I want to be the one who actually says something profound and groundbreaking about the new (and likely) final release from LCD Soundsystem, "This Is Happening." Recently I heard "All My Friends" and Bob Dylan's "Like A Rolling Stone" played in succession on the radio, and I was startled at how downright natural the transition seemed. James Murphy's status as a musical visionary is undeniable and I esteem and scrutinize over any creative choice he makes. In a sense, I feel like every time I listen to music, I'm consciously wondering if this artist has/deserves a retrospective shout-out in "Losing My Edge."
At the same time, I feel like James Murphy is the sort of pudgy guy you're too embarrassed to admit you have a huge crush on. The "This Is Happening" artwork is kind of like an awkward version of a Justin Timberlake album cover. James Murphy has no idea what to make of his own relative "coolness." The record got a perfect score in Entertainment Weekly. Sasha Frere Jones is listening. I put on "This Is Happening" with very eager ears. I very much liked what I heard. "Dance Yrself Clean," is a great gradually building opening track. "Drunk Girls" is hilarious, stylistically surprising, and immediate. "All I Want," is mature, honest, painfully self-deprecating and has an incredible electronic hook. "I Can Change" makes you believe in love, again.
So yes, I really, really like this record, but I want it to do more for me. It is structurally identical to "Sound of Silver," (and even scored another 9.2 from Pitchfork). I want James Murphy to challenge me, I want LCD Soundsystem records to push me in entirely new directions. But perhaps I'm expecting him to do something he can't even do for himself. Murphy says, "LCD is a band about a band writing music about writing music" - is he in effect claiming himself an empty signifier? In "Dance Yrself Clean," moreover, Murphy declares, "Everybody's getting younger
It's the end of an era, it's true," is he tacitly suggesting that he's reached the saturation point of his creative expression? Or perhaps more disconcertingly, this sentiment seems precisely the same as the anxiety rampant in the group's first single, "Losing My Edge." James Murphy is as self-loathing as ever, but his popularity continues to soar.
Yet me and all the other liberal arts nerds with "borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered eighties" persist in our reverence for this unabashedly flawed man. I hear a modicum of truth in "I Can Change," but then I'm right back at the stubborn posturing of "You Wanted A Hit," and realize that my hero worship is misguided. LCD Soundsystem will continue to speak to my youthful capriciousness and will affirm my obstinate views of "what's cool." Furthermore, there's something incredibly pointed/mildly dishonest about the hardly subtle appropriation of the Robert Fripp guitar coda from David Bowie's "Heroes," in "All I Want." I wish I could better suss out James Murphy's frank opinion on his own fame and his power to unleash such contemplative musings in individuals like me. Maybe I need to stop looking for answers in painfully ironical pop songs and solve these problems myself. But then again, "I don't know what I really want," so maybe I'm better off staying in the cocoon of Murphy's chronic indecision for as long as I can. Will we ever find that beat connection?
The Glands came to my attention in David Cross’s documentary, “Let America Laugh,” as one of those movie ending, “Holy Shit” songs (you know what I’m talking about fight club fans). Paralleling the Pixies revival, I decided to check out this undeservedly unknown band.
I would argue that of the Glands two albums, the self-titled sophomoric album is a clear Mona Lisa. The intro track kicks off strong, to be continued far after the last chord rings, as lead singer Ross Shapiro’s distinctive voice continues to echo through the impressionable canvas of our minds. Picking a song to put up here has been a very difficult process because they blend together very well, and whichever track I’m listening to happens to be my newfound favorite.
As far as the music itself is concerned, the band feels as laid back as a Sunday afternoon pool gathering without annoying little cousins. As I sink in to the relaxed groove and drench myself with the sweet, delicate indie-pop melodies, my mind cannonballs away into the Netherlands (figuratively speaking).
I was extremely excited to see the film adaptation of Cherie Currie's memoir, which chronicles her tumultuous years as lead singer in the thoroughly righteous, short-lived female rock band, The Runaways. Unfortunately, this film proved to be wildly entertaining (love you Michael Shannon and Kristen Stewart), but ultimately quite terrible (just ask me about the roller rink scene), and left me feeling kind of down on female rock groups, more generally. I have always loved rock music, and have never felt alienated from my fandom because of my gender. I'm a huge baseball fan, too, and I think this partially stems from the game's status as an uncorrupted bastion of pure American masculinity, (call me a misogynist, I don't care). I began to wonder, is rock and roll best as a male domain, too?
In the midst of my existential malaise, the Dum Dum Girls full-length album, "I Will Be," was released by venerable indie arbiters, Sub Pop Records, in March and was begging to challenge my admittedly retrograde assumptions. The Dum Dum Girls are composed of four formidable ladies who go by the achingly adorable names of Dee-Dee, Jules, Bambi, and Frankie Rose. The band creates incredibly taut, propulsive 2 and half minute numbers that are the perfect hybrid of "One Kiss Can Lead to Another" caliber girl group melodies and empowered acutely feminine angst.
What sets the Dum Dum Girls above contemporaneous feisty femme fetales like the Vivian Girls (their sophomore album is abominable) is their aid from the brilliant producer, Richard Gottehrer. Gottehrer has shaped the American music scene for the past 40 odd years and is responsible for writing such gems as "I Want Candy," "My Boyfriend's Back," and has produced the likes of Blondie and The Go-Gos. Gottehrer elevates these otherwise unremarkable tracks to a level of sonic transcendence, and gives the album a sheen of refinement, while allowing it to retain a proper level of ramshackle earnestness. "I Will Be" is infectious, memorable, and undeniable, and helped me to rediscover my love for the The Go-Gos, "Our Lips Are Sealed," video, (guitarist, Jane Wiedlin arguably stole this song from then boyfriend Terry Hall of The Specials, btw). So yes, there is a place for the ladies in the great game of rock and roll, but perhaps they just need a male mentor to transform their posturing into an enduring sound. The Dum Dum Girls are not coy about their fairly conventional desires for romance and male companionship (Dee Dee even has a heartfelt duet with her hubby on the record about the beauty of their union), and the predominance of these themes in their lyrics suggests that perhaps a sense of fulfillment does not necessarily come from within, but from a formidable partner.
Jimmy Smith first caught my eye in a very personal way, but his gritty power keeps me coming back.
Most of my Jazz rampages end up with me acquiring a lot of music in a short period of time that largely goes unlistened and unappreciated. The song that distinguished Jimmy from the masses, and forced me to give him a listen, was “After Hours.” After Hours was the first song where I really learned to play the Chicago blues, learning through imitation and improvisation. This piece was called the Black National Anthem in the far south side of Chicago, and Jimmy’s take blows me away. He’s not one of those slick cats playing fast for the sake of playing fast, but instead knows how to both take his sweet time and play fast with feeling in every note.
The rest of the album follows suit, with title track Root Down (And Get It) standing out with the sheer funk of the tune. If someone tells me, “put on something funky!” chances are high that I will spin root down. Beastie Boys are in accordance: for their tune “Root Down” they sample Jimmy in full as well as lyrically giving homage.
I strongly suggest you check out this man’s sound.
And as the Beastie Boys say,
“Jimmy Smith Is My Man, I Want To Give Him A Pound”
I take my obsessions in serious spurts, and the most recent 12 Rods spurt has been quite glorious and fulfilling. As all great bands cannot be genre defined, I will abstractly compare this native Minnesotan band with the likes of a little Superchunk, tads of Ian MacKaye, and bits of Debussy. I know that description probably is more confusing than helpful, so I will both try to explain, and urge the checking out of this band.
I hear Superchunk in the nasally, incessantly catchy wandering vocals, and extremely tight instrumentation. Ian comes through with the intensity of the group, and Debussy is eminent because the sound is incredibly lush and complicated, although minimalist at times.
Gay? EP is constructed as a coherent entity. The music weaves in and out of feels, tempos, and emotions smoother than the smoothest of alcoholic beverages. It is one of those few albums that leave me jittering by the end, and air playing all of the instruments throughout. As a side note, pitchfork seems to agree with me, giving this album a rare 10/10 rating usually reserved for the Beatles.
Over spring break I had the rare opportunity to see the combination Animal Collective and director Danny Perez‘s full-length art film, ODDSAC. The screening was accompanied by a pretty amusing commentary from the director and Geologist.
ODDSAC is a collaborative work in all aspects. Audio was created in tandem with the visual track, and the story would follow and return to short vignettes ranging from vampires to psychedelic food fights with a Pan’s Labyrinth type creature (to be fair just about everything was psychedelic). Trippy and dark seems to be the surface connotation, but watch out for humor secretly poking her head all over the place. The piece was about four years in the making, with the musical facet tasting strongly of Strawberry Jam. The semi-poppy, extremely catchy melodies are dispersed between long stretches of soundscapes, and although the occasional Harrison Bergeron-esque clambor scattered my thoughts, there were some moments of sincere serenity. When the band breaks out into full sound, my mind was often blown, and although my head may have been nodding during the climb into the mini-music-videos, it was well worth the wait.
Possibly my favorite part of the experience was the Q & A with Danny and Geo, where a feminist bombarded Danny non-stop about the gender roles portrayed by women in the kitchen. Danny basically said in a less then roundabout way that he just liked cool looking shit.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
But I was there.
I was there in 1974 at the first Suicide practices in a loft in New York City.
I was there.
I was the first guy playing Daft Punk to the rock kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
I was there in the Paradise Garage DJ booth with Larry Levan.
I was there in Jamaica during the great sound clashes.
I woke up naked on the beach in Ibiza in 1988.
I had the good fortune of spending a considerable portion of my spring break in Los Angeles, California, and had the delight of being exposed to the city's wealth of friendly sunkissed beauties who seemingly have no jobs and take daily leisurely lunches eating fish tacos and gourmet burgers alongside the beach. Despite its ideal climate, wonderful fresh food, guilt-free approach to consumerism, proliferation of self-serve frozen yogurt shops, and captivating natural and urban landscape, the negative associations people have with Los Angeles and traffic proved itself true.
However, my tour guide, West LA goddess, Helen Grossman, had a copy of Goldfrapp's recently released "Head First," in her car's CD player. This concisely wrought album of space age bubble gum pop synths and infectious disco revivalism proved to be the perfect counter to the unavoidable reality of traffic, and augmented my sense of liberation from Carleton's rigorous academics and harsh wintry climate. My return to Carleton has been marked with unseasonable warmth and bountiful sunshine and Goldfrapp's unwavering optimism has allowed me to seamlessly transition into life back in Northfield.
I'm feeling alive again and I'm a believer in you now.
KRLX may be off the air for spring break (Woo!), but the mp3 blog will proceed ad infinitum with no breaks (or maybe as long as I'm avoiding writing my final for Critical Methods).
One band that absolutely deserves coverage and recognition is Tennessee's Jeff the Brotherhood. Jake and Jamin Orrall are a guitar-and-drums two-piecer that carry with them that same crazy energy we saw with another Tennessee garage rock band, Turbo Fruits. Except while it's hard not to imagine the members of Turbo Fruits always jumping around and breaking shit, Jeff the Brotherhood carry themselves with a bit more finesse. Fans of early Weezer should really dig the first video I'm putting up here, 'The Tropics', while the second, "U Got the Look", sounds a little bit more like Sebadoh/Dinosaur Jr. I've thrown the corresponding mp3 tracks along with the videos, but their album 'Heavy Days' can be found in the record library. Until then, jam on this.
The new Ruby Suns album takes a decidedly more "glo-fi" route, but preserves the same creative wordplay and stylistic ingenuity of "Sea Lion." This song combines hypnotic production effects with coy lyrics that tug at your heartstrings. Kenya dig it?
"Odd Blood" is by no means a flawless record, but "Madder Red," is a completely engrossing song that drowns you in its swirling melodies and intelligent lyrics that attempt to make meaning out of a collapsing relationship. This was a stand out track when I saw them live this summer and it is far and away the best song on this album.
Local Natives combine an art rock/world music sensibility with breathtaking vocal harmonies and their version of Talking Heads "Warning Sign," is an ideal cover track, in that it preserves the song's rhythmic verve while providing a refreshing new angle; polyrythms are enhanced by barber shop quartet style vocal arrangements.
Happy Birthday are one of Sub Pop's newest artists and are a delightful throwback to the days of Nirvana and Screaming Trees. This leadoff track from their eponymous debut is delightfully whiny and rambunctious and its catchiness is immediate.
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The new Ruby Suns album takes a decidedly more "glo-fi" route, but preserves the same creative wordplay and stylistic ingenuity of "Sea Lion." This song combines hypnotic production effects with coy lyrics that tug at your heartstrings. Kenya dig it?
Dang, nice review!