State Of The Pretzel Logic: April

Another month has gone by and Pretzel Logic continues to grow. This month, I celebrated my hundredth post, plus I added a whole new column. This has also been my busiest month so far, with twenty-eight posts in thirty days. Madness, I say! All I can hope is that people find what I write interesting and keep reading.

In terms of album review changes:

-Mastodon’s Crack The Skye is now a 5 pretzel album. As I listened to this album more and more, I realized just how sad and lonely it sounds. In many ways this makes sense, since guitarist Brent Hinds was in a coma for a while before the writing of the album. It’s also drummer Brann Dailor’s tribute to his late sister, Skye, who killed herself in her teens. When listened to within that context, the emotional core of the album becomes all the more powerful.

That’s it for changes. Next month, I’ll be reviewing Bell Orchestre, Bill Callahan, The Church, Conor Oberst, Dan Deacon, Eminem, Green Day, Grizzly Bear, Iggy Pop, Jarvis Cocker, Maximo Park, New York Dolls, Phoenix, Tinted Windows and many, many more. Stay tuned!

Love Songs Gone Wrong

Artist: Camera Obscura

Album: My Maudlin Career

Year: 2009

Grade: 4 pretzels

As anyone who’s been reading might have figured out by now, I’m not always a fan of upbeat music. I feel no shame when I say my tastes tend to cover a wide range of downcast, intense music (some might even say “depressing”). I don’t consider myself a particularly moody person, but sad music definitely strikes some specific chord inside me that more cheerful songs don’t. However, every once and a while, an album will come along that wins my angsty, young man’s soul over. Camera Obscura’s blissful My Maudlin Career is one of those.

Of course, it’s worth pointing out that most of the songs on My Maudlin Career aren’t all that happy in the first place. For the most part, they’re tragic love songs, with characters pining for lost partners or making sense of failing relationships. As singer Tracyanne Campbell sings on “The Sweetest Thing”, “you challenged me to write a love song, here it is, I think I got it wrong, I focused on the negative.” In many ways, that’s what this album is about. The songs are desperately trying to be happy love songs, but things keep getting in the way.

The reason this album feels so happy is because of the music. Heavy on retro shimmering guitars and some of the sunniest melodies the world has seen since the Beach Boys, this album sounds like the most amazingly appropriate soundtrack for summer and romance. Never mind the downcast lyrics. Just allow yourself to get lost in the breezy guitar of “You Told A Lie” or the triumphant horns of “Honey In The Sun”. The music is just so exuberant and warm, you just can’t put up a fight.

Of course, it isn’t all fun and games on My Maudlin Career. The album has two heart-wrenching tearjerkers hidden among the bliss and silly romanticism. The gentle shuffle of “Forest And Sands” matches the quiet tale of betrayal in the lyrics, capturing just the right amount of sadness without becoming…*ahem*…maudlin. But the strongest emotions are reserved for the devastating “Away With Murder”, highlighted by a sighing, descending keyboard riff and Campbell’s tale of love in the face of suicidal tendencies. It’s a beautiful and touching number, becoming the emotional heart of the album in the process.

Even with all these emotions running wild, Campbell finds plenty of opportunities to work choice lyrical zingers into these songs. “The Sweetest Thing” features the fabulous chorus of “when you’re lucid, you’re the sweetest thing, I would trade my mother just to hear you sing.” At the same time, she also has a flair for some of the most heart-warming, romantic lyrics I’ve ever encountered. “You Told A Lie” is highlighted by this extraordinary bridge: “are my eyes the coldest blue? You said once this was true, if it is I don’t know what I’ll do, ‘cause I’m stuck with them, and they’re stuck on you.” At the end of the day, it’s lines like this that remind me that this album isn’t necessarily the happy-go-lucky experience that it’s sugary surface might suggest. This album can be just as sad as plenty of other music I love. I guess in that sense, it’s no surprise that I like it so much.

Help, It's Metric

Artist: Metric
Album: Fantasies
Year: 2009
Grade: 2 pretzels

Ever since New Wave existed as a genre, it’s struggled with two opposing artistic forces pulling at it. On one hand, New Wave wants to stay true to its punk rock roots. It needs some of that edge to still seem urgent and full of life. At the same time, however, New Wave wants to be polished. New Wave dresses punk up for respectable audiences, packaging the bite and fury with a protective layer of poppy shine. Unfortunately, one slight imbalance in this formula can derail even the most talented New Wave band in a heartbeat. Even more unfortunately for Toronto’s Metric, they aren’t the most talented New Wave band and the imbalances on their new album, Fantasies, are more than slight.

Metric have never been a mind-shattering band, in my opinion. While their famous singles, “Combat Baby” and “Monster Hospital” are very fun and enjoyable in their own right, Metric’s albums have been wildly inconsistent and lackluster. Metric have always sounded very conflicted about their identity as a band. Half the time, they sound like an edgy guitar group, but the other half of the time, they sound like they want to take their local dance floor by storm. While there’s nothing wrong with wanting to combine those two, Metric never sound comfortable doing so.

Fantasies continues these trends, but this time, Metric bury these half-hearted songs under an impossibly polished production job. This album feels like every sharp corner has been carefully polished away, taking something that should be a punchy, punky New Wave album and making it completely toothless. The lead single “Help, I’m Alive” loses any sense of danger when the clichéd, stadium-ready keyboard fills show up. Even when the band stumble upon a genuinely great musical moment, like the Depeche Mode-worthy riff of “Sick Muse”, they end up drowning the song with the overly shiny production.

Ever since I first heard them, Metric have sounded like a band grasping at straws to me and Fantasies has done little to change my mind. Frontwoman Emily Haines does an admirable job trying to inject these songs with some fun and cockiness, but her thin voice can’t carry them alone. Again, Metric sound caught between the punk club and the dance floor. There are many bands who’ve made that combination work over the years, but with four albums now under their collective belt, Metric haven’t had much luck with it themselves. The band needs to decide what kind of music they want to make, instead of trying to hedge every bet by throwing together albums this mediocre.

(PS: This is my one-hundredth post! As always, I just want to thank everyone who's been reading Pretzel Logic!)

Attack Of The Mushroom Men

Artist: Les Claypool

Album: Of Fungi And Foe

Year: 2009

Grade: 2.5 pretzels

When you sign up for a Les Claypool album, you know you’re gonna be getting something pretty crazed. The Primus frontman is definitely one of the most unique, warped minds in popular music these days. I mean, this is the man who wrote the South Park theme. Ever since starting Primus in the early 90s, Claypool’s aesthetic has been quite clear, usually featuring his cartoony sense of humor, nasal redneck voice and jaw-dropping electric bass virtuosity. Of Fungi And Foe doesn’t add much new to the equation, but it definitely reminds us just what a wacky guy Claypool tends to be.

Of Fungi And Foe is Claypool’s second solo album and it draws together a collection of songs that Claypool was inspired to write while doing soundtrack work for a couple of projects. One of those involved a video game where a meteor struck Earth, creating intelligent mushrooms. Based on that premise alone, it’s no wonder Claypool got involved. The man is virtually the poster child for fun with hallucinogens. The second project, a film about a killer boar defending a marijuana field in California, seems to have less of an influence on the album, but it reinforces the drug-fueled haze that seems to surround this album.

This pervasive drugginess is both the album’s biggest strength and weakness. On one hand, it makes the songs suitably off-the-wall, especially after Claypool’s twisted mind has had its way with the lyrics. The opening pair of mushroom-centric songs, “Mushroom Men” and “Amanitas”, definitely show how Claypool can take abstract images and work wonders with them. Over the course of those two songs, he makes mushrooms sound about as sinister and devious as Rasputin. At the same time, however, Claypool’s songs can also drag on forever, often without a particularly great idea anchoring the song in the first place. “What Would Sir George Martin Do” gets boring after less than a minute, so when it proceeds to sprawl out across six without end, you can’t help but wonder what convinced Claypool to include it on the album (hint: the answer is drugs).

The strangest element to the album (besides, y’know, all the killer mushrooms) is the lack of bass playing. In most people’s minds, Claypool and the electric bass are synonymous. With Primus, Claypool made a name for himself as one of the most talented bassists in history, combining a percussive funk style with flurries of notes and noises. However, on Of Fungi And Foe, Claypool’s bass playing is unsettlingly subtle. If you really listen, you can hear some of his usual madcap bass style lurking in the background, but Claypool has drowned his playing under a sea of studio effects and distortions. The album is also unusually spare for a Claypool-related album, meaning that big, flashy bass solos would stand out awkwardly. Those who listen to this album in hopes of hearing Claypool’s signature bass playing will be disappointed, but at least he had the sense to restrain himself on songs that didn’t need lots of bass.

Ultimately, Of Fungi And Foe is a frustrating listening experience. There are moments of undeniable inspiration and plenty of zany thrills. But those moments are outweighed by too many songs that drift on aimlessly, while Claypool and his mob of studio musicians jam away. A bit more substance would have been nice, helping balance the madness that is lurking only so far away whenever Claypool makes music.

Life Is Hard

Artist: Bob Dylan

Album: Together Through Life

Year: 2009

Grade: 4 pretzels

With all this talk about the 1960s, it only seems appropriate to have a new album coming out by one of the most iconic voices of that decade. Bob Dylan joins fellow “legendary” songwriters Bruce Springsteen and Neil Young in releasing new material this year. However, unlike those latter two, Dylan has never really faded out of the public consciousness (at least not unwillingly). Dylan has somehow kept his work relevant through the decades. He even appears to be in the middle of a sort of Dylan-renaissance lately, which started with 1997’s masterful Time Out Of Mind album. Since then, Dylan sounds like he’s accepted himself for who he actually is. He’s long since left behind his protest singing and warped, surreal lyricism. He’s simply a gruff old man, now, singing and playing away.

Dylan’s voice is definitely the most attention-grabbing part of Together Through Life. His old nasal whine has rusted and disintegrated so far that all that’s left is a rough, raspy croak. The man is approaching his seventies and it shows. But, as might be expected, Dylan turns this weakness into a strength on the album. A world-weary romantic song like “Life Is Hard” is heartbreaking with that worn voice adding a whole range of emotions to a few very simply lyrics.

Simplicity seems to be the name of the game on this album. The Dylan of earlier decades would jam eighty-million ideas into a song and still be upset when he had to move on. Now, his songs usually consist of a solid, bluesy groove, with a minimum of flashy frills and details. His lyrics have also been simplified, moving away from the abstract word-associations from albums past, instead opting for elegant, well-crafted ballads, love songs and wallowing blues numbers. There’s no denying that this is a very different Dylan than most people are used to, but that doesn’t mean he’s any less of a musician or storyteller.

Together Through Life has an amusing Tex-Mex flavor running through it, best heard on “This Dream Of You”, which comes complete with a bit of ranchero accordion. This gives the album a bizarre, southwestern feel, as if Dylan is camped out on the Mexican border, strumming away at his guitar and singing the blues to every cactus who bothers to listen to him. In fact, many of these songs sound like they weren’t really meant for other people to hear. In many ways, songs like “It’s All Good” and “Life Is Hard” feel like tunes Dylan is singing to himself, trying to reassure himself that he’s ok as the years creep by. At the end of the day, this album actually sounds very lonely.

In listening to this album, you can’t compare it to Dylan’s work from the 60s. If you do, you’ll inevitably be disappointed. You have to understand that Bob Dylan is a different creature than he was so many years ago. He’s no longer the maverick poet-rocker, ripping the doors off the institution with a few choice words. He’s no longer the iconoclastic young man he once was. Bob Dylan is old. You simply can’t deny that. But, being Bob Dylan, he’s found a way to have his music age with him. Both have grown rougher with time, but that only feels appropriate. After all these decades, Dylan doesn’t have to pretend to be a grizzled old bluesman. That’s what he actually is.

Best Albums Of The 1960s, Pt. 5

#5
Beggars Banquet
The Rolling Stones
1968

After the abysmal, psychedelic mind-fuckery of Their Satanic Majesties, the Rolling Stones could have rolled over and died. With their work slowly declining and having released an album that split critics and confused listeners, the band seemed lost. Any doubts were laid to rest, however, with the release of Beggars Banquet, which saw the band return to their R&B-flavored roots, but stronger than ever before. The album would set off a string of three more vital albums, but Beggars Banquet feels the strongest. With Jagger’s new-found lyricism, the songs on Beggars Banquet are in a whole different class than anything the Stones had recorded up to this point. With its country touches, slide guitar and rich songwriting, it’s the antithesis of Their Satanic Majesties. The Stones finally recorded a truly populist record, celebrating the regular people who bought their records.

#4
The Kinks Are The Village Green Preservation Society
The Kinks
1968

Ray Davies lives in a sepia-toned world and, with The Village Green Preservation Society, the Kinks’ songwriter made his definitive statement. Sunny, pastoral and so nostalgic that it almost overwhelms you, the album is nothing short of a love note to the traditional English lifestyle. “Preserving the old ways from being abused, protecting the new ways, for me and for you,” Davies sings. Of course, this also makes Village Green one of the most gloriously conservative albums in history, but in a profoundly charming, English way. In an era of drug use and new, radical lifestyles, Davies was one of the few voices celebrating the older ways that everyone else seemed to be rebelling against. Ironically enough, at the end of the day, Davies’ music was light years beyond anything his more liberal peers had to offer. As always seems to be the case, Ray Davies gets the last laugh.

#3
Highway 61 Revisited
Bob Dylan
1965

With one single song, Bob Dylan re-wrote the history of popular music. This is the sentence that critics have attached to “Like A Rolling Stone” for decades. For the most part, it’s a fair statement, but the song is even more powerful when heard within the context of Highway 61 Revisited, an album that actually did change the course of music. Along with Rubber Soul the same year, Highway 61 created the concept of the modern rock album. Suddenly, major rock artists were releasing complete long-players, with each song carefully crafted, whether it was a single or not. There are no dull moments on Highway 61. Of course, there aren’t any dull moments because this is Dylan’s debut as a fully electric artist. Leaving those folk roots behind, Highway 61 is wild, energetic and feels so alive, you can almost feel its pulse. It’s no wonder music was never the same after this album.

#2
Music From Big Pink
The Band
1968

The concept behind this album is so charming, you can’t help but smile when you hear it. Five close friends holed up in a run-down house in upstate New York, retreating from the busy world around them and rewriting all their favorite R&B and country hits. The result of all this cozy, friendly intimacy was Music From Big Pink, a grounded, earthy record made during a time when everyone else was reaching for the stars. With Richard Manuel’s tender voice bringing you to tears, or Rick Danko’s yelping drawl making you laugh, Big Pink is rich with emotion and honesty. It sounds exactly like what it is: an album made by five country boys, who never really fitted in with the whole California rock scene. The backwoods of New York felt much more comfortable to them. Never mind that, within a year or so, the whole place would be overrun with hippies flocking to Woodstock. For a short time, upstate New York was the Band’s paradise.

#1
The Velvet Underground & Nico
The Velvet Underground
1967

In many ways, the two albums at the top of this list are very similar. Both were made by artists who rejected the West Coast rock traditions. Both were created as a reaction to the flowery, druggy music flowing all across the country. But where the Band looked backwards, to the songs of an older generation that inspired them, the Velvet Underground were looking only forward, towards the future. In the process, they invented one of the most original and rootless pieces of music in all of history. Lou Reed saw the times for what they were and created the logical extension of the peace, love and hippie bullshit era. The drugs got harder (“Heroin”) and the sexual awakening would get more extreme (“Venus In Furs”). Reed’s songs were populated by drug dealers, junkies and sadomasochists. The album was made all the more unsettling with the addition of Nico, who’s icy, Germanic voice provided the necessary alienation and intensity that Reed’s songs needed. All of this was set to a harsh, screeching musical backdrop, mostly thanks to Reed’s Welsh avant-garde sidekick, John Cale. With pop art maestro Andy Warhol providing both production and an immortal album cover, The Velvet Underground & Nico is a cold, shrieking, dissonant mess, dedicated to the depravity that Reed knew would follow once the 60s bubble of bliss had popped. Or, to paraphrase Reed himself, it’s the soundtrack to “all tomorrow’s parties.”

Best Albums Of The 1960s, Pt. 4

#10
Songs Of Leonard Cohen
Leonard Cohen
1968

Leonard Cohen is the great forgotten lyricist of the 1960s. While everyone gushes over Dylan, Lennon and McCartney, this quiet Canadian deserves far more credit than he receives. With his elegant, elaborate tales of interpersonal relationships, religion and power, his work is more overtly serious and stark than some of his contemporaries. While this may be off-putting to some, Cohen essentially created the template for every tortured rock-poet that followed, from Ian Curtis to Nick Cave. With just an acoustic guitar and Cohen’s baritone voice, Songs Of Leonard Cohen is one of the most haunting and gorgeous albums of its time.

#9
Scott 4
Scott Walker
1969

An alternative title for this album could have been How To Lose A Fanbase In Ten Easy Steps. With his fourth solo album, Scott Walker made it clear that his earlier days as a pretty-boy pop star with the Walker Brothers were long gone. Lush and bordering on operatic at times, Scott 4 was his first album composed entirely of original songs and, to put it simply, his audience couldn’t handle it. Songs about Ingmar Bergman films? Intense, emotional storytelling? Evocative, exotic lyricism? This wasn’t what pop stars were supposed to record. Not unlike Brian Wilson with Pet Sounds, Scott 4 captures an artist pushing pop music to the extremes, seeing how far he can go before he’s the only one interested in his music anymore.

#8
The Gilded Palace Of Sin
The Flying Burrito Brothers
1969

Besides having one of the most badass album titles in history, The Gilded Palace Of Sin is notable for spawning the entire genre that we now know as alt-country. Under the haphazard leadership of the Georgia-born Gram Parsons, the Burrito Brothers created a sound that sat directly in the middle of the divide separating West Coast rock and southern country music. Of course, in the process, they managed to alienate both audiences, but decades down the line, Parsons’ pioneering has blossomed into great bands like Wilco and the Drive-By Truckers. Plus, the two (arguably) best songs on the album, “Hot Burrito #1” and “Hot Burrito #2”, were written so late in the recording session that they didn’t even get real titles. With talent like that, Parsons’ spiraling decline following this album feels all the more tragic.

#7
The Band
The Band
1969

I’ll never understand how Robbie Robertson, a Canadian of Jewish and Native American descent, managed to write almost an entire album of traditional American folk songs. But there they are, in all their glory, whether we’re talking about the pro-Confederacy flag-waving of “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down” or the spiky union tale of “King Harvest (Has Surely Come)”. The Band’s first album may have been their most surprising work, but their second album is their most definitive statement. Somehow, four Canadians and one redneck drummer from Arkansas created an enduringly American album, drawn from a set of traditions and experiences they could only imagine.

#6
Revolver
The Beatles
1966

While the influence of drugs on Rubber Soul was subtle, the Beatles’ next album was overtly inspired by the mind-expanding substances the Fab Four had recently discovered. Hazy and full of dissonant musical touches (mostly thanks to George Harrison and his sitar), Revolver is also the Beatles' most knowingly artistic work. McCartney even brought strings into the studio for “Eleanor Rigby”, writing the book for string-use in rock songs in the process. But the thing that makes Revolver important is the band’s sudden experimentalist streak, culminating in Lennon’s “Tomorrow Never Knows”, pre-empting most of what the Velvet Underground would perfect a year later. “Turn off your mind, relax and float downstream” he urges us. A masterful balance of pop songwriting and high-art experiments, Revolver is as close to a perfect album as the Beatles’ ever got.

Best Albums Of The 1960s, Pt. 3

#15
Trout Mask Replica
Captain Beefheart
1969

For those who think rough country blues and surrealism are mutually exclusive, Trout Mask Replica is the album that proves you wrong. With the good Captain himself leading the charge with his ever-changing voice, it’s an album that takes the blues and twists it like a pretzel until everything breaks down. Warped, atonal and messy (and rehearsed intensely to get it to sound that way), Trout Mask Replica is one of the few times in music history that avant-garde experiments and any level of chart success have gone hand in hand.

#14
Rubber Soul
The Beatles
1965

Rubber Soul was the moment the Beatles decided to start being serious. After becoming the pop culture phenomenon of the decade, Lennon and McCartney decided to sit down and truly take their song writing to the next level. The results are stunning. Mature and carefully textured, Rubber Soul is the Beatles’ first completely listenable album, where even the filler tracks sound great. Each track, from McCartney’s Euro-flavored “Michelle” to Lennon’s terrifying “Run For Your Life”, is a glistening pop gem.

#13
Pet Sounds
The Beach Boys
1966

Who says pop can’t be complicated? This is the question Brian Wilson answered when he masterminded Pet Sounds, which very well could be the most ambitious and well-executed pop album in history. The evolution the Beach Boys went through to get from their early surf hits to this album is mind-boggling. Those harmonies and good-time vibes are still there, but this time, they're played out against Wilson’s insanely complicated musical backgrounds, which incorporate everything from harpsichords to theremins. Pet Sounds is a album so good, Wilson ended up driving himself literally crazy trying to top it.

#12
Blonde On Blonde
Bob Dylan
1966

This towering double album is Dylan at his most crazed. Although Highway 61 before this sounds wilder, nothing Dylan has done in his entire career can compete with the careening madness of Blonde On Blonde. This is Dylan at his most prolific, his most vividly surreal and, with the exception of Blood On The Tracks, his most pointed and vindictive. Its an album so jam-packed full of his ideas that it’s barely contained within two records. In many ways, it’s a good thing that Dylan wrecked himself on a motorcycle shortly after this album. I’m not sure he could have survived at this pace much longer.

#11
The Stooges
The Stooges
1969

The first fifteen seconds of “I Wanna Be Your Dog” is my single favorite moment in any song from the 1960s. Within that brief span, Ron Asheton does everything short of lighting his guitar on fire, Hendrix-style, creating a god-awful crunch of noise that represents everything I hold dear about music. It’s a testament to this album’s power that, even with over half of its eight songs being thrown together in the studio to take up space, it’s still at #11 on this list. There simply wasn’t anything else like this in the 60s. Nothing was this dangerous, this simple or this primal. The future was listening.

Best Albums Of The 1960s, Pt. 2

#20
Astral Weeks
Van Morrison
1968

For being one of the most acclaimed rock albums in history, Astral Weeks has surprisingly little resembling rock or roll. Instead, Van Morrison created a breezy mix of traditional Irish melodies, flutes and folksy acoustic guitars. In fact, the only thing tying the album to rock at all is Morrison’s bellowing vocals. No one was sure what to make of Astral Weeks back in 1968 and nothing’s really changed since. It’s still a fantastically confusing, dream-like adventure, exploring corners of music untouched by rock’s greasy fingers.

#19
The Beatles (The White Album)
The Beatles
1968

By 1968, the Beatles were the most popular band on Earth. They also started to hate each other. One band wasn’t big enough for three distinct songwriters to survive together. So, for The White Album, they didn’t try compromising. They just jammed the album full of every idea in sight. The final product was a monolithic, thirty-track behemoth, lacking any level of cohesion and unity. But, in many ways, that was the point. It’s the sound of a band being torn in three different directions, inviting the listener to pick allegiances for the future.

#18
In The Court Of The Crimson King
King Crimson
1969

Long before “prog rock” became a dirty word, there was King Crimson. Under the careful control of guitar fiend Robert Fripp, King Crimson proved that you could mix rock & roll, free jazz and classical precision without too many adverse effects. But the reason In The Court succeeds is because it draws on genuine emotion, ranging from the explosive “21st Century Schizoid Man” to the creeping calm of “Moonchild”. All that future prog rock bands would see was the self-imposed, artsy seriousness, missing the album’s unsettling atmosphere and inherent sadness entirely.

#17
Let It Bleed
The Rolling Stones
1969

This album should be on this list just for “Gimme Shelter” alone, which stands as one of the finest, most transcendent moments of the Stones’ fine, transcendent career. But the album as a whole should not be ignored, as it takes the listener on a thrilling ride through the very last moments of the 1960s. Just a month after Let It Bleed’s release, the Stones would preside over the tragedy at Altamont, ending the 60s dream with five stabs of a knife. But, for the brief forty-two minutes of Let It Bleed, the 60s were allowed their final moment in the spotlight.

#16
Disraeli Gears
Cream
1967

Cream had three things that made them stand out from the flood of white English blues bands: Jack Bruce, Eric Clapton and Ginger Baker. Seldom in the history of music have three more talented musicians existed within a single group. Disraeli Gears manages to capture Clapton while he still had some bite to his guitar and Ginger Baker essentially reinvented rock drumming on the album. But the highest accolades should be reserved for Jack Bruce, who has one of the bluesiest voices to ever come out of a white man. Raw and wounded, his majestic vocals are what truly made Cream great.

Best Albums Of The 1960s, Pt. 1

It’s time to be completely honest: I created this blog for a singular reason. Next year, as soon as the calendars switch over into 2010, we’ll have a new decade. This is a music critic’s happiest dream. Finally, we all can write retrospective “Best Of The Decade” lists! Sure enough, I plan on putting one together and I created this blog so I would have an eventual outlet for it. Next January, I’ll start listing my 100 Favorite Albums of the 2000s. However, in the meantime, I’ve got a few other lists to get out there. Leading up to my 2000s list, I’m going to write a bit about all my favorite albums from each decade between the 1960s and now. This way, anyone curious will have a good sense of my musical tastes over time. Every other month, I’ll have a new decade list. This month, the 1960s. June will be the 1970s, August the 1980s and finally October will be dedicated to the 1990s. I hope y’all find it interesting.

(Note: future lists will feature fifty albums. For the 1960s, I’m only doing twenty-five, since I don’t have all that many albums to choose from for this decade.)

The requisite disclaimer:
This list is just a matter of my own opinion. This list is less about saying one album is “better” than another and more about just presenting music that I’ve enjoyed over the years. If you disagree with anything on here, feel free to comment and say so. Polite disagreement is always appreciated, however.

#25
Song Cycle
Van Dyke Parks
1968

In many ways, Song Cycle is more of a novelty than a “serious” album. Parks, who’s best known as the lyricist behind most of Brian Wilson’s ill-fated Smile album, used a colossal budget to create a strange collage of Americana and pop music. Snippets of music fly by, only to be replaced by something entirely different. A little banjo number will transition, without warning, into something straight out of Tin Pan Alley. Strange and ambitious, it’s most interesting for its uniqueness, rather than for its actually musical enjoyment.

#24
The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan
Bob Dylan
1963

What hasn’t been said about Dylan at this point? I mean…he’s Bob Dylan. Nothing I can say here will shed any new light on his work. However, I enjoy listening to Freewheelin’ because it represents a time before the name “Bob Dylan” elicited reverent tones. At its heart, this is just a simple protest album, executed with a beauty, grace and honesty that every other “serious” artist in the 60s would try to replicate. Often sad and highlighted by Dylan’s nimble guitar work, Freewheelin’ is the reason anybody talks about Dylan in the first place.

#23
Forever Changes
Love
1967

The 60s psychedelic movement was in full bloom by 1967, with everyone (at least in California) wrapped up in peace, love and just getting really far out…man. Somehow, in the middle of all that, Love managed to record Forever Changes, one of the darkest, most eerie albums to escape the cloud of the psychedelic scene. Led by the maverick Arthur Lee, Forever Changes was the sound of Love predicting the inevitable decline of all the good feelings that were in the air.

#22
Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band
The Beatles
1967

I’ll be honest here: a huge part of me hates this album. In some circles, saying something like that is simply blasphemous. However, the reason I hate it is because its influence can never be exorcised from music as a whole. Sgt. Pepper’s set the bar so ridiculously high when it came to making music in the studio. There had simply been nothing else similar when it came out. Then, after 1967, everybody seemed to be trying to replicate it. Basically, nobody succeeded.

#21
Bringing It All Back Home
Bob Dylan
1965

The beginning of the end of the beginning…it all starts here. Once Dylan started dabbling with his pretty electric guitars, there was no going back. Never mind that hundreds of hippies would boo him the same year for playing “Maggie’s Farm”. Bob Dylan was ready to rock. Of course, Bringing It All Back Home was just the blueprint for what was coming. Next time, there’s would be no whole acoustic side of the album to placate the folkies. From here on out, there were no rules.

Album Review Doubleheader!, Part 2

Artist: Art Brut

Album: Art Brut Vs. Satan

Year: 2009

Grade: 3.5 pretzels

There aren’t many bands anymore that I feel comfortable calling “punk.” After the initial explosion of bands in the 1970s, on both sides of the Atlantic, the genre once known as “punk rock” has migrated very far away from its roots. The problem, as I see it, is that most people think “punk” is defined by a sound (fast guitars, yelling, sloppy style) and not by a mentality. So many modern “punk” bands are trying to do exactly what the world expects a punk band to do and, without realizing it, they’re opposing the actual spirit of punk. True punk is not limited by expectations. True punk is pure self-expression, without any rules or formulas imposed on the group from outside forces.

I’m not sure if I’m ready to call Art Brut a “true” punk band, but they’re damn closer than most artists I hear these days. When they broke onto the scene in 2005, with the fabulously self-referential single “Formed A Band”, their sound and style sounded absolutely fresh and new. Frontman Eddie Argos’ charismatic blend of self-deprecation, humor and pointed social observations brought huge smiles to your face as you listened to their songs. Coupled with charmingly ramshackle music, the band’s debut album, Bang Bang Rock & Roll, was an absolute winner. Four years have passed since then and Art Brut are on to their third album without changing the formula much.

Art Brut Vs. Satan has some of the same problems as the band’s disappointing sophomore effort, It’s A Bit Complicated. The band’s seemingly endless talent for churning out winning little melodies on the debut isn’t in full force. Both “Demons Out!” and “Summer Job” seem shaky and weak. Argos has also lost some of his attention to detail. His range of targets on the first album (modern art, erectile dysfunction, Los Angeles, etc) has mostly been whittled down to songs about girls, booze and music. While he’s more than capable of writing these songs well, I wouldn’t mind seeing Argos branch out again when it comes to subject matter.

That said, Argos can still charm a smile onto your face right through a song. “DC Comics And Chocolate Milkshake” is a wonderful anthem about not giving up things that make childhood awesome. Even at his most corny, as on the profoundly silly love song “What A Rush”, Argos manages to deliver a line like “I can’t believe those things I said, I blame it on a rush of love to the head” with total sincerity. The tunes may be slowly sliding downhill for the band, but Argos’ charm and quirkiness aren’t going anywhere.

Art Brut Vs. Satan is definitely a step in the right direction for Art Brut, especially after a very lackluster second album. It’s encouraging to hear the band sound this immediate and punchy again, mostly thanks to a crisp production job by Charles Thompson, who evokes his own Pixies albums with clean mixes and loud guitars. Plus, even when the record doesn’t quite click, it has a certain charm. As Argos himself says on “Slap Dash For No Cash”, “why does everyone try to sound like U2? It’s not a very cool thing to do?” Art Brut are still making exactly the kind of music they want to make, without trying to pretty things up to appeal to a wider audience. I thank them for keeping those fires of punk burning.

Album Review Doubleheader!, Part 1

Artist: Grand Duchy

Album: Petits Fours

Year: 2009

Grade: 3 pretzels

Charles Thompson has been a busy man this year. The former Pixies frontman, who lives under a number of aliases including Black Francis and Frank Black, has two new albums coming out this month that he was somehow involved in. Today, I’m going to be reviewing them back to back. First up, we have Petits Fours by Grand Duchy, Thompson’s new band with his wife Violet Clark.

The first thing that struck me about this album was its overt similarities to some of Thompson's work with Pixies. The same combination of Thompson’s yelpy singing and sweeter, female harmonies is utilized across most of the nine songs here. It seems like Clark has stepped into the role Kim Deal used to play in Pixies, balancing Thompson’s erratic tendencies. The music also resembles some of Pixies’ later work, with plenty of surf guitar licks and sproingy basslines. All in all, this is probably the most Pixies-ish music Thompson has made since the 1990s.

At the same time, Petits Fours is very much Pixies-lite. Thompson never reaches the over-the-top extremes that have characterized his work over the years. The songs are fun and quirky, but there’s nothing even in the same ballpark as his material with Pixies. Clark, for her part, delivers some nice vocals, but doesn’t ever really stand out on her own. She definitely sounds lost in the shadow of her husband. It’s hard to say what exactly she contributed to the album beyond vocals.

Generally, the album feels like a nice, casual side project thrown together in a recording studio over the course of a weekend. The sunny “Lovesick” is a nice little pop song, but it doesn’t seem to carry any weight. Now, there’s nothing wrong with some charming, lightweight summer music, but I can’t help but wish for a bit more substance from someone as prolific and edgy as Thompson. The dark “Black Suit” (which is essentially a recycled version of Pixies' "Gouge Away") is the closest Grand Duchy come to a great song on this album and it still sounds like it’s missing the necessary spark. Petits Fours is plenty of fun, but without anything making the songs jump out of your speakers, it’s ultimately forgettable.

The Best Day Of The Year

Hey everyone! Today is the second annual Record Store Day! Now, I can hear you asking questions already. “What’s Record Store Day, Simon?” Well, every second Saturday in April, independent record stores around the world celebrate being music retailers. Many stores have special discounts and events going on, encouraging you to walk in the door and spend some money. It’s no secret that music sales are hurting lately (just like everything else in this charming economy), so going down to your local record store and even buying a single CD will help. So go! Enjoy the weekend! Listen to music and support independent music retailers.

This Is Africa

Artist: K'naan

Album: Troubadour

Year: 2009

Grade: 3 pretzels

Over the past thirty years, nothing has affected the musical landscape as much as the emergence of hip-hop. It’s amazing to think that this entire sprawling genre of music, something we take for granted when it dominates our radio and television, has only been around for a few short decades. However, over the course of that time, we’ve seen hip-hop expand from tiny pockets in New York into an international phenomenon. More and more, we’re hearing rap-influenced music coming out of other countries. British rap already has its own strongly defined identity and M.I.A. has given us a window to yet another corner of the world. Now, from Somalia (by way of Canada), we have K’naan, who grew up on the streets of Mogadishu, listening to American rappers. If nothing else, his albums stand as an impressive testament to the globe-spanning reach of hip-hop.

Never for a moment does K’naan separate his Somali roots from his music. Troubadour is his second album and it opens with a track named “T.I.A.”, standing for “This Is Africa”. K’naan is very upfront with his views on modern, predominantly American rap, which glorifies violence and street life. It’s understandable how K’naan, who grew up in an environment where violence was less a choice than an everyday reality, might be strongly angered by posturing top 40 rappers. He spends most of Troubadour shouting out these wannabe street thugs. Coming from someone who escaped Somalia on the last commercial flight before the USA stopped issuing exit visas, it’s a compelling point of view.

The problem with K’naan’s message is that he keeps saying it over and over again. Far too many songs on this album (“T.I.A.”, “ABCs”, “Dreamer”, “If Rap Gets Jealous”, “America”, etc) beat the listener over the head with the message of “modern rappers don’t know anything about real danger.” While this is absolutely true in many ways, it’s almost implicit in K’naan’s identity. We know he comes from a very different background than most rappers. He doesn’t need to constantly remind us. Instead of sharing his experiences with his audience, telling stories from his youth in Somalia, he simply raps about how different he is without delving in details. It’s a classic case of “show us, don’t tell us.”

K’naan has a strong, crisp style to his rapping, which does help sell many of these songs. “ABCs” is particularly effective, thanks to its driving beat, horns and chanting. His voice is naturally a bit nasal and his voice feels the strongest when he manages to repress that a bit. It gives his vocals the edge and mature confidence they need to back up his words. However, he can also veer into awkward, adolescent-sounding rhyming, best heard on “Bang Bang”, which compares falling in love to being shot by a girl with a shotgun. K’naan enunciates very well (compared to most modern rappers) and occasionally, his precise delivery underlines the awkwardness of his words. It’s a careful balance and on Troubadour, K’naan hasn’t quite perfected it.

The one moment when everything clicks is the closing track, “People Like Us”. K’naan sounds impressively calm and controlled, drawing on many powerful images from his childhood in Africa (“no Morgan Freeman to narrate the shame” is a particularly good one-liner thrown in there). Most of all, it sounds very commercial. Compared to K’naan’s debut album, 2005’s Dusty Foot Philosopher, Troubadour sounds like a bid for mainstream acceptance. Of course, this is at odds with K’naan’s avowed dislike for mainstream rappers. Perhaps this is why the album is ultimately a disappointing experience. It sounds like K’naan is trying to beat modern rap at its own game. In the process, he’s lost many of the elements that make a Somali rapper truly unique.

Great Albums In History: The Nightfly

I know I claim to be a music fan, but, to be truly honest, I’m more of an album fan at heart. What interests me most is the way songs end up grouped together in some order to create something more than just a random collection of tunes. This is why I’m starting a new monthly column, Great Albums In History, which will feature a detailed look at albums I find particularly important, unique or just plain awesome. To begin this column, I’ve chosen one of my favorites from the 80s, Steely Dan frontman Donald Fagen’s The Nightfly from 1982.

I find The Nightfly great because it’s one of the most fully realized concept albums in history. Usually, when you hear the term “concept album,” you think of overblown rock operas by the Who or Meat Loaf, which feature songs trying to tell some elaborate story. Instead, The Nightfly is a concept album because all the songs are centered on a specific theme: being a young man in the late 1950s. This works much better than a rock opera because each song is allowed to exist on its own, without having to further some plotline along. As we go through each song, you’ll see how each one adds something specific to the bigger picture.

(Note: Since so much of the appeal of this album lies in the lyrics, I’m choosing to focus on Fagen’s words instead of the sleek, glistening music.)

“I.G.Y.”

We begin with the gorgeous “I.G.Y.”, which stands for International Geophysical Year. The IGY was an international scientific effort between 1957 and 1958, which aimed to increase the world’s awareness of Earth sciences. In Fagen’s song, the IGY is seen as a glorious beacon of optimism and hope, leading to the chorus of “what a beautiful world this will be, what a glorious time to be free.” Fagen captures a moment in American history where anything seemed possible. Everyone was looking to the future, imagining a time when “there’ll be spandex jackets, one for everyone” and you can “get your ticket to that wheel in space.” Of course, this optimistic thinking would eventually crumble as cynicism took over, but for that brief moment contained within the confident trumpets of “I.G.Y.”, the world seemed like a tremendously exciting place.

“Green Flower Street”

As we move along, our narrator (Fagen, presumably) takes us “uptown,” to meet his girl, his “mandarin plum.” There’s no doubt that his “squeeze” on Green Flower St. is a Chinese girl, which, during the late 50s, seems positively radical. Interracial relationships? Gasp! We never know what Fagen’s folks think of his new girl, but we do know that “Lou Chang, her brother, is burning with rage,” since he says “hey buddy, you’re not my kind.” However, Fagen seems excited by all this danger. He celebrates the fact that “uptown, it’s murder out on the street.” He’s a young man and he’s having the time of his life with his Green Flower St. girl.

“Ruby Baby”

Another day, another girl. The young Fagen has moved on and found a new object of affection: “I got a girl and Ruby is her name.” There’s just one little problem: “she don’t love me but I love her just the same.” Fagen perfectly captures the sense of loyally waiting for a girl, even when she shows no signs of reciprocating Fagen’s feelings for her. He’s determined to win her heart, however, vowing to “steal you away from all those guys.” In his mind, she’s already his. He’ll shower her with gifts and love. All he needs is a chance. “Ruby, baby, when will you be mine?”

“Maxine”

Well, I guess things didn’t work out with Ruby, because Fagen is driving down to Mexico City with his new girl, Maxine. However, she seems like a much better choice and the couple’s doing splendidly. The only problem is their impending graduation, meaning both will have to go off and live real lives. For now, however, they meet every night and “talk about life, the meaning of it all.” They’ve got plenty of plans for the future. “We’ll move up to Manhattan, fill the place with friends.” There’s little chance any of this will happen, but for now, the young, naïve couple are enjoying their dreams.

“New Frontier”

“New Frontier” is yet another love song, but this time there’s a twist. The late 50s may have been a time of great optimism, but Americans also lived under the constant threat that “the Reds decide to push the button down.” Yup, it’s time for a love affair in a bomb shelter! Fagen’s found himself a sexy “big blonde” and, being the gentleman he is, he’s inviting her down into “a dugout that my dad built” to wait out the inevitable nuclear winter. Eventually, they’ll “open up the doors and climb out into the dawn.” To Fagen, these are just the realities of modern romance: “prepare to face the challenge of the new frontier.”

“The Nightfly”

Of course, there was something else besides love in the air in the late 50s. Rock and roll records were popping up everywhere and many young people would tune their radios furiously, trying to find stations that played this exciting and dangerous new sound. “The Nightfly” celebrates one of those brave DJs, Lester the Nightfly, broadcasting out of Baton Rouge. Lester is a smooth-talking, late-night host, taking calls by crazy, paranoid listeners who say “there’s a race of men in the trees.” Nothing could make Lester happier: “I wait all night for calls like these.” Fueled by coffee and cigarettes, Lester plays his records through the night until dawn. However, for those who might think this is the best job in the world, Lester “feels like crying.” All these late night hours spent alone remind him of a time when “love was in my life.” Sometimes, he wonders “what happened to that flame.” But, for now, his love is for his loyal listeners. He keeps broadcasting on his “independent station, WJAZ, with jazz and conversation, from the foot of Mt. Belzoni.”

“The Goodbye Look”

This incredibly silly song deals with some of the most serious issues of the late 50s. Between 1957 and 1959, Fidel Castro led his group of Marxist rebels in a successful revolution of the Cuban government, creating a communist power on America’s doorstep. However, “The Goodbye Look” tells this story from the perspective of a phenomenally dull American tourist, who’s just in Cuba to soak up a few rays. All the fun, the “laughter and steel bands at night,” has been replaced by “a bit of action after dark, behind the big casino on the beach.” Our plucky tourist has noticed “the embassy’s been hard to reach.” And now he’s being woken up by an angry Cuban colonel with a gun. As our hero says, “the rules have changed, it’s not the same, it’s all new players in a whole new ball game.” Thankfully, he’s got a way off the island, thanks to “a fellow with a motor launch for hire.” He’s leaving not a moment too soon: “tonight, they’re arranging a small reception, just for me, behind the big casino by the sea.”

“Walk Between Raindrops”

So, after all this time, what has Fagen learned? He’s fallen in love again and again, he’s partied with a girl in a bomb shelter, he’s listened to some exciting rock and roll and he’s escaped the Cuban revolution. Thrilling stuff, right? Well, that boat from Cuba has dropped him off in Miami and, of course, he’s immediately back with some girl. Again, he’s lost in the rush of young love. He’s so giddy, it’s as if he can walk “between the raindrops” of a big Florida storm. In many ways, this can be seen as a metaphor for the album as a whole. Fagen is celebrating growing up in the late 50s, a time when problems were lurking just around the corner. The social upheaval of the 1960s was like a gathering storm on the horizon. But for the young Fagen, he was too busy chasing girls and listening to music to really worry about all that. The Nightfly reflects that, celebrating life and love despite all the danger the world was offering at the time.

How The Mighty Have Fallen

In a quick bit of news, legendary record producer Phil Spector was convicted of second-degree murder yesterday, for the 2003 murder of 40-year old actress Lana Clarkson. The 68-year old Spector could receive an 18-year sentence, meaning his famous Wall Of Sound production style is probably gone for good. Spector was the eccentric genius behind many hit songs of the 60s and 70s, including works by the Ronettes, the Righteous Brothers, Ike and Tina Turner, John Lennon and the Ramones. He was inducted into the Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame in 1989 as a non-performer.

No More Spotlights

Artist: Bat For Lashes

Album: Two Suns

Year: 2009

Grade: 4 pretzels

Apparently, Fever Ray isn’t the only album coming out this month that is thoroughly in debt to Bjork. Bat For Lashes, the performing name for English songwriter Natasha Khan, has been getting rave reviews with her second album, Two Suns. With the exception of one song (the eerie “What’s A Girl To Do”), I wasn’t exactly blown out of the water by her debut, Fur And Gold. The post-Bjork, post-Kate Bush sound has never been my favorite and I’ve heard too many artists massacre it (Regina Spector), even when they have the best of intentions. Thankfully, Two Suns isn’t a complete travesty. However, I definitely think it has some glaring flaws.

Let’s start with the strengths. Khan can certainly make some damn theatric music. Lush and moody, with lots of sparkling piano lines and echoing synth washes, it’s hard to ignore music like this. She also has a very unique voice. I would never call it a “good voice,” but it isn’t “bad” either. It accomplishes what is needed for the songs, whispering and crying with equal skill. The best songs here are full of mystery and intrigue, ranging from the dance-oriented “Daniel” to the stark, rhythmic opener “Glass”. There are plenty of good ideas running around here, creating an album that is a radical improvement over her debut.

However, all those good ideas can clutter things up. This album seems to be trying to do so many things at once, it forgets to take a step back and let each song grow naturally. "Siren Song”, which begins as a fairly sweet piano ballad, begins making strange left turns as it goes on, adding overwrought, bombastic drums and clanging keyboards. It also introduces Khan’s “alter-ego,” named Pearl. If the whole Beyonce/Sasha Fierce debacle was any indication, we should know by now that alter-egos don’t work in music (that is, if you’re not named David Bowie). This conceptual side of Two Suns seems tacked on and doesn’t fit with the album’s best songs. Instead, it just distracts attention from everything around it.

For me, this album simply never clicks. The individual songs can be quite lovely, but they don’t flow into each other very well. All the various ideas jammed together in the songs make it a strange and unsettling listen. It becomes hard to relax, as you wonder when some big, glaring sound is going to crash in and ruin an otherwise enjoyable song. Khan even wastes a rare guest spot by the one-and-only Scott Walker on the album’s closing track, “The Big Sleep”. In Walker, Khan had a chance to duet with one of the few artists more overtly dramatic than herself, but instead, Walker is left singing a fairly routine backing vocal. It’s a shocking missed opportunity. It’s true that Two Suns shows remarkable artistic growth for Khan. However, there’s still plenty of room for improvement. Hopefully, next time around, everything will work just right.

Two Steps Back

Artist: Junior Boys

Album: Begone Dull Care

Year: 2009

Grade: 2.5 pretzels

Junior Boys were the band that made me appreciate electro (or “electropop” or “indietronica” or whatever the hell you want to call it). Their album So This Is Goodbye, from 2006, wormed its way into my brain and hasn’t really left since. That album was great because it presented electro as something more than beeps and shit. The songs were carefully crafted, adding and subtracting layers of synths and beats to create a silky, warm mood. Best of all was Jeremy Greenspan’s incredible vocal delivery, which felt like he was practically whispering in your ear. It all added up to an incredibly lush, seductive album which took electro to new heights in my mind.

Begone Dull Care really does try to replicate that success. It wants to have the same sensuous appeal of its predecessor. However, where So This Is Goodbye felt natural and elegant, this album feels forced and slightly formulaic. The songs sound gorgeous, but repeated listening shows that there’s very little underneath that surface beauty. The opening track, “Parallel Lines”, is casually enjoyable but never really goes to that next level. “Work” has lots of moody synth doodles jagging through it, but it feels underwritten and becomes boring after a few minutes. The atmosphere is there, but not the substance.

Making matters worse, there are a few very odd artistic choices on this album. “Bits And Pieces” has a beat that seems to feature someone burping on every fourth beat. "Dull To Pause" has some incredibly awkward and distracting lyrics (“it’s just too dull to care, so we cue from another mirror”). Even the album cover seems strangely blank and lifeless. For a group like Junior Boys, who rely so heavily on setting the mood, little details like this seem jarring and end up detracting from the album overall.

What this album really needs is a big, standout song, on par with Goodbye’s “In The Morning”. Junior Boys’ albums are very emotional and they need a climactic song to release some of that emotion and tension. On Begone Dull Care, that moment never comes. The album’s centerpiece, “Hazel”, is definitely intended to fill that spot, but, just like the other songs, it never seems to leave second gear. It’s a fun song to dance to, with big keyboard fills and cooing vocals, but it needs to be about twice as big and four times as sexy to really get the job done. The same can be said of the album as a whole. Although I’m glad it shows Junior Boys continuing to record in the style that made me like them, they’ve already recorded better albums. Why would I listen to a poor copy when I can go hear So This Is Goodbye again?

Another Nail In The Coffin Of Brindie Rock

Artist: Doves

Album: Kingdom Of Rust

Year: 2009

Grade: 1.5 pretzels

It doesn’t seem like a month can go by without one album or another reminding me why I’ve grown so frustrated with Brindie rock (for a full definition, see my previous post). Again and again, I keep finding these albums by British bands who seem to be locked into a rigid, unmoving formula. This month’s casualty is Doves and their Kingdom Of Rust album, another futile exercise in processed drama and unnecessarily widescreen epics.

Doves haven’t always sounded this dull. Way back, towards the beginning of this decade, they released some very lovely, shimmery albums of Britpop. They seemed to represent the breezier, dreamier end of the Brit-rock spectrum. They had their own identity. However, with Kingdom Of Rust, they’ve essentially thrown that all away, instead deciding that the route to success requires them to sound exactly like every other band in England. Songs like “Jetstream” sound like something Coldplay might have written and then forgotten about. If Doves only have the ambition to write Coldplay b-sides, they need to get their priorities in life straight.

The thing the hurts Kingdom Of Rust the most is the lack of memorable melodies. The band has always had a solid grasp of atmosphere and mood, with Kingdom Of Rust being no exception. However, all that means little if there isn’t a good tune to build around. For all of its strange bombast, a song like “The Outsiders” would never get stuck in my head after I turned it off. It sounds like the band spent too much time making the album sound “interesting” than making their songs sound “good.” The only moment when the album does work (the lead single “Kingdom Of Rust”), it’s because the band finally figures out how to throw a nice melody into the mix.

That brings me to the other big problem with this album: it sounds like it was recorded by four different bands. There’s nothing tying the gentle title track to the aforementioned “Jetstream”, or to the unexpected and mind-boggling funk bass on “Compulsion”. These songs do not sound like the work of a cohesive recording session. They sound like various outtakes the band have recorded over the past ten years, thrown together just to put more material out into the market. I’m sure that’s not what Doves actually did, but the fact that it sounds that way is not a good sign. In fact, if anything, it's worse. The band sounds lost, grasping at straws in an attempt to rediscover some kind of artistic spark. However, ripping off their more popular peers in the meantime is unacceptable.

Memory Comes When Memory's Old

Artist: Fever Ray

Album: Fever Ray

Year: 2009

Grade: 4.5 pretzels

For me, the Knife are one of those happy musical surprises you stumble upon without warning. I distinctly remember when I first heard their music. One summer, back in 2006, my sister and I went to a record store in Seattle to buy CDs. I picked up a fresh-off-the-boat import copy of TV On The Radio’s Return To Cookie Mountain. My sister bought a strange, dark CD by a band I’d never heard of. It turned out to be the Knife’s Silent Shout. Both floored me. It was a good day for purchases.

The appeal of the Knife (at least for Silent Shout, which is different from their earlier work) lies in its darkness. The band consists of two Swedish siblings who share a love for minimalism and techno. They also have a flair for the dramatic and fantastical, often being photographed in bizarre, folksy bird masks. The music sounds like something you’d hear in the deep of night, lost in an icy Swedish forest (and you thought Sweden was just Ikea). Silent Shout was a true standout of 2006 and the Knife haven’t been able to record a follow-up yet.

Until now…sort of. Fever Ray consists of one half of the band, Karin Dreijer Andersson, working without her brother Olof. However, despite half of the Knife not being involved in the album, Fever Ray sounds like Silent Shout Pt. 2. The same mystical darkness permeates the album, creating a soundtrack for the darkest fairy tale you’ve never heard. Tracks like “If I Had A Heart” and “Keep The Streets Empty For Me” have the same minimal appeal, creating maximum atmosphere with a minimum of frills. The rhythms feel tribal and primal, despite the fact that most of them are very obviously created on keyboards and synthesizers. All this adds up to create an album that can be very oppressive, but takes you on a rich, emotional journey over the course of its ten tracks.

The strangest part of Fever Ray is undoubtedly the vocals. Andersson wrings her singing through all kinds of distortions and effects, often shifting the pitch down to create a husky, masculine-sounding track to counterpoint her high-pitched, natural vocals. It’s a confusing and dramatic effect, since the pitch-altered voice barely sounds human at times. Overall, the effect underlines the otherworldly quality inherent in the music. More than anything else, it reminds me of the performance art of Laurie Anderson, who blended industrial, tribal and rock qualities together to create fascinating performance pieces (I highly recommend her concert film, Home Of The Brave). It’s encouraging to hear Fever Ray making similar music, fifteen years down the line.

If there are any flaws here, they lie in the lyrics. Andersson seems to be a graduate from the Bjork School Of Whimsical Singing And Lyricism and lines like “we talk about love, we talk about dishwasher tablets” can distract from the overall, spooky vibe when you aren’t expecting them. However, even with some head-scratching phrases sprinkled throughout, Fever Ray is a staggering success. Andersson has picked up exactly where the Knife left off, crafting an album equal of its predecessor. Part of me hopes the Knife end their current hiatus so they can record a true follow up to Silent Shout. However, until then, Fever Ray will more than tide me over.

I Don't Know Which Way I'm Gonna Turn

Artist: Neil Young
Album: Fork In The Road
Year: 2009
Grade: 3 pretzels

"So all you critics sit alone
You’re no better than me from what you’ve shown"
-Neil Young, “Ambulance Blues”, 1974

Neil Young has made his feelings about critics abundantly clear over the years. This isn’t surprising, since critics on the whole aren’t fans of artists who rapidly veer from one genre to another without warning. Young has had many albums (most of them in the 80s) that were utterly disemboweled by critics. He’s responded by consistently lambasting critics in interviews and press releases. The liner notes of 1975’s Tonight’s The Night even included a full reprint of a particularly nasty Dutch review…written entirely in Dutch, mind you. He felt that the negative review described that album better than anything else written about it. So, anyway, if you’re out there reading, Mr. Young, let me take a moment and assure you that I’m not writing criticism here. I’m writing…umm…a series of constructive personal observations. That sounds much better, doesn’t it?

In many ways, Fork In The Road is a critic-proof album. It already claims the moral high ground by having all its songs themed around Young’s current project to create a working electric engine for cars. Young has taken an ancient 1959 Lincoln Continental and converted it into something wonderful and eco-friendly. How can you say something bad about an aging hippie trying to create green cars? On pure conceptual grounds, Young gets full points. Many artists these days are speaking about the environment, but few are actually driving across the country in prototype electric cars…of their own design. You rock, Neil.

That said, as an album of songs, Fork In The Road leaves a great deal to be desired. Young’s over-earnest tendencies as a songwriter are well-known by now and can be forgiven, especially since he’s so passionate about the issue at hand. However, that’s no excuse for the ten forgettable, routine driving-rock songs here. It’s not that the music is bad; it’s just boring. Aside from a bit of choppy, distorted guitar here and there (“Fuel Line” particularly), Fork In The Road sounds surprisingly toothless for a Neil Young rock album. I assume he’s not playing with Crazy Horse (their name doesn’t appear in the credits or on the album cover) and that might be why the power seems lacking. I’m used to Neil melting amps when he plays guitar and that never happens here.

Fork In The Road seems like a much better idea in theory than in practice. I commend Young for the work he’s doing for environmentalism and for creating this album to draw attention to the issue. I only wish he could have recorded a stronger album to do so. However, after reading Jimmy McDonough’s excellent biography, Shakey (see previous post), I can understand why Neil Young released this album. He’s a man who throws himself fully into anything he’s interested in and it consumes his life for a time. In the mid-90s, it was model trains. Now, it appears to be electric cars and his obsession is permeating everything, especially his music. More power to him, I say, and as Neil himself says on a song here, “just singing a song won’t change the world.” Neil Young may have released a sloppy, awkward record this year, but at least he’s putting his money/actions where his mouth is.

(Note: Nothing from the album seems available on YouTube, so instead, I suggest you watch this video for the album's title track on Neil's website. It's absolutely hilarious.)

Words, Between The Lines Of Age

Title: Shakey: Neil Young's Biography

Author: Jimmy McDonough

Year: 2003

Most rock biographies are plagued by the same problem: they don’t talk to the right people. It’s easy to ask former band members or parents, but often, the best stories to get are found in the most unexpected places. Ex-girlfriends, family acquaintances and assorted roadies can often have tremendous insight into the inner workings of famous artists. In many ways, this is why Jimmy McDonough’s Neil Young biography, Shakey (the name comes from Young’s childhood nickname), is such an astonishing success. He literally interviews everybody. No figure is too insignificant to not warrant at least a short interview. The depth of information in this book is staggering. McDonough spent over a decade compiling this biography, exhaustively tracking down anybody he felt was even remotely important in the story of Neil Young. I can only imagine the hours of work that went into this book. But it pays off. McDonough has created one of the most thorough and engaging rock biographies I’ve ever read.

The book gains strength from its combination of self-admitted adoration for Young and an open desire to show him as a real human being, complete with flaws. This second part is where the book really shines, since it exposes Young’s numerous neuroses and mental quirks without villanizing him. There’s no doubt that Young is a strange guy. Any artist who switches back and forth between gentle, country tunes and ragged, crunchy rock must be a bit unpredictable. McDonough delves into this issue, along with various others that have led people to complain about Young over the years. The final picture you’re left with is that of a man driven obsessively by his interests, who’s very difficult to work with but whose talent is both undeniable and irrepressible.

The real coup of the book, however, is the lengthy interviews McDonough finagled with Young himself. The book switches back and forth between standard biography writing, with interviews and insights from other people and lengthy quotes from Young, explaining and clarifying his own position on what others are saying about him. The result is a remarkably fair and balanced (eat your heart out, Fox News) portrait of Neil, where you can decide which version of the story you want to believe: his own or that of the other people in his life. Too often, biographies aim to reveal an artist despite what he himself might have to say about the matter. Shakey avoids that completely. Young truly gets a say here.

I didn’t expect Neil Young’s story to be this fascinating. He’s always been an artist I’ve enjoyed, but after reading this book, I have such a greater appreciation for the emotion and craft of his work. Shakey captures the details of what each album meant emotionally to Young, especially his tortured, mournful mid-70s trilogy of Time Fades Away, On The Beach, and Tonight’s The Night. This dark time, which was marked by the deaths of many close to Young, is treated particularly well by McDonough. Even Young’s 80s output, often considered the worst of his career, is given a fair and thoughtful appraisal. Having Young’s voice there to defend himself and explain what he was thinking does wonders. In the end, the reader feels they understand at least some level of this tremendously complicated man. McDonough has crafted a wonderful, exhaustively researched read, worthy of an artist as great as Neil Young.

This Album Has A Song Called "Draining". Insert Pun Here.

Artist: Silversun Pickups

Album: Swoon

Year: 2009

Grade: 2 pretzels

Of all the bands they could have modeled themselves after, I don’t understand why Silversun Pickups chose the Smashing Pumpkins. While the Pumpkins certainly are (well…they were) a great band, their unique brand of greatness was inexplicable and essentially impossible to replicate. The Pumpkins magically made all the things you’re not supposed to do in rock sound good: nasal singing, melodramatic string use, high-concept double albums and overwrought lyrics. I realize that those characteristics sound terrible on paper, but anyone who’s familiar with the Pumpkins’ work knows that they also manage to be the band’s biggest strengths. The Smashing Pumpkins made the impossible possible. However, that kind of luck can only happen to one band per fifty-year period (I believe science has proven this) and Silversun Pickups are about forty years too early to even have a chance.

In many ways, this is a pity, since the one thing Silversun Pickups can do very well is rock the fuck out. They’ve got the Pumpkins-esque guitar squall down to a science, conjuring up huge walls of distorted noise. They even understand how to harness this awesome power, carefully switching the dynamics of their music between gentle, low-key passages and full-bore, face-melting riffage. In terms of pure, undiluted rock, Silversun Pickups might be one of the strongest bands of this decade. Unfortunately, that’s not the only factor. There are so many other things that contribute to great music and Silversun Pickups find ways to fail in each other category.

The most offending characteristic is Brian Aubert’s insipid vocal delivery. He’s clearly trying to ape the piercing nasal whine of the Pumpkins’ Billy Corgan, but he doesn’t have nearly enough edge on his voice to make it work. His voice is far too gentle, becoming impossibly fey and limp when sung in a high nasal range. The disconnect between the crashing rock and the airy singing is staggering. As if that wasn’t enough, the band drowns most of their songs with globs of strings, watering them down into schmaltzy radio ballads. There are times for strings and times when they’re best kept eighty miles away from the recording studio. Silversun Pickups need to figure that out, ASAP.

The songwriting isn’t horrible, but it isn’t stellar either. Aubert has a disappointing attachment to routine rock songwriting, favoring awkward metaphors (try listening to the lead single, “Panic Switch”) and clichéd imagery. Even when he manages to throw a decent song together, such as the surprisingly moody “Catch And Release”, the band ruins it by adding the requisite strings and distracting studio antics. Silversun Pickups are a band that simply sound like they’re trying far too hard. In their quest to emulate their rock heroes from the 90s, they’ve completely missed the point of what made bands like the Smashing Pumpkins great. It wasn’t the irritating vocal delivery or the over-the-top drama. It was an honest and new lyrical perspective combined with intense personality and rage. By trying to smooth over some of those rough edges, Silversun Pickups have essentially castrated their music. Even with guitars playing for miles, this is music without any balls whatsoever.

Thoughts On The Rock & Roll Hall Of Fame Induction

On Saturday, the Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame inducted its five new members for 2009: Bobby Womack, Little Anthony & The Imperials, Jeff Beck, Run-DMC and the evening’s headliners, Metallica. As I wrote in a previous post, it’s unforgivable that the Stooges (and many other bands for that matter) haven’t been inducted yet. However, whining doesn’t do any good at this point. Enough YouTube clips of the induction have surfaced that I feel compelled to comment on those artists who did get the honor of being Hall Of Fame rockers.

Of course, Metallica got the most attention of the night. With droves of screaming metal heads filling the balconies of the Hall Of Fame museum (which is in Cleveland), James Hetfield, Kirk Hammet, Lars Ulrich and both surviving bassists Jason Newsted and Rob Trujillo (R.I.P. Cliff Burton) made their way on stage to accept their award. The usual humble speeches were given, thanking everyone’s respective families, spouses and friends. A lot has been said about Metallica being the first true metal band inducted into the Hall, but looking at these five well-dressed, smiling gentlemen, I realized how far metal has evolved since it began. Decades ago, people called it the music of Satan. Now, just like every other type of controversial music before it, metal has been accepted by the mainstream. Amazing how these things happen, isn’t it?

They followed the speeches with a version of “Master Of Puppets” that was so sloppy and so fast, it threatened to collapse in on itself. They were obviously having the time of their lives on that stage, but the music suffered mightily, losing most of its precision and control. Playing with two bassists also muddied the sound of the song. Worst of all, the performance showed just how weak Hetfield’s voice sounds these days. His old bark has been worn away by years of performing and the rigors of life, now sounding strangely thin and strained. Thankfully, they played one more song, a loose-but-enjoyable “Enter Sandman”. It certainly wasn’t a fantastic performance, but the band sounded much more comfortable performing this time, finding a nice groove and staying there. Plus, they got the whole Hall Of Fame audience pumping their fists in the air in time to the music. How fucking badass is that?

The other highlights that have found their way onto YouTube include Eminem’s speech inducting Run-DMC and an all-star jam session honoring Jeff Beck. The former is particularly fascinating, especially since Eminem seems like the most appropriate choice to induct the hip-hop pioneers. Without Run-DMC bringing rap into the mainstream awareness, the idea of a *gasp!* white rapper would have probably never happened. Em seemed suitably humbled to even be there, honoring his heroes, all while dressed in their trademark black jacket and fedora. However, in contrast to his strong, reverential speech, the horribly overblown Jeff Beck jam was a textbook example of overkill. Featuring six guitarists and three bassists, the collected musicians (including all of Metallica, Beck himself, Ron Wood from the Stones, Jimmy Page, Aerosmith’s Joe Perry and finally Flea) ran through a demented version of “Train Kept ‘A Rolling All Light Long”. Let’s at least hope the performers were having fun.

(Any clips of Run-DMC performing or the other inductees being honored haven’t found their way onto the internet yet.)

PS: During his speech, James Hetfield read a list of bands he felt should be inducted into the Hall Of Fame now that Metallica has broken down the door for hard rock and heavy metal, including very deserving acts like Thin Lizzy and Motorhead. However, the Stooges were not on that list. Shame on you, Hetfield.

Colors And Numbers And Words

Artist: The Thermals

Album: Now We Can See

Year: 2009

Grade: 3.5 pretzels

The Thermals make punk far too fun. Somehow, they manage to write bitter, acid-spitting songs and then record them like they were the sunniest of pop music. With songs that sound clean and almost always major-key, the Portland, OR, band has quietly recorded three very strong albums since 2003. They even managed to record the Holy Grail of punk rock: a concept album. 2006’s The Body, The Blood, The Machine was centered around some strange narrative about Christian dictatorships in a dystopian future. Even then, the bright power chords kept chugging away. The Thermals are a bit of a strange band.

Now We Can See is neither a step forward nor a step back for them. Rather, it’s exactly what their fans are probably expecting. Strong power pop guitars form the backbone, with a steady rhythm section holding things together. The songs have titles like “When I Died” and “We Were Sick”. Only a few songs exceed an efficient three minutes. There may not be many surprises, but if you’re a Thermals fan, you probably won’t be complaining.

Coming on the tails of an album about religious fascists, Now We Can See does seem a bit less focused. Since all the Thermals’ songs follow the same formula, they tend to blend together without a lofty storyline holding them together. However, there are a few songs that jump out. The shout-along title track sounds like it would be incredibly fun live, while the lengthy “At The Bottom Of The Sea” actually stretches out and relaxes a bit, in the process becoming one of the saddest songs the band has ever recorded. It’s a refreshing new sound from a band that has always seemed dead-set on one style.

It’s difficult to review an album that exactly matches your expectations. Part of the fun of listening to an album is discovering things you didn’t see coming. However, it’s certainly better than releasing a disappointing album. With Now We Can See, I expected a strong batch of punk-pop and that’s what the Thermals delivered. It’ll never be my favorite album and I probably won’t even be listening to it much after this review. But I don’t want to detract from the quality of the album. Although there’s nothing surprising here, this album is a strong and enjoyable slice of sunny punk rock. Is that so bad?