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.

Who's Simon Defending Now?: The Auteurs

The Auteurs are another one of those bands that I feel have never received their proper acclaim and dues. At least over here, in America, this has something to do with them being English. I’ve never fully understood this, but Americans have some kind of deathly aversion to anything that exudes “English-ness” and the Auteurs do more than exude it. They openly, proudly flaunt it. However, the Auteurs most defining (and often alienating) characteristic is frontman Luke Haines’ irrepressible fury towards the world. Thanks to Haines, the Auteurs were one of the most vindictive, lacerating bands of their time.

However, the beauty of the Auteurs is that they rarely sound angry. For the most part, their songs have a certain English pleasantness, a gentle acoustic kind of lull that would be rather comforting if it didn’t come with some brutally sharp lyrical barbs attached. In other words, to borrow a phrase from their “Chinese Bakery”, their aesthetic was like saying “excuse me while I’m tearing off your head.” Haines would also disguise his bitter screeds in some of the most obtuse, dense lyricism around. I challenge you to figure out the meaning behind “some missionary said that this week we’ve got to shoot all the dancing girls and replace them with satellites instead.”

The Auteurs formed at a time when English songwriting was going through a momentary renaissance. The early 1990s saw the emergence of Blur’s Damon Albarn, Oasis’ Gallagher brothers and Pulp’s one-and-only Jarvis Cocker. With Haines’ carefully constructed lyrics and prominent accent, he was immediately lumped into that camp. But while those other songwriters went on to create Britpop in the following years, Haines took great lengths to distance himself from his supposed peers. He spent most of his time in the press whining at great length about how Britpop was ruining music. Perhaps his greatest piece of pop music criticism is the song “Lenny Valentino”, an impossibly dense, vague assault upon hipsters and the sense of knowing “cool” they surround themselves with. His curmudgeonly nature even got so bad that, at one point, he jumped off a wall, breaking his legs just so he wouldn’t have to go on tour. Haines is probably best described as “difficult.”

Even with all his moaning and bitching, Haines found time to guide his band through a series of peerless albums, meaning he actually put his proverbial money where his proverbial mouth was. Their 1993 debut album, New Wave, introduced the world to their prickly-but-gentle sound, best heard on the fuzzy “Show Girl”. The next year, they followed that album with the louder, angrier Now I’m A Cowboy, which kicked off with “Lenny Valentino” before the band careened through another ten songs that explored the darker, most bitter corners of Haines’ mind. Songs featured grin-inducing titles like “I’m A Rich Man’s Toy” and “New French Girlfriend”. The album also gained much from the prominent role played by cellist James Banbury, allowing the Auteurs to add a unique twist to the otherwise formulaic sound of British rock.

By 1995, Haines had pissed enough people off that commercial success wasn’t really a viable goal. So, being a calm, rational thinker, he decided to go find the one person more angry and cynical that himself to produce their next record: Steve Albini, of Big Black fame. One can only imagine what those recording sessions were like. However, the resulting album, After Murder Park, pushed the band even further in the direction they’d been threatening to go. Suddenly with vicious music to match the lyrics, After Murder Park is a deeply unfriendly record. Highlights include the snide “Light Aircraft On Fire” and the hilariously casual “Unsolved Child Murder”. I mean, with a title like that, you know it’s gonna be a killer.

Haines would finally end the band following Murder Park. He went on to create an album inspired by the Baader Meinhof terrorists in Germany (surprised?) before settling into a much more accessible style with Black Box Recorder. In 1999, he got the old gang together again for one last record, the mostly unnecessary How I Learned To Love The Bootboys. Although it has moments of interest, such as the electro beat-flavored “The Rubettes”, the album lacked the punch and bite of the first three. That trilogy stands as Haines’ greatest contribution to music history. Alternately lovely and spiteful, the Auteurs have created an unsung legacy of tremendously strong music. However, I know I’m not the only one who thinks so. Haines has said for years that he expects his music to be rediscovered by future generations and recognized for how great it really is. While you may not get many points for humility in my book, Mr. Haines, I sure hope you’re right.

What The Fuck?!

Artist: Tinted Windows

Album: Tinted Windows

Year: 2009

Grade: 3 pretzels

Seriously, though, what the fuck? Tinted Windows are a band that simply refuses to make sense. They are the most inexplicable supergroup in the history of music and I feel I can say that without anyone challenging me. Their lineup spans way too many genres of music, starting with ex-Smashing Pumpkins guitarist James Iha, adding Fountains Of Wayne bassist Adam Schlesinger and Cheap Trick drummer Bun E. Carlos (huh?!), before finally culminating with none other than Taylor Hanson. That’s right, the middle Hanson brother is the singer. With Tinted Windows, we have four people who have no business being in the same room, let alone forming a band together. Plus, who in their right mind would name a band “Tinted Windows?” The jokes practically write themselves.

Except, somehow, this album doesn’t suck. I refuse to call it good, but I can say, with complete assurance, that it doesn’t suck. Or, rather, it fails at sucking. Somehow, these four mismatched musicians have managed to come together and create a fun, harmless little album of sparkly power-pop. Is the music revolutionary? Oh god no. But that’s clearly not Tinted Windows’ goal. All they want to do is have fun, play some bright rock music and get people smiling and dancing. By keeping their goals that simple, they manage to accomplish them. Tinted Windows are only trying to do one thing. Thank god they can do it well.

Tinted Windows is an album driven completely by formula. Every song is built on a sturdy pop guitar riff, which is then built up into a dense, buzzing power-pop anthem. All the tempos are more-or-less the same. The lyrics are basically interchangeable, drawing from the traditional songbook of boy-girl interactions. I know these sound like bad things, but that’s the charm of power-pop. It’s a genre that’s never claimed to be anything more than feel-good music for jumping around and driving. With all their cooing and “whoa-oh” choruses, Tinted Windows have tapped into that vibe and exploited it for all it’s worth.

The secret weapon in the band is Iha and his sharp guitar. Without his buzz-saw riffs (ex. “Messing With My Head”) taking up the majority of the space on each song, this album would fall flat. It would sound as routine and lifeless as the rest of the power-poppy guitar songs flooding the air waves. But with something as simple as some strong guitar, Tinted Windows have lifted themselves…ever so slightly…over the ranks of their peers. They’ve delivered a strong, well-played album of harmless songs, perfect for driving to beaches in the summer. It won’t change the world, but that’s ok.

State Of The Pretzel Logic: April

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

In terms of album review changes:

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

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

Love Songs Gone Wrong

Artist: Camera Obscura

Album: My Maudlin Career

Year: 2009

Grade: 4 pretzels

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

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

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

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

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