Judging by the Cover: Joanna Newsom

"The Milk-Eyed Mender"
Drag City; 2004
6/10

Perhaps my love for female folk singers is due to my own constant attempts to be one myself. At any rate, it was certainly the reason I was drawn to the cover of Joanna Newsom’s album, “The Milk-Eyed Mender”. It is definitely very folky-looking, and she is very obviously female. She is not, however, what I expected.

Remember the show “Rugrats”? Remember the girl twin, Lil? Joanna Newsom sounds just like Lil. Imagine Lil singing nineteenth-century poetry and playing the harp and you’ll have a pretty good idea of what this album sounds like. I laughed when I first heard her voice, but considering my love for so many male singers with even more comical voices, I decided I’d be a hypocrite not to give her a chance.

“The Milk-Eyed Mender may” come across as abrasive at first if you’re only listening to the vocals. However, if you make it through the first song and a half, you’ll actually find yourself starting to enjoy it. Each song is a soothing, simple composition, and Newsom’s voice starts to become less annoyingly childish, and more endearingly childish. Only one track features more than a single instrument instrument, whether it’s harp, guitar, piano, or even harpsicord.

Joanna Newsom’s greatest strength is in her lyricism. Unfortunately, it’s hard to appreciate what she’s saying unless the words are in front of you, and even then she’s incredibly cryptic. Lyrics like, “We sailed away on a winter's day / with fate as malleable as clay / but ships are fallible, I say / and the nautical, like all things, fades.” are breathtaking, but it’s hard to truly grasp their meaning in relationship to the rest of the song. Reading her lyrics is like experiencing them the way they could be better appreciated –as written verse. There are a few standout lines that hit hard, like “The gathering floozies / afford to be choosy…” but it’s hard to tell if the way I’m interpreting them is the way she intended them to be heard. Then again, maybe that’s her intent.

My favorite track on the album is “Sadie”: “Sadie, white coat, carry me home / Bury this bone, take this pinecone / Bury this bone to gnaw on it later/ gnaw on the telephone / 'Till then, we pray and suspend the notion that these lives do never end.” An ode to Newsom’s dog, it’s young and naïve in its subject matter, but incredibly thoughtful in its approach and analysis. The music is both melancholy and sweet, kind of like flying your kite alone on a cold day.

“The Milk-Eyed Mender” is a unique listen. Joanna Newsom is not the best singer-songwriter I’ve ever come across, and I certainly couldn’t handle listening to her all the time. Newsom’s music is the quiet, awkward kid that you have a crush on anyway. “The Milk-Eyed Mender” is pretty in it’s own way, and I’m glad I decided to give it the chance it deserves.

Download:
Joanna Newsom - Sadie
Joanna Newsom - Peach, Plum, Pear
Joanna Newsom - Bridges & Balloons

- Stacey Capoot -

Previously on "Judging by the Cover": Of Montreal

Tags: Joanna Newsom, Milk-Eyed Mender, mp3

Album Review: TV on the Radio

"Return to Cookie Mountain"
Interscope; 2006
9/10

For me, the music of TV on the Radio was always an acquired taste. That’s probably why their first proper LP, “Desperate Youth, Blood Thirsty Babes” sat on my CD rack for over a year before I really “got” it. I can’t quite remember what it was that brought me to slide that album from between Temple of the Dog and Ugly Casanova, dust it off, and pop it into my stereo. But whatever it was, I’m thankful—since then, few albums have seen as much play time, each listen lending the music new and interesting facets that I’d somehow missed before.

So, after spending a shamefully large amount of time tracking it down on the internet, I expected TVOTR’s new album, “Return to Cookie Mountain”, to require a similar amount of work before it could be truly appreciated. As it turns out, I couldn’t have been more right; the way the album has grown on me since the first time I slid it into my car stereo until now, twenty (twenty-five? thirty? forty?) listens later is truly astounding, outdone only by my love affair with “OK Computer”.

(It should be quickly noted that, although “Return to Cookie Mountain” has been available everywhere else in the world for several weeks now, it will not be available in the U.S. until September 12. It should also be noted that, since it has not yet been released, we can’t provide free mp3s for download with the album. Instead, check out the links at the end of this review to see clips of TV on the Radio playing the songs [and kicking a ton of ass] live.)

TV on the Radio was originally just two guys messing around with a four track. One was Tunde Adebimpe, who (in my humble opinion, of course) is the most underrated and innovative singer in indie rock. The other was Dave Sitek, token white dude and producer/multi-instrumentalist/whatever the fuck he wants, thank you very much. After they released the “Young Liars” EP, the two decided they needed more afro in their band. Enter Kyp Malone, lanky guitarist and falsetto-fountain, sporting wire-frame glasses and a globe of hair so monumental that for the past fifteen years Omar Rodriguez-Lopez’s mop has been playing John the Baptist and foretelling its coming. The three put out “Desperate Youth” with the help of their good buddy, the programmable drum loop. These days, the band is up to five full-time members, two afros, and zero (count ‘em, zero) drum machines.

This is one of the reasons TVOTR’s “Cookie Mountain” hits you square between the eyes. They’re a bona-fide band now, backed with an energy that a computer can’t pull off. Every TVOTR fan with a “drum machines have no soul” bumper sticker on their car must be feelin’ awful high and mighty, if you ask me. Jaleel Bunton knows what he’s doing behind the kit; his hi-hat-happy performance on “Playhouses” could be playing without any other music and I would still listen to it. “A Method” is driven a marching beat gone wild—let’s just say that if TV on the Radio had army, you’d sure as hell know when they’re coming. And you’d like it.

The rest of the band more than holds their own, a grisly bass and atmospheric guitars packing the album with dynamic voicings and acting as the perfect backdrop for Sitek’s hair-brained production experiments. You’ll find no guitar solos here, no conventional arrangement, just several stunning parts adding up to a cohesive and exciting whole.

Tunde and Kyp deliver stellar vocal performances as always, aided occasionally by their bandmates and a nearly imperceptible contribution on the song “Province” by David Bowie who, at this point, is milking the props he was getting twenty years ago by sticking his sequined foot into every open door, regardless of whether it’s a good idea or not (read: the Arcade Fire live with David Bowie). Kyp is a sort of harmonic anomaly, going for notes way above the vocal range of your average male and missing them most of the time, but somehow making it all sound so damn good you wonder if him actually hitting the note would take away from the result.

Of course, Tunde is the center of attention here, as anyone as talented and dynamic-savvy as he is ought to be. For anyone who has any taste whatsoever (and I’m hoping the people that read this blog do), “Cookie Mountain” proves that Tunde is the definition of cool. He’s gifted without being showy, sensitive without being a pushover, poetic without being contrived, and chill without being detached. (Which is more than I can say for Sufjan Stevens, Conor Oberst, Ben Gibbard, and Andrew Bird, respectively. But hey, what’s the point in bringing up certain, uh, shortcomings of other artists when talking about Tunde Adebimpe? Probably to show that, all angles considered, next to him other singers and frontmen come across as simply inadequate.) I mean come on, “Love is the province of the brave”? Shit man, that’s good stuff.

Aside from generalities that stamp Tunde as cooler than Jeff Bridges in “The Big Lebowski”, his part in the journey back to Cookie Mountain truly is an incredible one. When he spits out “We don’t make eye contact / when we have run-ins in town / just a barely polite nod / and nervous stares toward the ground” on album opener “I Was A Lover”, it matters to you. It really matters. You get the same feeling later in the song when he sings “It’s been awhile / since we wild / and that’s all fine”. In “Wolf Like Me”, he seamlessly relates late-night backseat lust to the transformation of a werewolf singing, “My mind has changed / my body’s frame / but god I like it / my heart’s aflame / my body’s strained / but god I like it.” (Also, if you play this song right next to Cat Power’s “Werewolf”, you get an interesting juxtaposition on the same theme. You know, “Wow, I’m a werewolf, I dig this,” as opposed to “Oh shit, I’m a werewolf, now I’m sad.”) His rollercoaster melody on “Dirty Whirl” is catchy as hell, and not in the Avril Lavigne sort of way. (That is, in the good sort of way.) There aren’t any a cappella bits on “Cookie Mountain”, which, considering the latter half of “Poppy” off “Desperate Youth” is my favorite part of the album, was disappointing. But when you take in everything else that’s going on, they’re barely worth missing.

In fact, there’s only one problem I have with this album, and it’s not just for the sake of being a nitpicking son-of-a-bitch music critic: the problem is in the mix. Sure, TV on the Radio has had this “wall of sound” thing going for them that’s always made their music layered, rich, and full of subtleties. That’s part of who they are as a group. The thing is, on “Cookie Mountain”, they take it too far. All the different instruments and vocals are sound great in their own right, but they’re mixed in such a way that they trip over each other, bleeding across the track and burying some things that should not be buried—namely, Tunde Adebimpe. Half the time the man is behind the wall of sound, trying to get his near-perfect vocal performances heard, but getting drowned out. More often that not, you can’t tell what he’s saying, which is a damn shame considering his lyrics are among the best I’ve heard in a long time. Dave Sitek also does some really exciting things with his crazy reversed instruments and chimes and whatnot, but, like everything else, they suffer in the mix. There’s still subtleties, room for discovery, and brilliant songs there, but this time around the music feels more like a cloud and less like its silver lining.

What weakens “Return to Cookie Mountain”, however, far from destroys it. The album is still a work of veritable genius, boasting some of the most sublime artistry, raw passion, and moments of sheer brilliance since “Yankee Hotel Foxtrot” came out in 2002. And, as of now, it’s my favorite album of the year. It’s a difficult listen, granted, and it’ll take more than a few plays before you can really grasp what the album has to offer, but once you hit that point, you’re golden. Tunde and the boys have taken one step closer to the craggy summit of their potential, and while I’m not so lame as to make a joke along the lines of “It’s good to be back on Cookie Mountain” it’s the straight-up truth. Cookie Monster would be proud… especially now that he’s forced to eat vegetables because of a select group of crazy-as-shit paranoid androids that parade around pretending to be semi-decent parents. Sometimes furry blue dudes know what the fuck they’re talking about. And of course, this is one of those cases.

Watch:
TV on the Radio - Dirty Whirl [Live]
TV on the Radio - Wolf Like Me [Live]

- Dominick Duhamel -

Tags: TV on the Radio, Return to Cookie Mountain, mp3

Column: Ramble On: The Greatest Rock Band Ever & My Opinions

The argument over what band takes the title of greatest rock band ever is one I have had on many different occasions. These arguments mostly end in a bloody mess of swollen fists and fat lips between the Zeppelin fans, the Beatles Fans, and the ACDC fans. I would like to tell you right away, so you aren’t left wondering which one of those fans I am, who I favor. I wouldn’t be writing an article such as this if I were an ACDC fan. Personally, I don’t care for the style of rock where every song sounds the same. I give them credit for writing one good song, but then failing to write anything different is what disqualifies them from any musical race. Come to think of it, I was given an ACDC album, as a present, a few years back. It sits on my shelf collecting dust, and I wouldn’t dare let it join my diverse collection of good music I have on my iTunes playlist, sorry Angus. Now, the Beatles, they are a favorite of mine because, well, they are amazing. They are one of the few great arrangements of musicians and songwriters ever to come together and record music. I could write a separate article just on them but that will be for another day. As much as I take pleasure in listening to the Beatles they were not the greatest rock band ever. I mean, yeah it is considered rock music today, but it is really more pop music then anything. So there for in my opinion they are not eligible for this title. So that only leaves one left, oh yeah that’s right, Led-fucking-Zeppelin. Only Led Zeppelin deserves to have an infix used while saying their name.

I had to put a Zeppelin record on while writing this article to get me fully in the mood. Led Zeppelin is the only band that I could listen to, and never get bored of. I like to keep things short and sweet, mostly because I am a terrible writer, and I don’t want to bore anyone to death. John Paul Johns as quiet as he was, and as simple as his bass was at times is one of the most underrated bass players. The reason why is because I don’t see many bass players that could play organ and mandolin and actually make it interesting. He is a very talented musician, and created much of the background sounds found in Zeppelins songs. As for John Bonham, that man could hit a drum like no other, and he could work the bass drum so well doing double and triple beats. He, along with Keith Moon is my all time favorite drummer. Listen to any Zeppelin song, even the slow ones, and his drumming just explodes with such power. Jimmy Page is the greatest guitarist living, and I say living because Jimi Hendrix would definitely be number one if he were still alive. Anyone that says Clapton is the greatest is out of his or her fucking mind. That guy plays so slow it bores the shit out of me. That neck beard also creeps me out. Enough of Clapton, he doesn’t deserve all this talk. Page was one of the most inventive guitarists of his time, and no one can match that kind of skill. He used awkward tuning, a bow to solo, he wrote riffs that actually rock, unique chords, and by far the most thought out solos with out sounding like a show off. Not to mention he had two cool dragon jump suits with sparkly shit on it. That man does not know the word fear. The last, and final member of this super group, and I don’t mean Damnocracy for all you VH1 fans, is Robert Plant. His voice made Led Zeppelin so different then any other band of that time. It was blues, it was rock, and it was Plant. He could wail like no other, and he went so high it hurts. The dynamics of his voice was beyond human capabilities.

I know this article was kind of a bunch of blah blah bullshit about how I like Led Zeppelin, but come on. I am going to get lame here when I say this, they are great, but you’re going to have to live with it. I don’t think any band has ever come close to matching the significance of Zeppelin, nor has anyone really tried. The only band I would consider a good candidate as a band that really has that Zeppelin feeling is The Black Crowes. I don’t mean they sound like them but they have the same emotion. If any one disagrees with me on any of this, please comment. I know so many people like Zeppelin, me included, but maybe 80% of those people are just trying to be cool by saying they like Zeppelin. The other 20% really understand why they like them; they appreciate the magic that Zeppelin created. I also know that a lot of people say that Zeppelin is overrated. Well, I don’t take that kindly to those who speak badly about the Zeppelin. I don’t want anything to do with them. Wait, I have just received word that my editor thinks they are overrated. Damn, this article probably won’t make it up. Well, it doesn’t matter because it isn’t that good, considering I just ramble on about Led Zeppelin.

- Ryan Cox -

Tags: Led Zeppelin, Jimmy Page, Robert Plant, mp3

Live: Wilco 7/5/06

Wilco Performs at the Largest Music Festival in the World

On July 3rd, 2003, I first saw Wilco right here at Summerfest, on this very same stage. I had seen them once on Austin City Limits and said what the fuck, I’d go. It was the most memorable show I have ever been to, and here we are again same place, almost exactly three years later, July 5th, 2006. Summerfest: The World’s Largest Music Festival. Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

Until recently I’d lived in Milwaukee all my life. As a state, we appreciate the general title of “The World’s Largest,” whether it is people, water parks, or music festivals. Summerfest, while it is officially the world’s largest, is by no means the world’s best music festival. Its focus on washed up 80’s rockers has only worsened with time. But every year there are a couple of acts that are worth the $15. This year it was Wilco, who unfortunately overlapped with Medeski, Martin, and Wood.

It’s not that I couldn’t have seen a few MMW songs. It’s just that I had to stake out the Wilco seats, perfectly situated at the first picnic table, with a crowd of people in front of me that reached up to the stage whose heads only reached my chest. We were a bit far, though, so I couldn’t really make out the band’s facials expressions. In short, I had a pretty great view, considering how late I was.

Right on time, as it grew noticeably darker every minute, Wilco took to the Miller Oasis stage, situated under an enormous overpass in the middle of a 20-road interchange. Holy fuck, what a place to have a concert. Without saying a word, the band opened with a surprising “Ashes of American Flags.” Jeff Tweedy sang strained and quiet through the whiskers of a juvenile Jim Morrison beard, but his acoustic was too loud. It was distracting for the first few songs until he put it away, and the problem was gone.

Early in the set, “I Am Trying To Break You Heart” ended with the usual noise breakdown, but drummer Glenn Kotche changed the drum pattern from the rest of the song, and also from the album. It was fresh and interesting for a band that rarely plays their songs much different from the record.

In the beginning, the crowd response was disappointing. That’s what you get at such a general festival, no focus at all. Tweedy didn’t speak to us until after the sixth song when he said he felt intimidated and asked us to sing along. The crowd responded. By the kickass funk rocking of “Kingpin,” he had us in his hands.

After the main set closed with the fantastic dynamics of “Hummingbird” and we all clapped for five minutes, Wilco again took the stage under the overpass and played “Misunderstood,” with Tweedy screaming “nothing” over and over again while the band pounded away for a minute and a half.

That was about the time they brought out the bouquet and began tossing it around between songs like children. Who knows where it came from, all I know is those roses smelled good from 35 rows back.

I had been waiting and hoping for “Spiders (Kidsmoke),” but they ended the encore, and Summerfest usually frowns upon double encores and likes to shove everybody out right away. The bastards. But the lights and music remained off. The crowd cheered for what seemed like ever. Wilco set up again under the overpass and finished off the night with two great songs: “A Shot in the Arm,” with its tape loops and timpani, and, finally, “Spiders.” At the end of this 10-minute jam, the band stopped, held it, held it, and so did the breathes of some of the audience (the ones who were paying attention), and the band came back in with one more chorus.

Dodging security, we sat around for a while talking about the show. It got a lot of the people I dragged along, who are usually indifferent about music in general, excited about the band. So Wilco, again, succeeded; they won new fans and impressed the rest. I’ll be seeing them again. In a month.

Setlist:
1. Ashes of American Flags
2. Handshake Drugs
3. The Late Greats
4. I am Trying to Break Your Heart
5. Impossible Germany (new song)
6. Airline to Heaven (solo)
7. Don’t Forget the Flowers
8. At Least That What You Said
9. Jesus, Etc.
10. Walken (new or no?)
11. Theologians
12. I’m the Man Who Loves You
13. Heavy Metal Drummer
14. Kingpin
15. Hummingbird

First Encore:
16. Misunderstood
17. War on War

Second Encore:
18. A Shot in the Arm
19. Spiders (Kidsmoke)

Download:
Wilco - Misunderstood [Live]
Wilco - Spiders (Kidsmoke) [Live]

- Austin Bauer -

Tags: Wilco, Summerfest, Live, mp3

Track Review: The Mars Volta

"Viscera Eyes"
From "Amputechture"
4.5/10

Over the past few months, The Mars Volta has used their myspace to send their fans info on their newest release. About two weeks ago, The Mars Volta released “Viscera Eyes” from their forthcoming album, "Amputechture", on MySpace. Clocking in at over nine minutes, it had to be put on two separate tracks on the band’s space. Unfortunately, it does not compare with most of the songs on Frances the Mute.

It’s actually kind of like a slowed down “L’Via L’viaquez” with the incomprehensible spanglish vocals and chunky, rhythmic grooves and all. Also, don’t forget the way too heavy drum beat. The one difference, though, is that the song likes to sit on one groove and wear out its welcome way too fast.

Essentially, the first five and a half minutes of the song is all over the starting two-measure groove. Though there’s a bunch of solos/verses in there, but it’s simply structured and easy to guess what’s next. The only time the groove really changes is in the choruses, in which it’s just the band playing one almost-unison figure as Jon Theodore bashes out the same fill over and over again. Needless to say, it gets old pretty fast. Though there are some neat parts, like the dissonant horns in the chorus and the cool noise riff thing (is that a guitar?) after the second chorus.

For the final three and a half minutes, the band for no reason moves into a faster groove. The transition makes little sense, and both parts don’t really fit together. At first, the bass takes over for a little bit with a straightforward two-measure riff, as the band slowly progress in. Then all of a sudden John Theodore gets into a crazy groove that comes out of left field. He also starts playing at a furious pace, hitting cymbals left and right, just as the guitar solo starts. The problem with that is at the beginning of the 2-minute solo, the band has hit their peak volume. So now for the next two minutes, there’s no sense of progression. And they’re supposed to be a prog group.

To be honest, this could be a good song if it was redesigned. (That, and Jon Theodore needs to stop being a spaz, since the act is getting a little tiresome.) But really, they could’ve transformed it into some sort of four minute piece that would’ve made much more sense and had a better sense of progression.

What happened to songs like “Inertiatic ESP” and “Drunkship of Lanterns”? Good or not, after Amputechture I really hope The Mars Volta will consider writing another album along the lines of De-Loused in the Comatorium.

You can listen to the Mars Volta's new single here.

- John Higgins -

Tags: Mars Volta, Viscera Eyes, Amputechture, mp3

Artist Profile: Lily Allen

Lily Allen: A Myspace Love Affair

I’m not one for MySpace. For some reason it simply doesn’t grab me like it has for so many millions. While I use it to keep in contact with a few old friends, I don’t sit there for hours viewing the profiles of an infinite supply of girls from the other side of the country. No, that’s just a waste of time. But it does provide a charitable service: a free and popular location for musicians to promote their material, where they’re guaranteed an audience of millions of bored/curious/impressionable MySpace addicts. Personally, I’ve only “discovered” one worthy artist through this site. When signing in one day, I saw a picture under “MySpace Music” of this beautiful girl, probably about 20, with wide eyes and jet-black hair. This being the sort of girl who grabs my attention, I clicked her picture, pessimistically anticipating some kind of Kelly Clarkson song (not to bash Kelly too much – the chorus of “Since U Been Gone” is fucking awesome, no question). Instead, I was greeted with what sounded like the backing band of a show tune.

She’s a young British girl with a dirty mouth like so many Brits, and a sweet, sarcastic voice. After hearing the four songs on her MySpace, I spent a good deal of time trying to put a title to her unique genre. As I am writing this, I find the old computer file containing my ramblings of this event. My first impressions that day were, “upbeat and optimistic, sunshiny ragtime twang, with the beats of the Streets. Almost reggae show tunes – transcends genres.” And still I have to stick by that description; it’s as accurate as I can do. She truly and unexpectedly blends a multitude of genres – most of which can be pinpointed to a particular, 40-to-70-year-old recording – and creates something fresh and original.

Some key tracks are:

“Knock ‘Em Out” is about a girl who’s been hit on one-too-many times by greasy sleaze balls. The chorus is rather straightforward: “just get out my face, just leave me alone, and no you can’t have my number cause I lost my phone – oh, yeah, im pregnant, im having a baby in, like, six months.” Great shit. It’ll stick in your head.

“LDN” – Starts with Spanish horns and moves into a pocket beat. Upbeat, reggae guitar, summery, great.

Check out Lily Allen's Myspace and listen to her album here.

- Austin Bauer -

Tags: Lily Allen, Alright Still, mp3

Album Review: Muse

"Black Holes and Revelations"
Warner; 2006
6.5/10

With all the Radiohead comparisons, it’s actually kind of funny that Muse’s latest release came on July 11, the same day as The Eraser hit stores. As with their previous efforts, Matthew Bellamy and Company go for their biggest, grandest sound yet on Black Holes and Revelations while trying to separate themselves from their influences. The outcome is somewhat successful. Though the album contains a wider range of styles the previous Muse albums, some of the tracks seem like rehashes. Furthermore, though the band seems to finally come into its own, including Matthew Bellamy’s outstanding vocals, there are still a few aspects that continue to tie them down. The multi-tracked vocals, for instance, just scream “Queen”.

Regardless, Muse has made some stand-out tracks while trying out new styles. For example, “Starlight” and “Supermassive Black Hole” feature—oh yeah, I’m doing it—some sweet, supermassive distorted bass. Consequently, all the other instruments almost become an afterthought at times. However, Dominic Howard’s “less is more” approach makes the spacey love song “Starlight” grooves so much more than it should. And did I mention how much tighter the rhythm duo of Howard and Chris Wolstenholme have become? The dance-rock tune “Supermassive Black Hole,” although not a virtuosic masterpiece, locks in solidly and should be playing in all of the clubs instead of “SexyBack.”

In fact, most of Black Holes and Revelations has Howard holding back his regular barrage on the drums. So what prompted Pitchfork’s Sam Ubl (whose review you can find here) to declare that Howard believes “every measure of music should contain at least one drum fill”, I may never know. But I do know this is, in fact, not the case. Excluding the opener “Take a Bow,” the first five tracks contain maybe a handful of modest drum fills at best. But honestly, that tom groove in “Map of the Problematique” is deadly.

However, a lot of the songs on this album sound like they’ve been done before. “Take a Bow”? It’s arranged a lot like Origin of Symmetry opener “New Born,” but it lacks the same energy and doesn’t have nearly enough volume or depth. “Soldier’s Poem” sounds like the band’s attempt to make another track like Absolution’s “Blackout.” Then “Assassin,” containing one of Howard’s more badass drum fills in the entire Muse catalog, sounds like “Stockholm Syndrome” but with a different rhythmic hook. Hopefully this isn’t a sign that Muse is running out of ideas.

On the bright side, the best moments of the album come in the last few songs as Muse is experimenting with some flamenco-style guitar and going back to their roots. “City of Delusion” actually contains some acoustic guitar for a while and some cool string arrangements until the huge, tom-filled drumming kicks it into the chorus. Now that’s the Muse I remember, but sadly we’re on track nine of eleven. Then “Hoodoo” opens with some cool solo guitar work and is the lone song on the album with the plain old grand piano. Bellamy just shines in the song, showing off his range in pitch and volume.

And then there’s “Knights of Cydonia” (Check out the no nonsense music video for the song on YouTube). In a little over six minutes, the song moves along three movements. Although Sam Ubl (see aforementioned link) likes to believe that the song opens with “a galloping 6/8 drumbeat slathered in mariachi trumpets,” it is actually played in completely straight 4/4 time. It makes me wonder if he even bothered listening to the album, or if he just doesn’t know anything about rhythm…and music. But regardless, after some pretty neat drum fills (in their appropriate spots), the song builds and builds into a huge climax of multi-tracked vocals. The sad part is as awesome as it is, one can’t help but think “Bohemian Rhapsody” and Freddie Mercury all through the song. They’re even structured identically.

So Black Holes and Revelations is a good album. There are enough awesome tracks on here to deserve a listen. They may not be the best songs Muse has written, but they have definitely done worse.

Download:
Muse - Starlight
Muse - Map of the Problematique
Muse - Knights of Cydonia

- John Higgins -

Tags: Muse, Black Holes and Revelations, Review, mp3

Track Review: Simon Joyner

"Is This How Generous You Are?"
From "Beautiful Losers: Singles and Compilation 1994-1999"
7.5/10

I’ve always wanted to believe that I could stumble across an artist unknown by anyone with an eclectic musical liking, or anyone with a shitty musical liking for that matter. When I came across Simon Joyner I thought I had done just that. Without doing any research on him I just assumed he was an obscure indie/folk songwriter. Since I still don’t know his history, I am hesitant to look him up on Wikipedia, mostly because of the fear of discovering he was the singer of Scorpion or some eighties hair metal band. I don’t think that is in any way going to be the case, but who knows. So back to the important part of this review, or the part where I ramble on about the outstanding ability of this lo-fi musician, my thoughts on a piece of Mr. Joyner’s work. “Is This How Generous You Are?” is track twenty from the somewhat recently released “Beautiful Losers: Singles and Compilation Tracks 1994-1999” 2xLP.

I might have lied about looking up some information on him. I don’t know much about him, but I have investigated into what critics have written about him. In one review, of Simon Joyner, by Thom Jurek of All Music Guide he boldly states, "It's not critical hype to say that Joyner possesses the same emotional depth as Leonard Cohen, or the same ability to tell a story.” I don’t actually know why I said boldly because at times listening to Simon Joyner I do see why he says this, it is clearly noticeable in his songs.

In this song there is a certain sadness, almost like a drunk person who has just had his heart broken by someone he loved dearly. The only thing keeping beat is a tambourine hitting a hand, and there is a very quiet organ in the background almost sounding like a violin. The combination of these two things along with the basic country-like guitar create an almost Johnny Cash sounding resonance. As simple as the guitar is it is powerful, but the most unforgettable part of the song is the way he says “Is this how generous you are?” It is like he is really asking that question of someone, and at that very moment you hear it and you realize that most likely he wrote this out of wanting to truthfully ask someone that question. It is very rarely, I believe, that you hear a feeling of such hurt in a song. That is why I found it easy to pick this song out of the twenty-one tracks to review, because it at least appears so real.

Visit Simon Joyner's myspace here.

- Ryan Cox -

Tags: Simon Joyner, Review, mp3

Album Review: Six Organs of Admittance

"The Sun Awakens"
Drag City; 2006
8.5/10

Writing a Six Organs of Admittance review is a difficult task, even for the most experienced of music journalists. Not often does one have to deal with songs exceeding twenty minutes in length, entire albums without vocals, or numerous segments of artful noise. Nihilism and almost absurdly simple imagery are not easy themes to analyze.

Most importantly, there are no reference points with which to approach the music. There is no social context from which it emerges; it’s easy to see why the Arcade Fire singing about innocence and mortality matters to today’s youth and even easier to see how Art Brut challenging the pretentiousness of indie music can be so refreshing. In singer/songwriter Ben Chasny’s case, it’s not that simple. His music is an amalgamation of different times, places, ideas, and artistic whims. Essentially, there’s nowhere thatSix Organs of Admittance “belongs”.

Sure, the freak-folk movement tried to rope Chasny in, but it's becoming clearer and clearer that the only real connection there is a well-worn acoustic guitar and an admiration for Devendra Banhart. Of course there’s plenty of talk about Keiji Haino and Dead C and the other obscure influences he manages to come up with, but those too fall apart if you’re willing to look more than skin-deep. And then there’s always his other projects—Comets on Fire, Current 93, Badgerlore, August Born, and so on and so forth—but you can already see why Chasny is so damn hard to pin down. He’s everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

Which is the best way I can describe his music. Across the background of deft fingerpicking and ambient noise, there’s a sort of aural picture being painted, but the more intently you stare at it, the quicker it dissolves into a memory of a memory, whisked away by the wind. It’s the equivalent of waking in the middle of the night and trying to distinguish between what was real and what was dreamt, but never quite arriving at the answer. This, however, is the beauty of the music—its fleeting permanence finds comfort in the deepest recesses of the soul, if one allows it to get that far. The tragedy is that most listeners don’t.

None of Chasny’s seven previous albums have communicated this enigmatic feeling quite so well as "The Sun Awakens". It opens gently, almost disarmingly, with tracks “Torn by Wolves” and “Bless Your Blood”. The former is less a song and more a welcome, drums skipping lazily behind a carefree guitar melody. The latter begins in a similar fashion but quickly gives way to spacious vocal harmonies, Chasny’s throaty baritone, and the hums of a feedbacking guitar.

“Black Wall”, however, is where the album truly begins, ferocious guitar work and insistent drones settling comfortably into Six Organs’ style. Though it’s the only song on the album driven by vocals, it’s home to one of Chasny’s most impressive performances. The following track, “The Desert Is A Circle” falls somewhere between an epic cowboy song and the soundtrack to a Japanese war movie, though far exceeds both in quality.

“Attar”, the next track, is a tumultuous three minutes of buildup, giving way into the unexpectedly docile “Wolves’ Pup” which carries on in the same vein as the album opener. These first six tracks are together the most cohesive and accessible collection of songs that Chasny has authored to date, and standing alone they would make for a strong album. The seventh track, however, is where the real journey begins.

Taking up more than half of the album’s runtime is the twenty-four minute “River of Transfiguration”. What transpires in that time is in many ways new to the Six Organs catalog. Tone generators, the song’s backbone, oscillate slowly in the mix. There are no acoustic guitars to be heard. What sounds like a choir of monks marching to their death chants a somber dirge. Noel Van Harmonson’s drums twitch in and out as they please. A variety of instruments soaked with reverb make for the stratosphere. It can barely be deemed a song, in fact—-the title of “experience” or “experiment” suits it much more comfortably. It’s quite likely to test the patience of many listeners, eight minutes transpiring before anything really happens, and slowly fading into silence for the track’s final six minutes.

It can be a difficult piece to work through, granted, but devoted listeners know that the difficult tracks are the tracks that offer the greatest reward in the end. Some critics (like Coke Machine Glow’s Clayton Purdom, whose review you can read here) call the song pretentious (perhaps even beyond pretentious), arguing that Chasny is simply being irresponsible and ruining what is otherwise a fantastic album.

But to say that is to confuse “pretentious” with “ambitious”. I don’t believe for even a second that Chasny only recorded “River of Transfiguration” because he could. Instead, it feels that he’s reaching for a higher goal, a sort of spiritual movement through music, without certainty that it will even work. And while the success of the track relies largely on his skill as a musician, to say that the track is a pointless display of talent or an illusion of grandeur is to forget that a track such as this may actually be the best use of his talent and may be a true moment of grandeur. The first six tracks are nothing without “River of Transfiguration” acting as an imposing foil to the album’s cohesive first half. True, in the end it may mean nothing, but to Chasny the nihilist, there is nothing more genuine and beautiful than futility and meaninglessness.

Which, after all, is sort of the point of Six Organs of Admittance. There is chaos in its noise breakdowns, there is man toiling stubbornly in its guitars, there is nature in its imagery, and there is oblivion in its scope. "The Sun Awakens" is an album that flawlessly balances the thin line between nothing and everything and, in the process, makes both more beautiful, meaning be damned.

Download:
Six Organs of Admittance - Black Wall
Six Organs of Admittance - Attar

- Dominick Duhamel -

Tags: Six Organs of Admittance, Ben Chasny, Review, mp3

Column: How to Disappear Completely: Radiohead, Kiss & the Reason I'm A Creep

When people mention the band Radiohead, and due to the company I keep this happens almost daily, I always make sure to mention that I like the song “Creep.” I say it because I have the vague knowledge that a) it is a Radiohead song, b) it is at least marginally good and c) people who don’t listen to Radiohead still seem to invariably like “Creep.” I do this, because I am a liar. Truthfully, I’m surprised that no one has noticed just how little input I have toward any Radiohead related conversation but, until now of course, no one has ever called me on it. Maybe that's because sometimes I add that they never play it live, because that fact is the only other thing I know about Radiohead's music. I’m sure there have been times (AKA car rides) in which someone has played Radiohead. In fact, I’m fairly certain that an entire Radiohead album, probably Kid A, has been played in my presence at some point in my life, but I honestly can’t remember one note of it. And this includes “Creep.”

Now, in no way shape or form, no matter how many times I may have stated the contrary, do I believe that I possess what is known as “good” taste in music. I don't even know what exactly that would constitute, though I bet it would include pretending to like Aesop Rock, musing about Jazz instrumentals and a lot of Jandek. Truthfully, I’m not entirely sure if such a thing truly exists. Conversely, I know a fairly large group of people who I would personally consider to have such a thing, but I sure wouldn’t include myself in that esteemed company. I’ve spent as much time air drumming to “Kill ‘Em All” as I have committing the entirety of “In the Aeroplane” to memory. Seriously though, test me (note: this is also, a lie). Right now, as I’m writing this, I’m listening to Lightning Bolt, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be obnoxiously blaring the new Prince album out of my 2002 Mitsubishi on my way home. Let’s just say Sufjan and Soundgarden are fairly buddy buddy in my cd rack. So what does that all mean, besides that I just used a really clichéd writing method to mention other bands that I like in a piece about Radiohead? Essentially, I’m the kind of person who should listen to Radiohead. In fact, I should love Radiohead to the point of using them to describe poignant moments of my life and their songs should haunt every mix album I ever make anyone for the rest of my existence. But I don’t, and I blame Kiss.

In high school, I knew three people who liked Weezer. Actually, in high school I knew three people who really, really wanted me to like Weezer. Because of this, I had absolutely no interest in ever listening to Weezer. Ever. The phrase “greatest band ever” was thrown around so many time that no non-Zeppelin band could ever hope to live up to such exaggerated declarations. I think I even began to profess that I “hated” Weezer, even though I had absolutely no validation for such an egregious claim. The thing is, I didn’t really hate Weezer, I hated how much other people loved them. It was kind of like the way most men “hated” Johnny Depp, John Cusack, or at least one O Town member sometime in their early high school career. I highly doubt that any 16-year-old boy really gives much of a fuck about any of those people personally, but they (who am I kidding: I) sure cared about how much the females around them felt about such celebrities. So I guess I’m saying that Radiohead makes me think about not liking Weezer in high school and Weezer makes me think about how, for somewhere under a month, I hated John Cusack sophomore year. And all of this makes me think about Kiss.

I’ve devised a scientific theory that entirely centers around fans of the 70’s rock band Kiss, or as they like to refer to themselves “the Kiss Army.” That preposterous title is a perfect example of the mindset that one must enter when becoming a reverent follower of such a ridiculous band. It’s not the “Kiss Club” (Klub?) or the “Kiss Collective”, or the “Kiss Happy Jumpy After-School Fun Group”, it’s the Kiss Army, and armies exist for two purposes: to defend the homeland and fight other armies. Due to the fact that I can’t think of any other band that has their own personal militia this would mean that the Kiss Army’s duty is to protect Kiss fans, or perhaps the band members themselves from anyone who would dare cross them. This implies that both: even someone who doesn’t care about Kiss still cares about Kiss’ fans, and that if they did, they would somehow want to prevent these fans from further enjoying Kiss. It would be remarkable if there were a band so amazingly powerful that anyone who was not a fan would immediately become voraciously obsessed with the destruction of both the musicians and their fans, but to my knowledge no such band exists, and if it did, it wouldn’t be Kiss. Still, there remains a need in fanatical Kiss fans to proclaim their greatness at any opportunity, and there is nothing endearing about it. I refer to this phenomenon simply as: Kiss Syndrome. Eventually, these fans went to college, got stoned, got drunk and eventually, in the early 80’s got each other pregnant while listening to “Radar For Love” and gave birth to a generation of Radiohead fans. Is that an extremely convoluted, nonsensical events chain I’ve just drawn up to skip ahead in the story? Yes. Does it conveniently leave out the fact that my parents were huge Creedence Clearwater fans and that this timeline fails to draw the obvious parallel of said fact and my love of My Morning Jacket? That it does. Is it the segue I’m sticking with? Mmhmm.

So present day, and a strange sub-genre of unrelated music that seems to bring out unceasing devotion in its fans still exists. Right now Radiohead remains its mighty forerunner but who knows, maybe in a few years my friends younger siblings won’t be able to stop going on and on about how the 4th Clap Your Hands Say Yeah album changed their whole outlook on life. In fact, at least two of the Weezer people from high school have simply transformed into the Radiohead people from college. When I proposed the idea to my editor of doing a three-perspective review on the new Thom Yorke solo album, one written by me (who doesn’t listen to Radiohead and is apathetic on the subject), one written by Dominick (who owns almost every Radiohead release in existence) and one written by an unnamed writer who dislikes Radiohead, I was promptly informed that there wasn’t actually any writer on staff that didn’t dislike the band. How is that possible? 10 plus 18-20something music addicts and not one of them hates the band? You’d think at least one person would claim they did just to be different, even if they secretly harbored a deep passionate love for the song “Treefingers.” And for that reason, I don’t listen to Radiohead. I don’t listen to Radiohead because everyone seems to have done all the listening for me. I don’t listen because there is no way it could ever live up to the expectation that have been growing for years of mental abuse on the subject. In fact, it seems that everyone I know assumes that I already do, so when they start talking about all the new songs they’ve been playing live and debate whether “Amnesiac” is really all that good or just “Kid A” outtakes I just gently nod my head and tell them I like “Creep.”

Download:
Weezer - El Scorcho
Radiohead - Creep

- Matt Lindsay -

Tags: Radiohead, Weezer, Kiss, Creep, mp3

Judging by the Cover: Of Montreal

My name is Stacey Capoot. As an introduction, my column will review albums I bought because I thought the cover art looked cool. I will then decide whether or not I think that what is on the inside is as good as what is on the outside. As a disclaimer, I will probably be reviewing artists I have at least heard of before, so don’t expect reviews of a bunch of random $1.99 CDs I picked up at the used music store. Hope you enjoy my reviews!


"Colquelicot Asleep in the Poppies..."
Kindercore; 2001
7.5/10

There are two main points that came to mind when I started listening to this album: (1) Of Montreal listens to the Beatles. A lot. (2) I really love listening to this CD, so I don’t really care. This is probably the best seven dollars I have spent in a very long time (I admit, I bought it used because I am a cheapskate). As soon as I put this in my car stereo, it immediately put me in a good mood. It is this fact that, I feel, redeems it from its obvious “Magical Mystery” influences. Then again, who doesn’t love “Magical Mystery Tour”?

Before buying “Colquelicot Asleep in the Poppies: A Variety of Whimsical Verse”, I had only heard part of one Of Monreal song, so I didn’t know what to expect. I was pleasantly surprised by their commitment to a combination of silliness, romance, and fine musicianship. The album is what the early part of the century would have sounded like on drugs with a little bit of electric guitar, and of course, the presence of John, Paul, George, and Ringo.

On that note, I think it is important to address my Beatles comparisons. The album definitely invokes the style of tracks like “Martha My Dear”, “Magical Mystery Tour”, “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds”, and “Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite.” Their sweetly sung, but occasionally twisted, lyrics are reminiscent of the more chemically-enhanced Beatles era, particularly bringing to mind the perverse “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer” and the sweetly awkward “Lovely Rita.” To support this point with an anectdote, my boss walked over to my desk while I was listening to the CD, and suddenly started talking about how his daughter loves “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band”. I think that speaks for itself.

Point aside, I have been listening to this album continuously for about a week now, and I am not even vaguely sick of it. It makes driving to La Mesa a pleasant experience. [Editor’s Note: For those of you unfamiliar with southern California, driving to La Mesa sucks.] “Colquelicot Asleep” is a departure from reality, with its stories of endearingly peculiar characters told against the backdrop of some of the loveliest violins, horns, pianos, and falsettos that I’ve ever heard recorded on a pop album. The lead singer’s pure tenor voice brings merriment and sincerity to even the strangest lyrics on the album. When he croons about powdering his nose while the lovely Rose Robert draws on her mustache, or when Mimi Merlot drugs the shocked Manuel and locks him in a wardrobe and covers it with aluminum foil, I was hardly even weirded out. Of Montreal effortlessly transitions between these tunes and more standard love songs without seemingly like they’re trying too hard on either.

If I had to pick a favorite track on the album, it would definitely be “Let’s Do Everything for the First Time”: “Will you kiss me again so I can pretend we’re kissing for the first time? / Because when we kissed for the first time I was distracted.” Musically, it’s beautiful—it sounds like a hug. It’s stuck in my head all day long, and it’s the kind of lyrical composition that every girl wishes was written for her. I absolutely love it. It is probably one of the most normal songs on the album, and I think it proves that Of Montreal can stand alone on their talent for songwriting and orchestration without having to sing about three-legged hyena-cicadas to get attention. (This is not to say that I don’t enjoy the discussion of three-legged hyena cicadas. I do. Especially when they are devouring small children.) A couple of my other favorite tracks include “Mimi Merlot”, “Rose Robert”, and “Butterscotching Mr. Lynn.”

The only complaint I have about the album is the narrative track entitled “The Events Leading up to the Collapse of Detective Dulllight.” It has no music and has something to do with detectives and butterflies. It makes absolutely no sense, and I think it’s the only point on the album where Of Montreal is stretching it just a little too far. There is one line sung on the track through a phone—“Excuse me are you So-and-so? Well So-and-so since you left I have been eating only sweets cuz they remind me of you.” I wish so very much that they had turned that pretty little line into a full song instead of inserting in the middle of this pointless story. It was interesting to listen to the first time, but now I just skip over it. Thanks to the forward button, this little problem can be easily corrected.

I am thankful that what was inside the CD was even better than what was on the outside. “Colquelicot Asleep in the Poppies: A Variety of Whimsical Verse” is a delight to listen to, and I recommend it to anyone who is able to derive any kind of joy from a musical recording. Until next time, it really is what’s on the inside that counts.

Download:
Of Montreal - Let's Do Everything For the First Time Forever
Of Montreal - Mimi Merlot

- Stacey Capoot -

Tags: Of Montreal, Colquelicot, Review, mp3

Live: Bonnaroo 2006, Part 2

Be sure to check out the first part of our Bonnaroo story here.



Saturday was the highlight. Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, Beck, and Radiohead were the three acts I wouldn’t miss. CYHSY put on what can only be called a solid indie rock show, with a steady energy reminiscent of the album. The man on keys wore his best Dr. Dog shirt, a relic from Dr. Dog’s short tour opening for CYHSY. Bittersweet. That damn van.

We saw a bit of Mute Math, a band that Max likes a lot. I trust that man when it comes to entertainment. He turned me on to Woody Guthrie, My Morning Jacket, Dr. Dog, plus the comedy of the Three Stooges. I hadn’t heard of Mute Math, but we had a little spare time and made it in time for their last tune, where the vocalist howled and ran through the packed crowd in a minuscule side-tent in Centeroo. I’ll definitely be checking them out at Lollapalooza.

I wasn’t happy about missing free-jazz funk trio Medeski, Martin, and Wood, but their set coincided too perfectly with Beck’s. After Elvis Costello’s last song, I weaved the crowd to get as close as possible, no matter the conditions I had to wait in. So for an hour I waited for Beck while a circle of people leaned on my legs, forcing me to keep every leg muscle tense. The sun was shining and people were fainting, but as I said, the bad comes with the good – this kind of thing is always worth it.

Right on time, Beck staggered out in a white shirt, black vest, and black hat. I had a great view, about 30th row (if you can call them “rows”) and about 45 degrees to the right. Not bad, considering there were 40,000 people behind me and only a couple thousand in front. And all without a press pass. I’ll take it. Even with my view, I looked at the massive screen for reference, but did a double take when I saw a Beck marionette, dressed like Beck on stage, mimicking Hansen’s every action. Mini replicas of the band and their equipment recreated the musicians on stage. Beck began with a few tracks off Odelay, then a few from Sea Change, and finally Guero. He left the stage and I thought it was over, but the album version of “Loser” came on and everybody danced as if it weren’t a recording. He came back on with an acoustic and his band trailing him, sitting down to dinner. “I’m gawna play some songs for ya’ll, and the band is gawna eat some dinner,” Beck told us in a drawl that seems to overtake him in the south. Dude, you’re from LA, you don’t have an accent, you just have the same condition as Madonna. Despite the accent, Beck’s solo set was the best mid-show acoustic set I have seen. First he gave us a slow, abridged “Do You Realize?,” a cover he has played around with for the past few years. Then he told us, “I’m gonna play a Radiohead song. I don’t think they’ll be playing this one tonight.” And he promptly ruined “Creep,” but half-figured it out and redeemed himself before noodling around for a few minutes on the six string, leaving the audience asking each other, “What the fuck is going on?” But it was welcomed warmly, especially when the rest of the band jammed along on wine glasses and plates, and a kick drum backbeat took over, suddenly morphing into a full band tune and leaving everybody delightfully shocked.

Beck left the stage. It would be an hour and a half standing like a cow, shoulder to shoulder and leaning forward with a crowd of thousands of like-minded, we-need-to-get-as-close-to-Radiohead-as-possible kids, myself among them. In the end we didn’t move more than five feet, but at least we were uncomfortable.

As the night took over the day and my legs gave out, Radiohead finally took the stage with “There There” followed by “2+2=5.” The anticipation had been building for a few years, and when I saw this band I finally realized why their shows are so respected, why people pay hundreds of dollars for scalped tickets. Thom Yorke was noticeably enjoying himself, smiling, dancing his neo-hippy freak dance, and, with the rest of the band, nailing every part of every song. Even after playing some of the biggest European festivals like Glastonbury, Yorke acknowledged the size of Bonnaroo: “Now this is a festival.” They played some new tunes, which are promising, but the climactic sing-along of “Idioteque” and the sonic mess of twisted vocals and synths in “Everything In Its Right Place” were the highlights. After six hours of standing without water, going blind and half-deaf in the middle of some new songs (seriously…what the fuck was that all about?), and nearly three hours of Radiohead, I was ready to head back, but when I got to my tent, all I wanted to do was go see another Radiohead show.

Sunday: After three days without a shit, shower, or shave, it’s starting to get a bit old, but you can’t simply skip Stephen Malkmus and Sonic Youth. Early in the day, Max juggled the old football with some people while I laid down and listened to the Refugee Allstars of Sierra Leone, who play African style reggae and talk a lot about what it’s like to be a refugee. Turns out, it’s pretty hard. We saw the first few songs of The Streets, who, despite the crowd’s support, couldn’t deliver the rhymes as fast or clear as on the record. But we had to get a spot for Stephen Malkmus.

We were about 10th row at Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks. The band set up and sound checked their own equipment (“as you can see, we’re traveling light,” said Malkmus), then left the stage for 10 minutes and returned for an hour-and-a-half set. Their set leaned more heavily on last year’s Face the Truth than 2003’s Pig Lib, but both were represented fairly. “It Kills” rocked the hardest, and “I’ve Hardly Been” appealed to the dancy, indie crowd at the festival. The band was far from flawless, but that’s the kind of slack Malkmus is known for getting. He seems have improved at guitar, and had some great solo breaks, but still managed to flub the end of “Loud Cloud Crowd,” ending the song instead with “Loud Crowd Crowd.” The new tunes sound great, so hopefully another album is close on the horizon.

Another hour wait and Thurston Moore took the stage, lanky and pale, like the most weathered, overgrown, coolest teenager ever. Before Sonic Youth, we noticed a massive collection of guitars and basses, probably 15 or 20. It seemed excessive, and it was. It was the Fender Jazzmaster showcase. Ten of the thirteen guitars were Jazzmasters, varying in color, year, and sticker concentration. Thurston used the shittiest Jazzmasters to drag on speakers and sweep the stage, filling the tent with the manipulated sound of a dying guitar. This is what I came here for, complete chaos being eaten up by masses of youth. This is great entertainment. To close his set and, for me, the festival, Thurston strapped on his gold Jazz and Stephen Malkmus stepped on to sing.

We skipped Phil Lesh to keep Thurston Moore and Stephen Malkmus as the last memory of Bonnaroo. After a full night on the road I arrived home and crashed. Looking back, while this year’s music was better than last, the environment was less surreal. Something seemed off. The lack of the usual Tennessee rain? Maybe. Or the fact that I had already experienced it last year? Possibly. Or maybe Bonnaroo is beginning to run its course. The word at the festival seemed to be that Bonnaroo wouldn’t exist five years from now. These things come and go. But surely something similar will take its place, and a fresh young heir will continue the long tradition of the multi-day outdoor music festival.



The four materials remaining after Bonnaroo: empty 1.5 L bottle of water; Bonnaroo ticket; Bonnaroo wristband; $2.19

Download:
Radiohead - Everything In Its Right Place
Stephen Malkmus - It Kills
Sonic Youth - Incinerate

- Austin Bauer -

Tags: Bonnaroo, Radiohead, Beck, Sonic Youth, mp3

Live: Bonnaroo 2006, Part 1

It was just your average festival – a three-night fête of eclectic music, community, guitars, farms, drugs, nature, sun(burns), port-o-potties, people-watching, and good vibes. Sure—as Beck’s guitarist noted—it “smelled like hippies”; and yes, the weather was fairly intense – in place of last year’s omnipresent rain, much of Bonnaroo 2006 was humid with temperatures in the 90’s, no wind, and a bitch of a sun. But with the bad times come the good; to see all this music in one place at one time, there must be some sacrifice. Me, I’ll take melanoma ten years down the road, so long as I remember this weekend.

After barely making my flight from LA to Milwaukee on Wednesday, my silver ’97 Taurus pulled out of the Dairy State toward Tennessee at 9 AM Thursday morning. We hoped to make it to Nashville by 8:30 that night, in time to see Dr. Dog at the Mercy Lounge, so we only stopped for gas, and, after driving back and forth through downtown Nashville looking for this damn club, pulled up to the Mercy Lounge at 7:30. Perfect timing.

My experiences with Dr. Dog are mixed. While I admire their music, I seem to have terrible luck with the band. Their 2005 album “Easy Beat” instantly entered my top five favorite albums ever. Yes, its similarity to the Beatles is unmistakable, but while everybody is “Beatlesque” in one way or another, nobody does it with more creativity, skill, and passion than these brilliant fuckers. For me, though, things change when it comes to dealing with the band. I went to see Dr. Dog at the Troubadour for my first show in LA. For childish reasons, the bouncer wouldn’t let me into the show. Instead of being a part of an amazing performance, I listened to the muffled sounds of the Dog from behind 3 feet of concrete in the alley behind the Troubadour. But that’s another story for another article.

So my luck with this band is poor. I was expecting something to happen, I just knew it. But after somehow making the trek to the Mercy Lounge with time to spare, what could go wrong?

When we made it to the club, I walked up to a sign that said:
"Due to mechanical issues, Dr. Dog will not be performing tonight."

“Well fuck, man, that’s fucking bullshit.”

I went inside and spoke with the club’s bartenders and manager, all of whom assured me, despite the optimistic rumors outside, that Dr. Dog would not be performing. Their van broke down just outside Atlanta. There they were stranded, and they ended up missing the next few dates of their tour. What a classic story. All I could think was how terribly coincidental it was that the only time this band failed to play a show was when I somehow manage to complete a 600-mile trip in 10 hours. Amazing.

But I laughed it off the best I could and took I-24 towards Manchester. An hour later, we entered the campground with no line, no search, no questions, and less than 10 minutes’ walk to the stages – a step up from last year’s five-hour line, car search, and a muddy 30-minute walk to the stages.

With nothing better to do, we checked out the Thursday night entertainment. Devotchka played gypsy rock ‘n roll, electrified eastern-European polka-folk. The Japanese punk-rock trio Electric Eel Shock snarled their lips and chewed their guitars at The Other Tent, wanting to be ACDC so bad – and acting more outrageous – that you can’t help but dig it. Songs like “Sex Noises” wrapped the audience in the sounds of a 20-year-old Japanese guitarist making far-too-realistic sex noises into the mic, which was simultaneously entertaining and awkward.

On the walk to the Comedy Tent, we ran into one of many pieces of interactive art at Bonnaroo’s aptly named focal point, Centeroo. This particular contraption was a mess of metal that made a variety of sounds with different pitches and timbres. Stoned hippies danced and banged away with sticks, pens, and spatulas. Thankfully, as long as there were a lot of people hitting it, the instrument would create an impressive beat, like a huge robot monster with thousands of clanking parts – who dances. Anyone could join in. The more, the dancier.

When that got old after about a half hour, we headed to the Comedy Tent and saw the last 20 minutes of Patton Oswald, who had a fair set. It seems “fuck” always makes things funnier. So does weed.



After a much-needed rest, Seu Jorge opened the first full day of Bonnaroo with “Rebel Rebel.” Everybody loved it because they recognized it, but Seu instantly jumped into his own material backed by a hot Brazilian band. The audience embraced it, more than they would have even if he had played the entire “The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou” soundtrack.

Seu Jorge closed on an energetic note, and we ran to make the last half hour of Ben Folds who sported sunglasses and an air of empowerment from the sheer size of the crowd. I don’t know if he was coked out or just feeling especially cool, but his ego wasn’t so maddening as it was distracting. Coked out or not, he was more energetic than I had seen him, and his new band only added to the energy. I’ve gotten bored with seeing him alone at the piano; a rhythm section is essential. In “Army,” Folds split the audience in half and had them sing the call-and-response horn duo, with 15,000 fans singing over 15,000 more. (Luckily the audience at Bonnaroo is impressively musical and can clap and sing together well. I wasn’t at a single show where the audience didn’t clap in unison at least three times.) Although the band underperforms the Ben Folds Five lineup from years ago, and despite the fact that I missed half the songs, this was the best Ben Folds show I have been to.

At Bright Eyes, Conor Oberst crooned and drank tequila. Taking advantage of the high concentration of musician-friends at the festival, he invited Gruff Rhys of the Superfurry Animals to the stage, where he played a few tunes with Bright Eyes and a solo acoustic version of “Hello Sunshine.” Then My Morning Jacket’s Jim James and folk singer Gillian Welch came on to sing backup. With one stage filled with all these recognizable faces, you come to realize why such multi-day outdoor festivals have grown to become as important as they are.

After Bright Eyes, I swung by Oysterhead, which, as expected, blended Les Claypool weirdness with Trey’s more spaced out solos – listenable, but not spectacular. I skipped Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers’ headlining set because nobody else wanted to go, and I would only have stayed for a few hit tunes, which makes me feel dirty. Plus, I needed food and water to keep from passing out.

At midnight (this is still only Friday), four-time Bonnaroo vets My Morning Jacket began a 3½ hour set of which I could only stand for half. My good friend and festival-mate Max is an avid MMJ fan and assures me they played every song flawlessly. And from what I saw, they were rocking pretty fucking hard, pretty fucking late.

Download:
Dr. Dog - Say Something
Seu Jorge - Rebel Rebel
My Morning Jacket - The Bear

- Austin Bauer -

Tags: Bonnaroo, Dr. Dog, Ben Folds, My Morning Jacket, mp3

Track Review: Regina Spektor

Regina Spektor: "Samson" Track Review, or, Matt Uses His First Attempt at Reviewing Music to Verbally Cum on a Beautiful Pop Song

From "Begin to Hope"
8.5/10

I really, really need to have something bad to say about this song. I want to be professional and proper, give the pros and the cons, say my piece, and be done in time to download the new Peaches album and watch some more Court TV. And moreover, I really just don’t want my editor to get mad at me for turning in the biggest puff piece of a review imaginable as my debut effort, but damn it, I just can’t bring myself to do it. “Samson” is hardly a perfect song, in fact I can think of at least two songs on Regina Spektor's new album “Begin to Hope” that I enjoy just as much, but for some reason to breathe a negative word about this song just feels like musical blasphemy.

Coming from someone who worships at the altar of Fiona, it’s good to know that there are more quirky, angel-voiced songstresses in the world. The first ten seconds of the song could easily stand as a lesser artist’s impressive chorus, her voice rising up to the rafters almost immediately as throughout the song she uses her impressive falsetto to give added weight and splendor to already gorgeous lyrics.

In much of her music Regina Spektor has a way of keeping her songs both timeless and current almost simultaneously. “Samson” could be simply a retelling of an old Bible story with a twist, or it could all stand for something else entirely. When she sings, “Your hair was long when we first met,” it sounds as if she’s singing about a hell of a lot more than an ancient strong man and ill-advised haircuts. Even seemingly cringe-worthy lines like, “He ate a slice of Wonderbread, and went right back to bed,” are delivered with such devotion that it’s hard not to forgive them as minor lyrical slips of the tongue.

So, all this run around is just to keep me from mentioning the real lynchpin of the song, and if you’ve heard the track and possess a heart that occasionally pumps blood, you know exactly what I’m talking about. At around the minute-forty mark, Spektor pulls off one of the most spectacularly beautiful moments in music that I have personally ever heard. When she sings about being told she’d, “done all right,” and being, “kissed until the morning light,” it makes me think back to all the moments when I’ve been completely enthralled with another human being. Maybe the song isn’t nearly good enough to be deserving of such a thing, but fuck me if that’s not what it does. My best friend and her boyfriend almost came to blows over the fact that he claimed “Fidelity” was the worst song he’d ever heard in his life and at least two other Paper Stereo writers (full discloser: Ryan and Dominick) claimed that the exact same moment almost made them weep, so it makes me feel safe to know that I’m in good company.

The odd thing about that is that I’ve been here before—when I heard “Samson” a few years ago on her “11:11” album—and for some reason it didn’t register as much of anything, but now I can’t get it out of my head. In fact I’ll go on record as saying that, so far, it’s my favorite musical moment of the summer. That being said, I also have the flightiest taste ever, so tomorrow I could very well be telling you that “Black Swan” changed my life, but as of this very moment, give me “Samson” or give me death. So there it is, first review: a total failure.

Download:
Regina Spektor - Samson

- Matt Lindsay -

Tags: Regina Spektor, Begin To Hope, Samson, mp3

Live: Radiohead 6/23/06

Was it Radiohead that brought the fog rolling in? I wouldn’t be surprised. Thom Yorke opened his two-night show (well, two-night for those who are rich, lucky, or have their priorities straight) at the Greek Theater in Berkeley with the chilling vocals of “You and Whose Army?” in a theatre that was dead silent. Playing some old and what felt like the entire new album, Radiohead had the theatre gyrating with adoration of the band’s every motion. And, yes, though Thom got a little pissed because of some technical problems with his monitor, by the encore they had everything in its right place (corny, but it had to be done).

Of their new material, “15 step,” a fast-paced track in 5/4 and complete with an unusual yet ultimately followable clapping scheme, seems like it will be the album’s biggest hit. As expected, Radiohead has evolved between their last album and this one, utilizing the old rock/electronica blend, yet innovatively infusing R&B-esque rhythms and chords. A prime example of this was the band’s performance of the new song “All I Need,” played for the second time ever at the Berkeley show. With its simple beat and relaxed vibe, this new song is a pretty good indication that the band has got some inventive stuff in store. This new influence also shined through in the song “Nude,” featuring Thom wailing in an Ella Fitzgerald sort of fashion. Although it is unreleased thus far on any album, the band chose to play the song both nights, hinting that it will probably appear on the upcoming album.

To close the show, in classic Radiohead style, across the stage lights scrolled the words “And Ever and Ever,” a subtle treat for their dedicated fans who saw them on their Hail to the Thief tour, which ended with “Forever” sprawled across the stage. Other highlights included: Thom stopping the song “Nude,” putting the sound guys in their place, and starting it over; some fat guy jumping on the stage and being tackled by security; Thom describing the new material as “way sketchy;” and, oh yeah, Deerhoof.

Download:
Radiohead - You & Whose Army?
Radiohead - 15 Step (Demo)
Deerhoof - Siriustar

- Sarah Rothberg -

Tags: Radiohead, Live, Deerhoof, mp3

Album Review: Mountains

"Sewn"
Apestaartje; 2006
4.5/10

Whenever I come across an album where the music is described as ambient or active listening, I am always hopefully that maybe I will experience something magical. Maybe magical isn’t the right word, maybe something more along the lines of seeing a divine metaphysical spirit in my room.

Unfortunately this has yet to happen during any of the times I set aside forty-five minutes to experience what to some is life changing. Mountains is a collaboration between Brendon Anderegg and Koen Holtkamp, the co-founders of Apestaartje Records. To describe the kind of sounds heard on Mountains second album Sewn, you could use many words because it doesn’t really fall under any musical genre, unless there is a genre called “ a microphone set up in the Rainforest Café, where a Flamenco guitarist gently strums away.”

That might seem a bit harsh, but if you listen to the full forty-five minute, eight-track album you would realize how accurate that lengthy genre name really is. I am sure the two members of Mountains are fine musicians but it doesn’t show on this album, unless one of the qualifications of extraordinary musicianship is the ability to hold one note on an organ for over five minutes. This music is not at all hard to listen to, in that it sounds bad; it is just on the, shall we say, boring side. It lacks a certain effort, which makes it come across as lazy art. Any person that thinks that this music is mind blowing should really stop fucking pretending. If you like the music that’s fine but if it is like a religious experience to you then you are trying too hard to be more indie than the fans of Moldy Peaches.

Now you might remember that I did say I wanted to find something, in music like this, something spectacular, or godly. Well, this is not possible. I want people to be inspired by music, and have it be life-changing cause that is the beauty of music itself. When you take it to the extreme you are missing the beauty and striving to find something that music can’t provide. I think Mountains are almost trying too hard to make it just for those that want that unattainable feeling. It isn’t art anymore; it is the lack of an artistic idea, and a lot of free time to record the soothing sounds of water.

- Ryan Cox -

Tags: Mountains, Sewn, Review, mp3

Live: A Dialogue with Danger Mouse

Monday, June 12, at the Hammer Museum in Westwood, rising hip-hop producer Danger Mouse appeared for a conversation with Jason Bentley, a prominent Los Angeles DJ for a discussion about indie rap and Danger Mouse's role in the upcoming L.A. Film Festival.

Bentley began by asking him about his various projects; Danger Mouse discussed his hop-hop beginnings, making music for Cartoon Network's "Adult Swim" and DJing to make extra money on the side, though he expressed a dislike for the instant-gratification of playing another's music instead of making music of your own.

Danger began working on an album with rapper Jemini, which would lead him to catch the eye of several MCs. Within the next year he would begin working with Cee-Lo from Goodie Mob, MF Doom, and Blur frontman Damon Albarn, often juggling several of the projects at once.

"When I have to make the choice between relaxing and working with another artist, I have trouble passing that opportunity up," Danger said. "At this point I just want to work with as many people as I can. So I've been pretty busy."

During this time he also produced "The Grey Album", a mix of parts from Jay-Z's "Black Album" and The Beatles' "White Album". His collaboration with Cee-Lo, which would later be named Gnarls Barkley, was the first of the post-Jemini projects he undertook and, coincidentally, the last one he finished. In the meantime, he began working with MF Doom (whom he noted to be his favorite MC) on their collaboration "Danger Doom," which spliced in clips from Adult Swim characters in what Danger referred to as an experiment combining mainstream television with undeground hip-hop.

Danger Mouse was then approached by Damon Albarn, who was about to begin the second Gorillaz album.

"I had no idea why he asked me to work with him. I hadn't done anything that would qualify me to do that kind of mainstream hip-hop, and at that point I wasn't even sure I could."

He expressed a great esteem for Albarn, who allowed him plenty of creative space and inspired him with his grueling workpace. Soon after he finished the second Gorillaz album, he rejoined Cee-Lo to finish their album.

Gnarls Barkley has proved to be among Danger's greatest achievements yet; the first single from their album, "Crazy", broke records in the UK by being the first single to hit number one by download only. Danger Mouse, however, expressed some hesitation when asked about his feelings concerning music on the internet.

"It's becoming so easy just to download single songs, or to skip all the songs you don't instantly like with just one click. Sometimes it takes a few listens to get an album, and no one takes the time do that anymore," Danger said, eliciting applause from the appreciative audience.

Danger Mouse, who had been chosen as the L.A. Film Festival's "Artist in Residence" also quickly went over the three films he chose to be screened: Woody Allen's "Deconstructing Harry", Richard Kelly's "Donnie Darko", and Rainer Werner Fassbinder's "The Marriage of Maria Braun". He expressed a particular attachment to movies, telling Bentley that before he had started working with music he had wanted to work in the film industry.

The floor was then opened to the audience for questions. One fan in attendance asked him about his Danger Mouse moniker and how much he watched the cartoons from the 80s.

"I watched those all the time!" he responded. "I watched a few not long ago and I realized how much of the British humor I didn't get, and how I definitely didn't get that as a kid, but he was my favorite. I think it was the eyepatch that won me over."

Download:
Danger Doom - Sofa King
Gnarls Barkley - Just A Thought

- Dominick Duhamel -

Tags: Danger Mouse, LA Film Festival, Hammer Museum, mp3