Music is a Cruel Lover I

Welcome to my new, totally spontaneous column action. Drink it up:

Leaving for Coachella tomorrow. Pretty excited. For some reason more excited about being back in ninety-something degree weather (the kind we had in San Diego last summer [and will hopefully have this summer]) than hearing the music in general. S-s-songs:

April March – Chick Habit [mp3]
For those of you who haven’t seen Grindhouse yet, get on it, and witness the incredible context from which this song emerges. Absolutely the catchiest song I’ve heard in a very long time—almost as can’t-get-it-out-of-your-fucking-head as “Lost” (yes, the TV show), which I’ve been addicted to for the last two weeks (and yes I know it’s pretty much old news by now). There’s something so horribly charming about an earnest girl with a playful, poppy voice singing about cutting people up in two.

Feist – Past in Present [mp3]
So the new Feist album is pretty fantastic right? Pretty life-changing, right? When “The Reminder” keeps me from listening to my other new music because I know the rest won’t compare, that’s gotta be a good sign. The whole way through—incredible, well-written, affecting, and utterly unforgettable. Leslie Feist, if you’re reading this, I have a proposition: if we’re both seventy and we’re both still single, will you marry me? Just for the hell of it?

Slint – Breadcrumb Trail [mp3]
SPIDERLAND SPIDERLAND SPIDERLAND SPIDERLAND

Bonny Billy – Barcelona [mp3]
I’m pretty sure there’s a nest of spiders somewhere in this room, because I keep seeing them flit across the wall and disappear before I can nab them with a kleenex. But if I ever found it, I’d play this song as I flushed them down the toilet. I think it’s pretty safe to assume that spiders like Will Oldham as much as I do, if not more. (This is from the “Little Lost Blues” album, by the way, which is worth tracking down for sure).

- Dominick Duhamel -

B-Side Bonanza: The Good, the Bad, and the Fucking Useless

Grinderman: “No Pussy Blues” Single
B-Side: “Chain of Flowers” [mp3] 7/10

If “No Pussy Blues” is Nick Cave’s snarling, pissed off, Mr. Grinder half, then “Chain of Flowers” is its slightly more vulnerable alter ego. The two couldn’t be more divergent, which is the epitome of B-Side goodness. No one wants to hear a retread of the flip side or another sub-par album outtake. A B-side, especially in the age of iTunes, is the prime spot for a band to flex its ability and do something different from what lays on the proper album. Where NPB throbs, Chain lilts, but both hold equal emotional weight. When all is said and done, both of these songs are about attempts at fornication. It is an interesting proposition to take on the same dilemma from conflicting points of view. The singer of NPB is pissed at his chastity while the Chain singer simply laments it and waits. It’s odd that Cave waited until this noisy project to hand over one of his most pensive and beautiful songs ever. Chain also proves that Cave can write a gorgeous song after switching to the guitar from his coveted piano. The entire band is in prime form, providing sugary background vocals, while drummer Jim Sclavunos seems to relish his role as the band’s sole drummer, riding the high hat like his life depends on it. Granted, Cave could sneak into my apartment and sleep with my little sister and I’d probably still rate the encounter as a seven or higher on this website. Luckily for everyone, he’s a certified mother-fucking genius and I don’t have a little sister.


The Good, The Bad & the Queen: “Kingdom of Doom” Single
B-Side: “Hallsands Waltz (Sketches of Devon)” [mp3] 3/10
B-Side: The Bunting Song (Live) 5/10

This, ladies and gentlepeople (did you know gentlepeople is actually registered as a word in spell check?) is exactly how not to do a single. With the average single ranging from 6 to 10 dollars nobody needs a lackluster instrumental jam like Hallsands Waltz (or see: The Herculean Single) or a random live track that is almost indistinguishable from the album cut added to the bands catalogue. At least they didn’t pull the final B-Side blunder and put a demo on there (that would be the Green Fields Single). It seems that Damon Albarn has implemented a no singing on non-album tracks policy that started on the Herculean single and continues onto this one. This wouldn’t be as egregious of an offense if the tracks were high-quality affairs. Unfortunately, Hallsands sounds like the kind of awkward reggae toss off that the band that wins the school talent show plays in their garage to warm up (with vastly improved drumming of course). The worst part is… nothing… happens. How can people as talented as the members of this superband obviously are write a three-minute song that feels four minutes too long?

A slight up-step, the Bunting Song falls into that weird category of live songs that doesn’t have enough outside noise to sound exciting, but is still recorded at a slightly worse for wear quality. While the song on album is very pleasing, both versions suffer from the fact that Tony Allen’s superb drumming is all but nonexistent until the song’s outset, which in this version is full of subtle feedback. Why employ such a character and then not utilize his skill? It is unclear just how a band could craft such a subdued and striking album and then continuously drop the ball regarding singles. Speaking of dropping the ball…


The Strokes: “You Only Live Once” Single
B-Side: “Mercy, Mercy Me (The Ecologist) [Marvin Gaye Cover]” [mp3] 2/10

Of course, the Strokes had a far lower height from which to let said ball hit the ground, but this single is a colossal blunder in every way shape or form. It’s hard to imagine the conversation that preceded both Eddie Vedder and Josh Homme joining the band in the studio to concoct this epic mistake. In attempting to channel the master of soul, both Vedder and Julian Casablancas get their croon on and the results are as boring as you can imagine. You would think that somewhere during the recording at least one of the seven participants would hear what an awkward, mumbly, too-many-drummer-filled, awful piece of disingenuous shite cover of an amazing song they were generating and call it a day. Also, what is the point of bringing Homme into the studio and then sitting him behind the drum kit instead of utilizing either his voice or guitar work? If they were smart they would have just hid Eddie back there made sure he didn’t make any more noise with his mouth. Let Casablancas ruin it, keep some dignity Eddie, you all deserve better than this.

- Matt Lindsay -

A Letter from the Editor

Dear friends and readers,

Last summer, I started Paper Stereo with a group of people who all share a love for music. Nine months and 116 posts later, we are still going strong, working to gain repute in a sea of countless other mp3 blogs and doing our best to bring new, good music to you.

Unfortunately, I write today with bad news. Starting today, Paper Stereo will not operate as it has in the past. There was a time that we posted five times a week, until I found that the burden of writing fell on me, and that I could not keep up. We reduced our postings to three times a week, and that sufficed for a long while. Now I realize that I am not able to keep up this pace, and that Paper Stereo’s blogging will reduce drastically, if not completely.

My reasons for this decision are several. This blog is a truly labor of love and has brought me a great amount of joy as well as provided me an output for my endless thoughts about music. But lately the negative has outweighed the positive.

The main negative is my inability to keep up with the pace of blogging. My writers have written less and less frequently since the beginning of Paper Stereo, and I can no longer pick up the slack. I am busy with a great many other things, and I find that the constant thought of having to write a blog post not only takes time away from these other (and, as far as I’m concerned, more important) things but decreases my drive to do them. I have never operated well when constantly busy and, in the interest of my own mental health, I need to cut a few things out, one of the first of which is regular Paper Stereo posts.

Another reason for this change is that, in constantly searching for music to write about and spending a good deal of time analyzing albums and songs, I lose some of the joy inherent to the music. It becomes a chore to overthink every piece of music I come across, even if that overthinking is a simple jotting down of thoughts. The demand and strain that posting puts on me often keeps me from enjoying the music, making it more like a job than a hobby. That joy that comes from listening—simply sitting down and listening in its purest form—to music is something I’ve experienced less and less frequently since I’ve taken on the brunt of the blogging, and I do not consider this diminisihing joy worth it.

The final reason is that, despite my dedication and effort, we just don’t have the readership we’d like. After nine months of consistent blogging, I thought we’d have more recognition than we do, but with so many other mp3 blogs out there, many of which have been around fairly long and have secured their readership, I can see why a new blog on the block would have problems getting started. We were starting to get heads up from bands and PR people, but I just don’t feel like we’re reaching a sizeable enough audience for me to continue working myself this hard.

And so things must change. If any of my writers turns in a piece to me, I will still post it on the blog, but I will not make up for a lack of articles by writing them myself. As for me, I will be posting articles spontaneously and much less often. Though I’m not making any promises, I see myself posting a few brief track reviews maybe once a week, maybe once every two weeks. If the mood strikes, I’ll write more, but I’m leaving my schedule open to my whims and my needs.

So I guess Paper Stereo is going to be a part-time blog from now on. I have nothing but gratitude for anyone that has ever written anything for me: Sarah, Charlie, Felix, Ryan, Matt, Stacey, Austin, and especially John, who’s been so dependable and beautiful and devoted that I cannot thank him enough. Thanks to the bands that have taken interest in the blog—Delta Spirit, Bodies of Water, and The Parson Red Heads—you’ve given the world beautiful music and I feel that little post on the blog is the least I can do to repay you. I also want to thank anyone and everyone who reads the blog—you’re the reason we started this in the first place.

Thanks for reading all this trash and I hope you’ll continue to check back every now and then. I encourage you all to look for the beautiful music all around you and to share that beautiful music with anyone and everyone you meet.

- Dominick -

Album Review: The OhSees

Here’s another one I wrote awhile ago that I never got around to posting. If you like the OhSees they have a new album, “Sucks Blood”, out now, and it’s worth checking out.


“The Cool Death of Island Raiders”
Narnack; 2006
5/10

John Dwyer is the king of the underground. He is the king because he has always been and will always be the same rare, unappreciated visionary. He will never be famous, he will never be successful, and he will never be accessible. But, rest assured, he will always be behind the scenes, prolific, relentless, and dedicated. Dwyer’s been in more bands than you can count on two hands, contributing guitars, vocals, drums, and a variety of strange sounds to his project of the week before he runs across the country to work on another. He is the patriarch of a strange family; his offspring are the bastard children of the music world.

His latest album with the OhSees is no exception. “The Cool Death of Island Raiders”, released last year on Narnack Records, isn’t going to get much attention from anyone, save the small circles of Dwyer-worshippers across the country. Though the OhSees’ slow shift from Dwyer’s solo outlet to a full, four-member band would seem to make the album more listenable, there still exists a great chasm between the music and the average listener that, in most cases, is impossible to bridge.

This chasm exists largely due to Dave Sitek’s opaque, smothered production. The instruments sound as if they were immersed in swamp water while being recorded: guitar chords disintegrate as soon as they’re hit, obscuring whatever melody they’re meant to establish; the drums sound flat and hollow, robbing the tracks of rhythm and energy; the vocals are one-dimensional and mixed too low; even the experimental textures and musical saws residing in the background aren’t given enough room to breathe.

Somewhere beneath the muddy exterior, however, resides actual music. The album’s questionably titled opening track, “The Guilded Cunt”, is home to some terrific interplay between Dwyer’s cartoonish falsetto and bandmate Brigid Dawson’s simple harmonies. The verses of “The Dumb Drums” feature a tight guitar and drum groove that occasionally gives way to a bright, delayed guitar riff. “Cool Deaths” is a reworking of a classic folk chord progression, with a feedback-infused bridge that provides an interesting contrast to the song’s mellow verses.

But moments like these are rare, and around halfway through the thirty-six minute album the band seems to run out of ideas. The wails of the musical saw grow more and more contrived, the consistently sleepy tempo gets tiresome, and noise breakdowns become little more than uninspired placeholders for unborn melodies. And, as if we needed more proof that the OhSees were having trouble putting the “L” in LP, we’re given “Drone Number One” and “Drone Number Two”, the album’s two longest tracks that together make up almost a third of its play time and feature little more than a tone generator slowly alternating output frequencies.

It’s unclear if the production is meant to veil these shortcomings or simply satisfy Dwyer’s taste for the unconventional, but in either case the result is worse for it, making even the album’s best moments a chore to uncover. And, in the end, the payoff isn’t worth the work it takes to uncover.

“The Cool Death of Island Raiders” is nothing more than a few drops of water to satiate the inhabitants of Dwyer’s thirsty underground kingdom. For the faithful, it’s an assurance that Dwyer isn’t going anywhere, and that he’ll continue to rein in near-obscurity, adding dull and flawed gems to his crown for some time to come. For the rest of us, it’s an album that’s easy to hate and even easier to ignore.

Download:
The OhSees - The Guilded Cunt [mp3]
The OhSees - The Dumb Drums [mp3]
The OhSees - Cool Deaths [mp3]

- Dominick Duhamel -

Art Review: Elliott Kaplan

So I bet you're asking why I'm writing about art. I'm not sure, to be honest, but I couldn't sleep the other night and I ended up writing the following. I'm hardly qualified to discuss anything like this, but still I felt like it was worth posting. Hope you enjoy it. If you are interested in seeing more from Elliott Kaplan, head on over to his website.

*****

“Can of Soup” (which you can view here) is a five-part series of photographs by Elliott Kaplan and was recently displayed in an exhibition entitled “Individual”. Elliott had this to say in terms of its context:

“These portraits of soup cans, the infamous sign of mechanization courtesy of Warhol, serve to further examine this line between the uniform and the individual. Each can bleeds a different soup, showing the difference between interiors and exteriors. The soup, however, is not unique: millions of cans of that same soup exist. What makes each can different from the others is also what makes it the same as others.”

The perspective that this brings to his latest exhibition’s theme of “Individual” is both obvious and important—it sheds light on the tenuous relationship between individuality and conformity. But I believe that the significance of “Can of Soup” extends beyond the relationship of each individual soup can to all other soup cans, creating multiple levels of meaning whose depth and complexity serve only to reinforce the theme of individuality versus conformity that Kaplan sought to capture. What makes this possible is the can’s reflective surface, in which we see a glimpse of the photographer responsible for the photograph.

This reflective quality is significant first and foremost because art, by nature, is an expression of the individual. Art seeks to make a statement and, though there are many ways within many mediums in which to do so, it is ultimately the statement and/or meaning that makes a piece of art personal to its creator. The statement is the obvious extension of the creative individual; indeed, without individuals, any sort of statement whatsoever would be hardly worth making. In a (hypothetical) society ruled by conformity and an absolute lack of individualism, any statement that could be made would already exist in the mass consciousness, ingrained in each member as a byproduct of the society and culture experienced daily. Art only exists because individuals exist—thus, art is inherently individual and the creative output of an artist reflects his or her individuality.

The can’s reflectivity is no coincidence and relates directly to this claim of artistic individuality. Working as a symbol of mechanization and conformity, there exists a sort of irony in the fact that (within the photograph) the can reflects the artist, or the individual. On yet another level, the viewer of the photograph, while he/she is viewing, can only perceive the photographer as he is channeled by the can’s surface—that is, filtered by a symbol of conformity. This intrusion of the commercial into the realm of individuality itself raises questions concerning how trustworthy a human perspective on individuality really is and whether or not there exists in everyday life instances of conformity mirroring individuality.

And so we have a soup can, which, independent of the soup shown bleeding in the photographs, is clearly a symbol of commonality—but, in its reflective surface, we see the artist responsible for the photograph. In short: an artist (or an “individual) reflected by a symbol of conformity within a piece of his own art (or his individuality, whether it be whole or partial, made manifest).

What further blurs the line between individuality and conformity, however, is the distortion of the photographer on the can’s surface. While the figure is undeniably the photographer, he is blurred and rendered unrecognizable by the can’s bent and textured surface, warped by an object meant to represent conformity. The true paradoxical complexity of the photograph becomes clear at this point:

An individual expresses his individuality by taking a picture of a common object that he has altered to make an artistic statement, but at the same that common object has severely distorted the artist. This cycle—from artist to art to conformity to skewed perspective and back to artist—reveals the true hidden meaning of the “Can of Soup” series.

What this cycle actually represents is the complex web of individuality and conformity we experience in our everyday lives, in any culture or society. He who seeks to assert himself as an individual only ends up getting skewed by abounding forces conformity. The symbols of conformity themselves are malleable, but are still limited (if only by their physical state) in terms of their expressive potential. The creator creates but, in creating, is created. In “Can of Soup” there are two artists—the artist outside the photograph and the artist within, trapped in the reflection of the soup can. The irony of this duality as a result of individual expression only highlights the constant struggle between individuality and conformity expressed in these photographs.

What Kaplan has done, then, is present viewers not with a definitive statement on the status of individuality in contemporary society, but rather with a picture of a struggle, a microcosm of the forces at work in our lives every day. Capturing this struggle so expertly, however, is an artistic statement (and achievement) in itself, emphasizing the inevitability of this paradox while, at the same time, bringing its own process of creation (as well as its own meaning) into question. A powerful statement—even a frightening one (Kaplan himself admits that he was not expecting to discover such an ephemeral and interdependent relationship), when one considers how far this complex web truly stretches.

- Dominick Duhamel -