Spanish band Pipas. You might think that taking one part British 60s folk and another part Spanish indie pop would create an interesting mixture of sounds and textures, and on paper the concept most definitely seems frought with potential. Instead though, “Street of the Love of Days”, the debut album from Amor de Dias, showcases just how much the two apparently diverse projects its members came from have in common.
Acoustic folk seems to be the common thread between The Clientele and Pipas, and though it wasn’t exclusive to either band, it’s what comprises many of the songs on “Street of the Love of Days”. Of course there’s more to it than just that, including a few infusions of stylistic traits such as flamenco and bossa nova. Additionally, there are numerous guests that provide additional instrumental work on the record, ranging from Damon & Naomi to Gary Olson of Ladybug Transistor. The styles and additional instruments help to keep things varied just enough to maintain interest, which would otherwise be a huge problem considering how sleepy the entire record is. There’s not much that rises above lullabye status, and Núñez-Fernández’s whisper soft vocals trading off against MacLean’s smooth-as-silk calm voice fails to ignite anything. The thing is, exciting and lively compositions are probably the antithesis of what they were aiming for – not that they wanted to put people to sleep either. Subdued beauty is probably the best descriptor of “Street of the Love of Days”, and the album goes a long way towards avoiding anything that doesn’t fit that mold. As a singular work with such intentions, it succeeds brilliantly. Yet it’s also somewhat flawed.
As the record progresses, or simply to say virtually the entire final third of the album’s 15 tracks, there’s something of a breakdown that occurs. Most of those last few songs are under 2 minutes in length, and you get the impression they could all use an extension. It’s like they had more ideas or more to say, and instead of completing the thought/song the choice was made to just end it early. Nothing ever feels outright cut off, but when most of the songs on the first two-thirds of the album average between 3 and 4 minutes in length, all these quick cuts seem just a little suspect. The other issue with Amor de Dias in general is that the two parts that make up the whole, Núñez-Fernández and MacLean, have both made better music in their main bands. Something that’s been brewing over the course of three years deserves a little better than what we’re given on “Street of the Love of Days”, even if the album has a lot going for it. The creative energy, the variations in influences, and even in some cases the emotion in the vocals, are the bits and pieces that made The Clientele and (to a lesser extent) Pipas bands worth spending time with.
Though Amor de Dias may not quite live up to the promise it shows on paper, “Street of the Love of Days” is still an album worth both your time and money. With summer fast approaching, it’s not exactly coming out during the right season, but should you wait a few months for the leaves to start turning colors, you may find it to be the perfect soundtrack. After all, a re-done version of the Clientele track “Harvest Time” isn’t on here only because it’s a great song. There are lovely and great songs peppered across the record, more standouts in a field of beauty. “House of Flint” is one of the first and most interesting tracks, with MacLean operating at his most dynamic. A Núñez-Fernández highlight comes in the form of mid-album cut “Dream (Dead Hands)”, while MacLean strikes back again immediately afterwards on “I See Your Face”. And just before the final third of the record begins, the title track brings an extra dose of sweetness that carries through those shorter and shakier moments that follow. So as we wait to see what will become of The Clientele, Amor de Dias serves as a nice distraction. It doesn’t quite deserve to be considered a main project, but if this little band chooses to put out more records, there’s definitely still untapped potential that can and deserves to be explored.
Catch Amor de Dias on tour with Damon & Naomi: May 20 Baltimore, MD – Metro Gallery
May 21 Philadelphia, PA – First Unitarian Church Chapel
May 22 Brooklyn, NY – Knitting Factory
May 23 Allston, MA – Great Scott
May 25 Toronto, ON – Horseshoe
May 26 Pontiac, MI – Pike Room at Crofoot
May 27 Chicago, IL – Lincoln Hall
May 28 Minneapolis, MN – Triple Rock
May 31 Seattle, WA – Tractor Tavern
Jun 01 Portland, OR – Bunk Bar
Jun 03 San Francisco, CA – Bottom of the Hill
Jun 04 Los Angeles, CA – The Satellite
Jun 05 San Diego, CA – Soda Bar
If Wild Beasts have yet to reach your radar, now’s as good of a time as any to start looking into them. Their second album, 2009’s “Two Dancers”, marked a significant shift in their sound from the completely abstract and weird-for-the-sake-of-weird towards something more pop-friendly musically and hypersexual lyrically. Beyond that, the more challenging theatric and falsetto vocal style of Hayden Thorpe was its own issue, turning off a lot of people that might have otherwise fallen in love with the band. So with that course correction also came a smoothing out of the vocals, along with bassist Tom Fleming bringing his own deeper voice to a handful of tracks that created a better balance. To their added benefit, the Wild Beasts live show became a huge point of attraction, building with even more intensity and beauty than what was heard on record. On their new one “Smother”, they not only continue on the same track, but they’re leaner, meaner and more focused than ever before. And for the fans of the band’s previous efforts, they remain truly original and rock solid in their ambitions, refusing to dull over the edges that made them so sharp in the first place.
“I take you in my mouth like a lion takes his game”, is one of the lines in the first verse of opening track “Lion’s Share”, and it’s a stark indication of exactly where the band’s mindset is right from the start. Yes, the band is highly sexual when it comes to most of their lyrics, but they’re also very classy and moderately obscure about it. In that sense, it is the hinting at sexual situations allows for more florid language that impresses as much as it titillates. It’s also remarkably poetic, though never to the point where while blindly studying Shakespeare you come to find out the totality of words are just metaphors for getting it on. Yet you do come away from “Smother” with the understanding that it was a record made by very smart, art-inspired guys. The song “Bed of Nails” entangles the stories of “Hamlet” and “Frankenstein” within its web, dropping references to the character of Ophelia and the big green out-of-control monster. “When our bodies become electrified/together we bring this creature alive/it’s alive/it’s alive/it’s aliiiiiive”, are lyrics that are as charged with passion as they are pop culture. Similarly, “Reach A Bit Further” was largely inspired by Hemingway’s “Death in the Afternoon”, though that book on bullfighting is, like virtually everything else on the record, infused with meditations on relationships of love and lust. Who says that sex and art can’t co-exist in brilliant fashion? Certainly not Wild Beasts.
Outside of the lyrics being their own separate story, the overall composition of the tracks on “Smother” is amazing unto itself. This is a much slower and sparser record than “Two Dancers”, which as its title suggested, had a decent enough rhythm to get a body (or two together) moving. Still, the way that rhythm and percussion are very liberally used in these songs, with a wide variety of instruments to tap on, is one of the record’s strongest suits. On a record so instrumentally stripped, it makes small contributions like the bongo hits on “Deeper” and “Plaything” interacting with the more traditional drum kit and even some electronic beats that much more impactful. The drama and sweeping beauty that the piano and subdued guitar provide when matched to Thorpe or Fleming’s vocals also makes for some of the most special moments on the record, as with single “Albatross” or the epic finale of “End Come Too Soon”. With things so pared down, there are portions of the album that bear an interesting resemblance to The xx, though Wild Beasts don’t explore silence quite like they do. There’s a little bit of irony in that too, considering that “Two Dancers” lost last year’s Mercury Prize to The xx’s debut record.
The progression of Wild Beasts has been impressive over the course of their three records. With each successive one they’ve shown a distinct ability to do more with less while keeping some of their most obvious eccentric flaws in check. Yet they remain elusive and of a singular vision, both of which seem to be serving them well in spite of the apparent pressure to become more marketable or generally pop-driven. There’s little on “Smother” that feels like it could work in the context of a legitimate, radio-friendly single, save for what they’ve already chosen in “Albatross”, but what the record lacks in easily digestible melodies, it more than makes up for with austere beauty and equally poetic lyrics. There is a sense that in the next album or two they might just come around enough to where they’ll officially catch fire and ride a wave of hype to the standard of success we’ve seen from bands like TV on the Radio or The National. Seeing as how they’re pretty much on the brink already, “Smother” is your ticket to get in on the ground floor.
EMA is better known as Erika M. Anderson, a native South Dakotan who has called California home for the last several years. Depending on how much you know about music and how many bands you can keep track of, you may have heard Anderson before, most notably with the band Gowns. Gowns broke up in early 2010, leaving behind five years of strong progress that included a couple albums and a whole bunch of mindblowing live shows. As with many bands where members are dating one another, if those relationships dissolve then so does the project. That’s not to say one breakup resulted in another in this particular case, but somewhere along the line the creative energy ran out. So Anderson has been working on her solo stuff for the last year or so, reviving a number of songs she wrote before and during Gowns’ tenure that never made it onto record, along with a handful of new ones as well. The final product is “Past Life Martyred Saints”, a sonically diverse, dark and angry 9-track album that’s markedly different from anything she’s done before.
The style is one we’ve heard before, and EMA is making her presence felt by unleashing “Past Life Martyred Saints” at the right time, just when the zeitgeist is craving for some 90s rock. Of course the sound is nowhere near as simple as that, and things get immensely complicated when you start taking the lyrics under consideration. You’ll notice something’s up straight from opening track “The Grey Ship”, which not only spans 7 minutes but goes through several evolutionary changes over the course of it. You’re misled at first into thinking it’s a wholly lo-fi effort, with Anderson’s voice and an acoustic guitar being the only elements present at the beginning, and sounding like they’ve both been recorded in an empty room with a shoddy microphone. As the track approaches the halfway point however, the vocals and guitar drop out as a fully plugged in and clear bass guitar takes over the main melody. A synth also works its way into the mix, and by the time Anderson’s vocals return, everything is crystal clear and in full fidelity. To its credit, “The Grey Ship” never stops tweaking itself until it’s officially over, incorporating everything from violins to loud electric guitars and overdubbed vocal harmonies. It’s an ambitious start to an ambitious record, even if nothing else that follows it ever quite displays the same potential.
Yet “California” enters and brings a whole new perspective to a record that was purposefully challenging to begin with. “Fuck California/You made me boring”, are the first words out of her mouth on a song that’s less about singing or structure or choruses and more just a sing-speak rant where you let out all your frustrations in an unfocused diatribe, come hell or high water. It’s an angry, sad, vengeful and homesick track with a dischordant backing instrumental that might as well be the soundtrack to the West Coast breaking off and sinking in a doomsday scenario. It’s about love “so fucked it’s 5150” and reciting lines from “Camptown Races” just to keep the random shit spewing and where a post-mortem examination leaves little clues as to how serious, sarcastic or true any of it is supposed to be. That’s exactly the point, because nothing in life is as cut and dry as we tend to see and hear through the glamourized versions of it on the big screen or through our stereo speakers. The messiness, the disorder, the sheer drama and how all of these things affect us and help or harm (mostly harm) our personal hopes and dreams is not only what “California” is about, but to an extent the entire record. You examine a song like “Marked”, in which a sparse and gritty melody backs lyrics like “I wish that every time he touched me he left a mark”, and likely the first thing that comes to mind is physical abuse. The hope that we might attain affection through being beaten may be disturbing, but the brutal honesty and masochistic tendencies are lurking in the darkest recesses of everyone’s subconscious and EMA is just prodding them. The same goes for “Butterfly Knife”, which appears to be a song about cutting and general bodily harm. At times “Past Life Martyred Saints” can feel like the auditory equivalent of a David Lynch, David Croneneberg or Lars Von Trier film, in which you have no real idea what the plotline or endgame might be, just that it’s confusing and disturbing and exciting all at the same time.
As dark and generally gruesome portions of this record might appear to be, the real lesson to be learned is that nothing is spelled out explicitly or with severe malice. Anderson has carefully thought these songs through and put them together with just enough vagaries to keep the listener guessing as to her true intentions. All great art is open to interpretation, and the multitude of viewpoints only furthers the idea that there’s much more depth and complexity to a piece than any of us can logically comprehend. So take “Past Life Martyred Saints” however you like, or don’t take it at all. The confrontational and ominous attitudes most certainly are not for everyone, but this record feels cut very much from the same cloth as classic 90s albums from artists like Hole (pre-crazy Courtney Love), Cat Power and early PJ Harvey or Liz Phair. The lyrics reveal much of the story, but the sounds that range from incendiary rock and roll (“Milkman”) to rusty folk (“Marked”) to grinding slowcore (“Red Star”) are all worth writing home about too. These varied textures help hold the mood in place while continuing to push on some boundaries as established right from the start. “Past Life Martyred Saints” may not be the most uplifting listen in the world, but it’s so well crafted and so reflective of the times we live in that there’s bound to be an audience for it. We’re all gluttons for punishment in our own different ways, and rarely has a record so full of melancholy and dismay felt so great to listen to.
When you explode onto the music scene with a high concept debut record, there’s a remarkable pressure put on you to come up with an equally compelling follow-up. Many falter in the face of such a burden, and the sophmore slump applies most particularly to those artists that put their best foot forwards right out of the gate. Many an indie band has been sunk by that second record, concept or no concept, just ask Clap Your Hands Say Yeah about it. With their debut album “Hospice”, The Antlers created a rich and heavily atmospheric set of songs that were all held together by the heartbreaking story of a terminally ill bone cancer patient and the nurse that falls in love with him. For all the pain and darkness the record espoused, it brought the band worldwide acclaim and legions of fans. Now taxed with the issue of recording something equal to or greater than that first album, The Antlers have chosen to give the finger to expectations the best they can in favor of simply trying to carve a new but similarly lucrative path to continued success. They’re tacitly acknowledging that any attempts to recreate or expound on what’s already been done will likely be both futile and harmful to their reputation, so throw your presuppositions out the window and walk into the new record “Burst Apart” with fresh ears.
One of the biggest changes The Antlers have gone through in the last couple years is the full development of a working relationship with one another. Frontman Pete Silberman brought Darby Cicci and Michael Lerner into the project after he had already composed (but not recorded in studio form) much of “Hospice” by himself. Though he clearly couldn’t have brought it to such grand fruition without them, that record can ultimately be viewed as something of a solo effort, particularly due to the very minimalist arrangements on a majority of the songs. Seeing The Antlers live however proved to be a much different story. The songs took on a much more kinetic and thrilling force, lending a new perspective to both the material and the overall band. With “Burst Apart”, that cohesive energy shines through much more clearly and powerfully, which is a big plus when you don’t have a concept to tie everything together. That’s very much apparent straight from the record’s first song “I Don’t Want Love”, a lyrically depressing song but matched with a melody that’s anything but. The way the guitars and keyboards open up in the chorus creates a shimmering and gorgeous path that Silberman takes to push his vocals into the high-pitched, soaring Jeff Buckley sort of territory. For a song that’s so sad, it has a whole lot going for it, which is actually a big reason why “Hospice” got so much attention in the first place. If variety is the spice of life, then “Burst Apart” has a whole lot of flavor to it. “French Exit” keeps the same sparkling instrumental mood of the track before it, but places the emphasis more on keyboards and a French pop electro beat as the title implies. There’s also a light scattering of horns that is so subtle in the background they’d be nonexistent if you weren’t paying close attention.
Where the record really takes off though is on “Parentheses”, in which Silberman puts on his best Thom Yorke to match the moody and ultra-cool soundscape. It takes a lot to pull off something that earns a favorable comparison to Radiohead, but The Antlers not only achieve it but capably hold steadfast to it through the two tracks that immediately follow it. “Rolled Together” is one of those, and its electro-glitch melody is as good as anything on Radiohead’s “The King of Limbs”. The track also functions as the centerpiece of the record, plodding along for 4.5 minutes with the same two lyrics repeated over and over again but never wearing thin or overstaying its welcome. One gets the impression it could have sustained the instrumental portion in the last half of the song for even longer if the band wanted to. There’s an abrupt change moving into “Every Night My Teeth Are Falling Out”, mostly because it’s a very straightforward and traditional song with a lot more range and energy than just about everything else on the record. It makes sense that the song is being used as a “single” to help market the record because it’s the most accessible thing on it, but such ferocity is also not indicative of what you’re getting as a whole. The track actually ushers in the even more lackadaisical and calm final third of “Burst Apart”, populated by the sad trumpet instrumental “Tiptoe”, the swirling, meditative “Hounds” and the sparse yet haunting “Corsicana”. To catch The Antlers firing on all cylinders though, you’ve got to hold out until the end, when “Putting the Dog to Sleep” shows up with an intense, final knockout punch. The song itself is about the ending of a relationship and the worry that you’ll never find anyone else. How it’s presented, with mellow keyboards and the waltzy strike of an electric guitar, develops into something more substantial and explosive. That is what the band does best, ratcheting tension and building to moments of beautiful catharsis. Its presentation is an album-closing warm hug, the instruments providing the comfort while Silberman keeps repeating, “Prove to me/that I’m not gonna die alone”. As the music fades away, continuing to twinkle in an otherwise black sky, you’re left with the impression that there might just be some hope at the end of that dark tunnel.
Those stepping into “Burst Apart” hoping for “Hospice II” will likely be disappointed, but hopefully not too disappointed. The core elements of the band’s sound remain the same, and the reliance on mood and atmosphere makes this a gripping listen as well. What this new record lacks is the unifying theme, and without the connection between songs you can get the impression that the band might be just a little bit lost. The reality is far from it though, and if you take this record song-by-song or in small chunks you may be surprised to find how well it works. Upon getting to know the many parts and how they all function, it increases your understanding of the record as a whole too, eventually peeling back previously challenging or off-the-map moments. It may not be perfect, but it’s about the best thing you can get from The Antlers without pushing for the crutch of of a conceptual piece. The band has fully established their sound now, and with the pressures of falling into the sophmore slump avoided, they can now turn their focus towards expanding upon it.
It seems hard to believe that the last Okkervil River album “The Stand Ins” was only released three years ago. In fact it seems like the band has been gone much longer than that, even when they really haven’t been gone at all. Perhaps it was the unprecedented amount of music they have released in the last 10 years, rarely going a full year without throwing something new in our direction. Such wealth of new material keeps people talking about the band consistently while also spoiling us in the mentality that the well might never run dry. The point of exhaustion was apparently 2008 though, and the reviews for “The Stand Ins” seemed to echo the band’s weariness. The melodies had begun to drag and Will Sheff’s extensively poetic lyrics were getting more predictable, and that’s without mentioning the high concept themes of the excess and vices of being a celebrity that last record brought with it. “The Stand Ins” was the second part of a two-part examination on the same topic, with “The Stage Names” coming the year before and dealing with the equally heavy subjects of porn stars and the suicide of poet John Berryman, among others. So what have Okkervil River been doing these last couple years? Not nearly relaxing as you might think, but instead they worked in support of the great Roky Erickson for his 2010 record “True Love Cast Out All Evil”. It was Erickson’s first album of new material in 14 years, and Okkervil River were his backing band both in the studio and on tour in support of that record. In 2011 the band returned to writing and performing their own material, and their new album out this week is titled “I Am Very Far”, which almost ironically sticks so close to many of the tenets they’re best known for.
Unlike the last few Okkervil River albums, “I Am Very Far” has no explicit concept as a running thread to connect all the songs together. It’s been awhile since the band has freed themselves from such constraints, and as a result there’s a greater sense that anything might be possible. This could be the album that changes everything we knew or thought we knew about Okkervil River. The record starts with “The Valley”, and purely paying attention to the instruments in the first 30 seconds bears some interesting results. An acoustic guitar and a shaker are the only two things at play initially, but it doesn’t take long for the drums to show up and turn an otherwise meek moment into something HUGE. If you’re a big fan of stadium rock from the 80s, you should be overly familiar with the echo-laden boom of somebody slamming on a single drum at a very martial pace. The track has that sort of massive feel to it, and the lyrics work towards backing that theory up with a “journey through the valley of the rock and roll dead”. So it turns out Okkervil River still have a fascination with death, specifically the death of artists and musicians, but what’s changed ever so slightly is their sound. For a band that has lyrically and instrumentally spent more than one record condemning the excesses of rock stardom, there’s almost an irony in the band’s apparent attempt to score some mainstream success this time around. That’s not to say an Arcade Fire level of success is what they’re striving for, but these songs are remarkably more expansive and inclusive than so much of what they’ve done previously. And it’s not even just the big drums on “The Valley” that provide such evidence, but the piano and strings play a large role in taking the track to the next step as well, just a mere preview of what’s to come on the rest of the album.
The staff that participated in the recording of “I Am Very Far” is about as equally big as the sound itself. Seven guitarists, two pianists, two drummers and two bassists are all coming together to contribute their individual talents, taking the band to the roster level of a Broken Social Scene, even though there are only about six main band members that will be responsible for recreating these songs on tour. Still, with such a collective you’re able to throw things into the mix that would just normally never be there, such as the tearing of paper or the fast-forwarding/rewinding of a cassette tape, both a part of “Piratess”. Those bits of extravagance are interesting, but it begs the question as to how essential they really are. With so much going on and so many different instruments at play, a song can come off as a wall of sound rather than a more studied, carefully constructed track. The word overstuffed comes to mind, being completely overwhelmed by a wave of too many things at once. A song like “Rider” is great until the final minute where everything swirls into this hodge-podge of instruments. When used economically though, the wider array of instruments at the band’s fingertips can prove beneficial. “Lay of the Last Survivor” could have been a relatively simple acoustic guitar ballad, but the small bits of woodwinds and the occasional vocal harmonies add just a touch more beauty and emotion in exactly the way needed. The same can be said for “Hanging From A Hit”, with its subtle piano, somber horns and choir of voices. In the six minute finale “The Rise”, there’s so much instrumentation packed into the song but it’s all dished out in parts rather than having everything come together in one huge cauldron of noise. The piano forms the core of the melody, but a string section comes along for the ride before stepping back for some electric guitar which then leads into woodwinds and oh so many voices. How it all ends in the final minute is just in a complete breakdown of everything, as the instruments fall off the rails and go gently into that good night. It is a credit to the band that they never rise up as the title suggests but instead whimper away to best fit the tone.
Unlike past Okkervil River records in which Will Sheff’s vocals and lyrics seem to take front and center, “I Am Very Far” proves to be much more engaging when viewed from a well-rounded perspective. Everything placed on equal footing is both beneficial and detrimental to the band. It helps because clearly Okkervil River have learned a lot about what makes for a strong melody and developed more of a sonic palette in which to showcase that. Any progression is good progression, particularly at this point in their careers. Sheff has always been the strong player on his own, and he continues to keep that strength on display even as the instrumentals catch up with him. The topics of his songs are things he’s covered before, though over multiple records that have all been thematically oriented. This time it’s just an assortment which is nice too. Among the problems this record has, an overabundance of talent and the ability to effectively utilize all of it is probably the worst offense here. The simplest solution to the problem is to scale back just a little, striving for simpler but still inventive melodies. There are also moments of general weakness, where a couple songs near the middle of the record verge on boring and fail to excite in the way the others do. Tracks like “White Shadow Waltz” and “We Need A Myth” both sound like they were taken from the book of Arcade Fire in this record’s continued bid for a wider, more popular audience. Outside of the opening cut and the late album revival “Wake and Be Fine” though, nothing else hits quite as hard or impresses nearly as much. Still, there are a couple ballads on the second half of the album that are both promising and beautiful, showing Okkervil River still gets plenty right and very little wrong. Looks like this is a step up from the comparatively weak “The Stand Ins”, but fails to quite meet the quality of the band’s finest work in the vein of “Black Sheep Boy” and “The Stage Names”. Really it’s just nice to hear another new Okkervil River album, as three years almost seems like too long to wait. Hopefully the next one will once again expand on the best things “I Am Very Far” have to offer, and we won’t be forced to sit around for more than a year or two to get it.
Why have the Beastie Boys been so incredibly slow in releasing new material? The last 15 years or so they’ve been moving at a pace senior citizens would admire, and the trio aren’t nearly at that age. Perhaps it’s more the good fortune of having a strong legacy and enough money where you don’t exactly need to make another album ever again. Outside of their strong legacy and continued popularity in spite of their long breaks between records, one big indicator of how well they’re doing financially can be determined simply by examining what they’ve done as a group the last several years. Their last technical “album” was 2007’s “The Mix Up”, notable for being completely instrumental. Their last hip hop record was 2004’s “To the Five Boroughs”, a love letter to post-9/11 New York that saw a scaling back on both their compositional style as well as general silliness. Then there was the fate of “Hot Sauce Committee Part One”. Penciled in for a 2009 release, the Beastie Boys chose to first delay it indefinitely and then skip releasing it altogether once MCA came down with cancer. If you need cash or even just want more of it (especially if you have crazy expensive medical bills), you don’t put off releasing an already complete album like that. The point is, the Beastie Boys are pretty well off. They could quit the music business and live comfortably for the rest of their lives. Instead, they’re once again returning, this time with a re-worked version of what was supposed to be “Hot Sauce Committee Part One” and appropriately calling it “Hot Sauce Committee Part Two”.
Perhaps the biggest indicator that the Beastie Boys were back was the music video they released for the new single “Make Some Noise”, which was part of a larger 30 minute film called “Fight For Your Right Revisited”. For even the most casual Beastie Boys fan there was something worthwhile in the video. Not only did it have a lot in common visually with the group’s breakout hit “(You Gotta) Fight For Your Right (To Party)”, but the new single also boasted an immense list of guest stars such as Will Ferrell, Jack Black, Elijah Wood, Seth Rogen, Danny McBride, Ted Danson, John C. Reilly, Rainn Wilson, Will Arnett, Susan Sarandon and Steve Buscemi. It may be the most celebrity-intense video of all time for a song that’s both remarkably badass and also very old school for them. Surprisingly, that’s how a lot of “Hot Sauce Committee Part Two” comes across – as a relatively vintage Beastie Boys record. They’ve never been the sort of guys to try and outdo or strongly compete against their hip hop peers, but there’s also been very little reason for them to. The voices of Mike D, Ad-Rock and MCA are unique to the point where they’re just about the only group of white rappers people can name. As it stands though, hip hop collectives are always less prominent than individuals, though back in the earliest days of the Beastie Boys there was Wu-Tang and NWA making waves. Even then, despite their frequent use of samples the Beasties still had little trouble picking up instruments on stage and playing them live as need be. It was their connection with rock music that actually earned them their original audience of alternative rockers. The loads of guitar riffs on tracks like “Sabotage” and “No Sleep Til Brooklyn” brought them an edge nobody else was doing (but that Cypress Hill, among others, would later pick up on), and those same concepts remain pretty much theirs and theirs alone today. With the more minimalistic “To the Five Boroughs” and the more sample-heavy “Hello Nasty”, the Beastie Boys moved away from some of the elements that held steadfast those first four records, either out of boredom or the general urge to play around with some new things. Where “Hot Sauce Committee Part Two” shakes out in all this is as almost a mixture of the more classic and contemporary sides of the group. There are some live instruments, some sampling, and other bits from obscure old records and such. Nothing new per se, but if you’re already a fan then you should know better than to expect any real surprises.
Even the couple guest stars on the album aren’t necessarily surprising. “Too Many Rappers” features fellow Brooklynite Nas and was intended to be the first single from “Hot Sauce Committee Part One” back in 2009. The track was sent to radio in advance of that unreleased album, and as such a slightly tweaked “New Reactionaries Version” now appears on “Part Two” officially. Santigold plays the hip hop staple role of female singing the vocal hook in the chorus on “Don’t Play No Game That I Can’t Win”, and it’s refreshing for variety’s sake. Santi herself does a fine job, but it’s also somewhat of a thankless role, so the simple charm is just having her on there in the first place. The rest of the record just has the Beastie Boys doing what they do best, and approaching that style in a wide variety of ways to keep the listener engaged. “Lee Majors Come Again” is one of the more standout tracks on the record, most notable because of how it’s more rock and roll/guitar heavy than these guys have been in a long, long time. It’s also a whole lot of fun in that Beastie Boys sort of way. The music of their youth gets an entertaining throwback jam courtesy of “Nonstop Disco Powerpack”, and a more serious/slower moment shows up via “Long Burn the Fire”. So, like the mixture of old styles and new, “Hot Sauce Committee Part Two” is a well-rounded and enjoyable affair, provided you already have a predisposed liking of the trio.
They haven’t mentioned it, nor have many suggested it, but “Hot Sauce Committee Part Two” could very well be the final Beastie Boys record. MCA isn’t cancer-free yet, despite reports earlier this year that he was. If his medical problems persist indefinitely, that could be the group’s downfall. But even before the cancer, the glacial pace at which they’ve recorded their last couple albums, plus their collective ages (they’re all in their mid-to-late 40s) could mean they’re getting too old for this shit. The new record doesn’t show their age though, outside of making a lot of the same references in their rhymes as they were more than 10 years ago. They’re still as creatively strong and original as always, and the energy appears there too. It’s also more of a return to form after the relative disappointment that was “To the Five Boroughs”. It may be no “Hello Nasty”, nor does it quite have that “of the moment” gusto their earliest albums like “Paul’s Boutique” and “Ill Communication” had going for them, but it is a gentle reminder that the Beastie Boys have still got it and can flaunt it when they choose to. What’s old can never really be new again, but there’s still a large market for vintage. Some fashions never go out of style, and in that same regard nor do the Beastie Boys.
There’s something both incredible and daunting about crafting a near perfect debut record, to the point where it gets named by everyone and their mother to be the best thing released that year. Fleet Foxes pulled off such an achievement, as their self-titled first album won over millions of hearts, minds and ears just a few years ago in 2008. The sun-streamed pastoral folk with rich vocal harmonies made for some glorious throwback to the heydays of Fairport Convention, The Beach Boys and Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young. The phrase “with great power comes great responsibility” absolutely applies in this case, with the band having to deal with the pressures of immediate success and how to craft a follow-up album that might be equal to or greater than what came before it. Making the entire process that much more painstaking was a serious battle with writer’s block that frontman Robin Pecknold encountered, not to mention a large number of songs that wound up in the trash after the band considered them unsatisfactory. So it’s been a tough road, but Fleet Foxes have moved past it, incorporating their frustration and depression into a darker sophmore effort with a title that says it all, “Helplessness Blues”.
Right from the opening verse of first track “Montezuma”, there’s a noticeable difference in what Fleet Foxes are doing compared to their last record. “Sun It Rises” was the introduction to the self-titled album, and it featured warm acoustic strings and a pace that was just shy of galloping. It very much exuded the ethos of the title and lyrics, that of a warm ball of light sliding up from below the horizon. By contrast, “Montezuma” has a faster plucked guitar but deliberately slow lyrics that play to a lower register rather than a higher one. Robin Pecknold immediately stands out front as his vocals are not enveloped in harmonies as he begins by questioning his place in life. “So now i am older/than my mother and father/when they had their daughter/Now what does that say about me?” he ponders moments before some backing harmonies step in to provide support and a bit more beauty amid the percussion-free fragility. Elsewhere in the song Pecknold ponders his own mortality, questioning if upon his placement in a coffin, “I wonder if I’ll see/any faces above me/or just cracks in the ceiling”. About mid-way through, a dam busts open and a shimmering keyboard emerges along with some more forceful harmonies to bring some added warmth to a relatively cold and troubled track. Yet despite having these nagging questions and feelings, the way Pecknold sings it projects a certain confident weariness, as if to say he hasn’t been living his life right but knows just how to get on the right path.
The way that “Bedouin Dress” develops makes for one of the more fascinating parts on the first half of the record. In what becomes a theme for much of “Helplessness Blues”, Pecknold continues to remain out in front of everything else with a solo vocal, with only touches of background harmonies here and there. There’s a little bit of a violin spread out across the track, helping to give it just a touch of alt-country vibe, but the overall structure truly takes the cake. The song has no official chorus, just a few different phrases that are repeated at various points with little to no discrimination. As such, it makes the track hard to pin down and equally unmemorable. Just because there’s no solid hook or make for easy recall doesn’t mean it’s any less great though, and the more defiant, experimental nature of the song gives it most of the credit it would have to earn elsewhere. In other words, it’s given a lot more wiggle room because it’s pushing boundaries and succeeding. Similarly, “Sim Sala Bim” somewhat follows the path of a story, with Pecknold on a diatribe as he questions why he’s in a relationship. “What makes me love you despite the reservations?/What do I see in your eyes/besides my reflection hanging high?” he selfishly wonders, also thinking maybe she put a spell on him. After two minutes of such precious thoughts though, the doors blow open and the final minute of the song is a full-on hard acoustic guitar strum, suddenly whipping the song into a frenzy it hadn’t even hinted at beforehand. It’s gorgeous and a rush and one of the things Fleet Foxes do best as learned from their debut album. The first third of the record continues to play with differing sounds and textures courtesy of “Battery Kinzie”, as the band places their guitars in the background in favor of pounding piano and drums. Unlike a number of tracks on the album that explore the boundaries of space and occasionally turn into extended jam sessions, “Battery Kinzie” wraps up in under 3 minutes and quite succintly after the second time through the chorus. Considering the pace and melody are lovely, it’s one of the few moments on the album you’re left wondering if they could have done more.
The two longest tracks on “Helplessness Blues” are actually ones that function more as separate pieces molded into singular entities. Clocking in at nearly 6 minutes, “The Plains/Bitter Dancer” begins with a bit of a psychedelic trip. Voices moan, breaking into “oohs” and “aahs” that pile on top of one another, both harmonizing and overlapping at the same time. An acoustic guitar and drums attempt to hold down some sort of order but to no avail, until all of that simply drifts away 2 minutes in to make room for the harmony rich acoustics of the second part of the track, complete with piano and flute accompaniment. The final 90 seconds of the song really shift into an entirely different gear as the drums become more insistent and crack the building tension wide open to a more majestic viewpoint. Towards the end of the record, “The Shrine/An Argument” is an 8 minute breakup saga that is the record’s Piece de Resistance. The most immediately noticeable thing about the track is that it features Pecknold stretching his voice to levels strained with heartbreak that feel completely geniune. Using the long-standing tradition of making wishes by throwing pennies into a fountain, Pecknold waxes poetic on a love that’s since vanished. “I’m not one to ever pray for mercy/or to wish on pennies in the fountain or the shrine/but that day/you know I left my money and I thought of you/only all that copper glowing fine/and I wonder what became of you”, he sings just before transitioning into the second part of the track, which may be a flashback to where their relationship disintigrated. “In the doorway holding every letter that i wrote/in the driveway pulling away putting on your coat/in the ocean washing off my name from your throat”, he mourns, and as the waves begin to draw closer and closer to him, he lays down in the sand in the hopes that he’ll be taken away “like pollen on the breeze”. The final two minutes of the track are resigned to a rather turbulent instrumental, the most troubling and experimental moment on the entire record. Trumpets and saxophones and woodwinds and a host of other instruments tumble over one another in a very squeaky and off-key fashion, like a drunkard with little to no experience trying to play his favorite song. As to the actual feelings it invokes, all the dischordant noise can be attributed to the sonic equivalent of crashing waves slamming down over and over on top of that grief stricken body laying on the beach quietly wishing for all that pain to just wash away. It’s a mighty powerful moment worthy of close attention and careful analysis. And despite the very dark nature of the song, it might just be the smartest written and composed Fleet Foxes track to date.
While “The Shrine/An Argument” may be the true standout track on “Helplessness Blues”, the title track best sums up the many different aspects of the band’s sound at work across the entire record. It’s fitting that the title track is also the first single given its energy and harmony-rich vocals. The storyline is a relatively classic one too, retreating back to much of the nature-inspired imagery of the band’s debut in the second half of the song, as Pecknold sings, “If I had an orchard I’d work til I’m sore”. But really the point is wishing to return to a life of simplicity, where the pressure to be something greater than yourself and achieve fame and fortune can be crippling. Though sadness pervades the lyrics of “Lorelai”, the rather straightforward and appealingly sunny melody suggests otherwise. Unlike most of the other songs on this record that are rather tough nuts to crack, it’s one of the few that seems to have potential as a future single. The other is closing track “Grown Ocean”, which emerges like a phoenix out of the semingly broken ashes much of the rest of the record seems to espouse. Not only does it have energy, but it’s positive outlook is a breath of fresh air after the more somber preceeding cuts. In some ways, the track almost feels tacked on to the end, particularly given the flow of the record and the stoic Gram Parsons-esque Pecknold solo acoustic number “Blue Spotted Tail” that meekly exists just before it. Yet that final release is required, lest you drown amidst the choppy waves of the blues.
In spite of how well it’s put together, “Helplessness Blues” is not an easy record to like. Time, patience and a hefty dose of empathy are required to fully grasp exactly what’s going on here, and if you’re not willing to give this album all that then you might find yourself turned off by it. Hooks and memorable choruses are hard to come by, as is energy at certain points, and most of the lyrics will take you to a dark place. The overall melodies remain strong however, as do those vocal harmonies despite being in shorter supply as Pecknold takes the reins just a little bit more than last time. The progression though is highly impressive. Instrumentally the band has expanded their core by leaps and bounds, playing a number of things barely heard on records today such as a Marxophone, Tibetan singing bowls and a touch of timpani. Despite this expansive set of instruments, the up-front elements in any track are always the acoustic guitar or piano with everything else buried in the deep crevasses of the background. Pecknold has also grown significantly as a songwriter, bringing sharper imagery to his words while also peppering them with strong emotional ties. Rather than write a record about the expanse of nature, with its “Blue Ridge Mountains”, “Meadowlarks” and “Ragged Wood”, he’s taking a look inward at his own insecurities and troubles. From worries about living the kind of life he desires or was told to desire through the shattered relationships that have left him beaten and bruised, it’s a different, more insular approach and one that works quite well. Between that and his dominant singing voice though, you’ve got to wonder exactly how much influence the other guys in the band had with the final product. It’s enough to make you think that a Robin Pecknold solo record could be coming down the pipe sooner rather than later. For the time being though, “Helplessness Blues” is once again another notch in the Fleet Foxes cap, pushing the band to different but equally (if not more) compelling places than their debut. With a record as good as this, the band proves they’re neither helpless, nor do they have a strong reason to be singing the blues.
By all accounts, Cass McCombs is not a very happy person. If the music you make directly relates to your own mental state, then depression appears to be a prominent part of McCombs’s life. Not everybody is happy all the time, nor does it make logical sense for them to be, but some people find it tough to even force a smile even on the nicest of days. It’s probably a big reason why the use of anti-depression meds are sharply on the rise, particularly in recent years. Despite this, living in a state of consistent melancholy can prove to be beneficial for many creative types, spurning them to make emotionally significant pieces of art that strike a nerve with the masses. Elliott Smith is one of the most prominent purveyors of sad sack music, and his acoustic ballads continue to draw in new fans every year despite his unfortunate death in 2003. McCombs bears a lot of similarities to Smith from a thematic perspective, along with your Nick Drakes and your Leonard Cohens, exploring the darker recesses of the mind with melodies that are simple but lyrics that are not. He scored big with 2009’s “Catacombs”, a record that stripped away most of the arrangements of his past records in favor of a much more direct approach. At that time though, his lyrics suggested at least some modicum of happiness and romanticism. Songs like “Dreams Come True Girl” and the waltzy “You Saved My Life” were heartfelt and warm, finding a comfort zone for him after three decent but not overwhelmingly great records. Now he’s back with his fifth album “Wit’s End”, and while the instrumental template remains the same, emotionally it’s as the title itself describes.
The opening track and first single on “Wit’s End” is “County Line”, a song that essentially flips the love-stricken vibe of “Catacombs” on its head. Instead of being about falling in love or being in love, it’s about the frustration of loving someone and not receiving love in return. Another, more literal way of interpreting the lyrics is to say it’s a tragic song about a town that has succumbed to the wrong kind of element, be it drug addiction (as shown in the song’s video) or urbanization or crime in general. Whatever the intention, the song isn’t lighthearted or positive in any way, even if there’s just a touch of warmth that might as well be left over from the last album. It’s almost enough to say that “The Lonely Doll”‘s title speaks for itself, but what you can’t grasp is just how deceptively innocent the melody sounds. There’s a delicately struck xylophone that adds an almost child-like wonder to the song, almost as if to soundtrack a little girl playing in her sun-soaked room with her Barbie. Precious, yes, but there’s also sadness and tears among the lyrics about being alone and not having anyone in your life to genuinely count on. The pain of loneliness appears to be the overarching theme of the album itself, to the point where McCombs has openly stated as much in interviews. Though there is a prevailing darkness and depression across the record, one of the better and more fascinating things “Wit’s End” does is examine the concept rather than wallow in it. Doing so doesn’t exactly make this a cheerier affair, but it does separate it from the plethora of other, more similarly-minded releases.
One of the most engaging moments on the album comes courtesy of album centerpiece “Memory Stain”. Starting as a rather minimal piano ballad, as it plods with an almost classical flair over the course of 7+ minutes there’s a wealth of other instruments that slowly weave themselves into the song’s fabric. The clarinet is particularly effective, but a light dose of harpsichord and some castanets do a lot towards truly evoking the sadness of those memories you wish you could erase but like a bad clothing stain just can’t. The oddball percussion on “Hermit’s Cave”, with the snare drum striking loudly at unexpected times helps to keep the listener on their toes as it otherwise simply waltzes along with piano and acoustic guitar as professional dance partners. Album closer “A Knock Upon the Door” is similarly paced, like watching a white-sheeted ghost bob and weave across the moonlit dancefloor of an abandoned mansion. Across more than 9 minutes a litany of instruments come together like some sort of ramshackle symphony that includes a couple of woodwinds (a baroque recorder known as a chalumeau being one of them), an acoustic guitar and a banjo, along with some unconventional percussion in the form of metal lightly tapping upon metal. The eerie feeling it nails down is one that had only crept through the rest of the record until that point. After so many songs about loneliness, this haunting closer is the final push, appearing to imply that the hope of company or companionship may remain unfulfilled and the only things left willing to spend time with us are the spirits of those we have lost. It is the end of the classic film “Citizen Kane”, where the immensely wealthy Charles Foster Kane wanders through his empty mansion alone – a man with more money than he knew what to do with, but no friends or family left to share it with. What good is anything in life if you’re just going to keep it to yourself? In that regard, “Wit’s End” also teaches us a lesson about people, relationships and selfishness. But that meaning is only there if you want it to be, because in those moments of true desolation where you just wish there was somebody to talk to, this album can be your companion during your dark period. As with many things in life however, it’s no replacement for a real life human being.
Explosions in the Sky have reached what some might call an impasse in their careers. After churning out 5 albums in 7 years, almost all of which featured their signature and exciting instrumental post-rock sound, they simply vanished for a period of time. 2007’s “All of a Sudden I Miss Everyone” may not have been their strongest effort, but it did do the best for them sales-wise, a likely response to their relentless cycle of recording and touring over the previous few years. Explosions in the Sky are, after all, a thrill to see live, often attacking their songs four electric guitars at a time and not being shy about meandering into extensive and thrashing solos. When you don’t have any singing or lyrics to back you up, that just puts more pressure to keep crowds engaged in what you’re doing, and these guys handle it better than most vocal-heavy bands. They’re also smart and creative enough to differentiate themselves from a number of their counterparts such as Mogwai and Godspeed You! Black Emperor via the way they approach each song, sticking to their guitars and meandering through soundscapes rather than establishing the long-running dynamic of the slow build to explosive noise. This is the style that has sustained the band for the entirety of their existence, which hasn’t really needed changing because of its originality but nevertheless might have been getting a little tiresome around 2007. So they vanished for just a little bit, hopefully to think about what they’ve done and where they’ve been and if they could creatively sustain themselves for presumably another few records. So unlike the amazing TV show “Friday Night Lights” which they soundtracked, which is ending this year after five seasons, Explosions in the Sky have chosen to return for their sixth record, “Take Care, Take Care, Take Care”.
If you’ve heard an Explosions in the Sky record before, you can take comfort (and care) that “Take Care, Take Care, Take Care” doesn’t do anything to change that dynamic. If anything, this new album is more like a reboot of the EITS sound, bringing things back to their most basic elemental core and doing away with any small indulgences that may have been made on the last couple records (see: piano). Once again the carefully crafted songs are distinctive only to this band, and they prove not only to themselves but everyone else that they know exactly what they’re doing. Many other, relatively similar bands have come and gone these last 10 years, but these guys remain because of their tenacity and smart compositions. The power as well, that invisible driving force behind the music, remains intact along with the ability for these songs to evoke strong emotions ranging from a dark sadness to trembling joy and everything in between. While the band does more often than not take the studious approach with 6+ minute passages, at times they’re able to collapse their ideas down to a normal song length, as “Trembling Hands” does with 3.5 minutes of pure energy, a deft pace established at the outset by some heavy percussion and later met with equal vigor by the guitars. The 8 minutes of “Human Qualities” is purely fascinating for the way it slowly spirals downward into near silence before naturally rebuilding to an even stronger place than where it began. The true highlights of the record though come with the final two tracks. After two sparsely plucked electric guitars spend the first three minutes of “Postcard From 1952” meandering and weaving around one another, the drums begin to stir along with the harmonic mixture of the guitars. The notes themselves prove to be just as compelling as two human voices harmonizing on the high and low end of the same note. The heaviness builds to a tipping point, and as the chords begin to reach red levels, there’s a pull back where everything just calms down and peters out. It’s not about denying what might otherwise be viewed as a tension-relieving payout, but rather exercising restraint in the face of mounting pressure. Very few bands can pull that off in a compelling fashion, and Explosions in the Sky is one of them.
What the closing track “Let Me Back In” does is point squarely in the direction of a future for a band that until recently questioning whether it even had one in the first place. Beginning with a highly muffled tape of a woman speaking slowly twists and turns into a soundscape that is at war with itself. One minute it’s subdued and wandering in a daze while the next it’s charging forwards with the force of a thousand elephants complete with machine gun drumming and white noise guitars that consistently pile on top of one another. It is both a spectacular example of where they came from and their roots inspired by way of Mogwai but also marks progression. There are small pieces in the track’s 10 minute duration that mark new and unexplored territory for Explosions in the Sky. The progression of the song itself is more structured and strategic than before, with not only a clear beginning, middle and end, but also a full circle logic where the song ends exactly where it began – with 30 seconds of this muffled woman crying out into the darkness all alone as the world fades to black around her. Not the most pleasant thought, and it’s not the most pleasant song from the band, but not many people listen to this band to be put in a good mood. It’s the epic closer “Take Care, Take Care, Take Care” needs though. While the record itself doesn’t feature the band at the height of their 2003 “Earth Is Not a Cold Dead Place” powers, it does serve as a strong reminder of exactly how this band has lasted so long, and why they’ll probably survive another 10 years if they really want to.
The last time we heard from Merrill Garbus, she was operating at such a DIY level that her music suffered because of it. To call her debut record BiRd-BrAiNs a gem buried underneath a pile of crap is probably pretty accurate. That’s not her fault, she was just using the tools available to her at the time. A computer, a microphone and a ukulele were pretty much all that she needed, and the results tended to sound worse than your average garage band’s demo. Still, there was something about that record that shone through in spite of its severe deficiencies. 4AD even liked it enough to release the record as-is, perhaps partly as a good faith in Garbus’ future, or with the sense that forward-thinking music fans would latch onto it no matter how clean or dirty the audio fidelity might be. Either way, it was a daring thing to record along with a daring thing to legitimately release in spite of all the clipped audio and other surface scratches. That gamble paid off, due less to the record itself and more to how its true nature rose to the surface when performed live. With a legitimate microphone and quality speakers to throw it out there, nothing stood in the way of the songs themselves anymore, and those that saw a tUnE-yArDs show ranted and raved not only about the songs but also about Garbus’ larger-than-life stage presence. Now that she has the backing and resources to assist her, the hope would be that a sophmore album might accurately reflect what everyone saw and heard when it wasn’t filtered through the shoddiest of DIY equipment. Guess what? The new record is titled “w h o k i l l”, and just like that everyone is handing their undivided attention over to Merrill Garbus.
Any legitimate attempts to describe the sound and texture of “w h o k i l l” is pretty much an exercise in futility. With so much more at her disposal, Garbus goes all out and packs the record with many things both expected and unexpected. She’s still a fan of the ukulele, but it’s not exactly her primary instrument anymore. More than anything else, her real instrument is that jaw-dropping voice of hers. You could absolutely tell there was a power behind it on BiRd-BrAiNs, but the full range and scope were trapped under a sea of poor fidelity. Hearing it in fully polished stereo on this new album is a revelation unto itself, the unique qualities oozing out on each track as Garbus almost seems to embody multiple characters depending on the song. The reason why are her low vs. high pitch dynamics, along with the scatological manner in which she rattles off lyrics. By all accounts, Garbus is a woman unhinged, unbeholden to any of your typical singing or songwriting tropes, and flippant to the point of flaunting it. In listening to her sing, you realize that everyone else is showing restraint by comparison. If she wants to growl and chirp, Merrill will growl and chirp. If, in the middle of singing a verse, she wants to go on a brief spoken word aside to get snarky about something, she’ll readily do so. Sure it can come across as crazy and certainly odd, but she does it with such reckless abandon and pure joy you can’t help but be charmed by it. Quirky is the best descriptor of it, and there’s very little being released under that category these days, let alone this loose and engaging.
Equally fun are the ways that Garbus blends widely varied styles and genres to her own benefit. The first, most notable instrument outside of the vocals is the percussion. There’s such a wide variety of beats on “w h o k i l l”, but the primary influence is definitely African in nature. As such, thoughts of a completely off-the-wall Paul Simon or even a strange otherworldly take on Vampire Weekend might pop up in your head. But that doesn’t even begin to take into account the flashes of R&B, reggae, jazz, soul, folk, hip hop, psych-pop, and just general world music that all show up at one point or another on the record. Those are what make this album so difficult to classify. With such a huge scope of sounds and instruments, it’s tempting to think that there’s no way any sort of consistency could develop. What this record maintains is an unerring sense of pop structures, hammering on phrases and choruses enough to stick in your head, even as the melodies that surround them can seem confounding. Additionally, what’s standard for this album is that there is no standard, the madness spread quite liberally and evenly. The unexpected thus becomes the expected, to the point where a normal-sounding song would feel out of place and almost a cop-out. The thrill is in the discovery, how you’re on this completely out of control ride with no idea where it will turn next. Mood-wise, “w h o k i l l” is a success because it never gets too dark or slow. There’s plenty of emotion, ranging everywhere from love and hate to happy and sad, but the upbeat stuff outweighs everything else, and the tempo never lets the depression take hold. The drum and bass arrangement of “Doorstep” is made more jovial with the light click-clack of some light wood on wood taps and overdubbed vocal harmonies that render the oft-repeated lyrics of “policeman shot my baby” ineffective in the outrage or horror we might otherwise feel. That’s the point though. Even the lone ballad on the record, the 6 minute “Woolywollygong”, has a bit of light amidst the generally dark lyrics and pace.
Speaking of lyrics, they’re another always key part of the tUnE-yArDs aesthetic. The highly explicit and blunt lyricisms that Garbus spits out are both impersonal yet immediately relatable. She sings in generalizations but with such specificity that it can sometimes feel like she’s putting your own thoughts out there. Most likely to have the hardest time with this are men, because whether you like it or not this is a feminist record through and through. So when there’s a song about body issues and self-mutilation, there’s not a whole lot of guys that have to deal with the psychological pressure of being a size 0. Underneath a very jazzy and funky melody on “Es-so”, you get self-hate moments like, “Sometimes I’ve got the jungle under my skin/drop at the rhythm, stick a fucking fork in/Bathe it all in a wave of disgust/(sarcastically Valley Girl) ‘I can’t believe I ate the whole thing'”. Charming, brilliant, and intensely dark all at the same time, while also remaining firmly grounded. In an equally fascinating methodology, “Powa” frankly champions sex and the pleasure that it brings. The intensely memorable chorus of “Your powa/inside/it rocks me like a lullaby” is wonderful unto itself, but where the song really gains meaning is the moment when it turns from being solely about sexual pleasure and again reaches into body image territory. “Mirror, mirror on the wall/can you see my face at all?/My man likes me from behind/Tell the truth, ah never mind/cause you bomb me with life’s humiliations every day” seems to be all self-hate, but in context the words are meant to convey that sex and intense love pull us out of those moments where we loathe our own bodies and instead embrace pure passion and pleasure. Sex is a refuge from not only the world, but from ourselves as well. “w h o k i l l” isn’t all about bodies and the perception of our bodies though. Opening track “My Country” weighs the positive and negatives of America. “Gangsta” deals with talking a tough game but not being able to back it up. And “Riotriot” finds Garbus infatuated with a police officer that shows up to arrest her brother. No matter the topic though, most every song and lyric on this album is thought-provoking and worthy of exploration, something worth doing when you have the time.
Some people are able to see the treasure sitting on the ocean floor while others just cruise on by it without a second thought because they don’t know it’s there. With a debut album like BiRd-BrAiNs, it was easy to move past tUnE-yArDs without a second thought, or even stopping to wonder what anyone could ever see in those abhorredly poor quality recordings. Turns out there was gold buried underneath, and the few keen ears that heard it the first time around can feel so much more justified with “w h o k i l l”. It is the record that will undoubtedly make Merrill Garbus a star. Every single word of praise you’ve heard about this record is justified, and even those that don’t understand it will likely find something nice to say. Innovative, sunny, funky and spine-tingling are all accurate descriptors for your listening experience, which is unlike any other you’ll have in 2011 almost guaranteed. Keep an eye out for a lot of imitators in the next year or two, though arguably none will fully succeed as well as Garbus herself will. The voice and the words are the two hugest sellers here, and both those things you can’t copy. Garbus is one-of-a-kind, and let’s hold out hope she stays that way for a long time to come.
Los Angeles is a cold place, even in the middle of summer. That speaks not of the weather itself, but more the vibe of a city that’s consistently drenched in sunshine and oceanside views. The West Coast does things differently than everywhere else, and depending on your intentions, that’s either a positive or a negative. For those venturing out to Hollywood with stars in their eyes, the unflinching reality of consistent rejection by casting agents the city over can be harder than the minimum wage job waiting tables they had to take on to make ends meet in the meantime. But you’ve also got the vacationing crowd, with plenty of people just seeking out some nice weather and relaxation in a place that has both far more often than anywhere else in the country. When talking about TV on the Radio, it seems they went to L.A. for a little bit of both business and pleasure. The band took a break from recording and touring for awhile to both decompress and also pursue other opportunities. Kyp Malone revived his old project Rain Machine, Dave Sitek produced music for other artists in addition to putting out a solo record as Maximum Balloon while also working at least part time with Jane’s Addiction, while Tunde Adebimpe got bit at least for a moment by the acting bug and had a couple of more minor movie roles. Interesting, the paths each one of the band’s principal members took on their time off. To finish off their hiatus/vacation, the guys met up in the City of Angels and decided to stick around for a bit at Sitek’s studio to record their follow-up to “Dear Science”. Stepping away from their home base in Brooklyn, the new album “Nine Types of Light” is accurately reflective of the change in location and atmosphere a new city brings while keeping many of the TV on the Radio trademarks that has made them one of the most critically acclaimed bands of the past decade.
The first most noticeable thing about “Nine Types of Light” from the very beginning is its brighter outlook. “Every lover on a mission/shift your know position/into the light”, Malone sings in the chorus of opening track “Second Song”, right as the pace picks up and the horn section joins in. Of course it takes its sweet time getting to that chorus, sauntering at a very subdued level like the darkness before the dawn. Similarly, “Keep Your Heart” doesn’t even get your blood pressure to rise moving at such a glacial pace. With so many albums frontloaded with energy and potential singles, TV on the Radio sure kick that notion right in the teeth here. There’s even lyrical similarities with “Second Song”, as a line like, “Shine on light of love” reflects backwards onto the album title and the romance theme that’s been a TVOTR staple from the very beginning. What’s noticeably missing from “Nine Types of Light” are the angrier, politically charged moments along with some of the darker meditations on life, love and history. Then again, with all its ups and downs, love appears to be the overarching theme of the record. A song like “You” looks back on a past relationship with rose-colored glasses, expressing disappointment that things ended but with the kind reflection of, “You’re the only one I ever loved”. The only thematic variation in the first half of the record comes from “No Future Shock”, a high energy, potential future single that gets purposely overreactive and sarcastic about fearmongers consistently anticipating disasters. Though it may not fit in with the surrounding tracks, it does offer a brief respite from what would otherwise be a severely dragging start to the album. Though it may be very calm to the point where you might just fall asleep during it, the album centerpiece is the 6+ minute “Killer Crane”, a gorgeous piece of music that incorporates everything from banjo to acoustic guitar and strings. It makes for one of the most interesting pieces that TV on the Radio have ever done, serenely drifting on a placid lake of sound with hints of psychedelia and the majesty of a creature most of us know precious little about.
Though the second half of the album starts with the somewhat plodding “Will Do”, the song itself rises above its tempo for something a bit more special and heartfelt than some of the most earnest moments that happened on the first half. The catchy chorus, with its jagged guitar line and light plinks of keyboard also help make the impassioned lyrics have that much more weight and general pop. The way that “New Cannonball Blues” develops from a mid-tempo blues (duh) number into more of a turbulent and forceful track makes it one of the more actively engaging cuts on the album. It’s the hornet’s nest of horns that helps to sell it, along with the voracity that “Forgotten” offers up. There’s something inherently fiery with “Repetition” as well, going with the mile-a-minute lyrics until the final push home, when the guitars freak out and Adebimpe digs in hard as he spits out, “My repetition/my repetition is this” a good two dozen times in a row, each with more urgency than the last. Where it all comes together though is at the album’s conclusion, which according to tradition is about the last place you should be looking. If there’s a “Staring at the Sun” or a “Wolf Like Me” or a “Golden Age” on this record, it is closer “Caffeinated Consciousness”. The guitars pound, Adebimpe shouts, the bass thumps, and there’s enough of a groove to get you on your feet and dancing. There’s talk of optimism, rollercoasters, and beds of roses, all designed for sensory overload in the most fun way possible. There’s an album closing party, and TV on the Radio have invited you to it. As nice as having a half dozen or more songs like “Caffeinated Consciousness” on “Nine Types of Light” might be, it’s also largely what the band has become known for. There’s nothing particularly adventurous about the track itself, so having it once as a joyous finale is good enough and prevents us from getting too much of a good thing.
If you didn’t know it already, TV on the Radio have been on a serious hot streak straight from their debut album “Desperate Youth, Bloodthirsty Babes”. The 1-2-3 combination of that, “Return to Cookie Mountain” and “Dear Science” is the first real trio of near perfection since Radiohead’s run of “The Bends”, “OK Computer” and “Kid A”. Funny then that Radiohead too released a very understated and underwhelming record this year. “Nine Types of Light” is the first “blemish” to hit TV on the Radio, though the word is in quotes because most bands would love to put out a record this good. Within their own cannon however, this is their weakest effort to date. Among the positive things it has to offer, it’s still lyrically strong, with the topic of love gluing everything together pretty well. The optimism is nice too, though it primarily fails to make much of anything bright and sunny instrumentally. Still, there’s plenty of great moments on this album, particularly in the second half that has more going on in it. The slower moments in portions of the first part of the record are what’s most taxing, but even that’s not exactly a pain to listen through. The warmth and overall intimacy are what help to make it so compelling and worthwhile, even when the melodies don’t seem to. Was it the ocean air and beautiful sunsets that helped mellow these guys out from the urban sprawl that is New York, or did their time off just put them all in a more lackadaisical and comfortable place? This is the first TV on the Radio album to shift largely away from bitterness and anger and more towards hope. Good for the band – they could use more of that stuff in their lives.
Nine albums and close to 20 years in, Low are still going strong. There aren’t many bands that last so long, and even fewer that have done so much with so very little. As pioneers in the “slowcore” movement, they’ve essentially thrived in dark corners with little to no energy and the most minimal of arrangements. The constant torpor of what they do has left many a person bewildered, failing to find just what makes their songs so damn compelling. Outside of those times when you just want to be dragged down by some unhappy music, Low have kept themselves vital through strong songwriting and composition while throwing a couple curveballs into their trademark sound these last several years. 2002’s “Trust” was a push and pull affair as the band explored more expansive arrangements and the results of sharply building tension. Glossy producer Dave Fridmann was at the helm for the surprisingly noisy “The Great Destroyer” in 2005, as well as 2007’s “Drums and Guns”, which naturally placed emphasis on percussion and percussive elements. After a bit of a break, Low recruited pop producer Matt Beckley to helm their new album “C’mon”. Given that Beckley has worked with Katy Perry and Avril Lavigne among others, it’s an odd choice for the band to make, but if anybody can help them diversity their sound he probably can.
The fascinating thing is that “C’mon” is what could best be described as Low’s return to their roots. Contrary to that thought, this record isn’t a return to their slowcore days, but does have a far more traditional and normal feel for the band compared to their last few releases. There’s not some theme or sonic exploration, just Low doing what Low does best. They’ve also acquired a few new tricks over the course of their last few records, and rather than completely ignore what they did there, these things get incorporated into the overall sound. As such, “C’mon” is a fuller and richer record than most of the band’s previous releases, but still holding true to the very relaxed and relatively depressing vibe that’s their bread and butter. This album was recorded inside a church, and it carries the echoes and reverent beauty of the location. Call it the auditory equivalent of dimming sunlight streaming through stained glass windows. The thing is, though there are plenty of moments with gently plucked acoustic guitars or a touch of strings, you’re still held back at a distance, as if creating pure intimacy or warmth would ruin what the band is trying to accomplish. Given that’s been Low’s M.O. since their first album though, this is hardly new or unexpected. It can’t hurt to wish though.
One of the more exciting things about “C’mon” is the increase in upbeat melodies and lyrics. Normally listening to a Low record is like being dragged through the mud, and it’s never likely to put you in a good mood. Rather than outright dark though, there’s some uplift and more meditative stuff happening with the new album. The melody of opening track “Try to Sleep” is deceptive in its xylophone glimmer and positively lovely harmonies courtesy of Alan Sparhawk and Mimi Parker. The lyrics tell the full story, with lines like, “You try to sleep/but then you never wake up”. Sounds lovely, but the words don’t match the tone. A better grasp of the band’s more optimistic outlook comes with “You See Everything”, for example when Parker sings, “On the shore, we recline/come on in, the water’s fine/so fine”. Some songs though, like “Majesty/Magic” and “Nightingale” are less lyric-heavy (or fail to make much sense) but carry a lighter, less dramatic flair about them. It’s by no means perfect, but functions more as a relief from the far heavier disposition of their more recent albums. For fans of their last couple efforts though, fear not, because there’s still plenty to drag you down and hold your mood in a steady brood. Sometimes it just feels right to have that sort of soundtrack when you’re depressed.
The cause of concern on “C’mon” is that it shows a band that appears to have no idea where it’s headed next. The subtle variations in style on the record showcase that challenge while remaining true to that classic Low sound. That’s another issue – after a couple albums of mixing things up in both a good and bad way, “C’mon” is almost a retreat back to familiar territory while also trying to incorporate some of the new tools they’ve developed since their early days. The good news is that if you liked Low before, chances are you’ll like Low now. By that same token, if you’ve found the band difficult before, you’ll have fewer issues with them now. That improvement in accessibility is about the only thing worth writing home about on this record. That is, outside of the generally serene beauty Low normally provides. There’s no clear indicator of exactly what Low can do to advance their sound back to a level where critical acclaim is waiting for them on their doorstep. Maybe after such a long time together and so many records, they’ve finally run out of fresh ideas and are content to hold fast on their current pathway. No matter how the band fares now and in the future though, they continue to deserve our respect – even if that doesn’t count for much these days.
Noah Lennox may be able to see the future. A little record he released back in 2007 under the Panda Bear moniker called “Person Pitch” struck hard amongst those with a love of memorable 60s pop infused with a sharp dose of psychedelia. Think of Brian Wilson’s music with more of a dosed electronica edge. It was a record so dense and complex that many struggled to fully grasp what it was doing, and though the reaction was mostly bewilderment, there was a consensus it was brilliant. Thinking about it in the most practical way possible, one could easily imagine trends in music to eventually head in the exact direction that “Person Pitch” was already showing us, thereby providing us with a glimpse into not what was but what would be. Nobody caught up to that record in 2008 or most of 2009, but somewhere near the middle of that year the rumblings of a new musical subgenre that some called chillwave and others called glo-fi began to seep out into the general populace. Though not exactly the same, the sound bore some of the distinctive fingerprints of music Panda Bear had put out a couple years earlier. Not only that, but upon reconvening with his bandmates in Animal Collective, they subsequently released their miracle of an album “Merriweather Post Pavilion” and it became like anything Lennox touched was turning to gold. That sort of Midas power is either a blessing or a curse, depending on how you look at it. All that praise can be nice, but the pressure can build to the point of madness. Plenty of people were salivating at the mere thought of new Panda Bear material, and as soon as some began to trickle out in the form of sone 7 inch singles previewing a full length without a release date, they were swallowed up immediately and obsessed over. It should come as little surprise then that Lennox waited quite awhile before finally putting the finishing touches on his new long player “Tomboy”, and though he surely hoped some of that anticipation would dissipate, in all likelihood it would have remained just as fevered had he waited another 4 years.
Instead of feeding the beast with a new Panda Bear record that has loftier ambitions than the one before, “Tomboy” shoots for something closer to normal. All those samples and complicated melodies that made “Person Pitch” such a gripping listen have been stripped back in favor of a closer focus on actual instruments such as guitars and drums. What used to be lush pieces that teemed with the life of a fully formed sonic landscape have now been trimmed significantly to the barest of essentials. For the majority of the record, it’s an exercise in minimalism. Despite some of these more drastic changes, the new album is no less of a psychedelic trip down memory lane than last time. If you’re looking for an extended journey in the form of a longer cut a la “Bros”, you’ll be left just a bit disappointed with the more concise songs that are clearly separated from one another yet fail to offer a whole lot of distinction between them. Just because there are no clear highlights doesn’t mean the majority of the tracks are terrible or that the record as a whole is disappointing. It’s far from either of those points actually, as this album is more like a colorful and beautifully painted mural rather than a whitewashed wall of nothing. As one gigantic piece, it’s rather fascinating but difficult to know exactly how to give it a proper listen in individual chunks. Simply dropping in on a centrally located track like “Drone” can create an odd sensation, particularly with its spacious yet direct melody that thrives on only vocals and synths. Start from the beginning with “You Can Count On Me” and it’s just busy enough to build a bridge between old material and new. The progression from that into the title track and so forth comes across as nuanced and refined, more than most might realize. “Person Pitch” may have had those longer cuts to push you into sticking out the entire record, that if you would stay for 12 minutes you might as well stay for 40, but digesting all of “Tomboy” in one sitting reflects a similar mentality despite the bite-sized track lengths. It seems that Lennox is trying to do more with less on most every aspect of this record.
What many fail to realize is that Panda Bear’s attempt to take a lot of the same complex ideas and genre tropes from the last album and work them into “Tomboy” is in many ways more challenging than ever. To put it another way, he’s like the MacGyver of chillwave, trapped inside a room with limited utensils at his disposal and trying to break out without the assistance of the door key that’s actually in his back pocket. Call it the thrill of the chase or just the inclination to try and do something different from all the other acts these days trying to pull off a similar sound, the results are still remarkably effective. The sun bakes and waves crash all over “Surfer’s Hymn”. There’s a slight doo-wop 50s charm smeared across “Last Night at the Jetty” that also makes it one of the most accessible things Lennox has ever created. Meanwhile “Alsatian Darn” shimmers with some of the most gorgeous psych-pop moments on the entire album. The pairing of the two longest tracks on the record right near the end feels genuinely inspired as well, taking the easier, more accessible stuff out front and the expansive mental zone outs of “Friendship Bracelet” and “Afterburner” in the back. Then “Benfica” slides in at the end to sort of tie everything together, to the point where the last few seconds make a firm period at the end of a 50 minute sentence.
Why “Tomboy” isn’t the mindblowing adventure that “Person Pitch” was can primarily be chalked up to the ever-changing musical landscape. As “Person Pitch” was very much ahead of its time, the start of a revolution that has bred countless imitators, “Tomboy” is pretty firmly rooted in the present. Where could Lennox have realistically gone with this new record? The mind can’t fathom because most of us don’t know an inspired or fresh idea until we actually hear it. At the very least, it was admirable of him to try to differentiate himself from similar-sounding counterparts by scaling back the instrumentation and increasing the overall accessibility through hooks and less obtuse melodies. What this album does more than anything else though is continue to prove that Lennox remains one of the most brilliant minds making music today. Even when falling perfectly in line with where the hype cycle is at these days, he takes all these other punks to school and shows them a thing or two about how to make good music great. It’s that angelic voice, twisted in reverb. It’s the structure and the way every piece of every song feels vital even when it isn’t. Everyone attempting to make music like this should feel lucky to have such a great example of how it’s done right. As for the rest of us, we’re lucky just being given the opportunity to listen to it, and as often as our ears will allow.
Let’s get this out of the way as fast as possible, because if you’ve not already heard about it, you’re going to hear about it ad nauseum for the next several months if you at all pay attention to the Foo Fighters. The stars are lining up for the band on their seventh long player “Wasting Light”, and if you’re nostalgic for the days of grunge or just the earliest of Foo records, this one’s supposed to be for you. Butch Vig, the uber-rock producer that made his name by sitting behind the boards for one of the greatest albums of all time, Nirvana’s “Nevermind”, teams up with Dave Grohl and company once again. That “company” additionally includes a guest appearance from former Nirvana guitarist Krist Noveselic and the full time return of guitarist Pat Smear to the fold (also a former member of Nirvana). The great Bob Mould of Husker Du and Sugar fame also contributes to the record, which was recorded in Dave Grohl’s garage using old school analog tape. All of these things should have you thinking of the 90s, because there’s little to nothing modern about how “Wasting Light” came together. Considering this year marks the 16th anniversary of the Foo Fighters, the band feels that now might be a good time to reflect on their past. Topping it all off is a documentary called “Back and Forth” that chronicles their wild history of touring places, rocking faces and destroying good graces. Wrap all these details up, put them in a box and throw a bow on it, because if you’re a Foo Fighters fan, this record is for you.
How much do you honestly recall about the last couple Foo Fighters albums? “The Pretender” was arguably their best single in awhile, off their last album “Echoes, Silence, Patience & Grace”, which aside from that song was one of the worst Foo records ever. Not counting the live and unplugged retrospective “Skin and Bones”, 2005’s double album “In Your Honor” tried to split off the band’s personality into two halves, one of which was the hard charging stadium rock band and the other being a group of soft spoken guys with a penchant for quiet ballads. Actually a better way to think of it is that since their self-titled debut in 1995, Foo Fighters have gotten progressively worse. While their popularity hasn’t waned much if at all, a fair amount of that support has been earned from a number of factors including the ability to crank out halfway decent singles, continued support on radio for their “classic” songs, and a highly dynamic live show. Others have theorized that much of the band’s power lies inside of Dave Grohl himself, and that his beard and oft-jovial sense of humor are key things that have kept them afloat for so long. Whatever it is, a large group of hardcore fans are always excited to hear about a new Foo record, in particular since “Wasting Light” is their first new one in four years.
It’s only appropriate that “Wasting Light” should start with a track called “Bridge Burning”, as if the Foo Fighters are admitting they’ve destroyed a lot of relationships with their fans by turning out a lot of crap the last 10 years. Of course that’s not REALLY what they’re saying, but it could be interpreted that way. Instead, with some machine gun percussion and killer power chords, Grohl comes out of the gate spitting fire. “These are my famous last WOOOORDS/My number’s up, bridges will BUUUUUURN!”, he screams in the most visceral way possible. Somewhere in the first verse he also makes mention of the “king of second chances”, and by the time the addictive and hard-hitting chorus comes around a second time, you pretty much want to give the guy exactly that. Of course if we’ve learned one thing from the past couple Foo Fighters albums, it’s to never get too invested too early because they really like to front-load things. First single “Rope” comes next and continues to hold strong with that sharp as nails guitar attack and a chorus that’ll stick with you. Funny once again are the number of lyrical parallels to the band being in peril and needing fans to throw them a rope to save them. Again, that’s not the genuine meaning, but interpretation should be 9/10ths of the law. Because they can’t all be super high energy stadium rockers, “Dear Rosemary” tapers off that pace just a little, coming in as a head-bopping mid-tempo catch-all with Bob Mould popping up in a support role. Mould’s call-and-response portion of the song with Grohl marks one of the best parts of the track, which legitimately sounds like something Husker Du might put out, with a structure that’s interestingly similar to The Raconteurs’ “Steady As She Goes”. At this point, Foo fighters haven’t strung together three songs this strong since the start of 1999’s “There Is Nothing Left to Lose”, and with it brings a cautious layer of optimism that maybe this whole “returning to their roots” thing isn’t entirely bullshit.
If you’ve seen the official music video for the track “White Limo”, in which Lemmy from Motorhead drives the band around in the titular vehicle, then you know what a kinetic scream-fest it is. Throw some megaphone-like filter on Grohl’s voice and stir the mosh pit to a frenzy, because this might be the most aggressive and metal thing Foo Fighters have ever done. It’d be more expected as part of one of Grohl’s side projects Probot or Them Crooked Vultures, but it’s a whole lot of fun as part of “Wasting Light”. The streak of excellence has to stop somewhere though, and “Arlandria” is where the quality shows a noticeable dip. Listen to enough Foo Fighters songs, particularly from the last two albums, and you definitely notice the difference between what’s vital and what’s pedestrian. “Arlandria” is in the latter category, despite its energy and quiet-loud dynamic. The same could be said about “These Days”, notable for the way it plays things off like a ballad but still features an explosive chorus that’s clearly intended to power up the weaker sauce everyplace else. That was a trick employed a number of times on “Echoes, Silence, Patience & Grace”, and we know full well it didn’t work then either. It may not carry the same punch as the first handful of tracks, but “Back & Forth” does make the most of the very little actually going on in it. “Now show a little backbone why don’t you”, Grohl growls just before striking up a pleasantly strident chorus filtered with engaging harmonies. Well, the band was showing some backbone, but they seem quick to self-sabotage and fall back into old patterns on a whim. What makes “A Matter of Time” one of the more important tracks on the record is how it both spits in the face of convention yet simultaneously embraces it. Yeah, that strident and catchy chorus still hits over and over again until you submit to it, but initially getting there and in between the bag gets far more mixed thanks to some extended verses and general false alarms. It’s not revolutionary by any means, but it is more complicated compared to the other parts of the band’s catalogue.
After the hard-hitting first part of “Wasting Light” and the mixed bag in the middle, the good news is that the tail end of the record brings things around full circle and offers something of a redemption to the band. “I Should Have Known” is the Krist Noveselic guesting track, and it’s about the closest thing you’ll get to a full ballad on the entire record. Given that it’s a song about the sudden death of a friend and with all the Nirvana connections, it’d be easy to assume the track is about Kurt Cobain. Grohl said that when he was writing the song Kurt didn’t really enter his mind until much later in the process, because he intended it as a tribute to another friend of his. That friend, a former roadie for Foo Fighters, died of a drug overdose. That doesn’t make the track any less meaningful or sad, and the lyrics can apply to just about anyone that has lost a close friend. The grand, sweeping strings do tend to recall some of the more obtuse, grandiose stuff on the last couple Foo albums, but they’re used in a much more subtle manner this time, which helps in just the right ways. For a finale, you can’t get a much more perfect song than “Walk”. The way the end of the record is structured is reminiscent of a movie plot wherein the main character nobly sacrifices himself for the greater good. The hero dies and leaves everyone torn to pieces, but once his death has passed, there is a peace and sunshine across the land. The future has never looked brighter now that the conflict has been resolved, and so we can “learn to walk again” as the lyrics suggest. Not only that, but Grohl is so ecstatic about life, that he screams, “I’m on my knees/I never wanna die/I’m dancin’ on my grave/I’m runnin through the fire/forever, whatever, I never wanna die” with such passion that you can’t help but believe him. This is triumph. This is the fist-pumping anthem that leaves you feeling like a million bucks. This record ends not with a whimper, but with a legitimate BANG.
By and large, 2011 is probably going to be remembered as the year rock made a serious comeback. Not only is the crop of new indie artists trying good and hard to revive the boom of the 90s, but the mainstream is embracing such notions as well. Foo Fighters are currently in the right position at the right time, and their new record “Wasting Light” is just the sort of kick in the teeth this resurgence needs. There are multiple ways to look at this though, and not all of them feature rose-colored glasses. One easy argument is that this record is an act of desperation, with Foo Fighters calling in favors and “the big guns” to help restore a flailing career. The antithesis to that point suggests that maybe the band cares less about churning out quality records so long as the stadiums stay filled and the merchandise keeps selling. Neither of those points is likely correct. In what’s truth but could be bad or good depending on your viewpoint, “Wasting Light” is not really anything new from the Foo Fighters. They’ve had the same sound and been turning out virtually the same record since the very beginning. Yeah, you know a Foo Fighters song when you hear it, and it’d be equally nice to hear them try and go completely off grid experimental, but that’s sort of what side projects are for. Additionally, the band probably considered their acoustic adventures and their symphony-heavy songs on more recent albums to be “experimental” no matter how commonplace they might otherwise seem to you and me. Listen to a record like “The Colour and the Shape” and then “Wasting Light” and it’s simple to point out the hard-driving guitars and massive choruses are cut from the same cloth. For those of us that regard those early Foo records as their classics and most vital though, in so many respects this is the first time in a long time that the band sounds like they want to recapture that spark they lost 10 or more years ago. This is by no means a perfect record, especially with the sagging middle portion, but it’s not completely off-base to put it in the same category with those first three essentials. And so, marketing ploy or not, desperate attempt to regain favor or not, “Wasting Light” still deserves your time, attention and maybe a few of your hard-earned dollars. Just remember to exercise your rock hand before turning this thing up, because you’ll get cramps if you hold up those devil horns for too long.
It’s amazing to think that The Raveonettes have been around for 10 years now. It seems like just yesterday they were strutting around, clad in all black, dishing out throwback guitar rock songs while purposely challenging themselves in new and interesting ways. Their debut EP “Whip It On” was a study in minimalism and restraint, with every song being recorded using only three chords and only in the key of B-flat minor. As one cannot survive very long by holding onto those restrictions, for their first full length they broke out of that mold and into a vast mixture of darker elements out of the 50s thru 80s. They became oft-compared to The Jesus and Mary Chain, though the earlier their material the less that becomes true. Their most recent two records, 2008’s “Lust Lust Lust” and 2009’s “In and Out of Control”, were supercharged with fuzzed out shoegaze guitars and sheer walls of noise that still tended to breed hooks and plenty of intrinsic darkness. The real question is whether you can actively remember those records. The duo of Sune Rose Wagner and Sharin Foo have been releasing music so often and under a consistently similar style that it’s been drawing ever-closer to auditory wallpaper. The main reason why is because those records weren’t exactly pinnacles of brilliance, nor did they bend to the wills of more popular styles at the time. Like clockwork though, because it’s been a year and a half since we had any new Raveonettes material, they’re back again with their fifth album “Raven in the Grave”.
The first track on “Raven in the Grave” is titled “Recharge & Revolt”, and it does almost exactly that. It’s still plenty dark – nobody was expecting The Raveonettes to lighten up – but it also has an energy and an unconventional way about it that feels just a little more refreshing than usual. Yes, it utilizes their classic shoegaze sound, but shortly after the guitars begin to build, synths enter the picture and form a surprising curveball. The Raveonettes have been known to use a synth or two on occasion, but never as heavily or predominantly as they’re used here. It gives the song a much more 80s vibe that permeates a number of other parts of the record too, diversifying the band’s sound just barely enough to make it more thrilling than it has been in years. For tracks one through four, Wagner and Foo make it seem like they’re crafting themselves a masterpiece. In particular, “Forget That You’re Young” makes for one of the best Raveonettes songs ever, with its ample hook and overall sweetness that sends streams of light through the general blackness surrounding it.
Speaking of blackness, after building up a healthy dose of momentum and positive buzz, the middle of the record is like a huge black hole of suck. “Summer Moon” and “Let Me on Out” are two songs that appear to wonder aimlessly without any real purpose other than to slow things down to a proverbial crawl across the desert without any food or water. It’s not the tempo of the track that’s the real problem, though it doesn’t help, but rather the near total disregard for anything resembling a fascinating melody. The Raveonettes have done slower songs without such a struggle before, and while you can keep your fingers crossed that maybe the lyrics will be a saving grace, words have never been the band’s strong suit. What’s interesting is how after getting dragged through the mud for a couple tracks, “Ignite” relights the fire underneath the duo and does a fairly successful job of wiping away the damage that was just done. Either that, or it just feels like a huge relief after such a morbid punishment. From that point forwards though, the rest of the album isn’t immensely great but not nearly bad either. “Evil Seeds” feels like vintage Raveonettes, a track they could do in their sleep but also equal parts comfort and ferocity. Closing ballad “My Time’s Up” actually does hold the proof that this band can do good stuff even in slower motion. It’s a satisfying end to the record, and leaves you wondering exactly where the plot went wrong for that handful of minutes in the midsection.
As if the album title, cover and past efforts by The Raveonettes hadn’t told you already, “Raven in the Grave” is not upbeat or happy in really any way. It holds a strong fascination with death and loss, but when you envelop the listener with that much noise then happiness and sunshine are really off the table. Despite some strong moments and a couple of sonic innovations, this record isn’t the one to quite put this band back on the right track to critical esteem and an extended fan base. The good news for Wagner and Foo is that those aren’t necessarily the requirements to get noticed at the moment. See, they’re lucky because upbeat pop and rock are on their way out at the moment and darkness is making a big comeback. That means all purveyors of said darkness are ripe for attention once more. By sticking to a same or similar sound for such a long period of time, the trends have swung back in their direction. If they’re going to take hold, now’s as good of a time as any to do so. It just would have been nice had “Raven in the Grave” turned out just a little better. Still, it provides a healthy blueprint the duo can work on fully evolving to that next level, and assuming they keep churning out material at a pace of a new record every 1-2 years, any lofty goals they might be hanging onto will hopefully still be easily obtainable.
