When I first listened to Paramore's 'latest' album (scare qoutes are my way of indicating that I'm aware I haven't really been up on my posting on this blog), I was pretty much disappointed. It's not that it was bad, per se, but unlike 'Riot!', which was great top-to-bottom--and hooked me from the get-go, 'Brand New Eyes' lacked...something.
So I put it aside for, what I now realize, was a few months.
But when I finally gave it a second chance, I was more than pleasantly surprised--I can't stop listening.
Perhaps the most important thing I discovered the second time around I that 'Riot!' was a completely different album. Now this may seem obvious, but I think, like most people, we get in our minds that we don't want different. Rather, we want bands (and authors, and screenplay writers, etc.) to keep doing what made us love them in the first place. I know a lot of my friends couldn't stand 'Sam's Town' (and look at how much Rolling Stone doesn't get it), the Killers second album, because it was a significant departure from 'Hot Fuss.'. And they were right. But that didn't mean 'Sam's Town' was a bad album--far from it, in my opinion.
While I wouldn't say 'Brand New Eyes' is that different from 'Riot!', I will say there's a bit less 'edge', a bit less hardness to the songs. Whereas 'Crushcrushcrush' and 'Misery Business' have driving guitars and even a bit of meanness to them, 'BNW' carries itself with a bit less angst, and a bit more sweetness. My favorite songs off the album, notably 'The Only Exception' and 'Turn It Off' are basically ballads, fairly simple in melody--and stronger for that.
Here's "The Only Exception":
If you were expecting a second 'Riot!'--like I was--'BNW' will probably disappoint you. If you want to expand your musical tastes--and think Paramore writes good rock songs regardless of sub-genre, then I think you'll find yourself pleasantly surprised.
Even if it takes months to figure it out.
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Music for White People
I catch a lot of crap from my friends for the music I listen to, basically because I listen to pop. It wouldn't be far from the mark to say that my musical taste is similar to that of a 15-year-old girl.
So let me tell you about two CDs--wildy different--that have been finding heavy rotation on my iPod (disregarding the idea that iPod's do or do not technically have "rotations").
The first is really girly (or so others would claim), so I'll get that out of the way. It also happens to be one of the best rock CDs I've listened to in a long time.
I'm talking, of course, about Fall Out Boy.
Now, I've been a fan of theirs since "Sugar, We're Going Down" (which is still their best song) off the album From Under the Cork Tree. For those of you unfamiliar with them, you might have heard of their wacky bassist, Pete Wentz and his "famous" fiancee.
Most consider them the poster princes of emo, a musical genre so broad I'm not quite sure what falls under its purview. That said, I don't really care if the music I like is called emo. Especially when it is pretty much the only rock music on the radio today. I think. I don't really listen to the actual radio.
But I have listened to Fall Out Boy's latest album, Folie à Deux, and it's fantastic. What helps is that, although Pete Wentz writes the lyrics (which I usually don't understand), Patrick Stump, the lead singer, also writes the music. And he's extremely talented. He's also got the most soulful voice for a white guy since this singer.
And what he's done is write a great album, with a number of particularly notable songs. It starts off strong--like all their albums tend to--with the song "Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes" (yeah, the titles are fairly ridiculous). But it doesn't let up, following with the singles "I Don't Care" and "American Suitehearts," which sandwich a very good song, "She's My Winona." Then, except for the totally unforgettable "W.A.M.S.", it continues along with good track after good track, including "What a Catch, Donnie" and my favorite song, "20 Dollar Nose Bleed," which is a duet with Panic at the Disco's lead singer, Brandon Urie.
Now I'm not promising anything, but I think if you like rock music--if you like good melodies and catchy hooks--then you should at least try Fall Out Boy. If they're not your cup of tea, try coffee. Because, really, they have plenty of fifteen-year-old girls to be fans.
Of a different genre--although very in the "music that white people like" category, much like this guy--is Kanye West's newest album, 808 and Heartbreak.
Named after the Roland MC 808 drum machine, it meant that Kanye only had a minimal sound selection to work with, creating a sparse, semi-futuristic track-list that is built upon with the use of the Auto-Tune, the voice-changer that somehow made this clown 2008's Nate Dogg.
While not for everyone, there is a simplicity to the music that makes the depressing subject matter of his mom dying and breaking up with his girlfriend so much more powerful. Kanye is a guy who always brought the ego, and although I think he's always been musically deserving of his own accolades, I find that by taking away some of that hubris, he actually proves just how talented he really is.
Although I can listen to the whole album front-to-back on repeat (except for the last song, the live bonus track), I particularly like the three-track set right in the middle: "Love Lockdown," "Paranoid," and "Robocop."
This isn't the Kanye West you're used to, and maybe that's a good thing. This is hip-hop I haven't really ever heard, and I find myself fascinated by it.
Which I'm sure was his plan all along.
So let me tell you about two CDs--wildy different--that have been finding heavy rotation on my iPod (disregarding the idea that iPod's do or do not technically have "rotations").
The first is really girly (or so others would claim), so I'll get that out of the way. It also happens to be one of the best rock CDs I've listened to in a long time.
I'm talking, of course, about Fall Out Boy.
Now, I've been a fan of theirs since "Sugar, We're Going Down" (which is still their best song) off the album From Under the Cork Tree. For those of you unfamiliar with them, you might have heard of their wacky bassist, Pete Wentz and his "famous" fiancee.
Most consider them the poster princes of emo, a musical genre so broad I'm not quite sure what falls under its purview. That said, I don't really care if the music I like is called emo. Especially when it is pretty much the only rock music on the radio today. I think. I don't really listen to the actual radio.
But I have listened to Fall Out Boy's latest album, Folie à Deux, and it's fantastic. What helps is that, although Pete Wentz writes the lyrics (which I usually don't understand), Patrick Stump, the lead singer, also writes the music. And he's extremely talented. He's also got the most soulful voice for a white guy since this singer.
And what he's done is write a great album, with a number of particularly notable songs. It starts off strong--like all their albums tend to--with the song "Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes" (yeah, the titles are fairly ridiculous). But it doesn't let up, following with the singles "I Don't Care" and "American Suitehearts," which sandwich a very good song, "She's My Winona." Then, except for the totally unforgettable "W.A.M.S.", it continues along with good track after good track, including "What a Catch, Donnie" and my favorite song, "20 Dollar Nose Bleed," which is a duet with Panic at the Disco's lead singer, Brandon Urie.
Now I'm not promising anything, but I think if you like rock music--if you like good melodies and catchy hooks--then you should at least try Fall Out Boy. If they're not your cup of tea, try coffee. Because, really, they have plenty of fifteen-year-old girls to be fans.
Of a different genre--although very in the "music that white people like" category, much like this guy--is Kanye West's newest album, 808 and Heartbreak.
Named after the Roland MC 808 drum machine, it meant that Kanye only had a minimal sound selection to work with, creating a sparse, semi-futuristic track-list that is built upon with the use of the Auto-Tune, the voice-changer that somehow made this clown 2008's Nate Dogg.
While not for everyone, there is a simplicity to the music that makes the depressing subject matter of his mom dying and breaking up with his girlfriend so much more powerful. Kanye is a guy who always brought the ego, and although I think he's always been musically deserving of his own accolades, I find that by taking away some of that hubris, he actually proves just how talented he really is.
Although I can listen to the whole album front-to-back on repeat (except for the last song, the live bonus track), I particularly like the three-track set right in the middle: "Love Lockdown," "Paranoid," and "Robocop."
This isn't the Kanye West you're used to, and maybe that's a good thing. This is hip-hop I haven't really ever heard, and I find myself fascinated by it.
Which I'm sure was his plan all along.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Apologies, Again
Man, I'm not a very good blogger. Luckily no one relies on me for any kind of information, let alone reads me on any consistent basis. Still, I feel like I should do better than I do.
Instead, I haven't posted in over a month-and-a-half. I'd say I was trying to drum up demand by keeping the supply low, but that would be lying . . . and delusional . . .
Maybe that's just how I roll.
To be fair, I've been super-busy. To be unfair, I'm incredibly lazy. Or wait -- is that being fair, too? Either way, I proudly present a new post (and hopefully a new commitment to my faithful readers -- thanks Mom!)
I give you: Jamie Lidell.
I'm a moderately big fan of 60s and 70s soul/funk, particularly Stevie Wonder, Marvin Gaye, Otis Redding, and Al Green. I mean, who doesn't like those guys? Apparently, Jamie Lidell thinks it's a shame that these people aren't making that kind of music anymore (or, unfortunately, at all), and so he's done something about it. His newest album, Jim, is a fun, sometimes sexy, homage to that time, and his voice . . .
Well, listen to him, and then look at a picture of him. I'm telling you, it seems like there's no way he's actually singing.
Mostly, I would compare him to Stevie -- probably not musically, because Stevie is a genius, but the way the songs sound and the way he sings them could easily have made some of Wonders' better albums. I particularly like "Another Day" and "Little Bit of Feel Good," but really, I enjoy the whole album (except the fact that it's rather short, at only 10 songs). There's a spiritualism -- a little bit of gospel -- that is refreshing in "Another Day," as well as almost kitschy use of birds-chirping. It's ready for a sing-along, and if I still drove, I'd probably clap during the breakdown at red-lights (yes, I was a car-singer -- I'm not ashamed). The way it starts off the album, too, really captures your attention -- you're ready for more like this, and you really get it.
"Little Bit of Feel Good," is the most Wonder-ish of the songs, with a driving funk-guitar and an quasi-snarling, throaty singing that makes it both predatory and sexy at the same time. It's a plea, but also a demand, a lot like Gaye's "Sexual Healing," and it works rather well.
It's "Green Light," though, that really shines (no pun -- oh hell, pun intended!), as this is Al Green's "Let's Get Together -- Part 2." He doesn't quite have the falsetto of those great singers, but he brings the right vibe. It's hard not to notice, too, the "Green" connection (not to be confused with the "Rainbow Conection," which was sung by the same "person" who sang "It's Not Easy Bein' Green").
His videos, though . . .
And another, equally . . . different:
Well, I'll let you be the judge. Personally, I don't think I would ever want to meet this guy, because I fear he might be a sociopath.
But, then again, so is Michael Jackson, and I don't care what any of you say, I'd shake hands with the man who gave us Thriller.
I just wouldn't introduce my children to him.
Instead, I haven't posted in over a month-and-a-half. I'd say I was trying to drum up demand by keeping the supply low, but that would be lying . . . and delusional . . .
Maybe that's just how I roll.
To be fair, I've been super-busy. To be unfair, I'm incredibly lazy. Or wait -- is that being fair, too? Either way, I proudly present a new post (and hopefully a new commitment to my faithful readers -- thanks Mom!)
I give you: Jamie Lidell.
I'm a moderately big fan of 60s and 70s soul/funk, particularly Stevie Wonder, Marvin Gaye, Otis Redding, and Al Green. I mean, who doesn't like those guys? Apparently, Jamie Lidell thinks it's a shame that these people aren't making that kind of music anymore (or, unfortunately, at all), and so he's done something about it. His newest album, Jim, is a fun, sometimes sexy, homage to that time, and his voice . . .
Well, listen to him, and then look at a picture of him. I'm telling you, it seems like there's no way he's actually singing.
Mostly, I would compare him to Stevie -- probably not musically, because Stevie is a genius, but the way the songs sound and the way he sings them could easily have made some of Wonders' better albums. I particularly like "Another Day" and "Little Bit of Feel Good," but really, I enjoy the whole album (except the fact that it's rather short, at only 10 songs). There's a spiritualism -- a little bit of gospel -- that is refreshing in "Another Day," as well as almost kitschy use of birds-chirping. It's ready for a sing-along, and if I still drove, I'd probably clap during the breakdown at red-lights (yes, I was a car-singer -- I'm not ashamed). The way it starts off the album, too, really captures your attention -- you're ready for more like this, and you really get it.
"Little Bit of Feel Good," is the most Wonder-ish of the songs, with a driving funk-guitar and an quasi-snarling, throaty singing that makes it both predatory and sexy at the same time. It's a plea, but also a demand, a lot like Gaye's "Sexual Healing," and it works rather well.
It's "Green Light," though, that really shines (no pun -- oh hell, pun intended!), as this is Al Green's "Let's Get Together -- Part 2." He doesn't quite have the falsetto of those great singers, but he brings the right vibe. It's hard not to notice, too, the "Green" connection (not to be confused with the "Rainbow Conection," which was sung by the same "person" who sang "It's Not Easy Bein' Green").
His videos, though . . .
And another, equally . . . different:
Well, I'll let you be the judge. Personally, I don't think I would ever want to meet this guy, because I fear he might be a sociopath.
But, then again, so is Michael Jackson, and I don't care what any of you say, I'd shake hands with the man who gave us Thriller.
I just wouldn't introduce my children to him.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Two Albums, a Book, and a Pizza Place (The Pizza Place Will Be Dropped Next Season)
Let's see how much of these I can tackle.
First, as I mentioned in my last post, I was reading The Gum Thief by Douglas Coupland.
Well, I finished said book, and I really rather enjoyed it. I like Coupland's detached style – he's part of that middle-generation between the baby-boomers and what I guess is my generation, people whose formative years were in the late 70s and 80s, and he's clearly a voice for people who thought they were inheriting the future, but instead found themselves inheriting the past's problems.
He might come across as a little cynical.
But his cynicism has a sweetness to it – a glass-is-half-full kind of cynicism. As such we get the story of Roger and Bethany, an unlikely friendship as you'll probably ever come across. Roger is a forty-something alcoholic who is divorced, depressed, and working in Staples (which seems more like a cause rather than a symptom, for any of you who may have worked retail – by the way, if you have, and you want to check out a perfect representation of that life, check this out; Clerks works, too, although less box-storey). His life is shit, and when his journal finds itself in the hands of the 19-year-old Bethany, it is also the subject of ridicule.
Except Bethany is a bit of a pain-queen, a Goth-chick with enough suicide in her life, Sylvia Plath would be jealous. So while she has initial scorn, she quickly realizes she's found a kindred-spirit. What begins is a series of journal entries back-and-forth, as Roger and Bethany form a tenuous alliance to stave-off the direction their lives are moving in.
It is the format of the book that is the strongest feature. The use of journal entries, and then later letters, e-mails, and novel excerpts, combines to create a cohesive story. Roger's novel in particular, Glove Pond, is an exercise in metafiction that, in turn, is an exercise in metafiction. The layers Coupland stacks in this novel are very intricate, at one point writing a novel about a novel about a novel (which, in turn, is almost a re-telling of the primary novel). What's amazing is that there's nothing exceptionally intricate about the plot – it moves inexorably forward, the characters grow in an organic manner – nothing that happens is really extraordinary.
But it's funny and natural and sad. Roger is an anti-hero, but he's not a villain. Rather, he's a loser who is not only bad at the game, but doesn't seem to even know the rules. The same goes for Bethany – what you realize is not that losers find their own, but that trying to find yourself is an activity that knows no age. In the end, Roger isn't filled with redemption, but he isn't beyond finding it, either.
I think if you like Eggers or Foster Wallace or Lethem or Safran Foer, than you might find this a little lighter. But that essence is there, that bit of snark, bit of swagger, that makes those other readers enjoyable. This is what I think writing should be. It tells a story in an amusing and accessible way, staying intelligent without losing the reader in style or vocabulary.
You know – it's great to be able to actually understand the books you read, is all.
I just bought two recently released, wildly different albums, and I haven't been able to stop listening to either one. That is, um, except when I'm listening to the other one. Screw you, logic!
The first one – and boy, I don't know how else to say this without being covered in shame – is the self-titled album, Day26.
Now, I know what you're thinking: Who the hell is Day26 (and why isn't there a space between “Day” and “26”)? The second question I don't know the answer to, but the first can be answered by the powerful words: “Making the Band 4.”
Yeah, they're a put-together band, manufactured for look, sound, style. Their songs are written for them and their voices are honed to be commercially viable. They epitomize the very worst of what pop music stands for.
And I loved every minute of it.
I've mentioned my unnatural love for reality TV (“The Hills” is back! Lauren was in Paris, and she almost ruined 2 dresses!). Well, “Making the Band 4” sucked me in – especially once I heard the first song they had to learn. Sung a capella, the song “Exclusive” has a melody that is perfectly soulful. When the five guys put their heart into it, I get that tingly feeling.
Not that tingly feeling!
It's just that, for me, good music makes an emotional connection. I don't care if it's technically good, I care that I feel compelled to listen to it. Whether it's making me want to dance, or making me want to sing along, or just making me react positively, music means a lot to me, and I don't care if others think the music I listen to is crap.
So when I say Day26 is a great album, I mean that. I always say (always – I've said a few times) that if an album starts off strong, that can cover a lot of ills. This album is on exception. The first song, “I'm the Reason,” is a fun opening number, and it leads right into the first single, “Got Me Going.” After that you get solid hip-hop/R&B straight through, the possible exception being “Ain't Going” featuring the other “Making the Band 4” members, Danity Kane and Donnie, but even that has a great beat.
It's fun, danceable album. I could listen to it many-times over, and it didn't get old. I say check out the first three songs I mentioned, and, if you like them, you'll like the rest of album. Otherwise, you might be suffering from bitchassness, which is a terrible, terrible disease.
The second album, as I said, is really, really different. Not only is different from hip-hop and R&B, it's different from what the band is known for: overly verbose emo.
I've waxed rhetorical about emo before, so I won't bore you. But I will say that as much as I enjoyed Panic! At the Disco's first album, I also found it a bit wearing. Musically, it was fun, but lyrically, it was just too much. Arrhythmic (and that's a weird word to see capitalized, right?) sentence structures are a little hard to listen to.
So on their new album Pretty.Odd., Panic at the Disco (yeah, they dropped the exclamation point, although they took their punctuation to their album title) goes to a very new place. At least, new to them. And, like those old NBC promos: “If you haven't seen it, it's new to you.” Well, if you're like the members of Panic and you haven't gone to college yet, then listening to The Beatles will seem crazy. “Dude, have you ever heard of this rock & roll shit? It's crazy!”
I love The Beatles, though, so I have no problem with a band emulating them. And that's what they do. Pretty. Odd. is an accurate summation of the eclectic nature of this album. While never really delving into the harder rock of Sgt. Pepper's or The White Album, there is definitely a great mix of lyrical and musical content. These guys have grown up and discovered their parents listened to music, and said music was pretty good.
I highly recommend “Nine in the Afternoon,”
and “Northern Downpour,” but once again, this is another strong album. Like My Chemical Romance's Welcome to the Black Parade, this is a sophomore effort that can easily make a claim for being one of the best rock albums of their respective years.
Make a bolder claim than that, suckers!
First, as I mentioned in my last post, I was reading The Gum Thief by Douglas Coupland.
Well, I finished said book, and I really rather enjoyed it. I like Coupland's detached style – he's part of that middle-generation between the baby-boomers and what I guess is my generation, people whose formative years were in the late 70s and 80s, and he's clearly a voice for people who thought they were inheriting the future, but instead found themselves inheriting the past's problems.
He might come across as a little cynical.
But his cynicism has a sweetness to it – a glass-is-half-full kind of cynicism. As such we get the story of Roger and Bethany, an unlikely friendship as you'll probably ever come across. Roger is a forty-something alcoholic who is divorced, depressed, and working in Staples (which seems more like a cause rather than a symptom, for any of you who may have worked retail – by the way, if you have, and you want to check out a perfect representation of that life, check this out; Clerks works, too, although less box-storey). His life is shit, and when his journal finds itself in the hands of the 19-year-old Bethany, it is also the subject of ridicule.
Except Bethany is a bit of a pain-queen, a Goth-chick with enough suicide in her life, Sylvia Plath would be jealous. So while she has initial scorn, she quickly realizes she's found a kindred-spirit. What begins is a series of journal entries back-and-forth, as Roger and Bethany form a tenuous alliance to stave-off the direction their lives are moving in.
It is the format of the book that is the strongest feature. The use of journal entries, and then later letters, e-mails, and novel excerpts, combines to create a cohesive story. Roger's novel in particular, Glove Pond, is an exercise in metafiction that, in turn, is an exercise in metafiction. The layers Coupland stacks in this novel are very intricate, at one point writing a novel about a novel about a novel (which, in turn, is almost a re-telling of the primary novel). What's amazing is that there's nothing exceptionally intricate about the plot – it moves inexorably forward, the characters grow in an organic manner – nothing that happens is really extraordinary.
But it's funny and natural and sad. Roger is an anti-hero, but he's not a villain. Rather, he's a loser who is not only bad at the game, but doesn't seem to even know the rules. The same goes for Bethany – what you realize is not that losers find their own, but that trying to find yourself is an activity that knows no age. In the end, Roger isn't filled with redemption, but he isn't beyond finding it, either.
I think if you like Eggers or Foster Wallace or Lethem or Safran Foer, than you might find this a little lighter. But that essence is there, that bit of snark, bit of swagger, that makes those other readers enjoyable. This is what I think writing should be. It tells a story in an amusing and accessible way, staying intelligent without losing the reader in style or vocabulary.
You know – it's great to be able to actually understand the books you read, is all.
I just bought two recently released, wildly different albums, and I haven't been able to stop listening to either one. That is, um, except when I'm listening to the other one. Screw you, logic!
The first one – and boy, I don't know how else to say this without being covered in shame – is the self-titled album, Day26.
Now, I know what you're thinking: Who the hell is Day26 (and why isn't there a space between “Day” and “26”)? The second question I don't know the answer to, but the first can be answered by the powerful words: “Making the Band 4.”
Yeah, they're a put-together band, manufactured for look, sound, style. Their songs are written for them and their voices are honed to be commercially viable. They epitomize the very worst of what pop music stands for.
And I loved every minute of it.
I've mentioned my unnatural love for reality TV (“The Hills” is back! Lauren was in Paris, and she almost ruined 2 dresses!). Well, “Making the Band 4” sucked me in – especially once I heard the first song they had to learn. Sung a capella, the song “Exclusive” has a melody that is perfectly soulful. When the five guys put their heart into it, I get that tingly feeling.
Not that tingly feeling!
It's just that, for me, good music makes an emotional connection. I don't care if it's technically good, I care that I feel compelled to listen to it. Whether it's making me want to dance, or making me want to sing along, or just making me react positively, music means a lot to me, and I don't care if others think the music I listen to is crap.
So when I say Day26 is a great album, I mean that. I always say (always – I've said a few times) that if an album starts off strong, that can cover a lot of ills. This album is on exception. The first song, “I'm the Reason,” is a fun opening number, and it leads right into the first single, “Got Me Going.” After that you get solid hip-hop/R&B straight through, the possible exception being “Ain't Going” featuring the other “Making the Band 4” members, Danity Kane and Donnie, but even that has a great beat.
It's fun, danceable album. I could listen to it many-times over, and it didn't get old. I say check out the first three songs I mentioned, and, if you like them, you'll like the rest of album. Otherwise, you might be suffering from bitchassness, which is a terrible, terrible disease.
The second album, as I said, is really, really different. Not only is different from hip-hop and R&B, it's different from what the band is known for: overly verbose emo.
I've waxed rhetorical about emo before, so I won't bore you. But I will say that as much as I enjoyed Panic! At the Disco's first album, I also found it a bit wearing. Musically, it was fun, but lyrically, it was just too much. Arrhythmic (and that's a weird word to see capitalized, right?) sentence structures are a little hard to listen to.
So on their new album Pretty.Odd., Panic at the Disco (yeah, they dropped the exclamation point, although they took their punctuation to their album title) goes to a very new place. At least, new to them. And, like those old NBC promos: “If you haven't seen it, it's new to you.” Well, if you're like the members of Panic and you haven't gone to college yet, then listening to The Beatles will seem crazy. “Dude, have you ever heard of this rock & roll shit? It's crazy!”
I love The Beatles, though, so I have no problem with a band emulating them. And that's what they do. Pretty. Odd. is an accurate summation of the eclectic nature of this album. While never really delving into the harder rock of Sgt. Pepper's or The White Album, there is definitely a great mix of lyrical and musical content. These guys have grown up and discovered their parents listened to music, and said music was pretty good.
I highly recommend “Nine in the Afternoon,”
and “Northern Downpour,” but once again, this is another strong album. Like My Chemical Romance's Welcome to the Black Parade, this is a sophomore effort that can easily make a claim for being one of the best rock albums of their respective years.
Make a bolder claim than that, suckers!
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Ashes to Ashes . . .
When you are building something out of wood, you will inevitably produce waste-product. It is a part of the process, a you-need-to-break-some-eggs-to-make-an-omelet situation for sure. But, instead of eggshells, with wood you get scraps and, more to the point of this review, sawdust.
The Killers, a band I love and think produce some of the best rock albums of my generation, gave us Sawdust, and the title was incredibly apt. This is not an album in the traditional sense of the word, because it is not songs that were chosen specifically for the purpose of making a cohesive whole. Rather, Sawdust are the remnants of The Killers previous attempts: Hot Fuss and Sam's Town, two albums I think are strong entries into our musical catalog.
Sawdust is not.
In an interview in Maxim, Brandon Flowers, lead singer of The Killers, was asked point-blank if this was simply a way to keep the brand in the public consciousness until a new album can be released. Flowers denied this, and said that these are songs the band really loved, but they simply had to make editorial choices when putting together the other albums.
The thing is, as someone who makes editorial decisions myself, Flowers is forgetting something: you never see books made up of chapters excised from first drafts.
Granted, music and novels are two different mediums, but these songs were left off because they were chapters that didn't make sense in the albums. Moreover, they were left off because they weren't great songs. They aren't bad songs, really, but they don't do anything for me. I'm simply underwhelmed. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the song I liked the best was a remix of their song I like the best, “Mr. Brightside” (the song is the “Jacques LuCont's Thin White Duke Remix”).
Of course, just as Maxim asked the highly critical question, they in turn gave the “album” a fairly positive review. It makes me wonder what they were listening to. And, even if it wasn't as subjective as I'm making it out to be (I don't think Maxim ever gives bad reviews to albums guys are “supposed” to like), there is still the fact that we are being asked to buy what is amounts to refuse. It's not like this a director's cut of a movie – these are not the missing tracks that “complete” Sam's Town. Instead, it's a CD of songs that a die-hard fan might buy so that they have everything from their favorite artist.
I never thought I'd be disappointed by the ethical practices of a band called The Killers, but they fooled me out ten dollars, and for that, I am ashamed.
The Killers, a band I love and think produce some of the best rock albums of my generation, gave us Sawdust, and the title was incredibly apt. This is not an album in the traditional sense of the word, because it is not songs that were chosen specifically for the purpose of making a cohesive whole. Rather, Sawdust are the remnants of The Killers previous attempts: Hot Fuss and Sam's Town, two albums I think are strong entries into our musical catalog.
Sawdust is not.
In an interview in Maxim, Brandon Flowers, lead singer of The Killers, was asked point-blank if this was simply a way to keep the brand in the public consciousness until a new album can be released. Flowers denied this, and said that these are songs the band really loved, but they simply had to make editorial choices when putting together the other albums.
The thing is, as someone who makes editorial decisions myself, Flowers is forgetting something: you never see books made up of chapters excised from first drafts.
Granted, music and novels are two different mediums, but these songs were left off because they were chapters that didn't make sense in the albums. Moreover, they were left off because they weren't great songs. They aren't bad songs, really, but they don't do anything for me. I'm simply underwhelmed. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the song I liked the best was a remix of their song I like the best, “Mr. Brightside” (the song is the “Jacques LuCont's Thin White Duke Remix”).
Of course, just as Maxim asked the highly critical question, they in turn gave the “album” a fairly positive review. It makes me wonder what they were listening to. And, even if it wasn't as subjective as I'm making it out to be (I don't think Maxim ever gives bad reviews to albums guys are “supposed” to like), there is still the fact that we are being asked to buy what is amounts to refuse. It's not like this a director's cut of a movie – these are not the missing tracks that “complete” Sam's Town. Instead, it's a CD of songs that a die-hard fan might buy so that they have everything from their favorite artist.
I never thought I'd be disappointed by the ethical practices of a band called The Killers, but they fooled me out ten dollars, and for that, I am ashamed.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Maybe the One Right Was Adopted
I guess I understand the fascination with Amy Winehouse – she's a phenomenal voice paired with an interesting story, and her album has a couple songs that bear out her talent. Back to Black is an odd kind of concept album, one where Winehouse's angst is set to a Motown soundtrack – to varying results. On some songs, she carries it off well, such as her ubiquitous “Rehab,” a song that's been making the rounds for practically a year now (yes, I know – I'm reviewing an old album – I never said anything about the timeliness of my criticisms, so there). Her whiskey-dark voice throbs when necessary, and the rather somber (sober . . . anyone?) message is juxtaposed nicely with the slightly upbeat music. Better yet, though is the song that more clearly works as a throwback to Motown, “Tears Dry on Their Own.” Part of it's success for me is the the chorus: the way she sings it with a slight catch right at the apex brings the message home. And, of course, the sampling/re-appropriation of “Ain't No Mountain High Enough” -- the classic Marvin Gaye/Tammi Terrel song – gives a melody that is both catchy and familiar.
And, yet, that's about all I have to recommend for this album. The gimmick gets old, which is why when Lauryn Hill put “Doo Wop (That Thing)” on The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill, the success was in the fact that it was unique – just like every song on that album. Soul-singers, R&B singers, blues singers – take note: Seminal albums rarely, if ever, try to do the same thing over and over again. Winehouse, who's voice must draw comparisons to Hill's (and rightly so), is asked to do the same thing over and over again, and too often, what you get is mediocrity instead of great music. The album isn't terrible, but I don't get what people were in such a hizzy about.
Tizzy?
On the other end of the spectrum, I was surprised by how much I enjoyed (enjoy) Paramore's album Riot!. Surprised not so much because I thought they would make bad music, but more because I would have thought more people would have been talking about just how good the album is.
Certainly one needs to acknowledge that they are coming from a musical tradition (if you can call something that's essentially only a few years old a “tradition”) which isn't really known to get a great deal of respect from music critics: emo. But, then again, this really isn't truly emo anyway, so what's that say about music critics?
Sure, there is something that seems to scream out “emo!,” but as I've discussed numerous times on this site, what comes out for me is not sub-genre, but simply great rock music. From the beginning, we are drawn in with a driving guitar and a voice that, like Winehouse, knows how to sing with emotions. Unlike Winehouse, though, almost every song has a catchy hook, thanks to the voice of singer Hayley Williams and her and guitarists Josh Farro's songwriting ability. Together, they put together “poppy” music that you can dance to, sing along with, and basically feel good about listening to. While I can see the artistic merits in downer music – and Riot! is not all sunshine and rainbows – I generally listen to enjoy myself.
I enjoy Paramore.
As is often the case, the singles chosen are good, but not really the best songs on the album. “Misery Business,” the first U.S. Single, is excellent, and I still haven't sickened of it. Even the second single, “Crushcrushcrush” is pretty decent, but it doesn't bring the emotional resonance (it doesn't touch me in a non-creepy-uncle-way) like some of the other songs. In particular, “Hallelujah,” “Miracle,” and incredibly Fall Out Boy-ishly titled “For a Pessimist I'm Pretty Optimistic” stand out – and this is only a 12 song album.
And really, all the songs are good.
Save yourself the time and money, and leave Ms. Winehouse on the shelf. Download “Rehab” and “Tears Dry on Their Own,” (if you haven't already) and count yourself finished. On the other hand, invest in Riot!. I can't promise you'll love it, but I can assure you will be buying a complete album made up of songs -- you know, the combination of musicality, lyrics, and singing that make you enjoy popular music in the first place.
In a completely different medium, allow me to not recommend Matthew Pearl's The Poe Shadow.
You may recognize Pearl as being the author of The Dante Club, a book in which some of America's greatest poets solve a series of post-Civil War murders by interpreting Dante's Inferno. For all the highfalutin' literary pretensions, Pearl delivered the goods in that one, because he could bring his historical, in-depth knowledge of Dante to create a unique and creative mystery. The main characters are all people we should probably know (and even if we aren't familiar with their works, per se, we are familiar with their names), and this connection, combined with an equally familiar poem and a particularly gruesome serial killer made an interesting and enjoyable read.
The Poe Shadow doesn't quite make it.
To begin, the main character, instead of being a historical figure, is a completely fictional one, already taking away some of the interest we might have in the book. Yes, the mystery might be real, but that's not exactly the point in fiction: I'd rather have a boring but real character solve a fantastic crime than a relatively boring fictional character solve a relatively boring real crime. But that's what we get in Pearl's last book.
Part of what makes it boring is that it's a bit muddled. Intent on saving Edgar Poe's (the book makes a point of dropping the Allan, as apparently Poe was estranged from Mr. Allan, his guardian) name after an ignoble death, the protagonist, Quentin, goes to France to find the real-life inspiration for Poe's great detective, Dupin. Instead, he finds two: the burnt-out detective Duponte and the shady Baron Dupin. Quentin decides that Duponte must be the real Dupin, and gets him to come back to Baltimore.
What follows isn't entirely clear. Quentin, despite his acknowledgment of Duponte's abilities, continues to ruin his own life while searching for the truth. The Baron, seeing an opportunity to regain stature and money (and therefore return from Paris, no longer an outcast), comes to Baltimore too, in order to “find the truth” -- basically, make a buck with a convincing story. I guess along the way there are some elements of danger, but nothing incredibly ominous. And then . . .
But what's the point? It just keeps going on and on, getting more and more convoluted, until eventually Quentin's aunt sues to declare him incompetent of handling his own inheritence, to which he has to defend Poe and prove his search wasn't in vain.
And yet, it was.
Because, at the end of the book (HUGE FRICKIN' SPOILER ALERT), the mystery isn't solved. Oh, there are theories. There is conjecture and logical thinking – but there's NO PROOF. And so, the main thing I got from the book was big serving of “what a gyp.”
What didn't help, either, is that Pearl, while technically a good writer, must have the driest voice of any popular novelist. It's as if he can't escape the “historical” part of historical fiction, and what we get is a possibly good idea mired in dusty prose. And then the idea didn't turn out to be that good.
Surprisingly, I won't even make a pun with Pearl's name. I could, rather easily, you know. This book simply isn't pun-worthy.
If that's not a telling statement, I don't know what is.
And, yet, that's about all I have to recommend for this album. The gimmick gets old, which is why when Lauryn Hill put “Doo Wop (That Thing)” on The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill, the success was in the fact that it was unique – just like every song on that album. Soul-singers, R&B singers, blues singers – take note: Seminal albums rarely, if ever, try to do the same thing over and over again. Winehouse, who's voice must draw comparisons to Hill's (and rightly so), is asked to do the same thing over and over again, and too often, what you get is mediocrity instead of great music. The album isn't terrible, but I don't get what people were in such a hizzy about.
Tizzy?
On the other end of the spectrum, I was surprised by how much I enjoyed (enjoy) Paramore's album Riot!. Surprised not so much because I thought they would make bad music, but more because I would have thought more people would have been talking about just how good the album is.
Certainly one needs to acknowledge that they are coming from a musical tradition (if you can call something that's essentially only a few years old a “tradition”) which isn't really known to get a great deal of respect from music critics: emo. But, then again, this really isn't truly emo anyway, so what's that say about music critics?
Sure, there is something that seems to scream out “emo!,” but as I've discussed numerous times on this site, what comes out for me is not sub-genre, but simply great rock music. From the beginning, we are drawn in with a driving guitar and a voice that, like Winehouse, knows how to sing with emotions. Unlike Winehouse, though, almost every song has a catchy hook, thanks to the voice of singer Hayley Williams and her and guitarists Josh Farro's songwriting ability. Together, they put together “poppy” music that you can dance to, sing along with, and basically feel good about listening to. While I can see the artistic merits in downer music – and Riot! is not all sunshine and rainbows – I generally listen to enjoy myself.
I enjoy Paramore.
As is often the case, the singles chosen are good, but not really the best songs on the album. “Misery Business,” the first U.S. Single, is excellent, and I still haven't sickened of it. Even the second single, “Crushcrushcrush” is pretty decent, but it doesn't bring the emotional resonance (it doesn't touch me in a non-creepy-uncle-way) like some of the other songs. In particular, “Hallelujah,” “Miracle,” and incredibly Fall Out Boy-ishly titled “For a Pessimist I'm Pretty Optimistic” stand out – and this is only a 12 song album.
And really, all the songs are good.
Save yourself the time and money, and leave Ms. Winehouse on the shelf. Download “Rehab” and “Tears Dry on Their Own,” (if you haven't already) and count yourself finished. On the other hand, invest in Riot!. I can't promise you'll love it, but I can assure you will be buying a complete album made up of songs -- you know, the combination of musicality, lyrics, and singing that make you enjoy popular music in the first place.
In a completely different medium, allow me to not recommend Matthew Pearl's The Poe Shadow.
You may recognize Pearl as being the author of The Dante Club, a book in which some of America's greatest poets solve a series of post-Civil War murders by interpreting Dante's Inferno. For all the highfalutin' literary pretensions, Pearl delivered the goods in that one, because he could bring his historical, in-depth knowledge of Dante to create a unique and creative mystery. The main characters are all people we should probably know (and even if we aren't familiar with their works, per se, we are familiar with their names), and this connection, combined with an equally familiar poem and a particularly gruesome serial killer made an interesting and enjoyable read.
The Poe Shadow doesn't quite make it.
To begin, the main character, instead of being a historical figure, is a completely fictional one, already taking away some of the interest we might have in the book. Yes, the mystery might be real, but that's not exactly the point in fiction: I'd rather have a boring but real character solve a fantastic crime than a relatively boring fictional character solve a relatively boring real crime. But that's what we get in Pearl's last book.
Part of what makes it boring is that it's a bit muddled. Intent on saving Edgar Poe's (the book makes a point of dropping the Allan, as apparently Poe was estranged from Mr. Allan, his guardian) name after an ignoble death, the protagonist, Quentin, goes to France to find the real-life inspiration for Poe's great detective, Dupin. Instead, he finds two: the burnt-out detective Duponte and the shady Baron Dupin. Quentin decides that Duponte must be the real Dupin, and gets him to come back to Baltimore.
What follows isn't entirely clear. Quentin, despite his acknowledgment of Duponte's abilities, continues to ruin his own life while searching for the truth. The Baron, seeing an opportunity to regain stature and money (and therefore return from Paris, no longer an outcast), comes to Baltimore too, in order to “find the truth” -- basically, make a buck with a convincing story. I guess along the way there are some elements of danger, but nothing incredibly ominous. And then . . .
But what's the point? It just keeps going on and on, getting more and more convoluted, until eventually Quentin's aunt sues to declare him incompetent of handling his own inheritence, to which he has to defend Poe and prove his search wasn't in vain.
And yet, it was.
Because, at the end of the book (HUGE FRICKIN' SPOILER ALERT), the mystery isn't solved. Oh, there are theories. There is conjecture and logical thinking – but there's NO PROOF. And so, the main thing I got from the book was big serving of “what a gyp.”
What didn't help, either, is that Pearl, while technically a good writer, must have the driest voice of any popular novelist. It's as if he can't escape the “historical” part of historical fiction, and what we get is a possibly good idea mired in dusty prose. And then the idea didn't turn out to be that good.
Surprisingly, I won't even make a pun with Pearl's name. I could, rather easily, you know. This book simply isn't pun-worthy.
If that's not a telling statement, I don't know what is.
Friday, September 14, 2007
It's Been a Long Time/Since I Left You/With a Dope Beat to Step To
It’s been a while, hasn’t it folks? (Anyone who knows who originally rapped that lyric gets a prize).
I apologize. It’s not easy being me: so much demand, so little time.
All lying aside, I’ve got a lot to say, but perhaps not the most time to say it in, so these might come off as a bit condensed today.
To begin, let me discuss what will undoubtedly be the most quoted movie on college campuses this year. I’m of course speaking about War.
Actually, I’m talking about Superbad, the latest installment from producer Judd Apatow, the man who brought us The 40-Year-Old Virgin and Knocked Up. I haven’t seen Knocked Up, but I hear it’s very good. I have seen the other two, and I think they might be two of the funnier movies ever made.
That said, I will hold off placing Superbad on the uber-pedestal for just a second. Why? Because, let’s face it: we’ve seen this movie before. As funny as it is, as clever as it is, this is by no means an original story. Let’s see, where else have I seen a teen sex-comedy that get’s interrupted by a series of wacky adventures?
How about:
Dazed and Confused
The Trojan War
Can’t Hardly Wait
Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle
Hell, you could probably throw Go into the mix, too.
The fact is, the one-night-to-make-it-happen shtick is all well and good, but it is not exactly a genius move. No matter what, though, those comparisons (and really, watch The Trojan War, Dazed and Confused and Harold and Kumar and tell me you don’t see similarities with Superbad) are rather arbitrary when it comes down to the fact that Jonah Hill is a hilarious clown and Michael Cera might possible be the most perfect Everyman since Michael J. Fox. Hell, Fox was probably more obviously charming than Cera; Cera’s gift is that he is disarming.
And then he talks nonchalantly about porn while eating his breakfast.
Still, the best parts of the movie revolve around the cops and McLovin. Although definitely more implausible than any other aspect of the movie, the relationship between the three works so well, and the ultimate reveal in the bedroom makes it come back down to Earth enough to work.
Personally, I’d recommend The 40-Year-Old Virgin over Superbad. The chest-waxing scene might possibly be the single funniest scene in American cinema – not sure why I’m singling out “American” cinema, but maybe it’s because so many foreign films come across as unintentionally funny (see Bollywood for examples). But it is also a poor comparison to make. Yes, I believe in the body of Apatow’s works, one outshines the other, but these are both incredibly funny (and funny because they generally “real” – the comedy comes from believing in the characters as being legitimate) movies. I’m sure once Knocked Up comes out on DVD, I’ll say the same thing about it.
In another medium, we enter the audio realm. Some of you may have heard of the “feud” between 50 Cent and Kanye West. If you haven’t, here’s a quick summary:
Both albums came out on September 11 (it’s a Tuesday; albums come out on Tuesday; don’t think too much about the significance of the date), and before they did, 50 Cent said that if Kanye sells more albums than him, he (50) would retire.
Before the albums dropped, I implored people to go out and buy Kanye’s album. Not because I think 50 Cent is a bad rapper (which I do), but more because I wanted 50 to be a liar – and have nobody care.
Let’s face it: do we really believe when celebrities say they are going to “retire?” Heck, even athletes, people who have physical timelines on their careers, have reneged on retiring: Michael Jordan and Roger Clemens are two of the more prominent examples. More close to home for 50 is Jay-Z, who after his phenomenal Black Album, announced his retirement, only to come out a few years later with the rather un-spectacular Kingdom Come.
The point is, a guy named 50 Cent should know it’s all about the money. As such, if you know you can sell millions of dollars worth of records, there’s no way you’re going to walk away from that because of a “bet.” Especially if it takes seemingly little effort on your part (more on this in a moment) to create said album. Mr. Cent, no one is buying your bravado.
The fact remains that I also think he’s a bad rapper (I think I might have mentioned this before). In rap, there are certain things I think make someone successful. First and foremost are beats. Except for the single “In da Club,” not one of his singles really strikes me as having incredible hot beats. Some of them are “all right,” but nothing jumps out at me as being “ooo, I have to download that.” Right after beats, you have flow. Some might say lyrics would go here, but flow, being a musical element, is more about initial connection than lyrics. The first time you hear a song, you normally don’t “hear” all the lyrics. You are too busy absorbing the beat, absorbing the hook, to be truly immersed in the words. Flow, the rate and syncopation of the wording, is something a bit more tactile and elementary. 50’s flow is rather mundane. Yes, I’ve heard him rap relatively fast (relative to Twista or Big Pun, for instance), on the single “She Wants It” for example, but because his voice is slurred and monotone, it comes off as lacking emotion, and therefore a sense of speed.
And clearly voice is an important component, too. With his lazy sound (resulting from being shot a few times), you wonder how into the words he’s singing he really is. Which brings us to lyrics. Perhaps I’m overly sensitive here, but rap should be about word play. Simply rhyming is for Dr. Seuss. The ability to craft clever phrases, to write those “Oh!-lines” (as in “Oh shit! Did you hear that?”), helps separate the boys from the men.
50 simply doesn’t do any of this for me. Yes, “In da Club” was a hot song. But I’m pretty sure if I had Dr. Dre giving me one of his greatest all-time beats, I could write a Number One single.
Seriously.
If you doubt this, take Jay-Z’s last hit, “Show Me What You Got.” Listen to that song (with the amazing Just Blaze beat), and then listen to Li’l Wayne freestyle over it.
Wayne kills it.
Which leads me to Kanye’s album.
Kanye, if you don’t know, was a producer before he became a rapper. After his first album, College Dropout, came out, though, no one doubted the guy could rap. His own great beats, combined with good flow, clever lyrics, and catchy hooks created a unique and exciting sound.
And an ego to match.
But he followed up on his success well, and his second album, Late Registration, was equally as good, if not in some cases better. His ability to wrap the intelligence, hubris, and humor all together combined well with an oddly preppy persona to turn him into a superstar.
Which might be why Graduation, his third album, doesn’t achieve the same greatness. I think he kind of mailed it in. Now, I’m sure he’ll say it’s a great album, but, with all due respect, he would be kidding himself. It starts off well, giving you single-quality songs for pretty much the first half. And then, all of a sudden, it’s like the music stops. Not the album, but the musicality of the songs. By the time you get to a good beat again, you’re wondering what has been happening, and then you hear the lyrics, and it’s essentially Kanye alternating between giving Jay-Z the finger and giving him a blow job.
All of this makes me feel like maybe I’m doing a disservice to 50 Cent. But no, I think I’m right in saying you shouldn’t buy his album.
I just don’t think you should buy Kanye’s, either. Download “Stronger,” “Can’t Tell Me Nothing,” and “Champion,” and save yourself at least 10 dollars (depending on where you buy music and/or download it).
To take a little turn to the audio left (or right, there’s nothing inherently symbolic about which direction the turn is), there is one musical moment that struck me as being very well done.
Now, as I expect titters from the immature amongst you, remember: I like it anyway.
That said, I just wanted to mention that I saw Justin Timberlake’s “FutureSex/LoveShow” on HBO, and it was amazing.
I’m not being hyperbolic here. It is “amazing.”
Timberlake, as a performer, is a cornball. He’s a ham, he’s goofy, and he’s kind of a dork.
But that’s only when he’s not singing and dancing. Because boy can that kid sing, and boy can that kid dance.
It’s one thing to say: Oh, he was in ‘N Sync, so he’s just a studio musician. Everything is doctored. I hate to disillusion you, but he is a seriously talented person, and his live performance proves that.
What works for him so well is that he doesn’t sing outside himself. In other words, he knows his limitations, and he doesn’t try to go past them. That’s not to say he has a ton of limitations to begin with, but it just shows how he has brought himself to be technically sound with is craft.
Perhaps just as impressive is the fact that, in addition to singing and dancing, he also plays three different instruments. Granted, how high the levels on his particular instrument was (as compared to those of his band) is left to be seen, but it certainly looks like he’s playing the right notes (if you look at where his fingers are in relation to the two other guys when he’s playing the keyboard-guitar – that’s right, he rocks out on the keyboard-guitar – and you’ll notice they are all playing the same keys).
More than that, though, it’s simply the fact that his two solo albums have some fantastic songs on them. Whether it was him or others who wrote them is beside the point: he performs them well. It also helps that he’s clearly having a good time on stage. He’s not just “going through the motions.” He definitely has chemistry with the dancers, with the band, and with his background singers. The people click, the music is good, and everything seems to work.
My only complaint is that, knowing the show was going to be on HBO, and the fact that it was performed in New York, wasn’t there any way he could have gotten T.I. and/or Clipse to come do their verses on “My Love” and “Like I Love You,” respectively? I know he doesn’t have them on the tour, but it’s not unheard of to have special guests show up – and you have to think HBO might be willing if it makes the show better. Maybe they were busy, though. Still, it would have made a great show even greater.
So, if you feel the need, check your man-hood at the door and watch this concert. Remember this: guys used to go to Michael Jackson concerts. That’s what this is like, in that Timberlake is an artist of that caliber. Sure, he appeals to the ladies, but should that stop you from enjoying a good show? Because if that’s your argument, than by the same token you wouldn’t watch a movie with Brad Pitt in it, including Fight Club (a male-oriented movie if there ever was one).
And that’s just super gay.
I only wish he would have sung “Dick in a Box” . . .
I’d like to finish on a short but serious point:
I have not read everything you have. I have not seen all the same movies as you. I have not been to all the museums you’ve been to.
This does not make me a bad person. In fact, I’ve probably read many books, seen many movies, and viewed numerous pieces of art that you’ve never experienced. What this means is not that either one of us is deficient in our cultural attainments, but rather that there is so much out there to explore and enjoy and discuss.
So, the next time you are talking with someone and when a book is brought up that they haven’t read, don’t get exasperated. Don’t act shocked. Because it’s not that big of a deal. I haven’t not read it to spite you; I simply haven’t read it. It doesn’t mean I won’t read it. It’s just that at this moment in time, my life-path has diverged from yours.
This is a good thing. We should all be different. In the end, if it’s meant to be a meaningful relationship, we’ll find other commonalities. If not, we can just be two people who haven’t read the same things. But, again, it’s not that big of a deal. It happens.
I’ll fucking get to reading it when I get to it.
Okay?
I apologize. It’s not easy being me: so much demand, so little time.
All lying aside, I’ve got a lot to say, but perhaps not the most time to say it in, so these might come off as a bit condensed today.
To begin, let me discuss what will undoubtedly be the most quoted movie on college campuses this year. I’m of course speaking about War.
Actually, I’m talking about Superbad, the latest installment from producer Judd Apatow, the man who brought us The 40-Year-Old Virgin and Knocked Up. I haven’t seen Knocked Up, but I hear it’s very good. I have seen the other two, and I think they might be two of the funnier movies ever made.
That said, I will hold off placing Superbad on the uber-pedestal for just a second. Why? Because, let’s face it: we’ve seen this movie before. As funny as it is, as clever as it is, this is by no means an original story. Let’s see, where else have I seen a teen sex-comedy that get’s interrupted by a series of wacky adventures?
How about:
Dazed and Confused
The Trojan War
Can’t Hardly Wait
Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle
Hell, you could probably throw Go into the mix, too.
The fact is, the one-night-to-make-it-happen shtick is all well and good, but it is not exactly a genius move. No matter what, though, those comparisons (and really, watch The Trojan War, Dazed and Confused and Harold and Kumar and tell me you don’t see similarities with Superbad) are rather arbitrary when it comes down to the fact that Jonah Hill is a hilarious clown and Michael Cera might possible be the most perfect Everyman since Michael J. Fox. Hell, Fox was probably more obviously charming than Cera; Cera’s gift is that he is disarming.
And then he talks nonchalantly about porn while eating his breakfast.
Still, the best parts of the movie revolve around the cops and McLovin. Although definitely more implausible than any other aspect of the movie, the relationship between the three works so well, and the ultimate reveal in the bedroom makes it come back down to Earth enough to work.
Personally, I’d recommend The 40-Year-Old Virgin over Superbad. The chest-waxing scene might possibly be the single funniest scene in American cinema – not sure why I’m singling out “American” cinema, but maybe it’s because so many foreign films come across as unintentionally funny (see Bollywood for examples). But it is also a poor comparison to make. Yes, I believe in the body of Apatow’s works, one outshines the other, but these are both incredibly funny (and funny because they generally “real” – the comedy comes from believing in the characters as being legitimate) movies. I’m sure once Knocked Up comes out on DVD, I’ll say the same thing about it.
In another medium, we enter the audio realm. Some of you may have heard of the “feud” between 50 Cent and Kanye West. If you haven’t, here’s a quick summary:
Both albums came out on September 11 (it’s a Tuesday; albums come out on Tuesday; don’t think too much about the significance of the date), and before they did, 50 Cent said that if Kanye sells more albums than him, he (50) would retire.
Before the albums dropped, I implored people to go out and buy Kanye’s album. Not because I think 50 Cent is a bad rapper (which I do), but more because I wanted 50 to be a liar – and have nobody care.
Let’s face it: do we really believe when celebrities say they are going to “retire?” Heck, even athletes, people who have physical timelines on their careers, have reneged on retiring: Michael Jordan and Roger Clemens are two of the more prominent examples. More close to home for 50 is Jay-Z, who after his phenomenal Black Album, announced his retirement, only to come out a few years later with the rather un-spectacular Kingdom Come.
The point is, a guy named 50 Cent should know it’s all about the money. As such, if you know you can sell millions of dollars worth of records, there’s no way you’re going to walk away from that because of a “bet.” Especially if it takes seemingly little effort on your part (more on this in a moment) to create said album. Mr. Cent, no one is buying your bravado.
The fact remains that I also think he’s a bad rapper (I think I might have mentioned this before). In rap, there are certain things I think make someone successful. First and foremost are beats. Except for the single “In da Club,” not one of his singles really strikes me as having incredible hot beats. Some of them are “all right,” but nothing jumps out at me as being “ooo, I have to download that.” Right after beats, you have flow. Some might say lyrics would go here, but flow, being a musical element, is more about initial connection than lyrics. The first time you hear a song, you normally don’t “hear” all the lyrics. You are too busy absorbing the beat, absorbing the hook, to be truly immersed in the words. Flow, the rate and syncopation of the wording, is something a bit more tactile and elementary. 50’s flow is rather mundane. Yes, I’ve heard him rap relatively fast (relative to Twista or Big Pun, for instance), on the single “She Wants It” for example, but because his voice is slurred and monotone, it comes off as lacking emotion, and therefore a sense of speed.
And clearly voice is an important component, too. With his lazy sound (resulting from being shot a few times), you wonder how into the words he’s singing he really is. Which brings us to lyrics. Perhaps I’m overly sensitive here, but rap should be about word play. Simply rhyming is for Dr. Seuss. The ability to craft clever phrases, to write those “Oh!-lines” (as in “Oh shit! Did you hear that?”), helps separate the boys from the men.
50 simply doesn’t do any of this for me. Yes, “In da Club” was a hot song. But I’m pretty sure if I had Dr. Dre giving me one of his greatest all-time beats, I could write a Number One single.
Seriously.
If you doubt this, take Jay-Z’s last hit, “Show Me What You Got.” Listen to that song (with the amazing Just Blaze beat), and then listen to Li’l Wayne freestyle over it.
Wayne kills it.
Which leads me to Kanye’s album.
Kanye, if you don’t know, was a producer before he became a rapper. After his first album, College Dropout, came out, though, no one doubted the guy could rap. His own great beats, combined with good flow, clever lyrics, and catchy hooks created a unique and exciting sound.
And an ego to match.
But he followed up on his success well, and his second album, Late Registration, was equally as good, if not in some cases better. His ability to wrap the intelligence, hubris, and humor all together combined well with an oddly preppy persona to turn him into a superstar.
Which might be why Graduation, his third album, doesn’t achieve the same greatness. I think he kind of mailed it in. Now, I’m sure he’ll say it’s a great album, but, with all due respect, he would be kidding himself. It starts off well, giving you single-quality songs for pretty much the first half. And then, all of a sudden, it’s like the music stops. Not the album, but the musicality of the songs. By the time you get to a good beat again, you’re wondering what has been happening, and then you hear the lyrics, and it’s essentially Kanye alternating between giving Jay-Z the finger and giving him a blow job.
All of this makes me feel like maybe I’m doing a disservice to 50 Cent. But no, I think I’m right in saying you shouldn’t buy his album.
I just don’t think you should buy Kanye’s, either. Download “Stronger,” “Can’t Tell Me Nothing,” and “Champion,” and save yourself at least 10 dollars (depending on where you buy music and/or download it).
To take a little turn to the audio left (or right, there’s nothing inherently symbolic about which direction the turn is), there is one musical moment that struck me as being very well done.
Now, as I expect titters from the immature amongst you, remember: I like it anyway.
That said, I just wanted to mention that I saw Justin Timberlake’s “FutureSex/LoveShow” on HBO, and it was amazing.
I’m not being hyperbolic here. It is “amazing.”
Timberlake, as a performer, is a cornball. He’s a ham, he’s goofy, and he’s kind of a dork.
But that’s only when he’s not singing and dancing. Because boy can that kid sing, and boy can that kid dance.
It’s one thing to say: Oh, he was in ‘N Sync, so he’s just a studio musician. Everything is doctored. I hate to disillusion you, but he is a seriously talented person, and his live performance proves that.
What works for him so well is that he doesn’t sing outside himself. In other words, he knows his limitations, and he doesn’t try to go past them. That’s not to say he has a ton of limitations to begin with, but it just shows how he has brought himself to be technically sound with is craft.
Perhaps just as impressive is the fact that, in addition to singing and dancing, he also plays three different instruments. Granted, how high the levels on his particular instrument was (as compared to those of his band) is left to be seen, but it certainly looks like he’s playing the right notes (if you look at where his fingers are in relation to the two other guys when he’s playing the keyboard-guitar – that’s right, he rocks out on the keyboard-guitar – and you’ll notice they are all playing the same keys).
More than that, though, it’s simply the fact that his two solo albums have some fantastic songs on them. Whether it was him or others who wrote them is beside the point: he performs them well. It also helps that he’s clearly having a good time on stage. He’s not just “going through the motions.” He definitely has chemistry with the dancers, with the band, and with his background singers. The people click, the music is good, and everything seems to work.
My only complaint is that, knowing the show was going to be on HBO, and the fact that it was performed in New York, wasn’t there any way he could have gotten T.I. and/or Clipse to come do their verses on “My Love” and “Like I Love You,” respectively? I know he doesn’t have them on the tour, but it’s not unheard of to have special guests show up – and you have to think HBO might be willing if it makes the show better. Maybe they were busy, though. Still, it would have made a great show even greater.
So, if you feel the need, check your man-hood at the door and watch this concert. Remember this: guys used to go to Michael Jackson concerts. That’s what this is like, in that Timberlake is an artist of that caliber. Sure, he appeals to the ladies, but should that stop you from enjoying a good show? Because if that’s your argument, than by the same token you wouldn’t watch a movie with Brad Pitt in it, including Fight Club (a male-oriented movie if there ever was one).
And that’s just super gay.
I only wish he would have sung “Dick in a Box” . . .
I’d like to finish on a short but serious point:
I have not read everything you have. I have not seen all the same movies as you. I have not been to all the museums you’ve been to.
This does not make me a bad person. In fact, I’ve probably read many books, seen many movies, and viewed numerous pieces of art that you’ve never experienced. What this means is not that either one of us is deficient in our cultural attainments, but rather that there is so much out there to explore and enjoy and discuss.
So, the next time you are talking with someone and when a book is brought up that they haven’t read, don’t get exasperated. Don’t act shocked. Because it’s not that big of a deal. I haven’t not read it to spite you; I simply haven’t read it. It doesn’t mean I won’t read it. It’s just that at this moment in time, my life-path has diverged from yours.
This is a good thing. We should all be different. In the end, if it’s meant to be a meaningful relationship, we’ll find other commonalities. If not, we can just be two people who haven’t read the same things. But, again, it’s not that big of a deal. It happens.
I’ll fucking get to reading it when I get to it.
Okay?
Thursday, August 9, 2007
The Long and Intersting Blog of Dave
Have you ever picked up a book, read it, put it down and gone: What the hell did I just read? And, more importantly, did I like it?
Welcome to my recent book-choice, The Brief and Frightening Reign of Phil. With almost no background and/or context, George Saunders (a man who knows how to throw down a title like it’s nobody’s business) throws the reader into a world in which two countries battle each other for sovereignty of Inner Horner. Here’s where it gets weird.
You see, Inner Horner is tiny – it has a population of six, and when the land settles due to geological reasons, they all of a sudden find parts of their bodies on Outer Horner land.
So Phil declares they are being invaded, and takes matters into his own hands.
Part of the problem with him taking things into his own hands is that it’s not quite clear if Phil has hands. You see, all the inhabitants of Inner and Outer Horner are weird amalgamations of machine and organic beings. For instance, Phil’s brain is some sort of rack and not too securely. When it occasionally falls out, it causes Phil to go from a logical being to a pedantic megalomaniac. He rapidly gains control of Outer Horner and is well on his way to destroying Inner Horner when things just as quickly turn on him.
The novel is short, being only 130 pages long with illustrations. But it is also a complete novel: the characters are developed, the setting is defined, the conflict is introduced, and the resolution isn’t forced. Although probably considered a novella, it is not a short story – there is a complete progression here that feels more extensive than a simple short story. For instance, there’s more than just scenes, there are distinct acts. They’re just very, very short.
And the thing is, for all its “weirdness,” it’s also completely hysterical. The President alone is worth reading, being the perfect combination of 1850s political cartoonishness, gasbag, and senility. All the characters are so ridiculously over the top, but considering they are half-robots, half-men who live in a world that seems to have a population of 20, that’s not exactly a huge surprise.
As a fun, quick read, I definitely say check it out. The ending is a bit of a disappointment (a little too easy, in my opinion), but overall, I think it’s solid. Maybe not a classic, but certainly a book you’ll be glad to read.
About 10 years ago, one of the best rappers released an excellent album, Internal Affairs. Pharoahe Monch has probably some of the best flow of any rapper, and a word-play that complements that flow to create innovative rhymes that aren’t simply guns, drugs, and ho’s. Unfortunately, his best song on that album, “Simon Says,” just so happened to sample the theme from Godzilla. And, in the best hip-hop tradition, apparently he didn’t get the permission, and so he kind of got sued . . . a lot. Enough, so, that all the success his album had was pretty much washed away.
It also made it so that he had trouble getting a record label willing to sign him, and so one of the great rap artists sat on the bench for a long time. Yes, he did some collaborations – such as “Oh No” with Mos Def and Nate Dogg, “Ya’ll Know the Name” with The Executioners, and “My Life” with Styles P.
But now he’s finally been able to get back in the drivers seat, and if album titles are any indication of what the artist is feeling, than Desire is probably pretty apt.
While it doesn’t have the break-out single that “Simon Says” was, it is an overall solid album. With excellent production and his ability to craft rhymes, he is assuredly back. Maybe he won’t ever be the commercial, Hot 97 success that Jay-Z or TI is, but for those who appreciate artistry, pick up Desire.
On a much different musical note (I’d say about an F-Sharp . . . ba dum dum – that’s like a four-hit music-pun combo), I just want to mention I also recently got Sara Bareilles’ self-titled album. She’s kind of hard to classify, musically, with a kind of Fiona Apple/Sara McLachlan feel, but I think it’s good that she doesn’t fit into a particular mold. I won’t say the whole album is fantastic – the songs are good, but they’re not all incredibly innovative. They are folk-rocksy and indy-rocksy (I’m digging this “rocksy” word), but not exactly exciting.
Except for a few stand-outs. Foremost is the first song on the album, “Love Song.” With such a creative title, you might be ready to dismiss it, but the music is fantastic, and the lyrics show the beautiful, beautiful irony in naming it “Love Song.” It’s quickly making its way into the I-listen-to-this-song-too-much-I’m-going-to-hate-it territory.
On a map, it’s right next to Wyoming.
In addition to “Love Song,” “Bottle It Up” and “Love on the Rocks” (might be a theme here . . .) have definite single potential. But it’s clear that “Love Song” is not just Bareilles’ best song, but I’m going to say one of the best songs this year.
Go ahead – disagree with that in an objective manner.
Welcome to my recent book-choice, The Brief and Frightening Reign of Phil. With almost no background and/or context, George Saunders (a man who knows how to throw down a title like it’s nobody’s business) throws the reader into a world in which two countries battle each other for sovereignty of Inner Horner. Here’s where it gets weird.
You see, Inner Horner is tiny – it has a population of six, and when the land settles due to geological reasons, they all of a sudden find parts of their bodies on Outer Horner land.
So Phil declares they are being invaded, and takes matters into his own hands.
Part of the problem with him taking things into his own hands is that it’s not quite clear if Phil has hands. You see, all the inhabitants of Inner and Outer Horner are weird amalgamations of machine and organic beings. For instance, Phil’s brain is some sort of rack and not too securely. When it occasionally falls out, it causes Phil to go from a logical being to a pedantic megalomaniac. He rapidly gains control of Outer Horner and is well on his way to destroying Inner Horner when things just as quickly turn on him.
The novel is short, being only 130 pages long with illustrations. But it is also a complete novel: the characters are developed, the setting is defined, the conflict is introduced, and the resolution isn’t forced. Although probably considered a novella, it is not a short story – there is a complete progression here that feels more extensive than a simple short story. For instance, there’s more than just scenes, there are distinct acts. They’re just very, very short.
And the thing is, for all its “weirdness,” it’s also completely hysterical. The President alone is worth reading, being the perfect combination of 1850s political cartoonishness, gasbag, and senility. All the characters are so ridiculously over the top, but considering they are half-robots, half-men who live in a world that seems to have a population of 20, that’s not exactly a huge surprise.
As a fun, quick read, I definitely say check it out. The ending is a bit of a disappointment (a little too easy, in my opinion), but overall, I think it’s solid. Maybe not a classic, but certainly a book you’ll be glad to read.
About 10 years ago, one of the best rappers released an excellent album, Internal Affairs. Pharoahe Monch has probably some of the best flow of any rapper, and a word-play that complements that flow to create innovative rhymes that aren’t simply guns, drugs, and ho’s. Unfortunately, his best song on that album, “Simon Says,” just so happened to sample the theme from Godzilla. And, in the best hip-hop tradition, apparently he didn’t get the permission, and so he kind of got sued . . . a lot. Enough, so, that all the success his album had was pretty much washed away.
It also made it so that he had trouble getting a record label willing to sign him, and so one of the great rap artists sat on the bench for a long time. Yes, he did some collaborations – such as “Oh No” with Mos Def and Nate Dogg, “Ya’ll Know the Name” with The Executioners, and “My Life” with Styles P.
But now he’s finally been able to get back in the drivers seat, and if album titles are any indication of what the artist is feeling, than Desire is probably pretty apt.
While it doesn’t have the break-out single that “Simon Says” was, it is an overall solid album. With excellent production and his ability to craft rhymes, he is assuredly back. Maybe he won’t ever be the commercial, Hot 97 success that Jay-Z or TI is, but for those who appreciate artistry, pick up Desire.
On a much different musical note (I’d say about an F-Sharp . . . ba dum dum – that’s like a four-hit music-pun combo), I just want to mention I also recently got Sara Bareilles’ self-titled album. She’s kind of hard to classify, musically, with a kind of Fiona Apple/Sara McLachlan feel, but I think it’s good that she doesn’t fit into a particular mold. I won’t say the whole album is fantastic – the songs are good, but they’re not all incredibly innovative. They are folk-rocksy and indy-rocksy (I’m digging this “rocksy” word), but not exactly exciting.
Except for a few stand-outs. Foremost is the first song on the album, “Love Song.” With such a creative title, you might be ready to dismiss it, but the music is fantastic, and the lyrics show the beautiful, beautiful irony in naming it “Love Song.” It’s quickly making its way into the I-listen-to-this-song-too-much-I’m-going-to-hate-it territory.
On a map, it’s right next to Wyoming.
In addition to “Love Song,” “Bottle It Up” and “Love on the Rocks” (might be a theme here . . .) have definite single potential. But it’s clear that “Love Song” is not just Bareilles’ best song, but I’m going to say one of the best songs this year.
Go ahead – disagree with that in an objective manner.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Just Wanted to Say "Hi"
At the end of a party this weekend, a girl came up to me and asked me to tell my roommate “hi.”
“Tell so-and-so I said hi!”
“Okay!”
I hate this.
Because now one of three things will happen.
1) For some strange reason, you don’t see the person you’re supposed to say “hi” to. Generally this means a massive oversight on someone’s part, because there were either serious misjudgments concerning your relationship with said person or you just promised to “say hi” to someone you don’t normally see on a regular basis. The former begs why does the greeter think you are a good emissary, and the latter questions if you’re an idiot.
2) You forget to say “hi.” Nine times out of ten, this leads to absolutely nothing happening. On the rare occasions that the greeter you are surrogate for is in the habit of following up (in which case, they clearly have the wherewithal to relay their own messages, you know?), the next time he or she meets with the greeting recipient, they will question them if the either received the message or (worse), why they never got back in touch with a “hi” of their own. No matter what, in this instance, you look like a moron and a jerk, inconsiderate and forgetful. And then you have all this drama in your life because someone felt in this electronic age, a human intermediary is the best possible conduit to relay information with.
3) You deliver the message. Now what? Your part of the transaction is over. The fact that you often divulge this information at the end of the conversation in a “oh-by-the-way” manner (“Oh, by the way, Jane says to say ‘hi’”) implies you are now done with the talking portion of said interaction. Too often though, the person then wants to engage some more. The problem with this is that they don’t actually want to engage with you. Rather, they want to talk with the person you are delivering the message for. Of course, that person isn’t there (hence you saying “hi” for them) and you find yourself once again filling a surrogate role. Only this time, you have no actions to take, meaning you are essentially a wall the other person is talking to. In the worse cases, you get this exchange:
“Oh, by the way, Jane says to say ‘hi.’”
“Hi, Jane!”
And now those words are out, but no simply sent to the ether, but for someone who has no chance of actually hearing it.
It makes you wonder why you hang out with these types of people in the first place.
The last irksome issue in this whole little passion play is the fact that chances are you were at some social event when you were asked to deliver this “hi” (such as I was). A better word – rather than “asked” – might be “accosted.” Here you are, having a good time, and all of a sudden you are being given a homework assignment. Not exactly the party ‘favor’ you were expecting to walk a way with – this is literally a party-induced favor.
It’s bad enough trying to remember everyone’s name that you are introduced to (even if you’re at a real barn-burner that provides name-tags: nothing creeps out girls more than a drunk guy leering at their breasts on a fact-finding mission), and now you have to take the party into the real world. Which is exactly why you were at the party in the first place: to escape the real world. That’s probably the reason why it creates such an unfavorable reaction – it’s now party info outside its proper context.
Like a broken change machine, it just makes no sense.
Couple of music notes I wanted to bring up:
A, G-flat, and B-sharp.
Ouch.
Really, though (I apologize for the video quality if it’s not-so-good):
1) Do you realize how sad it is that someone can point to a crappy band and say “Well, they’re no O-Town” and not be completely ironic.
2) Is there a better song about abstinence than Jermaine Stewart’s “We Don’t Have to (Take Our Clothes Off)?” Here’s a sample lyric:
“Not a word
From your lips
You just took for granted that I want to skinny dip
A quick hit
That’s your game
Girl I’m not a piece of meat
Stimulate my brain”
Remember, this is a guy singing this song (NOTE: Guys like sex. It says so in the movies). Even more important, it’s abstinence music you can dance to.
I want to make it clear that I absolutely love this song. As I said, it’s got a great beat. Probably bringing it down is the whole AIDS subtext, but that seems to be the case of a lot of things: Rent, anyone?
3) Speaking of oddly danceable music, Kirk Franklin – the man who brought the Nineties classic “Stomp” – put together “Looking For You” last summer, and if you heard the beat, you would think: this is the jam! (that is if you still call songs “jams.” Do you remember calling beach shorts “jams?”). But then the lyrics come in and you realize there’s an awful lot of “Jesus” being bandied about. Which is weird, because a lot of Christians don’t condone dancing (think Footloose), especially the ass-shaking dancing that the lively hip-hop inspired rhythm seems to call for. And this isn’t small sects of Christianity, either. Southern Baptists, possibly the largest faith other than Catholicism (ah, the teachings of Cathol – thank you Eddie Izzard), doesn’t like dancing amongst non-married persons, because it can create too much lust and temptation.
Damn right it can. But I think if God was so concerned about us dancing, he might have given us some commandments to guide us. Oh right, he did. Maybe it was on the tablet Moses dropped (see History of the World: Part I -- Note that there never was, nor was there ever intended, a “Part II.”).
Just look at how much fun that little leprechaun man is having. Just as God intended.
4) Lastly, I mentioned Jeff Buckley’s album Grace a few posts back, and mentioned the song “Last Goodbye” being perhaps one of the greatest break-up songs ever. Well, here’s another to add to the list.
Ryan Adams (not to be confused with my sixth-grade dance “Everything I Do, I Do it for You” Bryan Adams) wrote a phenomenal song called “Come Pick Me Up.” It’s just so chock-full of heart-break, a great tune, bitterness and longing. Maybe it’s not exactly a break-up song, but it certainly can play that way (think of the way “Friends” used U2’s “With or Without You” when Ross and Rachel broke up – and pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about right now). Adams writes pure emotion in this song, and it’s simply lovely.
Of course, it might be unfair, because Adams is essentially a country artist. But since he doesn’t mention (cliché/stereotype alert) a dog, a pickup, or a shotgun, it just comes across as a great song. And it has harmonica! Enjoy:
If you go back to the Kirk Franklin video, you’ll see the fat lady singing.
So, until next time . . .
“Tell so-and-so I said hi!”
“Okay!”
I hate this.
Because now one of three things will happen.
1) For some strange reason, you don’t see the person you’re supposed to say “hi” to. Generally this means a massive oversight on someone’s part, because there were either serious misjudgments concerning your relationship with said person or you just promised to “say hi” to someone you don’t normally see on a regular basis. The former begs why does the greeter think you are a good emissary, and the latter questions if you’re an idiot.
2) You forget to say “hi.” Nine times out of ten, this leads to absolutely nothing happening. On the rare occasions that the greeter you are surrogate for is in the habit of following up (in which case, they clearly have the wherewithal to relay their own messages, you know?), the next time he or she meets with the greeting recipient, they will question them if the either received the message or (worse), why they never got back in touch with a “hi” of their own. No matter what, in this instance, you look like a moron and a jerk, inconsiderate and forgetful. And then you have all this drama in your life because someone felt in this electronic age, a human intermediary is the best possible conduit to relay information with.
3) You deliver the message. Now what? Your part of the transaction is over. The fact that you often divulge this information at the end of the conversation in a “oh-by-the-way” manner (“Oh, by the way, Jane says to say ‘hi’”) implies you are now done with the talking portion of said interaction. Too often though, the person then wants to engage some more. The problem with this is that they don’t actually want to engage with you. Rather, they want to talk with the person you are delivering the message for. Of course, that person isn’t there (hence you saying “hi” for them) and you find yourself once again filling a surrogate role. Only this time, you have no actions to take, meaning you are essentially a wall the other person is talking to. In the worse cases, you get this exchange:
“Oh, by the way, Jane says to say ‘hi.’”
“Hi, Jane!”
And now those words are out, but no simply sent to the ether, but for someone who has no chance of actually hearing it.
It makes you wonder why you hang out with these types of people in the first place.
The last irksome issue in this whole little passion play is the fact that chances are you were at some social event when you were asked to deliver this “hi” (such as I was). A better word – rather than “asked” – might be “accosted.” Here you are, having a good time, and all of a sudden you are being given a homework assignment. Not exactly the party ‘favor’ you were expecting to walk a way with – this is literally a party-induced favor.
It’s bad enough trying to remember everyone’s name that you are introduced to (even if you’re at a real barn-burner that provides name-tags: nothing creeps out girls more than a drunk guy leering at their breasts on a fact-finding mission), and now you have to take the party into the real world. Which is exactly why you were at the party in the first place: to escape the real world. That’s probably the reason why it creates such an unfavorable reaction – it’s now party info outside its proper context.
Like a broken change machine, it just makes no sense.
Couple of music notes I wanted to bring up:
A, G-flat, and B-sharp.
Ouch.
Really, though (I apologize for the video quality if it’s not-so-good):
1) Do you realize how sad it is that someone can point to a crappy band and say “Well, they’re no O-Town” and not be completely ironic.
2) Is there a better song about abstinence than Jermaine Stewart’s “We Don’t Have to (Take Our Clothes Off)?” Here’s a sample lyric:
“Not a word
From your lips
You just took for granted that I want to skinny dip
A quick hit
That’s your game
Girl I’m not a piece of meat
Stimulate my brain”
Remember, this is a guy singing this song (NOTE: Guys like sex. It says so in the movies). Even more important, it’s abstinence music you can dance to.
I want to make it clear that I absolutely love this song. As I said, it’s got a great beat. Probably bringing it down is the whole AIDS subtext, but that seems to be the case of a lot of things: Rent, anyone?
3) Speaking of oddly danceable music, Kirk Franklin – the man who brought the Nineties classic “Stomp” – put together “Looking For You” last summer, and if you heard the beat, you would think: this is the jam! (that is if you still call songs “jams.” Do you remember calling beach shorts “jams?”). But then the lyrics come in and you realize there’s an awful lot of “Jesus” being bandied about. Which is weird, because a lot of Christians don’t condone dancing (think Footloose), especially the ass-shaking dancing that the lively hip-hop inspired rhythm seems to call for. And this isn’t small sects of Christianity, either. Southern Baptists, possibly the largest faith other than Catholicism (ah, the teachings of Cathol – thank you Eddie Izzard), doesn’t like dancing amongst non-married persons, because it can create too much lust and temptation.
Damn right it can. But I think if God was so concerned about us dancing, he might have given us some commandments to guide us. Oh right, he did. Maybe it was on the tablet Moses dropped (see History of the World: Part I -- Note that there never was, nor was there ever intended, a “Part II.”).
Just look at how much fun that little leprechaun man is having. Just as God intended.
4) Lastly, I mentioned Jeff Buckley’s album Grace a few posts back, and mentioned the song “Last Goodbye” being perhaps one of the greatest break-up songs ever. Well, here’s another to add to the list.
Ryan Adams (not to be confused with my sixth-grade dance “Everything I Do, I Do it for You” Bryan Adams) wrote a phenomenal song called “Come Pick Me Up.” It’s just so chock-full of heart-break, a great tune, bitterness and longing. Maybe it’s not exactly a break-up song, but it certainly can play that way (think of the way “Friends” used U2’s “With or Without You” when Ross and Rachel broke up – and pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about right now). Adams writes pure emotion in this song, and it’s simply lovely.
Of course, it might be unfair, because Adams is essentially a country artist. But since he doesn’t mention (cliché/stereotype alert) a dog, a pickup, or a shotgun, it just comes across as a great song. And it has harmonica! Enjoy:
If you go back to the Kirk Franklin video, you’ll see the fat lady singing.
So, until next time . . .
Sunday, June 3, 2007
I May be 76 Trombones Short, but. . .
I don’t think I’ll ever understand people who say that music isn’t important in their lives. How is this possible? Music has played such an integral part in the formation of my character that it is unfathomable that music wouldn’t have affected everyone, to some degree or another. There are so many aspects, so many genres to enjoy, that to be unable to find something that moves you, either physically or spiritually, saddens me. Music is often associated with the soul, and because of this, I feel it is part of the soul. Identity is wrapped up in the music of our lives, whether it be a favorite song or just the rhythm of your work. But to have no music in your life, to be unmoved or unmotivated by a song, would seem to mean you have no soul. I’m one of those people who wakes up with a song stuck in his head, and instead of going crazy trying to get it out, I find myself seeking that song out, needing to hear it’s true form so that I can enjoy it completely. I’m sure there’s a madness with a name that describes this, something like “sonomania” or other combinations (or lack thereof) of Latin. This is not a malady, however, and it’s nothing I would ever want cured. Just as many with obsessive-compulsive disorders feel naked without their “tasks,” so would I feel hungry without my songs (and yes, the thought that perhaps my need for music borders on the obsessive has occurred to me – as has my desire to create as many mixed-metaphors as possible). I do not say everyone needs such desire as I have, but I do say everyone needs (and deserves) a soul.
Music has always been important to me, because it was important to my family. A more tonally deaf group of people you probably have never met, but to not be able to sing is not the same thing to not have song. And my family has a song, or that very least, a song list. Amazingly, despite our lack of vocal talent (a lack that, alas, hit me in conjunction with puberty: here’s six years of torment, and we’ll be taking back one of the things that gives you joy), we still managed to sing a great deal. Sing, hum, dance – music was everywhere.
I grew up in the last days of vinyl, and my Fisher-Price record player did it’s job about as well as anything could that found itself in the hands of three boys (there’s a reason they make all their products out of indestructible plastic). Our choices were not limited, but favorites definitely found their way more often than others, including Carol King’s Really Rosie, Alvin and the Chipmunks, a Care-bears record that I can not remember any of the songs, those McDonald’s records that came in the newspaper (if it played the whole song, you won . . . anyone?) and of course John Williams’ score to the Star Wars movies. When we finally moved from vinyl, we kind of by-passed cassettes (which is not to say we didn’t have any, but rather they were tapes of records my parents owned. My parents loved music, but the idea of buying pre-made cassettes seemed ridiculous. Considering that my parents still listen to cassettes makes me wonder if I have dementia to look forward to when I grow older). So we became one of the first families I knew of that owned a CD player. Which meant that I now had to own CDs.
I remember my first CD like it was yesterday. Instead, it was more like 1988. I had received Huey Lewis and the News’ Sports as a present (great album -- pretend you haven't heard any of the songs on it, I dare you), but seeing how my parents already had that, I figured I’d exchange it for something different. Going to a record store in those days (in other words, days when they were still called “record stores” without any hint of irony) was a little weird, because although they sold CDs, they weren’t necessarily prepared to sell them. And so all their racks and bins were still the ones designed to sell records. So, if you’re ever wondering why CDs used to come in the “long boxes” – those foot long cardboard sleeves that seemed to do nothing but please waste management companies – it’s because record stores needed to be able to use the bins they had, and CDs wouldn’t have been seen.
So there I am, store-credit in hand (well, not really in hand, but . . .), browsing through the bins, and BOOM! it hits me.
D.J. Jazzy Jeff & the Fresh Prince. He’s the DJ, I’m the Rapper.
And a CD collection was born.
And now I’ve added a new one (and that’s how you write an introduction!).
Granted, this “new” one is actually 13 years old (If Johnny-Come-Lately was a corporation – and not simply one that had a bad pun as a name for an impotence drug company – I could definitely be CEO), but it’s fantastic.
In 1994, Jeff Buckley released the album Grace to critical acclaim, and he was on his way. An artist with an amazing voice but no clear genre, he wrote and sang songs that seemed like a mix of folk, rock, jazz, and whatever it is Michael Bublé sings. What’s great about the album is that although it’s eclectic, it’s also clearly Buckley’s, and his voice creates an indelible stamp on each song. “Lover, You Should’ve Come Over” and his cover of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” (quite possibly one of the weirdest pop songs ever written, but beautiful. Fall Out Boy co-wrote their song “Hum Hallelujah” with Cohen for their album Infinity on High, and it’s one of the better songs on that album) are excellent, but the coup de grace is clearly “Last Goodbye.”
For those of you who have no idea who Buckley is, this is probably the song you might recognize without ever knowing who sang it. As far as break-up songs go, it captures all the sweetness of a love that clearly can’t work but wishes it could. It’s haunting, and yet has a great hook, a strong guitar-line, and the strings capture the heartbreak perfectly.
As far as personal lists go, it’s currently in my top ten, in no particular order (which seems to change once a week):
Last Goodbye; Jeff Buckley
“A Change is Going to Come”; Sam Cooke
“Takeover, the Breaks Over” ; Fall Out Boy
“Dance Inside” ; The All-American Rejects
Hangman; Motion City Soundtrack
"September"; Earth, Wind and Fire
“Show Me What You Got (Remix)”; Li’l Wayne
“Try a Little Tenderness”; Otis Redding
“Breathe”; Michelle Branch
“In the Air”; Phil Collins
The best part of the album is the price: I got it for 8 bucks at Virgin. If that’s not a bargain for one of the better albums of the 1990s (I’m saying, throw this in with Life After Death, Nevermind, The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill – it’s that good), then hey, you can’t get that Super-Sized Extra Value meal you had your eyes on. So I’m still doing you a favor.
Music has always been important to me, because it was important to my family. A more tonally deaf group of people you probably have never met, but to not be able to sing is not the same thing to not have song. And my family has a song, or that very least, a song list. Amazingly, despite our lack of vocal talent (a lack that, alas, hit me in conjunction with puberty: here’s six years of torment, and we’ll be taking back one of the things that gives you joy), we still managed to sing a great deal. Sing, hum, dance – music was everywhere.
I grew up in the last days of vinyl, and my Fisher-Price record player did it’s job about as well as anything could that found itself in the hands of three boys (there’s a reason they make all their products out of indestructible plastic). Our choices were not limited, but favorites definitely found their way more often than others, including Carol King’s Really Rosie, Alvin and the Chipmunks, a Care-bears record that I can not remember any of the songs, those McDonald’s records that came in the newspaper (if it played the whole song, you won . . . anyone?) and of course John Williams’ score to the Star Wars movies. When we finally moved from vinyl, we kind of by-passed cassettes (which is not to say we didn’t have any, but rather they were tapes of records my parents owned. My parents loved music, but the idea of buying pre-made cassettes seemed ridiculous. Considering that my parents still listen to cassettes makes me wonder if I have dementia to look forward to when I grow older). So we became one of the first families I knew of that owned a CD player. Which meant that I now had to own CDs.
I remember my first CD like it was yesterday. Instead, it was more like 1988. I had received Huey Lewis and the News’ Sports as a present (great album -- pretend you haven't heard any of the songs on it, I dare you), but seeing how my parents already had that, I figured I’d exchange it for something different. Going to a record store in those days (in other words, days when they were still called “record stores” without any hint of irony) was a little weird, because although they sold CDs, they weren’t necessarily prepared to sell them. And so all their racks and bins were still the ones designed to sell records. So, if you’re ever wondering why CDs used to come in the “long boxes” – those foot long cardboard sleeves that seemed to do nothing but please waste management companies – it’s because record stores needed to be able to use the bins they had, and CDs wouldn’t have been seen.
So there I am, store-credit in hand (well, not really in hand, but . . .), browsing through the bins, and BOOM! it hits me.
D.J. Jazzy Jeff & the Fresh Prince. He’s the DJ, I’m the Rapper.
And a CD collection was born.
And now I’ve added a new one (and that’s how you write an introduction!).
Granted, this “new” one is actually 13 years old (If Johnny-Come-Lately was a corporation – and not simply one that had a bad pun as a name for an impotence drug company – I could definitely be CEO), but it’s fantastic.
In 1994, Jeff Buckley released the album Grace to critical acclaim, and he was on his way. An artist with an amazing voice but no clear genre, he wrote and sang songs that seemed like a mix of folk, rock, jazz, and whatever it is Michael Bublé sings. What’s great about the album is that although it’s eclectic, it’s also clearly Buckley’s, and his voice creates an indelible stamp on each song. “Lover, You Should’ve Come Over” and his cover of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” (quite possibly one of the weirdest pop songs ever written, but beautiful. Fall Out Boy co-wrote their song “Hum Hallelujah” with Cohen for their album Infinity on High, and it’s one of the better songs on that album) are excellent, but the coup de grace is clearly “Last Goodbye.”
For those of you who have no idea who Buckley is, this is probably the song you might recognize without ever knowing who sang it. As far as break-up songs go, it captures all the sweetness of a love that clearly can’t work but wishes it could. It’s haunting, and yet has a great hook, a strong guitar-line, and the strings capture the heartbreak perfectly.
As far as personal lists go, it’s currently in my top ten, in no particular order (which seems to change once a week):
Last Goodbye; Jeff Buckley
“A Change is Going to Come”; Sam Cooke
“Takeover, the Breaks Over” ; Fall Out Boy
“Dance Inside” ; The All-American Rejects
Hangman; Motion City Soundtrack
"September"; Earth, Wind and Fire
“Show Me What You Got (Remix)”; Li’l Wayne
“Try a Little Tenderness”; Otis Redding
“Breathe”; Michelle Branch
“In the Air”; Phil Collins
The best part of the album is the price: I got it for 8 bucks at Virgin. If that’s not a bargain for one of the better albums of the 1990s (I’m saying, throw this in with Life After Death, Nevermind, The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill – it’s that good), then hey, you can’t get that Super-Sized Extra Value meal you had your eyes on. So I’m still doing you a favor.
Friday, March 2, 2007
In Like a Lion
(By the way, if you don't get the reference to the title, please Google it so that some of our folk-lore isn't completely lost).
I just bought a number of albums, and although most of them are relatively dated (from last year), I want to right about them anyway.
So there.
I’ll start with the most recent first, and it is also by far my favorite. Fall Out Boy’s Infinity on High is made up of incredibly catchy songs and solid “B sides” that come together to make a complete album. The single, “This Ain’t a Scene, It’s an Arms Race” is strong, solid rock with a driving beat, raucous chorus, and an anthem-like refrain at the end that makes you want to sing along. Amazingly, though, it’s not the best song on the album, but probably the fourth. Clearly this is subjective, but this is also a blog, so I believe subjectivity is going to be a pretty common theme around here. If I had to put the songs in order, I’d go with “’The Take Over, The Breaks Over’” (track 2), “I’ve Got All This Ringing in my Ears and None on my Fingers” (track 14), “Hum Hallelujah” (track 5), and then “This Ain’t a Scene.” If you’re wondering about the names of the songs being really long, just know this is a feature of Fall Out Boy (see From Under the Cork Tree for further details – and also because it’s an awesome album), and as a great enjoyer of puns, I have no objections.
One thing that might come up is that Fall Out Boy is an emo band, and not a true “rock band” (this is a link to Andy Radin’s site fourfa.com – wanted to give someone who actually made his own web-site credit). Well, first off, emo is rock, for the most part, and Fall Out Boy, while perhaps having elements of emo, is a legitimate rock band. They have a musicality in their songs that I don’t think is typical of a lot of emo (which is essentially punk + melody + nauseating heart-ache). This is not to say that I don’t like what is considered emo music – there are a number of bands in that genre that I enjoy immensely, such as the All-American Rejects. Mostly I only like specific songs though, which is why Fall Out Boy has created a special album. An album must have songs, not a song, and Infinity on High provides that. It starts strong, ends incredibly well (much like their previous album), and except for one unnecessary “screamo” moment (when they scream lyrics at a larynx grating level – again, a similar moment mars From Under the Cork Tree) during an otherwise great song “The Carpel Tunnel of Love.”
If you like rock, buy this album. Actually, let me clarify that: if you like good music, buy this album. Don’t let yourself get pigeon-holed into genre – listen to it and hear for yourself. Maybe some of the other albums I’ve bought will explain where I’m coming from in this regard.
Next up is the self-titled album by Corinne Bailey Rae, who is a singer-songwriter in a kind of easy-listening, soully kind of mold. It’s hard to pin her down, and I kind of like that. One thing that is great about her is that although she’s a decent singer, she’s not a great singer. What this does is charge her music with a sense of actual emotion. She has a sort of husky voice, and it gives depth to what she’s singing about. Perhaps unfortunately, the songs that are clearly the best on the album are the ones that are or will be the singles: the beautiful “Like a Star,” the slightly poppy “Put Your Records On,” and a sort of in-between, jazzier number, “Trouble Sleeping.” The rest of the album is not bad by any stretch of the imagination, it’s just not memorable. This is the kind of album you can put on in the background and not have people go: “Oh, I love this song!” but also not go “What the hell are we listening to?” It’s like elevator music, but with talent behind it.
If you want to get a good idea of what I’m talking about (and hear a great medley of three of today’s better songwriters), watch this:
She’s pretty hot, too (sorry, had to get my “guy-ness” into this somewhere).
(Also, John Mayer has one fantastic guitar-solo, which today is no small feat, considering the guitar solo is all but dead in contemporary rock music.)
The next album came out last year, by the group The Rapture, and is called Pieces of the People We Love. The band is pretty quirky, to say the least, and seems like a combination of disco, dance, and rock that comes together quite nicely on a number of songs. The album in general is not incredibly complete, with some songs (“First Gear” leaps to mind) just wasted space. But when they’re going good, it can be dangerous to be driving, because you will (read: I do) want to shake and boogey. The very first song, “Don Gon Do It,” sets the stage nicely (which is usually the sign of a good album – if that first song sucks, then why even listen to the rest?). The title song isn’t bad, but it’s the two singles that are of the best (which isn’t always the case – how many times have you wondered why a song got chosen to be a single instead of all the other great songs on an album? I know that it bothers me all the time). The ridiculously titled “Whoo! Alright – Yeah. . .Uh Huh (W.A.Y.U.H.)” is a more rock-inspired dance tune (which ironically criticizes people at dance clubs). But the gem is the uber-catchy “Get Myself Into It,” a song that seems designed to get bad-dancers out onto the floor. If you don’t buy the album, at least download this song – it’s that good.
After that we go My Chemical Romance’s The Black Parade. It needs to be noted that this is a concept album, and as such, is very complete. It has a flow to it that almost calls for a full listening from beginning to end. It’s weird, because My Chemical Romance is a kind of genre-defying band. This is a good thing, I believe, because it means just focusing on the music as opposed to the supposed audience. What I can say is that if this is where rock has taken us, then rock is not dead. It’s hard enough to appease people who thought Metallica was doing something worth-while (I’m sorry, but I will always hate those guys because they shut down Napster, despite their musical contributions), while listenable enough to appeal to the younger generation that might be into, say, emo (see above). Still, because it is a concept album, the idea of a single is not really as tangible as on the other albums I’ve mentioned. Yes, there have been two already, “Welcome to the Black Parade,” and “Famous Last Words,” but I think they actually work better as part of the album then on their own. On the flip-side, they stand up pretty well on their own, so take what you will from that. This is where “hard” rock is today, and I’m not complaining.
The last album might seem out of left-field, and in a way it is, and in a way it’s not (don’t you just love dichotomies? They make having arguments almost arbitrary – a little bit reactionary, I’m sure, but you try reading literary theory for months and then figure out if anyone ever comes to a singular conclusion). That’s because it’s Stand Still, Look Pretty, by The Wreckers, a pseudo-country group consisting of Michelle Branch and Jessica Harp. Now, I bought this album because, to be honest, I loved Branch’s previous albums, and I have a ridiculous crush on her. I don’t know why, but I do. That’s also besides the point. What matters is that she writes and performs great music (at least I think so), and that I expected the same on The Wreckers’ album.
I was not disappointed. It might be important to note that I am not a country music fan. If you go to pretty much any MySpace profile, under music you will probably read something like: “I like everything. . .except for country!”. Well, I actually do like pretty much everything, including some country. But for me it’s on a very individual basis. If you want to classify The Wreckers as country, then yeah, I like country. Sure, there are definite influences in some of their songs – a fiddle here, such as in the great song “Leave the Pieces”; some twangy guitar in the very country “My, Oh My” – but it mostly sounds like something Branch would have written anyway. I don’t know if that means that Branch has always been “a little bit country,” or that Harp is adding only more traditional elements to the album, but it ends up simply creating a very listenable, oftentimes catchy album. I think my favorite song is “Tennessee,” but I also really like “Way Back Home.” I believe there are enough good songs on this album to warrant purchase, but I will put the caveat out there that it is not a pop-rock album. If you’re expecting The Spirit Room or Hotel Paper, you are going to be disappointed, and not because the music is bad, but because the music is not completely the same.
Okay, I’ve rambled way too long. Overall, I’m completely happy buying these albums. I just want to point out that I do not buy albums based on one song – I need to have recommendations, I need to believe that there is actually an album worth buying. That’s why I generally don’t by hip-hop or pop albums anymore: I’d rather just download the singles I like, and not have to slough through the morass. These five albums are good enough be physical objects in my house. These artists created something that doesn’t bother me for spending way too much money on.
These albums are what it means to be commercial musicians.
I just bought a number of albums, and although most of them are relatively dated (from last year), I want to right about them anyway.
So there.
I’ll start with the most recent first, and it is also by far my favorite. Fall Out Boy’s Infinity on High is made up of incredibly catchy songs and solid “B sides” that come together to make a complete album. The single, “This Ain’t a Scene, It’s an Arms Race” is strong, solid rock with a driving beat, raucous chorus, and an anthem-like refrain at the end that makes you want to sing along. Amazingly, though, it’s not the best song on the album, but probably the fourth. Clearly this is subjective, but this is also a blog, so I believe subjectivity is going to be a pretty common theme around here. If I had to put the songs in order, I’d go with “’The Take Over, The Breaks Over’” (track 2), “I’ve Got All This Ringing in my Ears and None on my Fingers” (track 14), “Hum Hallelujah” (track 5), and then “This Ain’t a Scene.” If you’re wondering about the names of the songs being really long, just know this is a feature of Fall Out Boy (see From Under the Cork Tree for further details – and also because it’s an awesome album), and as a great enjoyer of puns, I have no objections.
One thing that might come up is that Fall Out Boy is an emo band, and not a true “rock band” (this is a link to Andy Radin’s site fourfa.com – wanted to give someone who actually made his own web-site credit). Well, first off, emo is rock, for the most part, and Fall Out Boy, while perhaps having elements of emo, is a legitimate rock band. They have a musicality in their songs that I don’t think is typical of a lot of emo (which is essentially punk + melody + nauseating heart-ache). This is not to say that I don’t like what is considered emo music – there are a number of bands in that genre that I enjoy immensely, such as the All-American Rejects. Mostly I only like specific songs though, which is why Fall Out Boy has created a special album. An album must have songs, not a song, and Infinity on High provides that. It starts strong, ends incredibly well (much like their previous album), and except for one unnecessary “screamo” moment (when they scream lyrics at a larynx grating level – again, a similar moment mars From Under the Cork Tree) during an otherwise great song “The Carpel Tunnel of Love.”
If you like rock, buy this album. Actually, let me clarify that: if you like good music, buy this album. Don’t let yourself get pigeon-holed into genre – listen to it and hear for yourself. Maybe some of the other albums I’ve bought will explain where I’m coming from in this regard.
Next up is the self-titled album by Corinne Bailey Rae, who is a singer-songwriter in a kind of easy-listening, soully kind of mold. It’s hard to pin her down, and I kind of like that. One thing that is great about her is that although she’s a decent singer, she’s not a great singer. What this does is charge her music with a sense of actual emotion. She has a sort of husky voice, and it gives depth to what she’s singing about. Perhaps unfortunately, the songs that are clearly the best on the album are the ones that are or will be the singles: the beautiful “Like a Star,” the slightly poppy “Put Your Records On,” and a sort of in-between, jazzier number, “Trouble Sleeping.” The rest of the album is not bad by any stretch of the imagination, it’s just not memorable. This is the kind of album you can put on in the background and not have people go: “Oh, I love this song!” but also not go “What the hell are we listening to?” It’s like elevator music, but with talent behind it.
If you want to get a good idea of what I’m talking about (and hear a great medley of three of today’s better songwriters), watch this:
She’s pretty hot, too (sorry, had to get my “guy-ness” into this somewhere).
(Also, John Mayer has one fantastic guitar-solo, which today is no small feat, considering the guitar solo is all but dead in contemporary rock music.)
The next album came out last year, by the group The Rapture, and is called Pieces of the People We Love. The band is pretty quirky, to say the least, and seems like a combination of disco, dance, and rock that comes together quite nicely on a number of songs. The album in general is not incredibly complete, with some songs (“First Gear” leaps to mind) just wasted space. But when they’re going good, it can be dangerous to be driving, because you will (read: I do) want to shake and boogey. The very first song, “Don Gon Do It,” sets the stage nicely (which is usually the sign of a good album – if that first song sucks, then why even listen to the rest?). The title song isn’t bad, but it’s the two singles that are of the best (which isn’t always the case – how many times have you wondered why a song got chosen to be a single instead of all the other great songs on an album? I know that it bothers me all the time). The ridiculously titled “Whoo! Alright – Yeah. . .Uh Huh (W.A.Y.U.H.)” is a more rock-inspired dance tune (which ironically criticizes people at dance clubs). But the gem is the uber-catchy “Get Myself Into It,” a song that seems designed to get bad-dancers out onto the floor. If you don’t buy the album, at least download this song – it’s that good.
After that we go My Chemical Romance’s The Black Parade. It needs to be noted that this is a concept album, and as such, is very complete. It has a flow to it that almost calls for a full listening from beginning to end. It’s weird, because My Chemical Romance is a kind of genre-defying band. This is a good thing, I believe, because it means just focusing on the music as opposed to the supposed audience. What I can say is that if this is where rock has taken us, then rock is not dead. It’s hard enough to appease people who thought Metallica was doing something worth-while (I’m sorry, but I will always hate those guys because they shut down Napster, despite their musical contributions), while listenable enough to appeal to the younger generation that might be into, say, emo (see above). Still, because it is a concept album, the idea of a single is not really as tangible as on the other albums I’ve mentioned. Yes, there have been two already, “Welcome to the Black Parade,” and “Famous Last Words,” but I think they actually work better as part of the album then on their own. On the flip-side, they stand up pretty well on their own, so take what you will from that. This is where “hard” rock is today, and I’m not complaining.
The last album might seem out of left-field, and in a way it is, and in a way it’s not (don’t you just love dichotomies? They make having arguments almost arbitrary – a little bit reactionary, I’m sure, but you try reading literary theory for months and then figure out if anyone ever comes to a singular conclusion). That’s because it’s Stand Still, Look Pretty, by The Wreckers, a pseudo-country group consisting of Michelle Branch and Jessica Harp. Now, I bought this album because, to be honest, I loved Branch’s previous albums, and I have a ridiculous crush on her. I don’t know why, but I do. That’s also besides the point. What matters is that she writes and performs great music (at least I think so), and that I expected the same on The Wreckers’ album.
I was not disappointed. It might be important to note that I am not a country music fan. If you go to pretty much any MySpace profile, under music you will probably read something like: “I like everything. . .except for country!”. Well, I actually do like pretty much everything, including some country. But for me it’s on a very individual basis. If you want to classify The Wreckers as country, then yeah, I like country. Sure, there are definite influences in some of their songs – a fiddle here, such as in the great song “Leave the Pieces”; some twangy guitar in the very country “My, Oh My” – but it mostly sounds like something Branch would have written anyway. I don’t know if that means that Branch has always been “a little bit country,” or that Harp is adding only more traditional elements to the album, but it ends up simply creating a very listenable, oftentimes catchy album. I think my favorite song is “Tennessee,” but I also really like “Way Back Home.” I believe there are enough good songs on this album to warrant purchase, but I will put the caveat out there that it is not a pop-rock album. If you’re expecting The Spirit Room or Hotel Paper, you are going to be disappointed, and not because the music is bad, but because the music is not completely the same.
Okay, I’ve rambled way too long. Overall, I’m completely happy buying these albums. I just want to point out that I do not buy albums based on one song – I need to have recommendations, I need to believe that there is actually an album worth buying. That’s why I generally don’t by hip-hop or pop albums anymore: I’d rather just download the singles I like, and not have to slough through the morass. These five albums are good enough be physical objects in my house. These artists created something that doesn’t bother me for spending way too much money on.
These albums are what it means to be commercial musicians.
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