State Of The Pretzel Logic: July

Well, mercifully, this slow, dreary month has come to an end. July was definitely the least interesting month for me on this blog and that ended up being reflected in the lowest monthly total of posts so far. Hopefully, the change into August will bring with it a flurry of new and interesting releases and music to comment about. Here’s hoping.

There are no album grade changes I want to make this month, although I’m probably going to change a bunch this time next month. Change is in the air…

In terms of album releases for August, I’m looking forward to reviewing new music from the Arctic Monkeys, Mew (the band, not the Pokemon), Julian Plenti aka Interpol frontman Paul Banks and finally this damn Lil’ Wayne CD that may or may not ever be released for public consumption. I’m also planning on reviewing an album recently brought to my attention, recorded by a band so mysterious that they may or may not be named the Xx. Stay tuned for more.

Best Closing Tracks, Pt. 5

#10: “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue”
Bob Dylan
Bringing It All Back Home (1965)

This is the song that slammed the door on Dylan’s folkie roots, both on record and in person. It’s lilting melody is the last sound you hear on his half-electric/half-acoustic transitional Bringing It All Back Home, but it was also the song Dylan played at the Newport Folk Festival to placate an audience who booed him for playing electric material. I hope the irony wasn’t lost on everyone in attendance.

#9: “Man Ray”
The Futureheads
The Futureheads (2004)

For every great, slow, somber closing number, there’s an equally excellent blast of speed-crazed fury that closes an album. “Man Ray” is one of these and an extraordinary one at that. Paying the vaguest homage to Man Ray, the famous photographer, the song is more an excuse for the four members of the Futureheads to play so fast and so furiously that the oh-so-catchy chaos can only be ended by a desperate, screamed “STOP!!!”

#8: “Last Dance”
Neil Young
Time Fades Away (1973)

Time Fades Away is a live album Neil Young has never released on CD. As such, it can be a bit difficult for modern listeners to track down. However, those who are willing to spend the time are rewarded by a shambling, decaying masterpiece. Recorded at the very beginning of Neil’s dark, mid-70s period, Time Fades Away captures the ragged state Neil and his band were in at the time. “Last Dance” is a fitting finale, with all the musicians involved sounding desperate to be anywhere else. Their weariness and exhaustion and depression shines right through the recording, creating a startling document of a very specific moment in time, culminating in Neil’s soft, almost whimpering cry of “No, no, no…”

#7: “I Shall Be Released”
The Band
Music From Big Pink (1968)

In the long, often irritating history of Bob Dylan covers, few stand as high as the Band’s plaintive take on “I Shall Be Released”, a song they first recorded with Dylan on the much-acclaimed Basement Tapes sessions. However, with Richard Manuel’s shattered, heart-wrenching falsetto leading the charge, the song loses Dylan’s grating lyrical edge and becomes an emotional, simple ballad that could be about almost any kind of release or escape. It serves as a perfect encapsulation of the sadness and tragedy that so often lurked on the edges of the Band’s music and personal lives.

#6: “King Of The World”
Steely Dan
Countdown To Ecstasy (1973)

If I could only have one song with which to wage my ongoing war against the world’s Steely Dan haters, it would be “King Of The World”, an apocalyptic saga that even the Dan’s typically bright production can’t cover up. Donald Fagen spins one of his most barbed and deft lyrical webs, telling the tale of the last survivor of a nuclear holocaust. Fagen’s flat, matter-of-fact vocal delivery underscores all the boredom and foreboding that such a dire situation would dredge up. The best line is saved for last: “If I stay inside…I might live ‘til Saturday.”

#5: “Motion Picture Soundtrack”
Radiohead
Kid A (2000)

Kid A is an album made almost exclusively of tracks that would be closers on other, more cheerful albums. Perhaps this is why it’s my favorite record of all time. However, this does present a problem: how do you appropriately end one of the most downcast, depressive albums in history? “Motion Picture Soundtrack” rises to this challenge admirably by not dwelling on sadness, focusing more on creating an atmosphere of cloudy, funereal finality. The result is a dirge, but one of the most beautiful and touching dirges ever committed to tape.

#4: “Reservations”
Wilco
Yankee Hotel Foxtrot (2002)

People tell me that Yankee Hotel Foxtrot makes them feel good, but I can’t help but wonder when I hear that, since YHF is, just like Kid A, a heavy, depressive album trying to grapple with reality when everything seems to be breaking down. Few songs capture this as effectively as “Reservations”, with Jeff Tweedy’s shaky voice soaring out over a beautiful chorus: “I’ve got reservations, about so many things but not about you.” It’s the perfect ending to a terrifying, but undeniably romantic masterpiece.

#3: “Would?”
Alice In Chains
Dirt (1992)

Leave it to the band with the hopeless drug addict of a frontman to create the best hard rock closing song in history. The strangest thing about “Would?”, however, is that the late Layne Staley didn’t write it, leaving that responsibility in the hands of his decidedly not-addicted-to drugs bandmate, Jerry Cantrell. You can’t tell from the recorded song, though. Staley turns in the performance of his life, making the crushed lyrics incredibly personal. The song’s odd arrangement finally culminates in Staley’s bellowing final words, creating one of the most powerful and attention-grabbing closers ever.

#2: “Street Spirit (Fade Out)”
Radiohead
The Bends (1995)

Without a doubt the golden standard of wonderfully depressive, soul-crushing closers, “Street Spirit” is one of the few songs I’ve ever heard that sounds purely sad, without currents of anger or betrayal or romanticism hiding underneath. It sounds sad because of nothing more specific than the world at large. This dark, hypnotic track is the soundtrack to every moment of tragedy conceivable. Somehow, Radiohead managed to capture that within a four-minute-long burst. It’s truly a monumental accomplishment.

#1: “Decades”
Joy Division
Closer (1980)

Closer was released on July 18, 1980, exactly two months after the self-inflicted death of Joy Division’s frontman, Ian Curtis. As such, those who listened to this new album were greeted by a voice that was coming to them from beyond the grave. Even today, almost thirty years after the fact, it’s impossible to forget this when you listen to Closer. “Decades” marks the last sounds Curtis gave the world before he decided to leave it all behind. It’s truly terrifying how appropriate this song sounds. “Decades” is actually one of the few Joy Division tracks that doesn’t sound like its being crushed by the weight of mortal existence. Instead, it sounds like someone looking back on events that have already passed, watching them with a removed, vaguely sad and nostalgic state of mind. Which, presumably, was exactly what was going through Curtis’ mind when he recorded it. There’s no way I can support a claim that Curtis had already resolved to kill himself at that time, but damn if the song doesn’t sound that way. “Decades” sounds so final, so all-encompassing that it leaves no room for any songs to come after it. No other closing track in history can compare.

Best Closing Tracks, Pt. 4

#20: “Outsiders”
Franz Ferdinand
You Could Have It So Much Better (2005)

I saw Franz Ferdinand live in 2005, touring new material right before the release of their second album. While the band performed well and whipped the crowd into a frenzy with favorites from their spectacular debut album, the new songs didn’t seem to connect with people at all. The exception to this was “Outsiders”, which was saved for the encore and immediately grabbed the audience’s attention. With its rubber bassline, funky, nervous guitar skittering and polyrhythmic breakdown, “Outsiders” proved there was life after their debut for Franz Ferdinand.

#19: “Leave Me Alone”
New Order
Power, Corruption & Lies (1983)

It’s amazing enough that the three surviving members of Joy Division managed to cope well enough with the death of Ian Curtis to form New Order. It’s even more astonishing that New Order ended up being one hell of a good band. Perhaps the jewel in their proverbial crown is Power, Corruption & Lies, an album which bridges the gap between Joy Division’s ominous atmosphere and New Order’s future as dance-oriented peddlers of melancholy pop. The closing “Leave Me Alone” looks back at Joy Division’s sound more than other songs on the album and the resulting blend of sad melody and resigned lyrics closes the book on the legacy of Joy Division forever.

#18: “If It Was Me”
I Love You But I’ve Chosen Darkness
Fear Is On Our Side (2006)

Once you get past the name, it’s obvious that this Austin-based group records some of the darkest, least-Texan-sounding music to ever escape the vast confines of the Lone Star State. Drawing heavily from late-70s post-punk, “If It Was Me” is the explosive closing statement on their sole album to date. The song grows out of a dark guitar riff, before finally whipping itself into a frenzy of cathartic release that demands some headbanging from even the most restrained listener.

#17: “Something In The Way”
Nirvana
Nevermind (1991)

Nevermind is, of course, an album much more famous for its era-defining opener, but the album’s claustrophobic, broken closing track, “Something In The Way”, is just as powerful. After listening to Cobain’s punky rage for an entire album, this skeletal guitar-and-cello song is jarring and very, very creepy. It’s the kind of song that gains all kinds of emotional relevance after the fact of Kurt’s death.

#16: “The Band Played Waltzing Matilda”
The Pogues
Rum Sodomy & The Lash (1985)

Despite their hardcore Irish roots, the Pogues’ most emotionally intense song is actually about Australians. Their cover of Eric Bogle’s epic tale of a wandering young Australian man who gets recruited into a brutal war that robs him of his legs outshines any of their drunken Irish anthems. Shane MacGowan seems to instinctively know how to wring the most emotion out of his dry voice and the slow build to the song's horns and emotional gut-punch (“For to hump tent and pegs, a man needs two legs, no more waltzing Matilda for me”) is nothing short of crushing.

#15: “Lazyitis”
Happy Mondays
Bummed (1988)

“Lazyitis” is the rare closing track that sounds completely and wonderfully happy. Picking up where the Beatles’ “Ticket To Ride” left off, Happy Mondays run through their insanely sunny, druggy vibe with such infectious energy that you can’t help but smile when you hear this song. Pay no mind to the somewhat dark and cryptic lyrics; just get up, dance and be happy.

#14: “Faith”
The Cure
Faith (1981)

The Cure recorded albums that were darker or angrier than Faith, but never have they recorded something as spectral and, in many ways, that sound feels the most natural for the band. Those who need proof need look no further than the album’s title track. Simon Gallup’s echoing, haunting bass forms a crucial background for Robert Smith’s ethereal guitar wisps, while Smith’s downcast lyrics manage to avoid all the classic “sad-goth-kid” clichés, creating something honest, intense and resonant.

#13: “Shut Up I Am Dreaming Of Places Where Lovers Have Wings”
Sunset Rubdown
Shut Up I Am Dreaming (2006)

Like all good Sunset Rubdown songs, this glorious track ends somewhere completely different from where it started. What seperates this song from the rest of Sunset Rubdown’s catalogue, though, is the stops it hits between those two points. Tense acoustic guitars wrap themselves around Spencer Krug’s abstract, evocative lyrics before the whole thing explodes into chaos, then boils itself back down to a whisper. This stunning use of dynamics makes the song one of the brightest spots in Krug’s expansive songbook.

#12: “The Overload”
Talking Heads
Remain In Light (1980)

Without a doubt the darkest song Talking Heads ever recorded, “The Overload” finds the New York art-punk-weirdoes trafficking in the cavernous, crushing blackness usually reserved for English mope-masters like Joy Division and Echo & The Bunnymen. David Byrne suppresses his bug-eyed lyrical inclinations, instead opting for a deadpan, distant vocal delivery that sounds like the last voice left on Earth after the apocalypse. Under the watchful eye of Brian Eno, the band match his darkness moment for moment, crafting a mood so heavy and bleak that the band had to record the sugary nonsense of Speaking In Tongues three years later to wash the bad taste out of their mouths.

#11: “Hey Hey, My My (Into The Black)”
Neil Young
Rust Never Sleeps (1979)

If I ever get around to writing a Best Opening Tracks list, this song will be on that list too. Rust Never Sleeps opens and closes with two versions of the same song, with an acoustic version serving as the opener and a belligerant electric one closing the whole thing out. That last one, though, is the most memorable of the two, since it threatens to literally melt your face off. With Neil playing through a broken amp and Crazy Horse roaring at their most powerful, Young’s anthem about the dangers of growing old and complacent is one of the most searing and cynical songs ever recorded. It’s the song that gave the world Neil’s immortal cry: “It’s better to burn out than to fade away.”

Best Closing Tracks, Pt. 3

#30: “When The Levee Breaks”
Led Zeppelin
Led Zeppelin IV (1971)

I’ve never been the world’s biggest Zep fan, but even a jaded, post-punk loving hipster can’t ignore the awesome power of this thunderous track. That shuddering stomp that John Bonham lays down is so raw and visceral that it’s no wonder generations of fledgling drummers have flocked to him as an influence. Simple and heavy as a ton of bricks, there’s very little you can do to fight it off.

#29: “Foreground”
Grizzly Bear
Veckatimest (2009)

This album has only been around for a few months and I already know that “Foreground” is one of the most fitting and beautiful closing tracks I’ve ever heard. Grizzly Bear always seem to err on the side of wispy, ethereal drift, but it pays off to tremendous effect on this track, which grows out of a minor-key piano line and builds into a solemn, emotional hymn.

#28: “Soon”
My Bloody Valentine
Loveless (1991)

The monolithic wall of guitar that is Loveless is My Bloody Valentine’s greatest gift to the world and they close that album with one of their most complete, accessible songs to date. The skipping riff that pops up throughout the song is the little earworm that gets stuck in your head and the pummeling waves of distorted chords ensure that you never forget this fantastic track.

#27: “Ambulance Blues”
Neil Young
On The Beach (1974)

Few musicians close their albums as well as Neil Young. Perhaps it’s because he naturally drifts towards emotional, dramatic songs that are permeated with a sense of finality. “Ambulance Blues” is just one of his many great closing tracks, but it’s also one of his most memorable. His evocative images and wailing tone conjure up an abstract smorgasbord of Neil’s current targets, with his most pointed barbs aimed at music critics: “you’re all just pissing in the wind.” Yikes.

#26: “Threads”
Portishead
Third (2008)

Portishead’s recent album, Third, is a deeply unsettling, nauseating listen. I attribute most of this to the note the listener is left with when the album ends. “Threads” is long, clocking in over five minutes, dragging itself through a swamp of echoing guitars and eerie keyboards before finally concluding with a cacophonous siren-like bellow echoing through the silence.

#25: “Mass Production”
Iggy Pop
The Idiot (1977)

Almost identical to “Threads”, Iggy’s “Mass Production” is another song that finishes off a harrowing, creepy album. This one is even longer, slogging its way through eight-and-a-half minutes and, again, ending with that air-raid siren sound screaming out through the foggy silence surrounding it. It’s an effect that feels powerful, yet incredibly lonely.

#24: “Hope You Like The New Me”
Richard Thompson
Mock Tudor (1999)

English guitar master Richard Thompson is famous for his fiery axe-playing and insanely intricate folky ballads, but he also excels at writing tremendously creepy songs. “Hope You Like The New Me” is one of those, featuring a goosebump-inducing guitar figure that spiders its way across Thompson’s biting lyrics. Thompson’s sad, resigned tone only drives home the inherent darkness of a song like this.

#23: “Life In A Glasshouse”
Radiohead
Amnesiac (2001)

Skronking New Orleans funeral jazz might seem a strange fit for a band like Radiohead, but it suits their paranoia and modern era existential dread perfectly. Those blaring trumpets and whistling clarinets underscore Thom Yorke’s fear that “there’s someone listening in.” Radiohead, as they are so often want to do, manage to fit a wonderful, memorable melody line into the song as well.

#22: “Hiroshima Mon Amour”
Ultravox
Ha!-Ha!-Ha! (1977)

Before a mustachioed hack of a frontman named Midge Ure took the reins of control on British synth-pioneers Ultravox in 1979, they were fronted by John Foxx and his regal, commanding baritone voice. While Ultravox never quite hit their stride musically on those early albums, they did manage to create “Hiroshima Mon Amour”, one of the earliest and best synth ballads. The song has the forward-thinking, futuristic sheen of the era, while still retaining an older, traditional sense of class and romanticism. A winning combination if there ever was one.

#21: “LA Blues”
The Stooges
Fun House (1970)

Five minutes of howling, rhythmless noise wouldn’t be allowed on ninety-nine percent of albums released in the world. However, in the hands of the Stooges, it becomes one of the most important and inflammatory music recordings in history. Funny how these things work.

Best Closing Tracks, Pt. 2

#40: “Rock ‘N’ Roll Suicide”
David Bowie
The Rise And Fall Of Ziggy Stardust And The Spiders From Mars (1972)

Ziggy Stardust unfolds like a crazy, melodramatic theater piece and “Rock ‘N’ Roll Suicide” is the huge, show-stopping final number. Mark Ronson’s guitar crunches and trumpets blare in the background, while Bowie screams himself hoarse, crying “You’re wonderful!” All that’s missing is a big, full-ensemble dance number.

#39: “Rocket Queen”
Guns N’ Roses
Appetite For Destruction (1987)

Axl Rose is 99% idiot, 1% genius. Somehow, that combination proved to be exactly what GnR needed from their frontman, lifting them above all their hair metal peers into a whole other level of drunk, reckless insanity. Nowhere is this more evident than on “Rocket Queen”, which closes the band’s only good album. While the song maintains a strong, rhythmic groove over the course of six minutes, the real bumpin’ and grindin’ was going on in the studio. In an attempt to prove how ridiculous he was, Axl recorded an audio track of him and the drummer’s girlfriend having sex in the studio and included it on the track. There’s really no other way a Guns N’ Roses album could end.

#38: “The Other Side Of Mt. Heart Attack”
Liars
Drum’s Not Dead (2006)

Liars have certainly devolped a reputation as being an abrasive band, but this track shows a different side to the New Yorkers’ music. With a gentle, plucked guitar riff guiding the way, “The Other Side Of Mt. Heart Attack” is a beautiful, drifting avant-garde ballad, full of distant voices and wispy musical details floating in the wind.

#37: “Jack The Ripper”
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds
Henry’s Dream (1992)

“Jack The Ripper” is, at its core, a traditional-sounding blues song about domestic troubles. However, in the hands of Nick Cave and his merry band of Australian hoodlums, it evolves into a shitstorm of blades and blood and anger and groans. Never have acoustic guitars sounded this vicious, raw and brutal.

#36: “Tomorrow Never Knows”
The Beatles
Revolver (1966)

Another Beatles selection and, again, it’s quite a cliché one. Yet, there’s a reason multiple generations of people have emphasized these songs. Not unlike “A Day In The Life”, “Tomorrow Never Knows” is a track way too far ahead of its time, with the backward samples, unidentifiable sound effects and Lennon’s immortally abstract cry of “turn off your mind, relax and float downstream.”

#35: “Ocean Rain”
Echo & The Bunnymen
Ocean Rain (1984)

This is a quintessential closing track, providing a hushed, emotional coda to an album full of variety. Some simple acoustic guitars do the heavy lifting, with some surprisingly tasteful strings lurking in the wings to add color every now and then. On top of it all comes Ian McCulloch’s vocal line, which captures all the majesty and grandeur the band spent their entire career trying to find.

#34: “Torn Curtain”
Television
Marquee Moon (1977)

This track would be almost hilariously maudlin if Television hadn’t earned this kind of portentious schlock with everything else on their landmark Marquee Moon album. As such, “Torn Curtain” becomes a wallowing dirge, featuring lots of squealing guitars and Tom Verlaine’s endlessly uninterpretable lyrics. The fact that the whole thing can’t even find a way to end, instead opting to just drift off into silence, makes the end result all the more haunting.

#33: “This Must Be The Place (Naïve Melody)”
Talking Heads
Speaking In Tongues (1983)

David Byrne has never been one for expounding the virtues of love and romance, but he closed Speaking In Tongues, the Heads’ first truly disappointing album, with one of the brightest lights in the Heads’ entire oeuvre. And guess what! It’s a love song. For probably the first time in his life, Byrne quashed his sarcastic, cynical inclinations, allowing this gorgeous ode to dedication, comfort and love to come flowing out. Of course, he then proceeded to sing it to a floor lamp. Some things never change.

#32: “Third World Man”
Steely Dan
Gaucho (1980)

Steely Dan once again prove that there’s more to them than schlocky dance rock by recording this eerie song about a war vet suffering through PTSD and digging foxholes in his lawn. Guided by a beautiful, instantly memorable melody, the song allows as much space as possible to enter the arrangement without everything falling apart, climaxing at the bridge, where the guitars drop into silence only to be dragged back by a crackling drum fill. In all, it’s an intense song about a guy just trying to “keep the sidewalks safe for the little guy.”

#31: “Answering Machine”
The Replacements
Let It Be (1984)

Rare is the rock song that can survive on just an electric guitar. Yet, Paul Westerberg accomplishes just that on “Answering Machine”, which eschews the Replacement’s thunderous rhythm section for a single, roaring guitar. Over this tumultuous backdrop, Westerberg howls about romantic abandonment and loneliness, screaming “how do you say goodnight to an answering machine?” into the void.

Best Closing Tracks, Pt. 1

For this month’s feature, I’m doing another list. However, instead of focusing on albums, I’m going to focus on specific songs. I have a special place in my heart for closing songs, since they tend to be some of the most beautiful, sad and emotionally affecting tunes a band has to offer. They are also literally the note an album ends on, coloring the listener’s perception of the album as a whole. This week, I’m counting down fifty of my favorite closing tracks from throughout my entire music collection.

#50: “Another One Goes By”
The Walkmen
A Hundred Miles Off (2006)

The Walkmen’s retro-vintage sound has had its fair share of high and low points. When the band is on, they’re great, but all too often, they get bogged down in murky upright pianos and guitars that sound like they were recorded in another county. However, the last track off A Hundred Miles Off is one of the band’s best moments, with Hamilton Leithauser’s Dylan-y wail crooning mournfully over a marching, minor-key melody. Nostalgia just found its perfect soundtrack.

#49: “Yeah”
Kyuss
Blues For The Red Sun (1994)

Ok, maybe this is cheating. These desert-rock legends ended their greatest album with a four-second song, consisting of a single word: “Yeah…” Is it stupid? Yeah. Does it fit the abrasive, stoned vibe of the album perfectly? Yeah.

#48: “505”
Arctic Monkeys
Favourite Worst Nightmare (2007)

Arctic Monkeys haven’t recorded too many ballads, but when they do, they tend to be killer. “505” ranks as not just their best slow song but one of their best songs period. Alex Turner’s ode to longing and returning burns slowly across four minutes, leading up to the inevitable guitar-led wig out. Meanwhile, a gentle keyboard coos in the background, creating a mood both romantic and ominous.

#47: “Raining Blood”
Slayer
Reign In Blood (1986)

The final song from one of the most belligerent, blistering metal albums ever recorded manages to save the best for last. After a quick burst of hyperspeed shredding and hoarse, barked lyrics, the song’s instantly identifiable core riff kicks in and it’s off to the races. Good luck keeping up.

#46: “Capital Kind Of Strain”
Autolux
Future Perfect (2004)

Many bands have ripped-off Sonic Youth, but few do it with the grace and deftness of Autolux, who have given the world only a single album so far. “Capital Kind Of Strain” is that album’s elegant, tension-filled closer, built around a twisting, liquid bassline and Eugene Goreshter’s trance-inducing voice. The song’s long running time pays off when the song soars back from a deathly quiet interlude, stronger than ever.

#45: “A Day In The Life”
The Beatles
Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band (1967)

Is this cliché? You better believe it. However, it’s a cliché with substance behind it. “A Day In The Life” is truly an accomplishment, especially for its era. Even Paul McCartney’s obnoxious middle section of the song doesn’t detract (too much) from Lennon’s haunting melody and ambitious orchestral arrangement, spiraling into oblivion before finally falling off a cliff.

#44: “Scenario”
A Tribe Called Quest
The Low End Theory (1991)

This whole song is enjoyable, but its greatness can be distilled down to one moment, when Busta Rhymes intones “Rawr! Rawr! Like a dungeon dragon!”

#43: “Parade”
Magazine
Real Life (1978)

Howard Devoto’s decision to leave the legendary Buzzcocks right when they were becoming huge was a decision that many probably sneered at. However, one listen to this track from his first album with his next band, Magazine, proves that he couldn’t stay in the Buzzcocks happily. Instead of buzzsaw guitars and adolescent whinning (not that either of those are bad things), “Parade” is a creepy, piano-led number, straight out of some Weimar-era cabaret owner’s nightmare.

#42: “For Your Pleasure”
Roxy Music
For Your Pleasure (1973)

All of Roxy Music’s drama and theatric excesses are beautifully contained within this stunning title track from their greatest album. Bryan Ferry’s shaky croon is balanced by Paul Thompson’s strong drumming and a quick, twangy guitar riff. Brian Eno adds the requisite “weird noises” and the whole thing finally rides off into the distance with a chorus of voices chanting “ta-ra…ta-ra.”

#41: “Hurt”
Nine Inch Nails
The Downward Spiral (1994)

Before Johnny Cash immortalized this song with one of the best covers in music history, it was the sole property of Trent Reznor. While Cash’s broken voice and weariness made it an anthem for growing old, in Reznor’s hands, it’s solidly for the emotional, youthful crowd, with Reznor’s howling vocal delivery on the chorus and it’s eventual disintegration into an ocean of noise and static.

Capitol Hill Block Party, Part 2

DAY 2

Hey Marseilles

I started off my second day at the Block Party by catching a few songs from Hey Marseilles, a local band who featured a cello, violin and accordion player. They had a bit of a Decemberists-lite vibe going on. If that’s not glowing praise, I don’t know what is…

The Moondoggies

After a short ice cream break, I returned to the main stage to catch a chunk of the Moondoggies set. They played some solid country rock, with some good ol’ southern, religiously bluesy overtones. While nothing grabbed my immediate attention, it was nice to hear some electric guitar after the instrumental excess of Hey Marseilles.

The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart

The Pains were the first band on Saturday that I was really excited to hear. Their self-titled debut album this year has held its spot in my 2009 Favorites valiantly and I was very curious to hear how their sunny, exuberant indie rock held up in a live, festival setting. The answer: awesomely! The five-piece band rolled through a confident set, while their palpable charm and general adorableness spilled off the stage. Singer Kip Berman opened the set by dedicating the first song to his mom, who was in attendance, and keyboardist Peggy Wang gave a shout out to an old friend later in the show, talking about their former band, who were apparently named Turtle Search. Adorable, I tell you.

But things would get even better! After the Pains’ set ended, my friends and I retreated to a local sandwich place for dinner. To our general amazement, ten minutes after sitting down, four-fifths of the Pains walked through the door and ended up getting seated right next to us. We complimented their set, to which they responded in the most humble, “aww, shucks, that’s nice, guys!” kind of way. I’d like to say we all pulled up tables and shared sandwiches together, but that wouldn’t exactly be true. Instead, I’ll just savor the fact that I (more-or-less) ate dinner with the Pains Of Being Pure At Heart.

The Thermals

The Thermals are a poppy punk band from Portland who I’ve seen several times before. They’ve always put on a good show, although I’ve never left one of their shows feeling like my life has been changed. However, their set at the Block Party this year was the strongest I’ve ever seen them and I’m very glad I didn’t skip them. Part of the difference was their new drummer Westin Glass, whose role in the band didn’t seem limited to just rhythm, since he also seemed to be their unofficial cheerleader and hype man, guiding clap-alongs with the audience and generally looking like the happiest person on Earth. Meanwhile, frontman Hutch Harris tore through the band’s catalogue with gusto, raining power chords down upon the pogo-ing masses while the clouds above threatened to actually rain on us. Unexpected covers were mixed into the setlist, including Nirvana b-side “Verse Chorus Verse” and, inexplicably, Green Day’s classic “Basket Case”. The highest point of their show was the title track from their latest album, Now We Can See, which I correctly predicted would be absolutely killer live. Wordless choruses are awesome. “Ohhhh ahhh oh oh! Ohhhh ahh oh oh! Ohhhh ah ohhhh ohhhh!”

Gossip

The Gossip chunk of the evening’s festivities ranks as one of the most fun experiences I’ve ever had with live music. I’ve never liked Gossip’s songs on record, since they sound fairly mechanical and thin to my ears, but live, they are transformed into dominating, stomping dance anthems. After the punk pogo-ing of the Thermals, this honest-to-God dance music was the perfect reason for hundreds of Seattle hipsters to just start boogieing away. Guitarist Brace Paine (what a name…) played vicious, meaty New Wave riffs and drummer Hannah Blilie was nothing short of unstoppable. Of course, singer Beth Ditto was incredible, switching from downbeat romantic blues to passionate, indignant rage at a moment’s notice. I still can’t really listen to their studio material, but holy fucking shit can Gossip put on one hell of a live show.

Sonic Youth

In past years, the Capitol Hill Block Party could have only dreamed to have headliners as prominent as Sonic Youth. For whatever reason, things changed this year and this legendary, important band was there Saturday night, playing in the middle of a street in Seattle to a delirious crowd of Seattleites who spent most of the evening waiting not-that-patiently for Sonic Youth to take the stage. When they finally marched out a bit after 10:30, the place almost erupted. A few words were exchanged, the front lineup of Lee Ranaldo, Thurston Moore and Kim Gordon (officially the most attractive fifty-six-year old woman on the planet) took their places and the band launched into “No Way” off their recent album, The Eternal.

Nothing can prepare you for how loud Sonic Youth are live. Words can barely describe it. All I can say is, while the songs on their records rock, when played live, they drop on you like the world is falling down around you. Listening to Sonic Youth live means you’re desperately trying to hold your ground against a hurricane of noise (and force, from the drums and bass). Yet, somewhere in there, you can hear beautiful melodies that you remember from their records. They played a set heavily drawn from The Eternal, pausing only to add two gems from 1988’s Daydream Nation in the form of Ranaldo’s “Hey Joni” and closing with “’Cross The Breeze”. The new songs more than held their own with these old classics, though, especially “Anti-Orgasm”, which was transformed live into a fiery torrent of crunching sound, pushing the limits of what human ears can tolerate. A brief encore featured the new song “What We Know” and, incredibly, an ancient gem in the form of “Death Valley ‘69”, which was greeted by howling approval from the assembled masses.

However, my real story of the Sonic Youth show is one of survival. The crowd, whipped into a frenzy by the noise and songs, literally almost knocked over walls. I had decided early on to watch the show from a vantage point next to the barricade fence to the side of the block. However, the surges of movement and momentum of the crowd proved so strong that I, along with everyone near me, was pushed back against the fence so hard that the whole thing threatened to buckle and collapse. Security was eventually forced to drive a delivery truck alongside the other side of the fence to reinforce everything and keep the crowd from spilling out into the night. Trying to stand between all these opposing forces was a very intense, not-always-enjoyable experience for me. However, I must say I had the perfect soundtrack. The waves of static and noise and riffage coming off the stage are something I won’t soon forget.

Capitol Hill Block Party, Part 1

I’ve wanted to have concert reviews on this blog from the very first day. However, for all sorts of reasons, up until this weekend, I hadn’t seen any live music since last August. That all changed when I attended both days of Seattle’s annual Capitol Hill Block Party, which is essentially the best neighborhood music festival ever. Dozens of bands play across three stages over the course of the weekend. This year’s lineup was amazingly strong and I saw more than my money’s worth over these past two days. Here’s my day-by-day recap of who and what I saw.

DAY 1

Black Lips

Black Lips are a band from Atlanta that take all kinds of musical odds and ends (surf guitar riffs, country twang, doo-wop harmonies, etc) and wring them through a gauntlet of sweaty, messy garage rock. They write simple, catchy songs with lyrics that are built for singing/screaming along. Unfortunately for me, I know a grand total of one of their songs, which left me desperately trying to understand what the hell they were saying throughout the rest of their set. Seeing Black Lips without being able to participate in their general shenanigans is a frustrating experience, leaving you feeling lost in some large inside joke. Their set also suffered from an irritatingly static audience.

Deerhunter

Another Atlanta act, Deerhunter were the biggest question mark for me during both days of the Block Party. I’ve never been much of a fan of their recorded material, since I find their songs either grating or annoyingly ethereal. I had no real idea of what to expect from the band live. However, I was pleasantly surprised when they turned in a short set of very strong performances that left me wanting at least another half-hour of music out of them. Despite a slew of technical issues beyond their control (mics failing, guitars spluttering uncontrollably), the band came across as very charming and fun, all while playing solid, memorable, shoegazey rock. Singer Bradford Cox was a bottomless fountain of entertaining stage banter (during a mic problem: “We’re only human, so we use small electrical devices to enhance our sound. I think you know what I’m talking about…ladies…”), while bassist Josh Fauver had the most hilariously blissed-out expression on his face for the entire set. The only strange part of their performance was guitarist Lockett Pundt, who seemed relegated to the side of the stage, like the unloved younger brother that’s somebody’s parents insisted the other band members take care of on the road. His creepy mustache didn’t help matters much either.

Built To Spill

Built To Spill are probably the most beloved band to ever come out of Idaho. That said, I’m not one of those people who adore them. Led by the intensely bearded Doug Martsch, they play overlong, noisy guitar jams, perfect for people who like their music conducive to hazy, stoned atmospheres. As someone who’s not a huge fan of A) guitar solos and B) drugs, it should come as no surprise when I say I’m not a Built To Spill fan. So, during the hour the band played, I ended up entertaining myself observing my fellow concertgoers. For one thing, the number of beards around me increased eight-fold before they started playing. Many people seemed to be having religious epiphanies while the band was playing, as they were quaking in place and muttering things that didn’t closely resemble the lyrics to the songs. Just to drive all the clichés home, there was the token wavy haired blonde in the front row, wearing some diaphanous, midriff-exposing shirt and doing really stupid twirly dances. All these people were clearly communing with the band on a level I will never understand. I’m not sure if I’m all that disappointed. However, the band seemed to get the last laugh on all these people by ending their set with a cataclysmic rendition of “Carry The Zero”, which dissolved into roughly ten minutes of excruciating noise, which brought all but the most dedicated, hardcore Built To Spill fans to a silent stop. It was an oddly fitting transition to what was coming next.

The Jesus Lizard

Two days later, I’m still having trouble comprehending that I saw the Jesus Lizard. Here’s a band that has only recently starting touring again after being broken up for ten years. Their frontman, David Yow, also has a (well-deserved) reputation for being an absolute nutjob during live performances, which has led to him being banned from various venues, including a few in Seattle. So, imagine my excitement when the band took the stage late Friday evening and immediately blasted into a caustic version of “Puss”. Barely a minute into the set, Yow took the first of his many stage dives of the evening, landing on top of the crowd about five feet to my left. This is where shit started to get really intense. At most concerts with wild pits, everyone is just sort of moving in whatever direction presents itself. However, Yow’s stage diving ending up giving everyone in the crowd a place to try to get to: Yow himself. This left people in the middle of the crowd, like myself, feeling completely assaulted from every direction as rabid Jesus Lizard fans tried to touch their idol. Four songs into the set, I essentially couldn’t breathe from the combination of smoke and crushing bodies and wisely decided to sideline myself for the rest of the set.

From that vantage point, I could appreciate just how sharp the Jesus Lizard sounded, even after all these years. While Yow is a slobbering, screaming, stage-diving maniac, the rest of the band plays with absolutely stunning precision. Duane Denison has a bottomless bag of gritty guitar riffs to choose from, which he wields like a scalpel. Old(er) age has also treated him quite nicely, as he was rocking some very classy grey hair. On the other side of the stage, David Wm. Sims, one of my foremost bass-playing idols, churned out the bands grinding basslines. Finally, drummer Mac McNeilly, finally back with the band after leaving in 1997, proved that he’s the absolute lynchpin to the band’s sound, as his heavy, solid rhythms propelled the rest of the band forward. All three barely interacted with the audience, leaving Yow to be the focal point for the evening. This combination of controlled aggression from the band and yammering insanity from Yow impressed upon me what an incredible band the Jesus Lizard are and how much better the world is now that they’re playing together again.

Wanting More

Artist: The Fiery Furnaces

Album: I'm Going Away

Year: 2009

Grade: 2.5 pretzels

Here’s what I know about the Fiery Furnaces: A) they’re a brother/sister act from New York, B) they’re a mainstay of the college radio/alternative indie rock scene and C) they have a reputation for being very, very weird. Like, recording-concept-albums-about-their-grandmother weird. Somehow, despite being one of those hip young college folks you hear so much about, I’ve never actually taken the time to listen to their music. I’ve heard the odd song here or there that has made me vaguely interested, but never enough to really hunt down one of their albums. So, with their seventh and latest album, I’m Going Away, arriving on shelves this month, I’m finally becoming acquainted with their music. And…well…despite never listening to their music before, I’m disappointed.

The Fiery Furnaces’ reputation promised me off-the-wall songwriting, quirky singing and unusual, jarring lyrics. I expected something challenging, something that might take a few listens to really wrap my head around. However, I’m Going Away gives me, well…fairly dull, ordinary lounge-y blues numbers, about the usual themes of broken romances and so forth. Mixed through all of this is an overwhelming sense of theatric showmanship, which makes these retro blues songs feel like a hell of a lot of posturing and acting on the part of the band. Perhaps it was wrong of me to listen to this album expecting something that would blow my fucking mind. However, at the very least, I was hoping for something a bit more lively than “The End Is Near”.

Listening to I’m Going Away has made me take a cursory listen through the band’s back catalogue through iTunes. Even with those brief thirty-second clips as my only examples, I can tell that this new album and its unremarkable straightforwardness is a departure for the band. Driven by siblings Matthew and Eleanor Friedberger, the band feels like they're intentionally restraining themselves from doing crazier things. While I can understand why a group might do something like that (angling for more mainstream appeal or just a desire to change things up), to a first-time listener like myself, this new material simply does not grab my attention. It’s bad when thirty-seconds of music on iTunes sounds more interesting than an entire fifty-minute album.

A couple songs on the album did jump out at me. “Staring At The Steeple” gains a lot of mileage with low, heavy piano clomping and lots of tension-filled electric guitar chords. Likewise, “Keep Me In Dark” finds a very enjoyable balance between some tense verses and a more upbeat chorus. While neither song is something I would describe as “spectacular,” both prove at least somewhat memorable. Sadly, the same cannot be said for the rest of the album. I’m Going Away just sounds like more overly earnest blues aping from alternative hipsters in New York. I’m glad this album has made me aware of the Fiery Furnaces’ music, but mostly because I’m more determined than ever to figure out why people have raved about them to me for years. Music like I’m Going Away surely can’t be the answer.

Get Well Soon, MCA

In more upsetting news, Adam Yauch of the Beastie Boys, also known as MCA, has been diagnosed with cancer in his salivary gland. Although the cancer is supposedly very treatable, this means that A) there will be no Beastie Boys shows for a while and B) their new album, titled Hot Sauce Committee Pt. 1,won’t be released in September. As disappointed as I am that an album with a title that awesome has been delayed, I hope that Yauch recovers quickly and completely.

Mostly Harmless

Artist: Discovery

Album: LP

Year: 2009

Grade: 3.5 pretzels

Discovery is a musical collaboration that, from it's minimalist album title down, never pretends to be anything other than a side-project. Formed by Rostam Batmanglij, keyboardist with Vampire Weekend (aka, the Golden Calf of indie rock) and Wes Miles, the frontman of second-tier indie band Ra Ra Riot, LP is an album that could have very easily been irritating and inescapable over the course of the summer. However, Discovery’s music feels quick and fleeting, with the simplicity and lack of clutter that comes from quick, informal recording sessions. While this is a trait that often derails bands, Discovery manage to steer LP away from boring, forgettable sketches and actually create something more-or-less compelling.

On paper, descriptions of Discovery’s music sound borderline unlistenable. If someone came up to you and raved about two white kids who recorded electro-flavored interpretations of modern, hip-hop flavored R&B, you’d run screaming in the opposite direction (or, at least I would). Yet, for reasons that aren’t entirely clear, LP doesn’t sound as bad as that would imply. While all the tropes of modern R&B run rampant on the album, from the naggingly repetitive synths to the AutoTuned voices, Discovery keep themselves from overreaching, keeping their songs simple enough that they don’t sound completely overblown and ridiculous. The opening track, “Orange Shirt”, is a very good statement of intent for the band, as it represents the base style that all the other tracks on the album seem to grow out of.

Perhaps the album’s biggest strength is its avoidance of clichéd R&B sexually charged lyrics. If Discovery tried releasing an album full of R. Kelly-worthy innuendos, every music critic in the world would immediately cry “party foul!” over a couple of white indie rockers so clearly trying to ape R&B singers. However, by limiting themselves to fairly harmless lyrics about yearning and love and discos, Discovery keep things honest enough that they can be taken seriously. Even the presence of Vampire Weekend’s insufferable lead singer Ezra Koenig on “Carby” can’t ruin the genuinely enjoyable music on this album.

Now, there’s nothing particularly challenging about LP. It’s important to call the album for what it is: pastel-colored electro-pop for indie kids who need a summer soundtrack. It doesn’t break a lot of musical ground. However, it doesn’t need to. By keeping things simple and light, it avoids all the potholes music like this can so easily fall into. It even shoehorns a bit of hip edginess into the mix with the tense “It’s Not My Fault (It’s My Fault)". Throw in a token Jackson 5 cover (“I Want You Back”) for some requisite homage and cred and you’ve got a surprisingly pleasant album from very unexpected sources.

A Surprise Around Every Corner

This may be one of the more inconsequential posts I’ve made on this blog so far, but today, I want to share a short story about how songs you know inside and out still find ways to surprise you. Last night, while idly scrolling through the Drive-By Truckers’ unusually user-friendly and insightful website, I noticed this strange blurb attacked to ex-Trucker Jason Isbell’s description of “Danko/Manuel”, a gorgeous song from 2004’s The Dirty South: “The horn parts came to me in a dream.”

“Wait a second,” I said to myself. “’Danko/Manuel’ doesn’t have horns!”

Well, long story short, I was wrong. Somehow, during the dozens and dozens of times I’ve listened to one of my favorite songs, I never noticed that, hiding deep within the chorus, there was a small and tasteful horn line blaring away. And damn if it doesn’t suit the song perfectly. I understand that this sounds very simple and obvious, but I’ve spent the day thinking this over. I find myself fascinated by the idea that there could be (and probably are) musical details hiding in all my favorite songs that I’ve never noted, for whatever reason. Think of the possibilities…

Lost in all this is the fact that Isbell said those horns came to him in a dream. Which is just awesome.

Great Albums In History: Liquid Swords

Since the beginning of Pretzel Logic, I’ve wanted to write much more about rap. For whatever reason, the great mainstream rap albums of past years seem to have disappeared recently and I find myself grasping at straws in an attempt to find rap albums I really like. However, for this month’s Great Album’s In History, I’m taking this problem into my own hands and featuring my favorite rap album of all time, the GZA’s Liquid Swords.

When the Wu-Tang Clan debuted in 1993 with their untouchable Enter The Wu-Tang (36 Chambers), they showed the world the power a group of MCs could have. Between the nine MCs running rampant on the album, listeners had nine distinct personalities to choose from, each with their own strengths and unique quirks. Enter The Wu-Tang is also one of those rare albums that documents a group of people having a blast together in the studio and finds a way to translate that sense of fun to the listener, instead of having the whole thing disintegrate into a complicated inside joke. However, even more fascinating to listen to are the ranks of solo albums by the Wu-Tang’s members. Each one takes the nine-MC-balance on Enter The Wu-Tang and skews it towards one of these personalities, while still featuring enough of the other Wu-Tang members to keep things diverse. There’s almost no doubt that the best of these solo albums is the GZA’s Liquid Swords. The GZA (also known as the Genius) is the Wu-Tang Clan’s smartest, most detailed lyricist and, combined with the cold, atmospheric music provided by his fellow Wu-Tang member and cousin the RZA, his lyrics and delivery on Liquid Swords are unstoppable.

“Liquid Swords”

The album’s opening title track begins, not with beats or rhymes, but with a lengthy sound clip from the 1980 Japanese samurai film, Shogun Assassin. Ominous and foreboding, the clip features a young boy, describing his father and his grim life as the “shogun’s decapitator.” This eerie intro finally fades into the proper song, but the dark atmosphere never leaves, as the RZA’s lonely synth jabs serve as the background for a sparse, creeping beat. On top of all this, we get the GZA’s easy, confident voice describing his incomparable style: “I be the body dropper, the heartbeat stopper, the child educator, plus head amputator.”

“Duel Of The Iron Mic”

With more Shogun Assassin clips serving as a transition, the album raises the ante with “Duel Of The Iron Mic”. Over a twinkling piano sample and insistent bassline, the GZA, along with fellow Wu-Tang members Masta Killa and Inspectah Deck, rolls through three smooth verses, with each MC bringing his own unique style and outlook to the overall themes of lyrical prowess and confidence. To top it all off, the one-and-only Ol’ Dirty Bastard provides a suitably insane chorus hook.

“Living In The World Today”

With the music switching to a crisp snare sample and subtle keyboards pinging away in the background, the GZA and Method Man team up to tackle “Living In The World Today”, another track dedicated to mowing down any who dare go toe to toe with the GZA’s lyrical abilities: “punchlines, that’s unstoppable, ring like shots from glocks that attract cops around the clubs and try to shut down the hip hop.”

“Gold”

One of the album’s strongest tracks, “Gold” again pushes the album into a higher gear, with the RZA’s production building around a queasy keyboard riff and some gritty electric guitars buried beneath snares. Meanwhile, the GZA rhymes about the paranoia that comes with drug dealing, where even the bums sleeping on park benches could be police informers. The GZA also uses one of his favorite metaphors, a chess game, to describe this lifestyle: “the kingpin just castled with his rook and lost a pawn.”

“Cold World”

Building on the social commentary and feelings of anxiety in “Gold”, “Cold World” deals with the reality of living in rough project neighborhoods. With the GZA describing in detail the brutal reality of a life where gun violence and drug-motivated crimes are common place, it’s a haunting piece of music. The RZA underscores the icy reality of the GZA’s words with some desolate sounds of wind and heavy bass, while Inspectah Deck drops by for a fantastic verse, describing himself as “not an actor but an author of a modern day opera.”

“Labels”

“Labels” is probably the lightest moment on the record, but it’s anything but sunny. The song is short, clocking in under three minutes and showcases the GZA trying to fit as many record label names into a single verse (“But I was out on the ISLAND, bombing MC’s all day,” etc). Somewhere in there is a message about the pitfalls of the music industry, but it takes a backseat to a playful game of trying to figure out just how many names the GZA’s hidden in the short-but-entertaining interlude.

“4th Chamber”

Another Shogun Assassin clip brings us into the second half of Liquid Swords, followed by the RZA’s razor-edged production, featuring grinding electric guitars and more seasick synth lines. The first verse is given to Ghostface Killah, who’s erratic, enthusiastic delivery is a great counterpoint to the GZA’s much more deadpan and flat style. The RZA himself even handles a verse, before passing the mic back to the GZA to finish of this up-tempo track with his usual lyrical flourishes.

“Shadowboxin’”

Against a backdrop of smooth soul samples and more jittery snare-heavy beats, Method Man guests with a strong verse evoking the brutality of project life: “those Staten kids, they smashin’ everything, huh, in any shape form or fashion.” The GZA records a verse, hands the mic back to Method Man to close things out and we’re on to the next track.

“Hell’s Wind Staff/Killah Hills 10304”

The first half of this track features a long skit, featuring the RZA and the GZA getting caught in a drug deal gone wrong. This quickly leads into a woozy, keyboard-driven beat, over which the GZA rhymes about the extreme realities that come with drug dealing. In anyone else’s hands, lines like “first rule, anyone who schemes on the gold in Syria, I want they small intestines ripped from the interior” would be laughable, but the deadly seriousness in the GZA’s voice ensures that no one is giggling.

“Investigative Reports”

This track is divided into choruses taken from a History-Channel-like documentary on battles of the American Revolution fought on what is now New York and verses that show that, in some ways, things haven’t changed. As the GZA says, “Callin’ all cars, callin’ all cars! Ghetto psychos, armed and dangerous, leavin’ mad scars.” Ghostface reinforces this with his final verse on the song: “Life is like Tarzan, swingin’ from a thin vine.”

“Swordsman”

Despite all this social commentary, the GZA feels he needs to get something straight on “Swordsman”: “I’m not caught up in poltics, I’m no black activist on a so-called scholar’s dick.” This damning indictment is followed by one of his strongest verses on the entire album, declaring his independence from the religion he was raised with: “’Cause at a young age, I was molded in a religion I relied on, and got caught up in superstition, scared to split poles, duck black cats, once in a while, threw salt over my back, but with knowledge of self from off the shelf, made things seemed complicated now small like elves.”

“I Gotcha Back”

The album’s last track (not counting “B.I.B.L.E.”, a wildly different bonus track included at the end of most versions of the album available in stores), “I Gotcha Back” is an excellent summation of everything Liquid Swords sets out to accomplish. Over those same dry, crisp beats, the GZA unleashes a torrent of rhymes about his upbringing and the cruelty of life he’s seen. Lines like “I was always taught my do’s and don’ts, for do’s I did and for don’ts, I said I won’t” showcase the GZA’s cynical worldview perfectly. The album finally ends as it began, with a haunting clip from Shogun Assassin. Instead of the young boy at the beginning though, this clip features an old man’s last words, killed at the hand of another swordsman: “When cut across the neck, a sound like wailing winter winds is heard, they say. I'd always hoped to cut someone like that someday, to hear that sound…but to have it happen to my own neck is... ridiculous…”

Flowers And Fire Ants

Artist: Bibio

Album: Ambivalence Avenue

Year: 2009

Grade: 3.5 pretzels

Continuing with my vow to take a critical stab at everything Pitchfork throws a Best New Music label at, Pretzel Logic’s burning gaze of critical analysis has found its way to British music producer Stephen Wilkinson, who records under the name of Bibio. Now, before I dive right into the meat-and-potatoes of my review, just take a moment and say that name to yourself a few times. Bibio. Bibio. Doesn’t that just make you feel all bubbly and happy? Yeah? No? Let’s move on…

Once again, Bibio (teehee!) is an artist whose work I am not familiar with in any way, shape or form. Thanks to the twin modern marvels of Wikipedia and music blogs, however, I’ve been able to gather a decent amount of background information about Mr. Wilkinson’s music. Bibio is considered an experimental electronic act, using a wide variety of samples and found sounds, which Wilkinson then incorporates into his own original recordings. Neat, huh? He also recently switched record labels, moving from the LA-based Mush Records to England’s legendary Warp Records, long seen as a pioneering force in the world of electronic music. It looks like Wilkinson and his Bibio project are on the rise.

Ambivalence Avenue is Wilkinson’s second release of the year, following his Vignetting The Compost album back in February. I have not listened to that record, so I can’t compare the two. However, after listening to Ambivalence Avenue, I’m very tempted to go back and check its twin album out. Avenue’s twelve tracks are all winning little slices of retro funk (as heard and recorded by a white British man) or charmingly fuzzy, folksy bursts of acoustic fun. There’s something profoundly sepia-toned about Bibio’s music, insofar as music can have a color. It all just screams “aww, wasn’t the past lovely?”

Of course, with any nostalgia of this type comes a certain degree of sadness and, sure enough, there’s plenty of that subtly permeating Ambivalence Avenue. The clearest example of this is the beautiful, tear-inducing “The Palm Of Your Wave”, which weeps and sighs along with a lilting, minor-key progression. However, most of the songs hide their maudlin nature a bit more, such as “Sugarette”, which uses a moody keyboard riff as the background for some pounding electronic beats and rhythms. Clocking in at barely more than a minute, “All The Flowers” harkens back to the beauty and sadness of the best Beach Boys songs. Actually, the closest relative to Ambivalence Avenue could be the Beach Boys’ longtime songwriting henchman, Van Dyke Parks and his wonderfully odd Song Cycle album.

While there are a multitude of lovely moments on the album, there are also a few that Wilkinson overwhelms with production, crushing their potential. Foremost amongst these is “Fire Ant”, which has the odd distinction of being one of the few songs I find physically painful to listen to. Something about its combination of crisp snare hits and staccato record scratches hits my eardrums in just the wrong way and I literally cannot listen to that song without grimacing in pain. “S’Vive” is another, less extreme example, where a shimmering melody is overrun by jerky electronics and beats. Wilkinson would do better to just let these moments grow naturally, as he does elsewhere on the album, instead of crushing them into sonic oblivion. However, a few moments of physical, auditory agony notwithstanding, Ambivalence Avenue is a very listenable album that has brought a new, potential-filled musician to my attention.

The Best Of 2008, Six Months Later

So, since July has been a strangely slow month for album releases, I’m going to use this newfound free time to post something I’ve wanted to compile for some time: a reappraisal of my favorite albums from last year. This seems all the more appropriate, since we’re now just over halfway through 2009. My purpose behind this is to see how albums I liked a lot way back in December have held up after half a year of re-listening. Below is my original list, posted (on Facebook, since this was pre-blog) on December 3-4. It looked a little something like this:

#1: Third, Portishead
#2: Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!!, Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds
#3: Songs In A&E, Spiritualized
#4: Brighter Than Creation’s Dark, Drive-By Truckers
#5: 808s And Heartbreak, Kanye West
#6: Dear Science, TV On The Radio
#7: Accelerate, R.E.M.
#8: Rising Down, The Roots
#9: Everything That Happens Will Happen Today, Brian Eno/David Byrne
#10: Fleet Foxes, Fleet Foxes
#11: The Slip, Nine Inch Nails
#12: Beat Pyramid, These New Purtians
#13: Saturnalia, The Gutter Twins
#14: Viva La Vida Or Death And All His Friends, Coldplay
#15: The Age Of The Understatement, The Last Shadow Puppets

And now, here’s my updated list. For the most part, things aren't too different, except at the bottom part of the list. I may be the only one who cares about this edit, but…y’know what?...it’s my blog, so shush. Here’s my new, rank-ordered list of favorite albums from 2008:

#1: Third, Portishead
#2: Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!!, Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds
#3: 808s And Heartbreak, Kanye West
#4: Songs In A&E, Spiritualized
#5: Dear Science, TV On The Radio
#6: Brighter Than Creation’s Dark, Drive-By Truckers
#7: Accelerate, R.E.M.
#8: Rising Down, The Roots
#9: Hercules And Love Affair, Hercules And Love Affair
#10: Fleet Foxes, Fleet Foxes
#11: Everything That Happens Will Happen Today, Brian Eno/David Byrne
#12: The Age Of The Understatement, The Last Shadow Puppets
#13: Með suð í eyrum við spilum endalaust, Sigur Rós
#14: Viva La Vida Or Death And All His Friends, Coldplay
#15: You & Me, The Walkmen

Generally, most albums held on to their spots. Portishead and Nick Cave are still holding strong at the top spots. However, I have the following adjustments in placement:

-Kanye moved up two spots, claiming #3. I know many, many people don’t like 808s and still feel thrown for a loop by it’s cold, icy tone and reliance on Auto-Tune. However, as the months have gone by, I’ve grown more and more attached to this album. I see it as one of the bravest mainstream albums of the decade and one that is actually pretty enjoyable to listen to as well.

-TV On The Radio and Drive-By Truckers switched places, moving TVotR into the top 5. Dear Science has simply started to sound better with time, while the Truckers’ album seems a bit less cohesive than I initially thought.

-Fleet Foxes and the Eno/Byrne collaboration also switched, for similar reasons.

-The Last Shadow Puppets also gained a few spots, simply because that album’s awesome. Do I need more reason than that?

The following albums have also been added to this list for the first time:

-Hercules And Love Affair, Hercules And Love Affair: this was an album that I very quickly dismissed and, in retrospect, that was a huge mistake. This group of New York-based dance afficianados somehow reinvented disco as something enjoyable and edgy, eliminating the canned string sections and replacing them with hip electronic beats and a handful of stunning guest appearances from the one-and-only Antony. Very impressive.

- Með suð í eyrum við spilum endalaust, Sigur Rós: everyone’s favorite Icelandic band (sorry Bjork) released an album last year that was very much of a grower for me. Multiple listens were required for my ears to unlock what might be the band’s most pleasant and gentle record to date.

-You & Me, The Walkmen: another album that grew a lot on me over the past six months, this was an album that breathed some life back into the smoldering pile of lost potential that the Walkmen had seemingly become.

Whoa...

Artist: Sunn O)))

Album: Monoliths & Dimensions

Year: 2009

Grade: 3 pretzels

There’s no point denying that being a loyal Pitchfork reader has introduced me to plenty of music that I would have otherwise ignored. Just this year, albums by Dirty Projectors and St. Vincent were two pleasant surprises that I would have probably not listened to had Pitchfork not pointed them out to me with glowing reviews. After reading the site regularly for the past few years, I’ve grown to believe that if they lavish praise on an album, it’s probably for a reason. Rare is the Best New Music honoree that doesn’t have at least something I like about it. However, Sunn O)))’s Monoliths & Dimensions, a terrifying slab of seething black intensity, has proven a challenge for me.

I knew a few snippets of information about the band before listening to this album. I knew they were part of a genre known as “drone metal.” I knew they had a reputation for playing incredibly loud live shows. And I knew they wore really silly black robes on stage. I figured they were just another doom-y metal band, full of shredding and death wails and shit like that. Oh boy, was I wrong. So wrong. The mind boggles at how wrong I was. The following is a visual representation of what I heard when I clicked “play” on the first track of Monoliths & Dimensions:

“CLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG…”

(For those of you who can’t visualize music, here’s an audio clip.)

People weren’t kidding when they described this band as “drone metal.” The majority of the music on the album consists of humongous clusters of notes, played on deeply down-tuned guitars and held for minutes at a time. This is very, very, slower-than-molasses slow music. But don’t think for a minute that Sunn O))) are boring. Those long droning notes are loud as hell and full of so much sludge and distortion, you can almost literally feel your eardrums vibrating. This is not music for the faint of heart.

Once you get past this monolithic wall of noise, Sunn O))) begin introducing the crazier parts of their music. That’s right, crazier. What is crazier than gargantuan piles of pure sonic force, you ask? Well, how about a guy chanting in Hungarian? How about a full choir screaming in the background? How about an orchestra quietly approximating Stravinsky in the corner, sandwiched neatly between guitars number eighteen through twenty-three? Monoliths & Dimensions is full of moments like these, where you realize just what a gigantic scope Sunn O))) are working with. In any other band, all these subtle details (yes, subtle, because even an orchestra seems small compared to these guitars) would seem as pretentious and self-indulgent as is humanly possible. However, this album is so dedicated to being huge that the symphonies and Hungarians somehow sound right at home.

Now…here’s the real question: do I like this album? Honestly, I’m not sure. I do like my music intense and heavy at times, but this is just ridiculous. However, at the same time, I can’t help but be impressed by the seismic hugeness of it all, plus the fact that I’ve never, ever in my life heard music that sounds like this. The only things that come close are some of the work by German industrial rock band/noise terrorists Einstürzende Neubauten and Scott Walker’s rewriting-what-music-can-be opus, The Drift. I like both of those pieces of music. So, logically, I should like Sunn O)))’s Monoliths & Dimensions. However, things aren’t that simple and as I write this, the crazy Hungarian is starting to chant again. So, my opinions on this album are going to be aimed squarely down the middle. This music is too forceful to allow me to have more detailed opinions.

Third Time's The Charm

Artist: The Dead Weather

Album: Horehound

Year: 2009

Grade: 3.5 pretzels

Being in a rock band is usually enough for most people, but it’s not enough for Jack White. He has to be in two or three. A few years ago, White announced that he was taking a brief rest from the White Stripes to form the Raconteurs and now, he’s gone and created a third band, the Dead Weather. This time, he’s partnered with Queens Of The Stone Age sideman Dean Fertita on guitar, mercenary bassist Jack Lawrence of the Raconteurs and singer Alison Mosshart of the Kills, leaving White himself handling the drums. Between these four members, the Dead Weather have a lot of hype to live up to.

Unfortunately, Horehound doesn’t fulfill a lot of that potential, at least on the opening tracks. The album begins with the limp blues of “60 Feet Tall”, which doesn’t seem to ever shift out of first gear, meaning that Horehound is losing momentum before it even starts. The following song (and lead single), “Hang You From The Heavens”, is more lively and exciting, but a bit on the repetitive side. The rest of the album’s first half is dedicated to dirty, bluesy hard rock, most of which is sadly aimless and wandering. Fertita’s time in Queens Of The Stone Age has clearly influenced the direction the Dead Weather are going in, with the fuzzy, gritty bass end and repetitive riffing, but they haven’t quite reached the Queens’ mastery of songwriting yet.

However, Horehound gets new life when it reaches the second half, making it the rare mainstream rock album that isn’t horribly frontloaded with the band’s best material. A savage Dylan cover (“New Pony”) leads into another vicious, paint-peeling rocker in the form of “Bone House”. Both of these songs showcase the power of Mosshart’s stellar rock-chick voice and persona, which any fan of the Kills would attest to. Meanwhile, the band cranks out some solid hard rock grooves, with squealing little guitar flourishes added to the mix. Even more interesting is the semi-instrumental “3 Birds”, which is a rolling, bass-driven experimental piece that sounds more complete and compelling than virtually everything else on the record. One last fiery rock song (“No Hassle Night”) and a lengthy, dark, bluesy duet between Mosshart and White (“Will There Be Enough Water?) conclude the album, ending Horehound on a very high note.

The most interesting thing about the Dead Weather for me is the backseat role Jack White takes. He is, by far, the most famous member of this supergroup and it’s his name that will attract most people to the Dead Weather’s music. However, by restraining himself to the roles of drummer, producer and sometimes-songwriter, he’s managed to keep his hands on the reins of power in the band without creating yet another group whose music sounds like rehashed White Stripes songs. Having Mosshart sing the lion’s share of the material on the album gives the Dead Weather a unique voice and there are many songs on the album that don’t credit White as a songwriter at all. Unlike the Raconteurs, Jack White’s presence in the Dead Weather hasn’t turned them into White Stripes 2.0 and, as soon as they can capitalize on the possibilities suggested by Horehound’s second half, they could be quite the awesome rock band.

Keeping Things Interesting

Artist: St. Vincent

Album: Actor

Year: 2009

Grade: 4 pretzels

Annie Clark seems to be adding her name to the running competition to be the “indie Kate Bush.” The one-woman creative force, who performs under the name St. Vincent, has joined fellow eccentric female artists like Natasha Khan of Bat For Lashes in creating music deeply reminiscent of Bush’s beautiful-yet-very-warped style. However, where Bush’s music distorts its overt femininity and “prettiness” with Bush’s operatic voice and chronic abuse of Fairlight synthesizers, Clark has created a sound that’s much closer to the modern indie scene.

On one hand, Actor is a very pretty album. Clark’s voice is very gentle and lilting and there are lots of violins, oboes and other touches that help craft an air of “calm” music. But then shit gets weird. Otherwise pleasant melodies will suddenly get jolted apart by slashes of electric guitar. Sometimes, the melody lines jig and jag at weird, unexpected angles. And, best of all, some of the songs end up disintegrating all together, best heard on the end of the otherwise forgettable “Black Rainbow”, where a cooing clarinet line is devoured by screeching, atonal violins during its closing third. Just like Kate Bush, Annie Clark has found ways to take lovely sounding music and transform it into something much more attention-grabbing and edgy.

Listening to Actor is an odd experience, since the songs basically defy all attempts to predict where they might go next. The stomping “Actor Out Of Work” balances Clark’s pure voice and poetic lyrics with clanging guitars and a melody line that downshifts dramatically in the middle of each verse. Other songs, like “Marrow”, start like the soundtrack to Cinderella, with lots of sunny keyboard squiggles and bird sounds, before industrial crunching and ominous key changes start taking over. Virtually none of the songs end in the same place they start, meaning that each one features moments of pristine beauty as well as chunks of chaotic noise. It’s a pretty jarring change from the usual female singer-songwriter mold.

As with many experimental indie pop albums, listening to Actor can become a bit of an exhausting listen. With all the zigzags in mood and tone, the album can be a bit difficult to pin down and really enjoy. It never quite gets into one of those grooves that just leaves you rapt with attention. However, the high points are many, from the aforementioned tracks to the rolling rhythms of “Save Me From What I Want”. Annie Clark has come a long way from her beginnings as a member of the Polyphonic Spree and Sufjan Stevens’ backing band. She’s clearly a talented, individualistic songwriter who’s making music very unlike anything anyone else is doing right now.

Iceland Gets Even Calmer

Artist: Riceboy Sleeps

Album: Riceboy Sleeps

Year: 2009

Grade: 3 pretzels

It’s been nice to take a bit of a break over this past 4th Of July weekend (USA! USA!), but it’s time to get back to the grind. There’s music to be listened to, opinions to be formed and snarky comments to be oh-so-wittily posted. Shall we?

I’m only just beginning to understand how polarizing the music of Sigur Rós can be to people. Personally, I had always enjoyed the ambient, Icelandic group, but not to any extreme level. Most of my love for Sigur Rós can be boiled down to listening to the third track from their ( ) album while it’s snowing (which, for those of you who have never tried it, is nothing short of a religious experience). However, it has recently come to my attention just how far many people let their feelings about Sigur Rós go, at both extremes. For every person who gets positively teary eyed at a whisper of their name, there’s another person who detests the band’s ethereal, drifting melodies and more-or-less nonsense lyrics. While I myself am somewhat contentedly in the middle, I’ve learned that people have some very strong opinions of this one, unassuming band (from Iceland, of all places!).

In the middle of all this, we get the debut album from Riceboy Sleeps, an artistic collaboration between Sigur Rós’ Jón Þór Birgisson and his partner Alex Somers. The pair introduced their music with a track on this year’s Dark Was The Night charity compilation, which immediately showed that Riceboy Sleeps’ music was exactly like Sigur Rós…only more so. All the languid tempos are stretched out even further, the dream-like sounds are even more prevalent and whispy and the barely-there-at-all lyrics have receded even further into the background, leaving only a few ghostly, choral coos drifting through the clouds. It’s really amazing to hear music that makes Sigur Rós sound concrete and virtually traditional in comparison.

Needless to say, I’m sure people who love Sigur Rós will adore this album, while those who hate the band will detest it. Riceboy Sleeps bares so many overt similarities to Sigur Rós’ music that separating the two bands is probably not even worth the effort. Clearly, since Birgisson is the common element between the two bands, we can assume that this sound is his creation and he’s dedicated himself to it, no matter who he’s recording with. We can also begin to see concrete examples of what the other members of Sigur Rós bring to the group and what the music sounds like in their absence. Gone are the tribal rhythm patterns and even the crystalline piano figures that characterize much of Sigur Rós’ work. Sigur Rós are one of the smoothest, most gorgeously mellow bands in recent years and Riceboy Sleeps have somehow taken that sound and covered it in a protective layer of pillows.

Personally, as a mid-range Sigur Rós fan, I find Riceboy Sleeps quite pleasant, certainly achingly beautiful, but also a bit boring. The songs seem to lack a lot of internal character to me, which lets each song bleed seamlessly into the next, but also makes it very difficult to differentiate one piece from another. This is great if you want purely ambient music, which can drift gorgeously in the background without drawing attention to itself, but makes direct listening a bit frustrating. Without some of the more traditional elements of Sigur Rós anchoring my attention, I find myself wanting to wander away from Riceboy Sleeps’ music and listen to something else. At their best, Riceboy Sleeps create huge, evolving pieces of noise and melody (“All The Big Trees”), but too often they just let big washes of sound slosh all over the place for ten minutes. I’m sure there are legions of Sigur Rós fans out there who are already tearing up at the very idea of such a thing, but personally, the whole thing makes me more than a little sleepy.

Who's Simon Defending Now?: Michael Jackson

In these weeks that have followed Michael Jackson’s death, I’ve made the mistake of reading a few too many comment boards and blogs with people’s reactions to this whole tragic ordeal. After reading these horrendously insensitive and sometimes downright offensive commentaries, I can hold back my anger no longer. This is definitely the first (and possibly the last) Who’s Simon Defending Now? piece dedicated to an artist who isn’t one of my personal favorites, but if there was ever a musician who needs defending right now, it’s the King of Pop.

I’m absolutely astounded by the number of people who seem indifferent, or even mildly glad that Jackson is dead. One of the most irritating comments I saw was something that popped up on my Facebook newsfeed, as someone had changed their status to “Farah Fawcett (R.I.P)…Michael Jackson (R.I.P…? Maybe not…).” Even if Michael Jackson wasn’t the single most successful and all-encompassing figure in all of music history, these kinds of sentiments show an excruciating lack of empathy and consideration. A man died, tragically, at the very young age of 50. Show some damn respect for human life, people.

Now, I understand why many people aren’t exactly shedding tears for Michael. His exhaustively documented personal problems are something the world has obsessively focused on. For his part, Michael never really helped his case during the past twenty years, since he A) wasn’t releasing very much new material for the world to fawn over and B) kept doing crazy shit. I wouldn’t even dream about trying to argue that Michael Jackson wasn’t a deeply troubled person. There’s no doubt about that. However, I urge people to separate the art from the artist. Jackson’s musical legacy is nothing short of god-like and a good dose of basic human empathy should help people overcome their image of Jackson as nothing more than a freak with a weird nose.

Jackson’s career, of course, started with his family and the Jackson 5. We all know how alternatively adorable and awesome they were. However, when you look at the facts about Michael’s family life, it’s amazing he wasn’t even stranger in his adult years. He endured a horrendous amount of abuse at the hands of his father, who basically did not allow his children to have any degree of a normal life. Plus, Michael’s childhood was spent traveling the country and playing shows with his brothers, who were, of course, much older than him. What kind of lifestyle do you think a band full of young men in a popular band are going to have? For young Michael, he grew up pretty damn fast (too fast, if you ask me).

Where most people would simply go insane at this point, Michael Jackson somehow kept his shit together long enough to launch the most successful solo career in the history of music. Off The Wall, Thriller, Bad, Dangerous…the list of Jackson’s earth-shattering albums goes on and on. These are titles that evoke pop music at its most powerful and, in the case of Thriller, the most popular album in the entire history of music. Over 100 million copies of Thriller have been sold world-wide. One-hundred million. Nothing else even comes close.

Besides recording some of the most successful albums of all time, Jackson’s solo career also features some incredible, peerless music that has gone on to influence an endless list of genres. Songs like “Billie Jean” are famous for a reason: they’re ridiculously good songs. I don’t care who you are or how much you deny it; you get shivers when you hear that bassline. With all of his songs packaged within revolutionary music videos, Jackson pioneered how music could be presented to the public. Of course, without Jackson, there would be no modern hip-hop or R&B as we know them today. The entire face of pop music would be different, virtually unrecognizable and infinitely less soulful. His magical voice redrew what pop music could be.

But that music isn’t what many people remember. What people remember is the endless debate about whether he sexually abused children. People remember the sloppy Photoshop pictures online that exaggerated Michael’s physical surgery. People remember a pop culture caricature, so far removed from anything they could relate to that they forgot he was an actual person. Yes, Michael Jackson was a very weird person and yes, there is a chance that he abused children. To say otherwise is just denial. We may never know the actual truth about most of Jackson’s very mysterious life. But, no matter who he was or what he did, the music Michael Jackson left behind is something that should be embraced above all else. I’m so glad to see people all over the world doing that already, as Jackson’s albums have flooded the charts for the first time in decades. To me, this is the most appropriate way to honor the legacy of one of the all-time greats in music. Don’t focus on his personal problems. Don’t ignore them, but take them in stride and, if you can, try to feel some empathy for this man who survived a brutal childhood of his own. Then, put on Off The Wall, start dancing and don’t stop ‘til you get enough.

Averting Disaster

The soundtrack to my formative, early high school years was grunge music, that murky, emotionally intense strain of hard rock from my very own Seattle, WA. However, the odd thing about listening to grunge around 2005 and 2006 was the realization that all this great music was already a decade old. Grunge clawed its way into the mainstream with terrifying speed, but it also vanished off the map just as quickly. Cobain’s death in 1994 was the beginning of the end, Soundgarden’s Down On The Upside in 1996 is what I count as the last true grunge album (sorry Pearl Jam) and the whole era was finally over in 2002 when Alice In Chains’ iconic singer, Layne Staley, was found dead in his home. For such a powerful genre of music, grunge’s death was pretty damn ugly.

So, imagine my flurry of conflicted emotions when I discovered that Alice In Chains were releasing a new album this year and premiered the album’s first single yesterday. The idea of any incarnation of AIC without Staley seems beyond ridiculous, since he was the band’s heart, soul and figurehead. The band’s choice for a new frontman, William DuVall, has proven himself to be a capable stand-in during AIC’s recent string of live appearances, but all he was ever asked to do for those shows was imitate Layne. Now, with this upcoming album, DuVall is being asked to creatively replace one of the most beloved frontmen in rock history. I’m more than a little cynical about his chances.

However, some of that cynicism has begun to sink away after hearing AIC’s new single, “A Looking In View”. While the song certainly has some problems, it’s infinitely better than anything I was expecting. Big, loud and heavy as hell, it certainly slides comfortably into the AIC oeuvre. DuVall’s voice merges very nicely with guitarist Jerry Cantrell’s, creating a sound very reminiscent of Layne’s work with the band. The crunching rhythm section of bassist Mike Inez and drummer Sean Kinney is as reliable as ever. In many ways, the song…dare I say it…sounds exactly like an Alice In Chains song should sound.

Of course, the song has absolutely no reason for being seven minutes long. It repeats itself to the point of insanity and doesn’t have much of a build to it at all. AIC released several long songs (six-plus minutes) on their albums and all of them have more ebb and flow than “A Looking In View”. However, I feel like these are small details to quibble over. The fact is that Alice In Chains have returned, somehow, in a form that isn’t a complete disgrace to their legacy and the memory of Layne Staley. Jerry Cantrell has proven that he can still write excellent hard rock and William DuVall’s presence on this new material hasn’t seemed blasphemous yet. I eagerly await their upcoming album, titled Black Gives Way To Blue, set for a September 29 release.