Oh, Sub Pop. For one of the best record labels in the world, your fans have pretty closed minds. You started out as the masters of innovation in the ‘80s, putting out Nirvana’s first record two years before they changed pop music and inventing indie-rock clichés before they came to define the best music of the 21st century. Over time, you’ve become one of the best, although less innovative, labels around, producing great acts like Beach House and Avi Buffalo. So, yes, your status as a guitar-rock label has won you fans, critical love, and cred. What happens when you try to expand your horizons?
Well, if the reaction to Sub Pop’s newly-signed act Spoek Mathambo influences them, I wouldn’t say Sub Pop is going to try something new anytime soon. Their Youtube video for “Put Some Red on It,” the best song on Mathambo’s new record, has 69 likes and 55 dislikes. For a Youtube video, that’s the equivilant of a bomb. Commenters say it’s awful. Commenters say it’s out of tune. Commenters say it’s the worst thing Sub Pop has ever released. Commenters don’t know what they’re talking about.
To be fair, later Mathambo videos on the Sub Pop channel have higher ratings, but the initial reaction says a lot about indie culture. Why do the same people who praise Beach House for being different than the mainstream attack “Put Some Red on It” for being different? Father Creeper is an extremely well-done album, one that experiments with sounds in a way that other Sub Pop acts would never dare to. I do love plenty of Sub Pop bands, but they don’t exactly have a wide-range. Even Avi Buffalo, who I considered the best new group of 2010, tend to stick to a specific sound. Spoek Mathambo, meanwhile, does so many different things on Father Creeper that it seems like a career-spanning compilation album. Even pinning down a genre is tough. It’s, for the most part, an electro album, but it’s also rap, and there’s an absence of electronic drums. And there are guitars. Lots of guitars.
The opening track, “Kites,” is confusing. It’s rock, electro, and rap’s love child, and that love child is bi-polar. At five-minutes long, this track leaves a lot of room to grow on you during your first listen. I quickly became accustomed to the sound at around two-minutes in and, by the end of it, I’d already gotten to love the originality and sound of the song. It’s followed by “Venison Fingers” which, despite being shorter (two minutes and forty seconds), has a lot of dynamics that are easy to miss on your first listen.
Strange dynamics and mixing of styles can often turn out to be a mess. Like a lot of things in music, this type of experimentation can often seem like an attempt at tricking the audience, and getting them to see you as an innovator. Spoek Mathambo does it well, though, because his lyrical themes (often very dark and disturbing, as on the closing track, “Grave”) and vocals fit the bizarreness. This isn’t an album that is weird for the sake of weird; it’s weird because it wouldn’t work any way else. Every song has meaning and, for once, the sound is shaped by the meaning, and not the other way around.
Sub Pop will probably continue putting out some of the best guitar music around, and I applaud them for that. But, Father Creeper shows that they’re capable of more. Maybe, eventually, the next big thing will, once again, get their start at Sub Pop.
Michael Ondaatje’s Coming Through Slaughter tells a story centered around the life of Buddy Bolden, the cornet player accredited with starting jazz. This dark and nebulous novel obscures what it makes clear. We become aware of the world of music to an artist whose every note seemed wrenched out of his soul.
Why is Buddy Bolden a great artist? No recordings exist of him. Rather it is the impetus behind his music, the way that he strove not for mimesis but for originality. The sweat-stained, dank, smelly world of New Orleans was his home. He did not question what he loved.
So what does this have to do with The Pines? This band originates from the endlessly flat Midwest, its stark cornfields and blue skies. The Midwest by many artists has been considered a place without identity. Poet Amy Clampitt wrote that it offered “no sense of inwardness.” And yet its bigness, its sense of possibility, has allowed for a sort of Midwestern Renaissance in recent years. The music ofThe Pines is no exception. They have developed their own sense of originality, rooted in their unquestioned need to love what they love.
Their music ties into something vast and ancient and haunting. One song references Orion aiming an arrow at “the heart of a scarecrow,” while another creates a sense of a mythical time blending with the contemporary with lines such as “Before I was born I could hear you calling my name.” “I buckle my shoes like a pilgrim,” sing frontmen Benson Ramsey and David Huckfelt, “and make my way to the highway.”
Clearly the stories of these songs are told in out-of-the-way places: people seem to fall in love in meadows as the great spirit rises over a cathedral, or in the silhouette of silos amidst wreathes of smoke. They might leave their lovers in the middle of night to pursue archetypes that could be considered Native American, such as the proverbial crow that encompasses the album’s first song.
This is an album you could fall asleep to as well as listen to during the most intense moments of your life. Its sense of quiet emergency encompasses both tender and violent melancholy. “I’m not asking for much, just your meadowsweet touch,” goes a song, and then, “My head’s in your branches, I’ve squandered my chances.”
This blend of indie, folk-rock, and Americana can excite a wide range of audiences. The rural backdrop of ghosts and slowly-disappearing farms creates a world where time doesn’t seem to exist, where we watch it slowly disappearing away from us like a vein. It creates a dream-like and yet authentic America, the America of Robert Frost’s poetry or of every other driver on the highway. You will listen to this music; you will fall in love.
For a while I thought that I had made them up in a dream. I first listened to “Cry, Cry, Crow” on an old dirt road in North Carolina driving sixty miles per hour. I hadn’t eaten in a while and I was so tired I was scared to blink for fear of driving off the road. Then the song ended and I was sure I had imagined it. It was that good.
Bonnie Raitt is an interesting artist, albeit one I’ve often been critical of. She began recording in the early ‘70s, and became a critical darling with albums like Give It Up and Takin’ My Time. Over time, she became more commercially successful and, by 1990, she had an album at the top of the charts. Still, even with the critical acclaim and the public love, I’ve often been wary of Raitt. Her new album, however, may be the best she’s ever released.
On Slipstream, Raitt’s new record, she seems very comfortable, mixing country and blues as well as she ever has. Something’s different, though. I didn’t really understand what I found so appealing about this album until, while listening to it, I got into a conversation with my mom about Lucinda Williams. When we were done talking, I realized how much Slipstream sounds like Gravel Road-era Williams. When I made that comparison, the album made a lot more sense to me.
Raitt covers two Bob Dylan songs on Slipstream: “Million Miles” “Standing in the Doorway.” The Dylan covers are what everybody’s talking about, and for a good reason. Dylan covers don’t seem to be prevalent as much as they used to so, when somebody pulls one off, it’s magical. Not only do her covers sound good, though, but they’re also fitting. “Million Miles” and “Standing in the Doorway” were two highlights of Time Out of Mind, Dylan’s comeback album after years of disappointments. If Raitt didn’t know she was recording her best album in years (or, as far as I’m concerned, ever), she wouldn’t have picked such perfect choices.
Slipstream does have its flaws, though. Over-length is the biggest problem. Complaining about over-length is annoying, I know, but if a 12-track album is going to be 57 minutes long, it has to prove every one of those minutes worthwhile. Take Dr. John, who just put of the best album of his career (and the first perfect album of 2012). Whenever a song on that album went over the four minute mark, it felt like it deserved to. The songs on Slipstream too often feel like they’re over-staying their welcome, especially “Ain’t Gonna Let You Go,” the least memorable track on the album and one that, for some reason, is nearly six minutes long.
Still, when you get past the length, Slipstream is quite an enjoyable record. Raitt feels right at home, and her confidence with the material shows. Best track: “Marriage Made in Hollywood.”
No band in the history of rock has come up with as many consecutive winners as Sonic Youth. Sure, there have been better bands, but the ones that come to mind were either short lived (The Velvet Underground) or suffered a drop in quality (The Rolling Stones). Sonic Youth, however, have released thirteen incredible albums in a row, over the course of twenty-three years. (They also don’t seem to have aged at all… is it possible that they are involved in the occult?) They began their career as an indistinctive no-wave band but, with the release of Evol, they managed to find the perfect mix of melody and noise. Their last album, The Eternal, was among the best releases of 2009, proving that it is possible for a group to seem fresh that late in their career. Certainly they would keep going, right?
Well, last year was marked by two sad events for anybody who loves alternative rock: R.E.M. broke up, and SY’s husband-wife duo Thurston Moore and Kim Gordon separated. The band has expressed doubt over whether they’ll ever record another album again. With R.E.M, it’s a bit easier to take. R.E.M. hasn’t released a really memorable album since New Adventures in Hi-Fi, and it’s very possible that Michael Stipe could put out a better solo album than Collapse into Now. With Sonic Youth, though, it just seems sad. Is it possible that the group that dominated the ‘80s, the ‘90s, and the ‘00s might not record again?
Even sadder is the fact that, judging by what the band members have released, they’re nowhere near as good solo as they are together. Thurston Moore’s Demolished Thoughts, released last year, was an acoustic album that, despite being pretty, didn’t have many great songs attached to it. Kim Gordon (my favorite woman in music, ever) has another band called Free Kitten, a group that is like Wings to Sonic Youth’s Beatles. Meanwhile, Lee Ranaldo has often gone the experimental route, with spoken word and free-jazz influenced noise albums. His latest album, Between the Times & the Tides, is less experimental, however. In fact, very little of the noise that Sonic Youth is known for shows here. It’s really quite bland.
But, it’s more than bland. I didn’t care for Demolished Thoughts (a lot of people liked it), but I listened to it before Thurston and Kim split. While listening to Demolished Thoughts, I wasn’t thinking about it as the only option. It was just a solo album and, if it wasn’t really my taste, I could always wait for Sonic Youth’s next album. Here, any Sonic Youth fan concerned about the group’s future will listen wondering, what if this is all we have? And, in that case, Between the Times & the Tides is depressing as hell. It’s not awful; it’s not even bad, really. But, if this is what we have left, then it’s just not enough. The band needs each other.
But, breakups are tough, and it’s easy to see why ex-spouses would be wary about being in a band together. So, if Sonic Youth never records together again, this is what we’ve got. Between the Times & the Tides is a soft album (like Demolished Thoughts) that is more about sound than songs. In fact, the songs rarely lift off, typically staying in one area. When I played The Pains of Being Pure at Heart’s first album for a friend, he said that, although he liked indie music, it rarely climaxed and tended to stay at a nice but sterile level. I disagree with that perception when applied to The Pains of Being Pure at Heart but, when applied here, I can see it. This album is nice, but that’s all it is.
It does harbor one excellent song, though: “Lost,” which does everything correctly, while staying true to the album’s concept. It even has a chorus! So, I’d say that Sonic Youth fans should definitely listen to the album, if only for that one track. Who knows? You may even like the whole thing. Other critics seem to.
What do you think of when you hear the name Foxy Shazam? I imagine a magic trick, or maybe a flashy dance move or perhaps a radical explicative. Foxy Shazam are all of these things as rock and roll incarnate. They are here to remind the world what rock and roll is: a loud boisterous rumpus of emotions.
These guys are clearly inspired by AC/DC, Queen and The Darkness. If you’ve seen live footage it is clear their lead singer Eric Sean Nally is striving to be the reincarnation of Freddie Mercury. The myth is that he’ll eat lit cigarettes whole onstage. He howls like a maniac, putting his entire life into his high-pitched squelch. He’s got a voice and knows what to do with his vocal chords: GO LOUD. In fact, everything about this band is loud. The guitars are loud. The drums are loud. Foxy Shazam is like a Michael Bay movie but for music. They fly in fast cars, guns blazing and heads screeching.
Their newest album, Church of Rock & Roll, brings it. They’re not trying to convince you of anything or to be political or to teach a lesson. The Church of Rock & Roll is all about digging in and embracing rock. A lot of it is nonsensical. The lead single’s chorus shouts, “That’s the biggest black ass I’ve ever seen, I LIKE IT I LIKE IT” but through its nonsense a listener can’t help but sing along.
Church of Rock & Roll could be described as a history lesson. It is trudging on a same track traveled before. Theatrical triumph “The Streets” echoes sentiments of positive entrapment in an attempt to garner a streetwise credibility. We’ve heard this song before, written by different artists but declaring the same vibe. And while “I Wanna Be Yours” and “Last Chance At Love” are sentimental and dubiously catchy, they’re rock anthems of yesteryear, still worthwhile but not-so original. The most genuine song on the album is “Forever Today” as a promise from Nally to his son who doesn’t understand the demands of the rock n’ roll lifestyle.
I wonder if Foxy Shazam is real. In many ways Shazam is just a conglomeration of the history of rock n’ roll. They’re not bringing anything brand new to the genre but bringing it back to life. Foxy is a good enough revival. A spectacle and a rumpus and a purely good time.
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