State Of The Pretzel Logic: May

Well, it’s been a pretty fun month of May. Once again, I ended up writing far more than I planned to, while also handing out both a 5 pretzel review and a 1 pretzel review (my very first) in the process. The month featured a very good range of music and that only makes me more excited for June’s releases.

There are currently no reviews I want to retroactively change.

So, next month here on Pretzel Logic, we’ve got a busy schedule ahead of us, featuring releases by Busdriver, Dinosaur Jr, Elvis Costello, Kasabian (Brindie rock alert!), Lil’ Wayne (or so he says), The Mars Volta, Mos Def, Patterson Hood of the Drive-By Truckers, Sonic Youth, Sunset Rubdown and finally Wilco. Should be exciting!

Long Live The King

Artist: Iggy Pop

Album: Préliminaires

Year: 2009

Grade: 5 pretzels

There comes a time in every music critic’s life where they have to make a very difficult decision. Every once in a while, an album will come along that you feel the need to defend vociferously. These are usually albums that you really like, but you know, for a variety of reasons, that most other critics won’t agree with you. This becomes a challenge because, at best, you’ve got a long, lonely, uphill battle ahead of you whenever you talk about that album or, at worst, you’ll quickly be dismissed by everyone else as a biased, stubborn critic who’s opinions can’t be trusted. These albums challenge your need to stick up for the music you like while still maintaining some level of credibility. Iggy Pop’s Préliminaires is one of those albums and I’ve decided I’m going to defend it with everything I’ve got.

Right off the bat, I have to admit that I’m a huge Iggy Pop fan. He’s one of my various musical idols (however questionable that may be) and I will give anything he releases a fair listen. I’ve written more than one college paper on his work with both the Stooges and his solo career. I’ve read and compared every biography I can find on the man. I don’t think I’m out of line when I say I’m a bit of an Iggy expert. Now, I can hear the skeptics immediately clamoring, saying that all this love for the Iggster has biased my opinion about this album. Oh, but that’s not true! Part of being a true Iggy fan is admitting that he hasn’t released anything truly worthwhile since 1979. Iggy has done nothing in the past thirty years that would give fans hope that a new album would be that good at all. So, I approached Préliminaires with skepticism.

It only took two tracks for that skepticism to fade into the background. The opening cover of the French standard “Les Feuilles Mortes” was an enjoyable departure from Iggy’s usual style (he sings in French, enough said), but the first track to totally floor me was “I Want To Go To The Beach”. I immediately realized why I liked this song so much: it’s a showcase for Iggy’s voice, of all things. Now, of course, Iggy doesn’t have a particularly “good” voice, but that’s the beauty of it. His broken, vibrato-heavy bass is on full display and when the song’s weary melody is added, it creates something absolutely beautiful and sad. It’s a whole new side of Iggy and it works incredibly well. The swampy “Nice To Be Dead” is another chance for Iggy to show off his pipes and he ably delivers, although this time, instead of evoking sadness, his dramatic vocal gives off a sense of anger and frustration, especially when he breaks out the Iggy howling of old on the second half of the song. Hearing Iggy scream like that again almost brought me to tears.

The rest of the album doesn’t have the immediate punch of those two songs, but they provide a diverse background for Iggy to try out more new styles, almost all of which are successes. The stomping “Je Sais Que Tu Sais” reinvents the track “Nightclubbing” from 1977’s The Idiot, while the synth-driven “Party Time” manages to be simultaneously hilarious and serious. Even the drunken New Orleans jazz of “King Of The Dogs” is a solid offering. While Iggy may have the occasional bizarre lyrical turn (“I’ve got a smelly rear and a dirty nose” from “King Of The Dogs” seems to be the most quoted in the media), that’s always been part of Iggy’s appeal to me. He speaks so directly, without bothering to “art-ify” his words. Iggy Pop is a man completely tapped into his personal id.

My only major knock against Préliminaires is that it closes with two superfluous alternate versions of other songs on the album: “Je Sais Que Tu Sais” loses the French vocal line and is retitled “She’s A Business”, while the album ends with an almost identical version of the opening “Les Feuilles Mortes”, now subtitled “Marc’s Theme”. Both aren’t different enough from their earlier versions to justify being included. They also subtract from the album’s true closing number, the astonishing, spoken-word tale of “A Machine For Loving”, which describes the death of a dog in stark, literate terms. From a man who once sang “I wanna be your dog,” it feels like the most appropriate ending to an Iggy Pop album ever.

I honestly believe this is one of the finest pieces of work Iggy Pop has released in his entire career. It’s a moving, emotional and mature artistic effort from a man who has spent so much of his career coasting along on the fame he found early in life. On those terms alone, it would be a monumental achievement. But wait, there’s more! The real kicker about Préliminaires is that it was inspired by a French novel by Michel Houellebecq called La Possibilité d'une île (which translates to The Possibilitity Of An Island). As us Iggy-philes know, the man behind the Iggy Pop persona, James Osterberg, Jr., is a dedicated connaisseur of art and literature. While this may surprise those accustomed to his usual drooling lunacy, this is the flip-side to Iggy Pop that needs to be accepted. As such, I must end this review here, incompleted, until I have read Houellebecq’s book and look at Préliminaires with a full understanding of the source material. My final grade on the album will be decided then. So, for now, all I can say is…

To be continued…

My Top Bassists, Pt. 5

#2
Name: Simon Gallup
Associated Bands: The Cure

First things first: Simon Gallup is clearly a great bassist, on the merits of his glorious first name alone. However, all joking aside, Gallup is one truly formidable bass player. The Cure are a band that rely heavily on atmosphere and the texture of the sound, which often limits the guitar to spectral sheets of noise. This provides the perfect musical bedrock for Gallup’s heavy, melodic basslines to shine through. But what really makes Gallup amazing is the emotion he can somehow wring out of a simple bass guitar. Particularly on the Cure’s twin masterpieces, Faith (1981) and Pornography (1982), Gallup’s playing is marked with a heart-wrenching amount of sadness. It’s something about the slight way he hesitates between notes on some songs, or the desperate, headlong rush on others. He also has a tendency to play high melody lines, slicing through the murk of Cure songs with a distinctive little riff. In many ways, Gallup, with his strong, emotional style, should be my favorite bass player of all time. There’s just one little problem. As amazing as Simon Gallup is, he stole his technique from another bassist. Gallup is good, but he can’t hold a candle to the original…

Required Listening:
“Other Voices”, “The Hanging Garden”, “Cold”

#1
Name: Peter Hook
Associated Bands: Joy Division, New Order

In many ways, it’s a wonder Peter Hook plays bass at all. He famously had such low-quality equipment when he started playing that he could barely hear any sound at all coming out his amp. But Hook rose to the challenge, creating a new and truly unique style of bass playing in the process. By playing incredibly high on the fretboard, he managed to overcome his shoddy amp by playing just those high notes. He also had the good fortune of playing with a guitarist, Bernard Sumner, who was about as far from the “big, dominating guitar hero” mold as you can be. Sumner’s lack of overpowering chords opened up the music, allowing Hook’s dancing basslines to shoulder virtually all the melody, essentially reversing the usual roles of guitar and bass. Hook also has a jaw-dropping penchant for writing the perfect, memorable, minor-key riffs. When coupled with Ian Curtis’ haunted vocals, they made Joy Division’s songs unforgettable. Although Hook and his bandmates would suffer a huge loss when Curtis died, they would continue on in New Order, where Hook’s bass usually carried even more weight. Peter Hook is a bassist who plays like a guitarist and, in that sense, he’s had a bigger influence than anyone else on my own style as a bass player.

Required Listening:
“She’s Lost Control”, “Shadowplay”, “Transmission”

My Top Bassists, Pt. 4

#4
Name: Bob Hardy
Associated Bands: Franz Ferdinand

Franz Ferdinand have never been completely a rock band or completely a dance band. They’ve always occupied a sort of strange middle ground that usually derails lesser bands, but Franz Ferdinand have always made it work. I credit Bob Hardy for most of this success. His bass playing is perched precariously on the divide between the dance floor and the indie rock club, sometimes leaning one way or the other but never completely picking a side. His playing has the strong sound and forcefulness that characterizes rock music, but he also incorporates all kinds of octave jumps and rhythms that create dynamic, dance-friendly music. He may be the quietest member of the band, but his basslines absolutely dominate most of their music. Plus, he has two other things going in his favor: one, the first Franz Ferdinand album is the only album I can play beginning to end on bass and two, Hardy is a big pretzel fan. I approve wholeheartedly.

Required Listening:
“The Dark Of The Matinee”, “This Fire”, “Outsiders”

#3
Name: David Wm. Sims
Associated Bands: The Jesus Lizard, Scratch Acid, Rapeman

It’s amazing that David Sims has survived playing behind two of the most volatile frontman in rock for the past twenty years. He’s been behind David Yow in both the Jesus Lizard and Scratch Acid, while he took a break of sorts in the late 80s to work with Steve Albini in Rapeman. Yow and Albini are both, for lack of better words, crazy, psychotic fuckers. And I say that with love. So, how has Sims played with these lunatics for years? Well, it helps that his bass playing suits them perfectly. When your frontman has a tendency to scream and jerk and drool all the time, the band better be rock solid to keep everything from falling apart and David Sims is as solid as they come. His style is defined by two things: precision and aggression. You’d be hard pressed to find another bassist who plays with the absolute control that Sims does. At the same time, though, that control doesn’t blunt any edges. Rather, Sims’ lines have a brutal, grinding quality to them. Most of the time, they aren’t that complicated at all, but Sims plays with such force and conviction that they have an astonishing amount of power. In every band he’s played in, David Sims has been the strong backbone, holding the music together in the face of chaos.

Required Listening:

“Greatest Gift”, “Destroy Before Reading”, “Wheelchair Epidemic”

My Top Bassists, Pt. 3

#6
Name: Christopher Wolstenholme
Associated Bands: Muse

Wolstenholme is without a doubt the flashiest bassist on this list, but he also shares many similarities to the others. For starters, he plays very riff-orientated basslines, which is something true of virtually all ten individuals I’m writing about. What makes Wolstenholme stand out, however, is the staggering complexity and length of the riffs he plays. A typical bassline in his hands won’t just be a simple eight-note pattern repeated over and over again. It will stretch out, snaking its way along the fretboard for about eight bars of music before it finally starts to repeat again. Wolstenholme also plays these immensely complicated lines with blinding speed, which can make Muse one of the most intimidating bands for a novice bass player to listen to. However, when you break the songs down, Muse basslines are much simpler than they appear, requiring only substantial muscle memory and repetition to master. These are valuable lessons to learn about bass playing and I thank Chris Wolstenholme and his lunatic bass parts for helping me learn them.

Required Listening:
“Cave”, “Plug In Baby”, “Hysteria”

#5
Name: Sting
Associated Bands: The Police

I’ve already written about the Police in a previous article, but I feel Sting deserves some special recognition. No matter what you think of Sting as a lyricist, singer or even just generally as a person, you can’t deny that he’s an absolutely stellar bass player. Whether it’s the reggae/dub style of the first two Police records or his round, warm sound from their later work, Sting provides exactly what the Police’s songs need. He combines various strains of bass styles into one big mix, dabbling with funky rhythms on one song, then switching to a more nervous, post-punk style on another. All the while, he plays with a distinctive, fluid quality, creating basslines that are smooth and sleek while still being interesting and cutting edge. The parts Sting plays on Police records aren’t complicated by any means, but they’re well-crafted and deeply catchy. Plus, Sting is a rare singing bassist. That alone deserves some credit, if you ask me.

Required Listening:
“Can’t Stand Losing You”, “Driven To Tears”, “Synchronicity II”

My Top Bassists, Pt. 2

#8
Name: Kim Deal
Associated Bands: Pixies, The Breeders

Kim Deal is one of the best “bad” bass players. To describe her style as “simplistic” would be a wild understatement. She rarely plays anything beyond a repetitive line of eighth-notes, quietly echoing the chord progression. In many ways, she’s the living embodiment of every cliché about bass players. However, that simplicity is a hidden virtue and Deal proves that, sometimes, the easiest bassline to play may be the best for the song. The bass in Pixies songs rarely grabs your attention, but it effortlessly drives the songs along and gives them their very simple, punchy feel. Played with a subtle confidence and straightforwardness, Deal’s bass suits Pixies perfectly. On top of that, Deal is one of the best bassists for fledgling bass players to listen to, since her lines are easy to copy without feeling like you’re dumbing things down to a beginner level.

Required Listening:
“Bone Machine”, “Gigantic”, “Debaser”

#7
Name: Les Pattinson
Associated Bands: Echo & The Bunnymen

I absolutely adore post-punk music, mostly because it’s one of the few genres of music that really glorifies bass playing. This is because it’s a genre dominated by thin, scratchy guitar, allowing the bass player to pick up that slack and single-handedly create the backbone of the song. One of the best to do this is Les Pattinson, original bassist for Echo & The Bunnymen. His churning, nimble bass parts provided all the stability that guitarist Will Sergeant wasn’t giving the songs. Equally capable of funky grooves and dark, atmospheric parts, his bass absolutely dominates the Bunnymen’s first five albums. Although most of his bass parts are low and meaty, he often jumps to the high part of the fretboard, adding touches of higher-pitched melody. His propulsive, riff-driven lines ensure that each song has the right feel, all while imbedding catchy little snippets of music in your mind.

Required Listening:
“Crocodiles”, “Show Of Strength”, “All My Colours”

My Top Bassists, Pt. 1

Most of the time here on Pretzel Logic, I focus exclusively on albums. I don’t hide the fact that the album format is what I find most interesting about music. However, for this month’s feature, I’m going to shift gears completely and focus on individual musicians for a while. Not only that, I’m going to talk about one of the most unloved and neglected types of musicians: bassists. I myself am a bassist, so I understand the pain that comes when people think you’re just some random dude standing next to the drums, plucking out the root notes of every chord. Bassists are, virtually by definition, the butt of every joke. However, bassists are also completely integral to any band. They provide the stability that allows guitarists to go off on their freeform, jazz-odyssey solos. They anchor the music down even when everything else around them is falling apart. So, this week, I’m celebrating a handful of bassists that have made the biggest impressions on me over the years.

Again, a disclaimer is needed. This is NOT a list of who I think the best bassists ever are. There are whole genres of music that aren’t represented here. I’m completely ok with that. Instead, I’m listing ten bassists who have had the biggest influence on my own style as a bass player over the years. As talented as people like Flea or Les Claypool or Jaco Pastorius are, they haven’t really affected the way I play over the years and are therefore not represented on my list. However, the ten who I will be writing about are all deeply talented and deserve recognition even if they don’t possess the virtuoso talent of some more prominent bass players.

Also, since I can’t resist some good name-dropping, here are five bassists who narrowly missed the grade:
-Andy Nicholson (Arctic Monkeys)
-Jack Bruce (Cream)
-Colin Moulding (XTC)
-Clint Conley (Mission Of Burma)
-Bruce Foxton (The Jam)

On to the list…

#10
Name: Tina Weymouth
Associated Bands: Talking Heads

In the 70s, the role for women in rock bands was usually limited to “sexy, sultry singer.” Tina Weymouth didn’t follow that at all. Instead, at the urging of her boyfriend, Chris Frantz, she picked up the bass and, together with Frantz, created one of the most amazing rhythm sections in post-punk music. Weymouth’s bass playing is funky without aping actual funk bassists. She plays with the same nervous energy as David Byrne, but in a way that propels the songs forward, often with a pretty rockin’ beat. Her basslines have a tendency to “trampoline” around, switching back and forth from low notes to higher ones, bouncing up and down and creating a solid groove in the process. As anyone who’s seen Stop Making Sense can attest to, Weymouth’s dancing may be a bit suspect, but her talent as a bass player is unquestionable.

Required Listening:
“Psycho Killer”, “Warning Sign”, “Crosseyed And Painless”

#9
Name: Martyn P. Casey
Associated Bands: Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, The Triffids

Martyn P. Casey is proof that you don’t need to be flashy to be a jaw-dropping bass player. Having first found success with the early Aussie rock group the Triffids, Casey was recruited to join Nick Cave’s all-star band, the Bad Seeds, in the early 90s. Since then, he’s been as solid as a rock in the Seeds’ ever-changing lineup. With a strong grounding in good ol’ blues playing, Casey rarely plays anything more complicated than standard walking basslines and simple blues licks, but he plays them with a forcefulness and muscle that suits the Bad Seeds perfectly. Casey’s playing is rarely the center of attention, but it gives the Bad Seeds’ music its distinctive punch and power. Having that thunderous low end driving home the percussiveness of Cave’s songwriting has made the Bad Seeds one of the most powerful bands of the past couple decades.

Required Listening:
“Red Right Hand”, “Stagger Lee”, “Get Ready For Love”

Are You Ready For The Country?

Artist: Conor Oberst And The Mystic Valley Band

Album: Outer South

Year: 2009

Grade: 2 pretzels

Conor Oberst is taking a strange career path. The Bright Eyes frontman won over legions of fans with his dense, emotional lyricism and pained voice, being labeled the latest in a long line of “new Dylans” in the process. However, in recent years, between the duets with Emmylou Harris and his clear desire to record more country-influenced music, he’s beginning to look like the modern indie/emo equivalent of Gram Parsons. Outer South, his second solo album (and his first crediting his full band) does nothing to reverse this trend.

The biggest problem with Oberst going all Nashville on us is that he doesn’t have a good country voice. That shaky, emotionally fragile style of his tends to sound fairly wimpy when some good ol’ meat-and-potatoes country rock is crashing down behind him. Oberst sounds considerably out of place, especially on a song like “Nikorette”. While Oberst’s wordy lyrics are still present, they tend to get lost beneath such a forceful musical background. Basically, country rock doesn’t compliment Oberst’s strengths as a songwriter.

Adding to the general awkwardness of Outer South is Oberst’s willingness to shift the reins of control over to his bandmates for a number of songs. None of these songs have the lyrical weight of Oberst’s, but they also stick out to the listener, since this is supposed to be a Conor Oberst record. Artists like Dylan and Neil Young have proven that high-profile musicians can’t fade into the background and “just be one of the guys in the band.” The audience is listening for them. They don’t care about this other random dude singing instead.

The songwriting on Outer South is just generally weak. There are no real standouts and nothing really sticks with the listener after the last notes have faded away. The album is also a staggering seventy minutes long, which is far too much bland southern rock for a listener to tolerate in one sitting. Most of the songs here overstay their welcome by a good two minutes, making Outer South an album crying out for some quality editing. To those who have the patience to last through to the end of the record, the meager highlights are placed at the tail end of the album, with the ferocious “Roosevelt Room” and tender “Eagle On A Pole” showing that the Mystic Valley Band could do impressive things in the future. However, Outer South is not a strong record. There’s too much here and very little of it is good. That’s not a particularly winning combination.

Indie Electro Dance Bonanza, Part 2

Artist: Passion Pit

Album: Manners

Year: 2009

Grade: 2.5 pretzels

In many ways, it’s difficult for me to review Passion Pit. On one hand, they give me a tremendous sense of pride, since they were formed and became popular at my very own Emerson College. Singer Michael Angelakos walked the same hallways and sat in the same classrooms as I have for the past two years. When I arrived at Emerson, Passion Pit were on the brink of national success and now, their debut album is getting reviewed by serious music publications. Of course I want to support a band that grew out of my college. However, as hard as I’ve tried, I really don’t like Passion Pit’s music. I find it shallow, contrived, grating and far too overwrought. I’m not a fan of ultra-saccharine, twinkling, electronic dance music and Passion Pit are basically the dictionary definition of all that. I’m so conflicted!

After listening to Manners, I have made a few concessions in the band’s favor. First of all, I realize my complaints about the band’s music are mostly content-related, as opposed to skill-related. These guys know how to record music pretty damn well and the album sure sounds nice. They’re also very talented when it comes to their respective instruments, especially drummer Nate Donmoyer, who consistently breathes life into even the most tepid songs here. Manners sounds like a definite step forward from what I’d heard from Passion Pit prior to this (the Chunk Of Change EP and assorted live shows).

Still, I can’t escape from a number of aspects to their music that drive me up the wall. Foremost among these is Angelakos’ horribly piercing voice. He sings almost exclusively in a gender-bending falsetto, which he belts as if his life depended on it. It’s one of the least subtle voices I’ve ever heard. On top of that, he has a penchant for excruciating lyrical turns like the opening dud of “when I came down the dawn poured into me” from “Little Secrets”. As if his vocals weren’t irritating enough, the band decided to augment his already high-pitched wails with full-blown child choruses on several songs, including the single “The Reeling”. I think the world has had enough child choruses in music, don’t you?

I still can’t consider myself a Passion Pit fan. The music is too brain-dead and mindlessly cheerful for me to embrace it and the collected vocals of Angelakos and whichever unfortunate children he roped into recording with him are nothing short of repulsive (“Sleepyhead” even adds chipmunk vocals). While I’m very glad that a band with direct ties to my college has found some level of success in the world of music, I really wish it wasn’t this band. I understand that, as wonderful as it may be, Emerson College isn’t exactly a college hotbed of musical talent. However, I know this isn’t the best we have to offer. We’ll see what the future holds.

Indie Electro Dance Bonanza, Part 1

Artist: Dan Deacon

Album: Bromst

Year: 2009

Grade: 4 pretzels

Dan Deacon is an artist that I just never felt compelled to listen to. A couple of years ago, his commercial debut album, Spiderman Of The Rings, was getting all kinds of attention from the media powers that be, but I never found a single review of the album that made me want to listen to it. The words “colorful,” “whimsical” and “dance party” appeared far too often. As I’ve mentioned many times in the past, I’m a morose young male, who needs an appropriate life soundtrack to match. I have no time for hyper-colorful electronic shenanigans and…dare I say it?...fun. However, when Deacon’s second album, Bromst, was released back in March, the same music media firestorm surrounded it and I felt I could ignore Mr. Deacon no longer.

Well, I was in for one hell of a surprise. I was not greeted by the “happy-pastel-funtimes-wagon” I was told to expect. I was barely even greeted by danceable music. Instead, Bromst overwhelmed me with a furious torrent of electronic squiggles, pounding bass and warped vocals distorted to the point where it sounds like there are tiny little orange goblins in my headphones screaming at me. A little more research into the album has taught me that Bromst is somewhat of a departure from Deacon’s previous work, but there still seems to be absolutely no precedent for something this batshit insane.

Now, beneath all the lunacy, there’s some pretty ambitious stuff going on with this music. My main impression of Bromst casts Deacon as a sort of savant electronic modernist composer. The tracks on the album are so carefully arranged and layered, they sound more like off-the-wall classical music made with synths and a player piano than indie dance jams. Deacon seems to have the kind of electronic virtuosity that begs comparisons to Brian Eno. While he may not have any of Eno’s inherently British restraint and calm, Deacon sounds like he makes up for it by recording mind-bendingly fast electronics.

There’s also an impressive range on the album. Deacon is capable of recording something as ridiculous and silly as “Woof Woof” before turning around and recording the subdued and frankly beautiful “Surprise Stefani”. The album is also an impressive and coherent whole, with virtually no weak moments or filler tracks. So, this all begs the question: why haven’t I given it a proper 4.5 or 5 pretzel review, so it can be added to my 2009 Favorites? I’ve had nothing by praise for the album thus far. My only gripe against Bromst is that it lacks that special, magic quality that keeps me coming back to listen to it. I can start the album up and be impressed by all the electro-wizardry and beeps and shit, but it doesn’t have any songs that I simply have to play every day for the next eight months. I appreciate Bromst, but I’m not sure how much I enjoy it. The technical skill and creativity that went into recording this album cannot be ignored, but it will never be my favorite.

Lo-Fi: The Final Frontier

Artist: Woods

Album: Songs Of Shame

Year: 2009

Grade: 3 pretzels

I have a tremendously awkward relationship with the genre known as “lo-fi”. For those who don’t know, lo-fi is a style of music that celebrates low production values, often sounding like it was recorded in somebody’s living room (often, because it was). It’s a style full of errors and rough edges, but, at its best, those flaws become important to the music, creating something very grounded and real. The genre had its golden years in the 1990s, with bands like Pavement and Guided By Voices flying the lo-fi flag high. Recently, however, it seems like there’s been a resurgence of lo-fi, with bands like Wavves and Cymbals Eat Guitars lighting up blogs all over the world. The problem with all this is that I mostly hate lo-fi. Very few bands have managed to accomplish creating music that sounds better with flaws in it than otherwise. Too often, I just end up listening to records that are under-recorded simply because the artists think it’s a cool thing to do, when in fact, everything would sound better with a few overdubs cleaning up the mess. Woods’ Songs Of Shame exists in a strange middle ground between those two extremes.

These guys are pretty damn obscure. They have no Wikipedia page and the only reason I heard about them in the first place is thanks the ubiquitous Pitchfork and their Best New Music. Apparently, they’re from New York. They’re also apparently signed to a label (Woodsist Records, I’m told) that has a history of releasing music like this. That’s about all the information I can find about them. Clearly, they’re not a band trying to reach out and find lots of success. All I’ve really got to judge them on is this one album.

Of course, being lo-fi and all that, the first thing that jumps out is the poor recording style. Nothing is mixed well, there are tape hisses on every song and the drums sound like they’re being recorded in someone’s kitchen down the hall (they probably are, too). Even stranger is Jeremy Earl’s voice, which sounds like Neil Young after a balloon-full of helium. High-pitched and constantly out of tune, his voice is a bit of a tough sell. These intentional “mistakes” simply don’t add much to the music, however. They sound like mistakes and they are glaring to the listener.

However, hidden beneath all the murk and audio bleed are some incredibly lovely songs. This is the one major step up Woods have on similar bands. They’re much more inclined towards folksy, rural strumming than their peers, who favor rampant, sprawling soundscapes and this emphasis on more “pure” songwriting results in some great tunes. The downbeat “Rain On” continues the Neil Young analogies, with a moving minor-key melody worthy of Young himself. There’s also some impressive percussion throughout the album, best heard on “The Hold”. Yet another highlight comes from a faithful cover of Graham Nash’s “Military Madness”, complete with a big, strong, country-style guitar riff.

It’s nice to hear a lo-fi album that actually has some substance beneath the surface layer of grit and fuzz. However, great songs notwithstanding, that surface layer still doesn’t add anything substantial to the album as a whole. In my mind, this album would simply be better without the hisses and scratches and shit. The album would lose nothing by having one less group of distractions between the songs and the listener. There’s a very good album hidden within Songs Of Shame. It’s just a matter of whether or not you have the patience to find it.

'Cause They Could

Artist: New York Dolls

Album: Cause I Sez So

Year: 2009

Grade: 2 pretzels

Keeping with my current trend of bands that have no business still recording music, the magic spinning Pretzel Logic review-o-meter has landed on the New York Dolls and the second album of their wholly unnecessary reunion, Cause I Sez So. Although the legacy of the Dolls, in all their 70s glory, should never be detracted from, these new albums, recorded by a bunch of aging glam/punk lunatics pushing sixty, are something nobody needs. I’m glad a new generation (ie: my own) are being introduced to the Dolls in the process, but that’s about as positive as I can be.

The most glaring problem with Cause I Sez So is how fucking huge it sounds. The Dolls have become widely acclaimed after all these decades, but that doesn’t mean they should sound like an arena band. There’s so much goddamn space in this music. Everything is heavy on widescreen drama and fabricated excitement, instead of the sweaty, sloppy, thrilling sound that actually made them famous. The Dolls are one of those “Best Bar Band In The World” kind of acts and they just don’t sound that good when they sound this colossal.

The two surviving Dolls (the other three original ones have all died) go through the motions admirably, accompanied by the requisite hired help. Guitarist Sylvain Sylvain does the one thing he was put on Earth to do: play sleazy, hard blues licks until the end of the world. Even frontman David Johansen doesn’t sound horrible, even when he adopts a strange, faux-Bob Dylan affectation for songs like “My World”. However, some of the musical choices are a bit…how can I say this politely?…questionable, such as the flamenco-flavored “Temptation To Exist”. I mean…flamenco? Really?

Cause I Sez So ends up feeling like a Dolls record made by people who had no real idea of what people wanted from the band. I mean, just look at that title. What is the band trying to prove with the bad grammar and all that? These guys are approaching sixty. We’re not expecting them to still be incoherent, slobbering goons toppling around the stage in high heels. Stranger still is the reggae cover of their own “Trash”, one of the most famous songs from their debut album. I bet I could count on one hand the number of people in the world who desperately wanted a reggae “Trash”, but here I am, listening to it as I write this sentence. It’s these kinds of weird, perplexing artistic choices that assure me that the New York Dolls, as awesome as they once were, are a band that simply doesn’t need to exist anymore.

Idol Thoughts

So, tonight, the people of the world are supposedly wracked with suspense, eagerly awaiting their own next "American Idol". Will it be Adam?! Will it be Kris?! Honestly, I really couldn’t care either way. I’m not just saying that as a glib comment from a bitter college-age hipster. I’m saying it because the chances that either of those two will make a lasting impression in the music industry are minimal. It has nothing to do with the talent either may (or may not) have. Rather, just look at Idol’s track record. Seasons of American Idol have come and gone and only two winners have become certified successes: Kelly Clarkson, the very first, and Carrie Underwood. Clarkson found success by reinventing herself as a punky pop star, while Underwood tapped into the awesome retail power of America’s country-record-buying masses. But none of the other winners have achieved anything like this. I went to a baseball game on Saturday and who was singing the national anthem? None other than Taylor Hicks, former American Idol winner. America supposedly elected him to be one of their foremost pop-stars. Instead, only a few years down the road, he’s finding himself singing at Mariners games in-between stints in a touring off-Broadway production of Grease. Oops.

It figures that the third-most successful Idol wasn’t even a winner. Chris Daughtry has become a certified rock radio phenomenon, lack of talent notwithstanding. However, he has single-handedly trounced all the other American Idol winners and hangers-on when it comes to commercial success. Look at last season’s winner. David Cook is already vanishing from view. So, whoever wins American Idol in a few hours, the record shows that they’ll probably have a rough road ahead of them. Will Adam or Kris be one of the few who break tradition by finally having some real success? Their chances aren’t looking good right now.

Moo

Artist: Meat Puppets

Album: Sewn Together

Year: 2009

Grade: 2.5 pretzels

Oh, the Meat Puppets. What a charming little band. One of the original purveyors of “cowpunk” (yup, that’s a genre), a mixture of punky enthusiasm and country twang, the Puppets have had a long career, dating back to 1980. Although they’ve never really had much mainstream success (their appearance during Nirvana’s MTV Unplugged session was probably the highest point of their career), they’ve had a tremendous influence on bands that came after them, particularly the alt-rock boom of the 90s. I highly recommend their albums Meat Puppets II (1984) and Up On The Sun (1985). You won’t be disappointed.

Still, that leaves the question of just what the hell the Meat Puppets are doing recording music in 2009. After not one, but two reunions, the Puppets have finally reassembled something close to their original lineup, with the creative partnership of the brothers Curt and Chris Kirkwood together again for the first time since 1996. Original drummer Derrick Bostrom is nowhere to be seen, but having the Kirkwoods together is really the important part of this reunion. Sewn Together is their second album with this lineup, following 2007’s Rise To Your Knees. It’s starting to look like the reunion could actually last this time.

In many ways, the idea of the Meat Puppets recording again is better than the actual album. Sewn Together is a generally bland slab of R.E.M.-shaped, country-flavored rock. Curt Kirkwood even abandons his classic deep-fried drawl in favor of a very Michael Stipe-esque croon. If the Meat Puppets are angling for any kind of mainstream success with antics like that, they’re about twenty years too late. At this point in their career, sounding like other bands really won’t do them any good. They might as well stick to their strengths instead of branching out. This doesn’t mean there isn’t room for growth, however, which the Puppets demonstrate ably on “Sapphire”, a dark waltz that features a glowering chorus, all crashing guitars and moody piano. It’s certainly something the Puppets have never done before, but it actually works pretty well.

Honestly, the world doesn’t need another Meat Puppets album at this point. They recorded their best work long ago and the chances of them ever equaling it are beyond slim. It’s just a question of whether or not we want another Puppets album. While Sewn Together has moments of interest, it fails to really justify its own existence. While I’m glad the Kirkwoods are still expressing themselves musically, making music this derivative and generally forgettable feels a tad self-indulgent. Of course, the Kirkwoods are musicians. Releasing albums is kind of, like, their job. However, as with most bands this far past their prime, I have to ask what they hope to accomplish.

One Of These Days...

Title: Comfortably Numb: The Inside Story Of Pink Floyd

Author: Mark Blake

Year: 2008

When I saw Comfortably Numb sitting on a bookshelf in the Borders at Logan Airport, I bought it for one reason: I wanted to understand what the big deal with Dark Side Of The Moon was. Few albums have confused me more than Pink Floyd’s legendary masterpiece. People have ranted and raved about it for years. It’s been positively drowned in critical acclaim since its 1973 release. It’s generally considered one of the finest albums of all time. But I’ve never liked it much at all. I was hoping this book would help me out.

If there was ever a book that helped you understand Pink Floyd, this is undoubtedly the one. Mark Blake takes a very systematic, logical approach to one of the most mysterious bands in history, restraining himself from wandering down every tangent of Floyd lore. Instead, he paints a very simple picture of a profoundly English band, created by a gaggle of young English lads in the 1960s. The book handles this phase of the Floyd very well, especially with Blake’s fair treatment of their over-romanticized original frontman, Syd Barrett. Blake presents Barrett as no more than what he was: a charismatic, creative young man who ended up severely damaged by excessive drug use.

From there, the story shifts towards the classic Floyd lineup, led by the maniacal Roger Waters and his guitarist foil, David Gilmour. Blake documents the progression of the Floyd’s music very well, explaining the personal and professional hurdles the band members were jumping through during their lives and how all those ended up influencing the music. Particularly interesting is Blake’s description of the late-70s, Waters-dictated era, which led to the Floyd’s most angry and iconoclastic albums. Following Waters’ departure in the early 80s, the book pulls the classic biography trick, speeding recklessly through the band’s later years in order to get to the suitably reverent conclusion. We’re left with a loving tribute to one of the most celebrated bands in the history of rock music.

Except…why are they celebrated? The one glaring issue with Comfortably Numb is that it fails to address this one very simply point. For all of his deliberate writing, Blake must have assumed that anyone picking up this book was a Floyd convert and wouldn’t need an explanation for their greatness. As such, to a lukewarm Floyd fan such as myself, the book becomes slightly confusing. Particularly around the era of Dark Side Of The Moon, the book does not explain why this music resonated so deeply with people of the time. The book makes it clear that the album marked the beginning of the Floyd as a superstar band, but it doesn’t tell us why. Because of that, I am ultimately disappointed by Comfortably Numb. Despite being well-written and very informative, it failed to answer my biggest question about Pink Floyd. Dark Side Of The Moon is still an impenetrable mystery to me.

Who?

Artist: Bill Callahan

Album: Sometimes I Wish We Were An Eagle

Year: 2009

Grade: 3.5 pretzels

Full disclosure time: I know almost nothing about Bill Callahan. Thanks to the modern marvel that is Wikipedia, I’m told that he used to record under the name Smog and is somewhat celebrated as a lo-fi singer-songwriter. Good for him. So, what am I doing reviewing an album by an artist I’ve never listened to? Well, everyone’s favorite music pundits over at Pitchfork deemed it worthy of Best New Music honors and as I’ve mentioned in the past, I feel compelled to at least weigh in with my own thoughts whenever an album gets that kind of attention. So, here we go.

The first thing that jumped out at me on Sometimes I Wish We Were An Eagle (besides the pronoun-bending title) was Callahan’s voice. Occupying a low baritone range rarely heard in singer-songwritery music these days, it’s certainly distinctive. It’s a voice reminiscent of the other high-profile indie baritone, the National’s Matt Berninger, but also considerably more warbling and occasionally out of key. Callahan doesn’t have a traditionally “good” voice, so he compensates by singing in an expressive and unique style.

Musically, the album is a fairly routine collection of acoustic-based tales of songwritery confession, colored with just enough misery and violins to keep things interesting. Callahan clearly has a flair for wordy abstraction, leading to SAT-worthy song titles like “Rococo Zephyr”, which is a phrase that is probably meaningless, but sounds pretty artsy when recited in a deep voice over a string section. The album also features “Eid Ma Clack Shaw”, featuring a chorus of nonsense words, sung by Callahan in an almost-painfully clear and deliberate way. This certainly isn’t the most accessible album I’ve encountered.

However, there are plenty of highlights on the album, from start to finish. The haunting “The Wind And The Dove” evokes the same type of eerie, dramatic sadness as Nick Cave (“Ain’t Gonna Rain Anymore” particularly). On the slightly more upbeat side of the spectrum, “My Friend” features some exquisite acoustic guitar picking, leading into the driving chorus, with Callahan’s rough voice coughing out the title phrase. The overall effect isn’t all that…well, friendly…but it’s an impressive song nonetheless. The moments that felt the strongest to me were the ones where Callahan toned down the artistic pretention, allowing the music to speak for itself without being overwhelmed by a torrent of vocabulary.

I’m not sure Sometimes I Wish We Were An Eagle is enough to get me to check out Callahan’s entire back catalogue. It feels too similar to the indie singer-songwriter work of folks like Elliott Smith or John Darnielle of the Mountain Goats, artists I respect but have never been my favorites. However, the album is definitely worthy of note. Callahan’s dark acoustic style can be very compelling at times and the playing on the album is definitely top notch. For fans of Callahan’s work, I’m sure this is just what they wanted.

Never Too Soon For An Indie Rock Revival

Artist: Grizzly Bear

Album: Veckatimest

Year: 2009

Grade: 4.5 pretzels

It’s been far too long since there’s been a great honest-to-god indie rock album. In this indie-saturated culture we live in, post-Juno, the “indie sound” has become commercialized and packaged to mainstream media consumption. This is why we get bands like Spoon and Arcade Fire hovering in the Top 10 on the Billboard album charts. The downside to this is that creative spark that was present in some of this decade’s earliest indie masterpieces has faded somewhat from view. That charmingly homespun quality that defined Spoon’s Kill The Moonlight or Wolf Parade’s Apologies To The Queen Mary has been replaced with a more knowing, aware sound. Bands are starting to realize that there’s a huge audience out there listening to their music and they’re writing songs with that in mind. However, it’s nice to hear an album like Veckatimest (it's named after an island in Massachusetts, if you must know) in this day and age, since it’s a throwback to an earlier type of indie rock that has become considerably endangered as the decade has worn on.

I didn’t expect an album like this to come from Grizzly Bear, however. The Brooklyn band sent waves through the indie-rock community in 2006 with their album Yellow House, which is an album I basically slept right through. Ethereal and so wispy it threatened to float right out the window, Yellow House was a yawn-inducing album that desperately needed some substance to anchor the band’s songs to. Shimmering atmospheres and lilting guitar picking don’t cut it in my book. So, imagine my surprise when they released Veckatimest, solving that exact problem. Thanks, guys.

Veckatimest still retains the band’s dreamy, drifting vibe, but this time around, the songs have so much more meat to work with. A great example is the opening “Southern Point”, which is held down by a subtle keyboard line before it explodes into a sunny rush of drums and heavily mixed acoustic strumming. Dominated by the rich harmonies that seem to be all the rage with bands these days (Animal Collective, Fleet Foxes, even Mastodon got in on the fun), it’s an attention-grabbing opening that proves that Grizzly Bear have evolved since their last album. “Southern Point” leads into “Two Weeks”, the clear standout on the album, with its instantly memorable twinkling keyboard riff. The amazing part about “Two Weeks” is how little there actually is within the song. Not unlike Spoon, Grizzly Bear have found a masterful way to create strong songs with a minimum of clutter. With “Two Weeks”, a great indie single is born out of little more than a keyboard riff, some bass and lots of harmonies.

The rest of the album may not hit the high that “Two Weeks” does, but it continues the band’s trip through solid, catchy, down-to-earth indie rock. The jerky “Cheerleader” and hesitant “While You Wait For The Others” are definite standouts. However, it’s all leading to my favorite track on the album, the closing “Foreground”. An astonishing piece of music, “Foreground” is a haunting piano-led number, evoking Arcade Fire at their most minimal and quiet with slow violins and a vocal performance by Ed Droste that is absolutely drenched in emotion. It’s a strong, memorable way to end an album and leaves the listener stunned for a moment as the last notes fade away into silence. Most bands would kill for a song that can do that.

Between Grizzly Bear and Animal Collective, this year is delivering great albums from places I didn’t expect. I’ve been slow to jump on the “dreamy-pastel-colored-indie-rock” bandwagon, but with albums this strong, it’s becoming hard to say no. Veckatimest doesn’t equal the best that indie rock has given us this decade, but it does an admirable job trying. I commend the band for noticing some of the short-comings in their music and taking the necessary steps to change them. For their efforts, they’ve given the world a strong, often sad album, worthy of acknowledgement in the future.

Great Albums In History: Laughing Stock

Just to reinforce anyone’s perception of me as an indie-loving music snob, I’m going to follow up my scathing Green Day review with this month’s Great Albums In History, celebrating a fairly unknown piece of art-rock from the early 1990s: Talk Talk’s Laughing Stock.

Talk Talk started life as an English synth-pop band in the 80s, following in the shadow of Duran Duran. However, by the later years of the decade, frontman Mark Hollis began to experiment with much more expansive and unusual sounds for a band of Talk Talk’s stature. He presented his record label with the album Spirit Of Eden in 1988, which was promptly declared “not commercially viable”, despite being a critical success. Talk Talk would never play another live show again. Extracting themselves from their record deal, they signed a new one with Polydor, releasing Laughing Stock in 1991. The band quickly dissolved following its release. Hollis would release one solo album before retiring from music. However, his music, particularly the minimal, experimental sounds on Laughing Stock, would go on to influence a whole mob of musicians (Mogwai, Sigur Ros, Godspeed You! Black Emperor), rather moronically named “post-rock” by the music press. Laughing Stock has retroactively garnered a great deal of attention, as listeners celebrate it’s dark atmosphere and stark minimalism.

“Myrrhman”

Fifteen seconds of distant, almost inaudible sounds are finally broken by a shattered guitar strum. This is a telling hint at the kind of music that’s to come. Slow and unafraid to take as much time as it needs, Laughing Stock is not the kind of album you can casually listen to. It requires a certain level of immersion. “Myrrhman” grabs you quickly, though, with its spectral combination of guitar, piano, trumpet, stand-up bass and skittering percussion. Hollis’ lyrics are always abstract, but here, he captures a handful of images that reinforce the desolate, lonesome tone of the music. “Place my chair at the backroom door,” he moans, “help me up, I can’t wait anymore.” The songs final moments feature a crying violin melody, ushering us into the next song.

“Ascension Day”

With its strong, jazzy drumming and snaking guitar riff, we know “Ascension Day” is going to be a more up-tempo affair. Sure enough, about forty-five seconds into the song, a crashing guitar riff charges through, playing counter to the rhythm. These dynamics keep shifting back and forth, with the verses dominated by strong drums and church-flavored organ fills, before the staccato slashes of guitar signal shifts to the chorus. Again, Hollis’ words are barely intelligible, with only choice phrases, like the solemn “farewell” sticking out. The song kicks into a higher gear for the long closing instrumental passage, with Hollis working his guitar into a frenzy before the song is suddenly cut short.

“After The Flood”

The jarring silence following “Ascension Day” leads into the subtle piano intro for “After The Flood”. With more church-style organ added to the mix, the song starts building momentum, built around an otherworldly whistling sound. More jazz drums are added, before Hollis’ slurred voice fades into the mix. Sounds of water running rush through. A chorus of “shake my head, turn my face to the floor” soars above the organ. All in all, it sounds vaguely religious, until a cacophonous chunk of guitar feedback is dropped directly in the middle of everything. Slowly, the song begins to recede, with various pieces fading away before the entire song fades off into silence, carried out to the ocean on a flood of organ. All we’re left with is an ominous, low guitar riff leading into “Taphead”.

“Taphead”

There’s a lot of confusion about Mark Hollis and heroin. Much has been propagated about his supposed drug use towards the end of Talk Talk’s career. Songs like “Taphead” may sound like compelling evidence, with lyrics like “climb through needle’s neck”, but Hollis has adamantly denied ever using heroin. The source of the confusion seems to come from a book that was published, which claimed Hollis struggled with drugs during the Spirit Of Eden sessions. He promptly sued them for libel. However, drug addiction or no drug addiction, “Taphead” is a harrowing track, pushing the minimalist envelope with little more than a quiet, insistent guitar riff and lots of atonal trumpets. It may not be about Hollis’ own drug addiction, but it definitely sounds like its being told by someone who’s been pushed to the edge.

“New Grass”

More jazz drums, before a surprisingly sunny guitar riff pierces the murkiness left behind by “Taphead”. Another song littered with religious references (“lifted up”, “sacraments”, “Christendom”), “New Grass” may sound more positive, but Hollis still sings with a heart-wrenching level of fragility in his voice. The song ebbs and flows, eventually leaving only those drums, before a simple, descending piano line joins them. Violins are added back in, adding staccato bursts of grating noise. The whole thing flows through this process one more time, before it fades off into the distance.

“Runeii”

A skeletal guitar riff opens the final song on Laughing Stock, which dispenses with some of the expansiveness found elsewhere on the album, in favor of a simply closing prayer to send the listener on his or her way. Except, instead of being calm and uplifting, this final song has a certain unsettling atmosphere to it. With lyrics like “well aren’t you success” and Hollis’ gloriously drawn-out “rescinded”, the song feels more like an accusation than a prayer. It’s also the only song on the album where those dependable jazz drums don’t make an appearance. The listener is left with a haunting, lonely feeling, as the spectral music finally gives way to a final silence.

I Know My Enemy

Artist: Green Day

Album: 21st Century Breakdown

Year: 2009

Grade: 1 pretzel

Remember when Green Day released American Idiot? Remember how all those songs were inescapable for about three years, on both radio and television? Well, they’re going to do it again. Welcome to the soundtrack for your summer. Get ready for a seething chunk of ham-fisted sloganeering to be shoved down your throat until you choke on all the power chords. Get ready for one of the least intelligent criticisms of the Bush era possible. Get ready for an hour and ten minutes of Who-aping concept stupidity. Get ready for the brain-dead lead single “Know Your Enemy”. Get ready for 21st Century Breakdown.

But rather than telling you about this album, let me show you. Here are all my favorite lines from the record. I think they’ll give you a better idea of what I think of the album than any review ever could. Mull over them for a while. Digest them, if you will. Cry, if you must. Just don’t be surprised when this album wins Grammys.

“We are the crisis of the class of thirteen, born in the era of humility”---“21st Century Breakdown”

“Remember to learn to forget, whiskey shots and cheap cigarettes”---“Before The Lobotomy”

“This diabolic state is gracing my existence”---“Christian’s Inferno”

“You’re a sacrificial suicide, like a dog that’s been sodomized”---“East Jesus Nowhere”

“Death to the girl at the end of the serenade”---“Peacemakers”

“I am a killjoy from Detroit, I drink from the well of rage”---"Peacemakers"

“Desperate, but not hopeless, I feel so useless in the murder city”---“Murder City”

“Your bloodshot eyes will show your heart of treason”---“Viva La Gloria? (Little Girl)”

“So what ails you is what impales you”---“Restless Heart Syndrome”

“Coca-Cola execution” ---“The Static Age”

“Idle thought leads to full-throttle screaming and welfare is asphyxiating”---“American Eulogy”

“Then I scratched the surface in the mouth of hell, running out of service, in the blood I fell”---“See The Light”

Blech!

Different Ideas, Driftin' Away

Artist: Phoenix

Album: Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix

Year: 2009

Grade: 3.5 pretzels

About a month ago, a strange little band appeared on Saturday Night Live. When I heard that Phoenix were scheduled to make an appearance on the legendary comedy show, which usually settles for nothing less than the biggest music acts around, I was suitably confused. I assumed that about fifty more prominent bands must have turned SNL down, leaving only this chirpy French alternative act to kill some time. To their credit, Phoenix turned in a confident performance that night, certainly acting like they belonged there. They even snuck a third song in during the credits, something that usually only Coldplay can do. But, as I went to sleep that night, the same question kept repeating in my head: Just what exactly would come from this lucky publicity break for Phoenix? Would they actually ever become successful in the mainstream here?

In many ways, Phoenix have all the right pieces to win over alternative radio here in the States. Although they’re profoundly French (from Versailles, no less), they sing in English and have very subtle accents. Their “French-ness” actually has very little influence in their music, aside from some superficial resemblances to their peers in bands like Daft Punk and Air. Who they actually sound the most like are the Strokes, one of the most American alternative rock bands in recent years. The same sense of urban cool hangs around both bands’ music. Both also create deeply unfunky, charmingly white dance-rock, perfect for awkwardly boogieing the night away in your new American Apparel hoodie. It’s music for young city kids. As a young city kid, there’s nothing wrong with that, I say.

But, where the Strokes are blessed with frontman Julian Casablancas’ drunken slurring and charisma, Phoenix drop the ball a bit when it comes to vocals. Singer Thomas Mars has a thin, unmemorable voice which doesn’t give these songs much oomph at all. It’s no coincidence that my favorite song here happens to be the seven-and-a-half-minute “Love Like A Sunset”, in which Mars doesn’t appear until the last minute. Instrumentally, Phoenix are a dance-rock band and with that comes a certain lack of instrumental bite. If you don’t have a strong frontman balancing that out, you end up with some fairly limp music.

What truly saves Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix is the songwriting. The band are more than capable of churning out catchy little indie ditties, ready to mow down all the competition at your local college radio station. Opening tracks (and singles) “1901” and “Lisztomania” deliver all the shining, fun atmosphere a band like Phoenix should deliver, while the closing duo of “Girlfriend” and “Armistice” provide an appropriate, cheerful come-down. Sandwiched between all this sugary pop, however, is the startling “Love Like A Sunset”, which sprawls over its lengthy duration with a moody instrumental, reminiscent of some of Brian Eno’s work in the mid-70s. It sounds like it belongs on another album all together, but at the same time, it manages to fit seamlessly into the album, providing an extended break in all the dancing to sit and be intellectual for a change.

Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix has made me pay attention to a band I had quickly dismissed for the past few years. “Why do we need a French Strokes?” I’d ask. While I’m still not completely won over by their music, particularly with Mars as their frontman, they are definitely beginning to show a lot of promise. “Love Like A Sunset” particularly shines the light onto a whole new path for the band to follow. I don’t know if they want to embrace this more experimental, “serious” type of music in favor of their standard dance-rock. God knows the world needs both types of bands. However, if they do want to follow that more unexplored route, I wish them the best of luck.

Guess Who's Back

Artist: Eminem

Album: Relapse

Year: 2009

Grade: 3 pretzels

Has it actually been five whole years since Eminem released new music? For half of this decade, we’ve become accustomed to having him running amok, serving as pop culture’s official button-pushing court jester. I think there’s a very strong argument for Em being the most important voice in pop music of the past ten years. Even at his most distasteful, Em has revolutionized rap and popular music as we know it. In his decade-long career, he’s pushed every socially accepted standard of taste and personal expression. The fact that he’s managed to be extraordinarily successful in the process is staggering. Whether you like his music or not, whether you agree with his viewpoints or not, you’ve got to admit one thing: there’s no one else like Eminem.

Except, before his supposed hiatus these past five years, Em was in the middle of a speedy creative decline. After his first two albums turned the world upside down, 2002’s The Eminem Show and 2004’s Encore were exactly what Em’s albums shouldn’t be: predictable. Eminem also became socially overexposed around this time, as his pet project, 8 Mile, stormed movie theaters and roped in Oscars for Em’s music. Eminem was no longer the challenging social provocateur; he was a certified pop star and he had to play that part. Of course, Em being Em, he didn’t exactly respond well to this. First, he dropped into the background, trying to help other rappers break into the mainstream, before finally fading off the radar altogether. Think about the last time you heard Eminem talked about in pop culture. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? Five years, to be exact. As Em says himself, “I guess it’s time for you to hate me again.”

So, what has Eminem being doing all these years? Well, he’s been through some rough times. A close friend, rapper Proof, was murdered and Em found himself with a serious addiction to prescription pills. For someone who’s stormed about how rough his life has been for all these years (his drug-addict mom, his shitty wife, a rough childhood in Detroit), these are the first struggles we’ve been able to share with Em in real time. Unsurprisingly, the music on Relapse is noticeably darker than his previous work. Eminem has always balanced humor with deadly seriousness on his albums, but never have the scales been tipped this far towards the serious end. Whether it’s the slasher-fantasies of “3am” or the eerie abduction tale of “Same Song & Dance”, Em seems to have a lot of dark shit on his mind these days.

Em’s darkest moments on the album, however, are reserved for his purest tales of personal expression yet. The last quarter of the album is dominated by three terrifying songs documenting his pill addiction: the sober “Deju Vu”, the schlocky, earnest “Beautiful” and the crushing “Underground”. People expecting Em’s usual onslaught of pop culture commentary need not apply. While Em’s wordplay is still brutally sharp and witty, there’s nothing to laugh at here. Not unlike his masterpiece, 2000’s The Marshall Mathers LP, these songs succeed because Eminem is the only fucker crazy enough to be this honest in pop music.

But Eminem will always be an astonishingly complicated person, mostly because he always has a scathing joke of a song ready to distract attention away from his real problems. This is where Relapse falters. The album’s lead single, “We Made You”, is a weak attempt to recreate the magic of songs like “My Name Is” and “The Real Slim Shady”. The usual laundry list of celebrity targets works well for a spoof-filled video, but in an album dominated by harrowing subject matter, the humor can’t be this weak if it wants to stand its own. The same goes for the borderline-disabled “Crack A Bottle”, which features one of the worst, most awkward choruses in the history of music. Yes, it’s even worse than “My Humps”.

Relapse is a difficult return for one of the strongest voices in music. On one hand, Eminem is back, darker and crazier than ever. The album is definitely stronger than some of his material pre-hiatus, so I guess his self-imposed exile was worth something. At the same time, Em’s humor has never really been lower. This is an album that makes fun of Christopher Reeve on two different songs. Not only is this not that funny, it’s about five years too late. Coincidence? Hmm. It’s a pity that the weakest songs here are being released to the public to represent the album as a whole. If Em wants to return to his former glory, he’s gonna need to get some better jokes. Society has given him the proverbial carte blanche on subject matter, since they seem to buy his albums no matter what he rhymes about, so I think Em should abuse that for all it’s worth. But, at the very least, he’s back. The world missed you, Eminem.

Brindie 'Til You Burst

Artist: Maxïmo Park

Album: Quicken The Heart

Year: 2009

Grade: 2.5 pretzels

The “Entirely Forgettable Brindie Rock Album Of The Month” Award is being given out early this month. May’s big winners (by which I mean “losers”) are Maxïmo Park and their new album, Quicken The Heart. However, the good news is that Maxïmo Park have managed to throw together an album with a few redeemable points. As usual, it’s a lackluster British indie rock album that will soon be appearing in used CD racks near you, but Maxïmo Park benefit from being one of the more talented British acts running around these days.

Despite having the same tired formula (staccato guitars, eighth-note basslines, shiny production) as similar acts, Maxïmo Park grabbed attention with their 2005 debut, A Certain Trigger. What really set them apart in my mind was their stunning grasp of melody and ability to craft those melodies into catchy tunes. With punchy anthems like “Apply Some Pressure” along with tender, ballad-ish songs like “The Coast Is Always Changing”, Maxïmo Park were one of the early standouts from the British indie rock mob. They even had a secret weapon: frontman Paul Smith’s ridiculously charming North English accent, proving you can be awesome even in the face of such a bland name.

Sadly, Maxïmo Park have spent the past four years undoing all the good work their first album accomplished. Their follow-up, Our Earthly Pleasures, is one of those albums you’d rather just never talk about again. Aside from the semi-acceptable single “Our Velocity”, it was a crushing disappointment. All those catchy tunes were seemingly thrown out the window. Quicken The Heart is plagued by the same problem. The band seems more sure of themselves now, but the actual songs are fairly weak. Even Smith’s ever-charming voice can’t hide the fact that there isn’t much depth to this album.

The best part of Quicken The Heart are the song titles. “Wraithlike” and “Let's Get Clinical” both make me smile and the album also gives us the head-scratch-inducing “The Penultimate Clinch”. Smith has always had a flair for language, which only adds to his general charm. If only these songs could sound as good as their titles. Instead, “The Penultimate Clinch” (and the others for that matter) is a routine piece of Brindie noodling, with a jumpy bassline and spiky little bits of guitar sprinkled around. Even the passable lead single "The Kids Are Sick Again" has a tendency to become boring after only a minute or so. For a band that rarely exceeds two-and-a-half minutes on their songs, that’s a huge problem.

Still, for all my whining, the album isn’t terrible. Smith’s voice and lyricism are still in top form, even with drab music behind him. There are the occasional moments where the furious guitar rush actually becomes fairly thrilling. But, far too much time is wasted on Brindie-by-numbers playing. Maxïmo Park have always been more promising than their peers, but since their first album, they have yet to realize that potential. I believe they still have the ability to make great albums. However, if they release a few more in the vein of Quicken The Heart, I may be forced to change my mind.

No Words, No Problem

Artist: Bell Orchestre

Album: As Seen Through Windows

Year: 2009

Grade: 3.5 pretzels

One of the best concerts I ever went to was Arcade Fire at Seattle’s Paramount Theater. This must have been around 2004 or 2005 and the lineup was phenomenal. Apart from a life-changing show from Arcade Fire, I was also introduced to Wolf Parade, who were then a small, fairly unknown up-and-coming group. I went to the show that night knowing little or nothing about either band, but left feeling like their biggest fan. However, lost in my thrill and excitement that night was the third band who performed: Bell Orchestre. While they may not have had the anthems and drama that their fellow Canadians had that night, their music has proceeded to grow on me over the years. Their unique style and approach to music in this modern era has kept me interested.

Bell Orchestre are an instrumental group, consisting of a handful of Montreal musicians, including violinist Sarah Neufeld and bassist Richard Reed Parry from Arcade Fire. However, instead of the driving homespun rock of Arcade Fire, Bell Orchestre play a decidedly un-rock type of music, favoring violins, French horns and trumpets. Most of their work sounds closer to a piece of classical music than indie rock. The only thread connecting them at all to popular music is the thunderous drumming, provided by Stefan Schneider. Those drums are crucial, since they keep the otherwise ethereal music from drifting off too far.

As Seen Through Windows is the group’s second album and it’s a noticeable improvement on 2005’s Recording A Tape The Colour Of The Light. There is very little change in style between the two albums, but what pushes Windows over the edge is the group’s addition of catchy motifs and themes into their work. While their songs can often be very beautiful, they have a tendency to blur together and having these repeating segments helps differentiate each moment of stunning beauty from the next. This is best heard on the exquisite “Elephants” (sorry about the short clip), which builds around a steady bass part, growing as the violin and horns add necessary flourishes to the mix.

If I had one complaint about this album, it would be that the mood feels a bit too steady. The collection of instruments Bell Orchestre have at their disposal are capable of dramatic variations in mood and tone. Too often, Bell Orchestre seem to retreat to a place of “pretty music,” threatening to wander off into more unexplored, dissonant territories before jumping back at the last moment. Only twice on Windows do they seem to fully embrace this more experimental side and the results,

“Bucephalus Bouncing Ball” and "The Gaze", are both strong and thrilling. While a Canadian, classically influenced, instrumental band probably won’t be taking the world by storm anytime soon, Bell Orchestre are proving themselves to be very impressive in their own right. They have created a full identity for themselves, despite existing in the shadows of much more prominent groups. If they keep creating albums with the craft, care and style of As Seen Through Windows, they very well could stumble upon something amazing.

The Flannel Strikes Back!

Since I’m now back home in Seattle, it seems like an appropriate time to comment on an odd social phenomenon I’ve been noticing. For whatever reason, grunge music has been making headlines in the music world. More and more, I’m noticing that people are talking about everyone’s favorite moody alt-rockers from the 90s, despite the fact that grunge has seemed almost forgotten for most of this decade. Just looking at the “Big 4” grunge bands, let’s see what’s been in the news this year:

-Alice In Chains: they supposedly have a new album coming out…sometime…despite the fact that the band’s heart, soul and voice, Layne Staley, passed away in 2002. The remaining band members assure us that new singer William DuVall isn’t all that bad. We’ll see…if the album ever actually comes out. Could this be the grunge Chinese Democracy?

-Pearl Jam: they also say a new album is coming at the end of the year, which I hope will be slightly more interesting than 2006’s self-titled, avocado-covered release. They also received major national press by reissuing a tricked-out deluxe edition of their celebrated 1991 debut, Ten. They say similar reissues of the rest of their back catalogue are on the way.

-Soundgarden: back in March, three-fourths of Soundgarden (singer Chris Cornell was absent) reunited to play a small show in downtown Seattle. Meanwhile, Cornell is also keeping himself in the headlines, by releasing a dreadful solo album produced by Timbaland, of all people. Well, any press coverage is good press coverage, right…? (Answer: no.)

-Nirvana: April marked the 15th anniversary of Kurt Cobain’s death. Let the tears flow.

Even quasi-grunge bands, like the Smashing Pumpkins and Stone Temple Pilots, have reunited for cash-raking tours recently. Suddenly, the “Seattle Sound” is all anyone is talking about. Amazingly, the only place where you can’t find grunge’s fingerprints these days is in actual music. Almost nothing coming out recently seems to owe any debts to the 90s Seattle scene. Perhaps, with all these people yammering away about these bands, that will change.

Surprise!

Artist: The Church

Album: Untitled #23

Year: 2009

Grade: 3.5 pretzels

Everyone loves a surprise and this album was just that for me. I had no idea that the Church, one of my beloved bands from Australia, were releasing a new album this year. Imagine my surprise when a news bulletin for this latest album popped up online. However, it’s no surprise that a new Church album wouldn’t be greeted with fanfare and trumpets. It’s been over twenty years since they had any impact on the music industry outside of Australia, when “Under The Milky Way” crept its way onto the charts. However, even in the face of no international success, the Church have continued to churn out lovely, high-quality work.

In many ways, not having the pressure of trying to be successful in the States or England seems to have helped the band immensely. Their past few albums have sounded tremendously comfortable, which is a contrast to some of their previous albums, which had the occasional moment where the band seemed to be trying too hard to impress people. An album like Untitled #23 has an incredibly charming, unassuming quality about it. It knows not too many people are going to buy it outside of the core nucleus of Church fans. So, instead of worrying about winning over new listeners, it delivers exactly what Church fans want.

Untitled #23 is a dreamy, ethereal adventure, full of drifting rhythms and dark moods. The twin lead guitar work, which has long been their trademark, is in full effect. With both guitars playing intricate, winding parts, the sound is very rich and layered. There’s also a bit of a world music flavor to the album, with the occasional flute popping up at unexpected moments. Combined with the restrained, simple rhythms, Untitled #23 has an unusual tribal vibe to it. However, the star of the show, as with most Church albums, is frontman Steve Kilbey, whose majestic baritone voice gives each song a warm, velvety feel. His abstract lyricism ("Pangaea" is an early favorite for "Most Awesomely Vague Song Title Of The Year") is another highlight, especially on the stunning “Deadman’s Hand”, where Kilbey manages to take a nonsense lyric like “on our way to crush the revolution” and turns it into an evocative anthem.

While it may not be a great album, Untitled #23 is a solid example of how a band can accomplish a great deal by thinking small. The Church have had moments of spiraling ambition in their thirty year career, many of which have left us with disappointing albums. It’s encouraging to hear them finally embracing the audience they have, instead of trying to branch out. They’ve figured out that their moment in the spotlight has long since passed. However, this hasn’t stopped them from releasing some very good music, even if few people are really listening.

He May Not Be Jesus, But He Has The Same Initials...

Artist: Jarvis Cocker

Album: Further Complications

Year: 2009

Grade: 4 pretzels

Few people can write one-liners as well as Jarvis Cocker. The former Pulp frontman has made a career out of his exquisite lyrical skills, blending a seedy sense of self-deprecation with an exacting eye for social commentary. Even though Pulp disbanded years ago, Cocker has made sure that his skewed genius never fades away. He may not be the pop star he was back in the 90s, but he’s got more than enough fans to pursue a solo career, pandering to his converted cult audience, of which I am a card-carrying member. However, on Further Complications, Jarvis is throwing his fans a bit of a curveball and hoping they still manage to connect with it.

Cocker’s first solo album, 2007’s Jarvis, should have warned us loyal Jarvis-heads that a change was coming. At the ripe old age of 43, Cocker decided to move away from the lush, extravagant sound that made him famous in Pulp and strip things down to a much more solid rock base. In that sense, he’s essentially following the exact same career path as Morrissey. Further Complications, however, lives up to its title by taking us farther down that path than anyone expected Jarvis to ever go. Recording with the omnipresent Steve Albini (who seems to be making a lot of appearances on this blog lately), Cocker has created an album of loose, almost too casual rock.

Albini’s presence is felt strongly on the opening one-two of the title track and “Angela”. Both radically reinvent the style we’ve all come to expect from Cocker. Dry, crisp and with Cocker’s voice straining at points, it’s a far looser sound than he’s ever recorded. Even the lyrics seem broader and less detailed than usual. Right from the start, it feels like Jarvis is telling us to expect the unexpected. Releasing “Angela” as the lead single is a bold move, especially since I, a diehard Jarvis fanatic, had no idea who recorded it when I first heard it. Jarvis Cocker, garage rocker? Could it be?

Well, not so much. In many ways, Further Complications is a tale of two albums. The middle section is filled with a handful of songs much more in line with what Cocker’s audience expects from him. “Leftovers” is yet another guy-loves-girl-but-has-inadequacy-issues song, something that Jarvis has written at least two dozen times before (this one does feature the glorious opening line “I met her in the museum of paleontology and I make no bones about it”). Oddly, this is the section of the album that sounds the weakest. Albini’s raw production does little to change these songs. They simply sound like stuff Jarvis could have (and probably did) write in his sleep.

Thankfully, Cocker brings us back around with the startlingly awesome “Fuckingsong”, a crunchy anthem in which Jarvis writes about his usual subjects (women, sex or his lack thereof) with a newfound immediacy to match the music. Opening with the stellar line “I know I’ll never touch you, so I wrote this song instead,” this is a new Jarvis that I can wholeheartedly support. Finally, the album closes with two surprisingly lovely songs, both of which push well past six minutes. Albini gives “Slush” a slow-burning grandeur to match Cocker’s tale of romance (best lyric: “If I could, I would refrigerate this moment”), before the understated “You’re In My Eyes (Discosong)” closes the album on a suitably old-school Jarvis moment. The album may be inconsistent, but when he’s on, few can compete with Jarvis Cocker. Partnering with Albini for Further Complications has both pros and cons, but the album is an impressive (if not slightly frustrating) reinvention for one of the smartest, most individual pop singers still around.