How's the tempo of the music, friend? Suit ya?

Doing his best impression of a Steve Kindlon yearbook photo.

Whenever an established artist changes gears stylistically, it tends to draw criticism from even the most loyal fans. Whether it be Bob Dylan picking up an electric guitar, Neil Young throwing everyone a curveball for the majority of a decade, or, more recently, J. Tillman donning the moniker Father John Misty (foreshadowing?), they are invariably met with some degree of resistance from the existing fan base.

Some people chalk this phenomenon up to the artist "losing it" or selling out. Others adhere to the less cynical and more interesting proposal of Advanced Genius Theory, which posits that some artists are such geniuses that they eventually transcend the tastes and understanding of the rest of society. As an ardent John Frusciante fanboi, I choose to believe the latter, and I am singling out his 2012 EP Letur-Lefr as the turning point of his Advancement.

Good thing he's a musician and not a painter.

The album opens with "In Your Eyes". Its bright, warbly intro reminds me of Frusciante's earlier solo album To Record Only Water For Ten Days, but much more polished and 3-dimensional. Rather than trying to hide the drum machine, he emphasizes it and makes full use of its abilities. Where he used to simulate synth-like tones and melodies with his guitar, he now unabashedly employs actual synthesizers. The most dramatic difference since TROWFTD is John's vastly improved vocal abilities. His trademark falsetto is in full force, accompanied here by back-up vocals from his wife, Nicole Turley (surprised I didn't say Josh?). The song changes gears halfway through, devolving into an electronic schizophrenic break-beat, before regaining composure. Fear not, guitar aficionados, there are licks to be had here, although they are low in the mix to start, but then gain prominence towards the end of the track.

The next song "909 Day" is the first hint of Wu-Tang influence on this EP, mostly drawing from Rza's trademark production prowess. John chops up vocal samples from films over quick flashes of rap vocals contributed by Rza, Leggezin Fin, Masia One (perhaps the most famous Canadian-Singaporean female rapper), and Kinetic 9. Rarely does he allow an MC to spit out a complete line, rather he pans from lyric to lyric. Clearly, he's treating the voice here just like any other instrument (a philosophy that I tend to be a proponent of). All this is bound together by a simple but beautiful synth melody that builds as the song goes on. Similarly, "Glowe" is a brief interlude track that combines trademark Frusciante tones with a frenetic drum-track and hand-claps. This all gives way to a synthesizer freak-out halfway through. This track, like the entire EP, really lends itself to headphones. There's so much going on here that it's nearly impossible to fully digest it on the first listen. Half-spoken vocals and hints of sound effects are sprinkled throughout.

The fourth track, "FM", is where John truly pays homage to Rza. The song begins with the latter's trademark sped up vocal samples (in this case, some creepy operatic caterwauling) and a raw, pounding drum-track. John manages to deftly parlay this intro into a familiar-sounding synth motif, providing a unique backdrop for the three-headed MC monster of Rza, Kinetic 9, and Rugged Monk to paint over. Rugged Monk and Kinetic 9 are basically Wu-Tang second cousins. Their brief, off-the-cuff rhymes are a fitting reminder of how many talented lyricists are operating outside of the mainstream. The real treats on this track are John's back-up vocals and the grooving guitar track that he lays down in the background. To me, it sounds like his interpretation of early-90s gangster rap guitar parts (see Dre, Dr.) Don't be disappointed in yourself if you missed it the first time, like the rest of Letur-Lefr this track is hard to completely digest in one sitting. For example, it took me a few listens to catch the sample movie line: "How's the tempo of the music, friend? Suit ya? Here's a melody just for you! One of my favorite tunes...", which seems to be a sarcastic jab at any potential detractors of his new-found musical direction.

The EP draws to a close with the more traditional-solo-Froosh sounds of "In My Light". This song features John's best vocals of the album. A swirling synth melody morphs into a funky, head-bobbing breakdown, before giving way to standard JF mainstays: hand-claps and gorgeous falsettos. John gracefully mixes in vocal samples and little guitar pieces to accent the main track. John described this track as the musical prequel to the album's first track, "In Your Eyes", into which it flows rather nicely. This Ouroboros-like construction causes Letur-Lefr to lend itself to repeated, looping listens; as does the short run-time.

To those of you who have listened to Letur-Lefr's full-length follow-up LP, PBX Funicular Intaglio Zone, it shouldn't be surprising that these tracks were recorded during the same sessions. Where Letur-Lefr hints at the direction John was headed at the time, PBX is a full indulgence. John explains that, during the recording of these albums, he finally became proficient enough with creating music from an electronic standpoint, whereas earlier he was still approaching music from a guitar-centric rock-based standpoint (to great effect, in my opinion). This may explain why the sound of these albums can be so jarring for die hard Froosh fans. Although he has always dabbled with electronic elements, such as on Shadows Collide With People and the 2004 collaboration with Josh Klinghoffer, A Sphere in the Heart of Silence, he was always approaching song construction as a rock guitarist. Now, John has full reign over a gamut of electronic instruments and production techniques, as well as the experience and knowledge to create his own musical structures that are no longer dependent on or derivative of traditional rock themes.

Frusciante calls his new music "progressive synth pop" (see the master-level essays on his website for a much more in-depth description of his process) which is an apt label as any, but fear not, he can still make sweet consensual love to guitar. His recent 10-minute guitar solo "Wayne" is a prime example of this. Reminiscent of Eddie Hazel on "Maggot Brain", John squeezes every bit of emotion out of his Fender as a tribute to his dead friend, Wayne Forman. Personally, I hope that John continues to grow and explore new musical techniques, but at the same time, it would be a terrible waste if he didn't occasionally tear it up on six strings, for old time's sake.

Like many people, I've always enjoyed a variety of musical styles. This eclecticism was rapidly accelerated with the aid of the internet. We're pretty much spoiled by the vast universe of music that is at our fingertips. Very few artists are able to become masters in multiple disciplines, but maybe technology can also accelerate an artist's advancement. There are so many tools and reference materials out there now to draw upon, that I can't help but think that a creative trajectory like John's may only be possible in our modern times. I hope he continues to explore new styles and techniques, while staying true to the soulful sounds that make his music so intoxicating and addictive. I'm very interested to see, two decades from now, whether John's recent albums are perceived as ahead of their time or unusual missteps. Based on pure fanboi optimism, I'm betting on the former; and if his own description of his upcoming album Outsides is accurate, John's music will continue to transform itself in bold new ways, while staying true to the pure, impish love of sound that makes him great.

Final Score: .88 Animals

John looking comfortable and relaxed with some more melanin-rich friends.

Freshly Poured Pavement

        My mother told me that when I was young chap I had a tendency to say "no" to everything immediately, even if it was something highly desirable for an eight year old. Whether it was ice cream before dinner, a trip to the comic book store or three hours in the torture dungeon a "nay" would fly out of my mouth before she even finished asking the question. As someone who works with children, this is a phenomenon I am thankful to see is not limited to me. After seeing it happen repeatedly throughout the years, it seems to stem from a power struggle. Kids want to be the ones who make the decisions, without having an adult fully script their life at all times. As grown ups, we have the freedom of choice desired by those younger versions of ourselves so we have to figure out a way to rebel in new ways. We say "no" to suggestions we know to be good ones, unlike the children who just say it for the sake of control. This is the best justification I can come up with for friends of mine not immediately becoming full fledged addicts when listening to the Silver Jews American Water.
        The best and more inevitable part? Eventually, it always happens. It's like the kid who realizes he just said no to ice cream and has to weasel his way back. Now, don't get me wrong, I can understand why this album is a little harder to swallow than three scoops of Ben and Jerry's. Friends of mine always seem to be fans of the components that make up the Silver Jews (Pavement, alt-country rock, weirdly fantastic lyrics) but initially they are unable to take the leap. The band is certainly not made to grab your attention with radio friendly melodies and choruses. No matter how much you fight it though, it's a slow, infectious process that will happen. The only question remaining is when the freefall begins.

        None of this is to say that the album shouldn't take a while to get into. Formed at around the same time as Pavement, the SJs have put out six albums.  American Water is their third, released in 1998. Their sound is rarely quantifiable or duplicated, thanks in large part to a rotating cast of members rocketing into the mid twenties with David Berman being the only constant. The key for this body of work is the combination of Steve Malkmus and Berman at a time when no idea seemed too strange to say "no" to. 

        Admittedly, I'm not huge on lyrics. Great lines tend to stick out to me here or there but for the most part, I'm drawn in and entrenched based on the music. Lyrics become a fun little after dinner mint for me. This record, however, may be one of the few in my entire collection that is equally balanced in terms of why I appreciate it. The quirky yet strangely personal lyrical poetry of Berman in combination with the country-funk-shuffle crafted by Malkmus, Tim Barnes, Mike Fellows and Chris Stroffolino is a concoction crafted by the finest of sorcerers. These are not songs aimed at being hit singles (even the actual single, "Send in the Clouds" stretches five and half minutes and has a long guitar jam at the end). But good luck getting the rhythms, phrases and imagery out of your consciousness.

        "Random Rules", the first track, delivers on all fronts. Opening with the wonderfully evocative line "In 1984, I was hospitalized for approaching perfection", the band travels along on a country ditty supported with a fine horn section as Berman attempts to get a woman to simultaneously sleep with him and stay loyal to her would-be husband. From there we are given the spaghetti western, "Smith & Jones Forever", that I swear won't get stuck in my head each time I listen to it. At this I fail, every time. 

         Lest you worry that you won't be able to relate due to the high level of country, "Night Society" slips in as my personal favorite instrumental track of all time. It's little more than two minutes of a jam, cut out and placed surreptitiously in a prime spot on the album. Guitars dance upon each other as I pray each time that I've listened to it enough to unlock the special, ten minute version that surely exists somewhere in the ether. From there, it transitions into "Federal Dust" which has almost a coffee shop poetry-reading feel to it as the two singers meld semi-spoken word verses. "People" on the other hand, is downright sexy with it's strangely danceable groove. You'll catch yourself shimmying to it and wonder how in the world you got there. 

         The creatively strange lyrics ("Oil paintings of x-rated picnics") continue to be the brilliant glue that hold each of these genres and song structures together, but guitar plays a prominent role as well. "Blue Arrangements" has Malkmus doing some of his finest noodling while the aforementioned "Send in the Clouds" let's loose at the end, turning into a Pavement-esque nonsense shout-along as guitars weave alongside. Not one to leave you without a quintessential "mouth guitar part" suited for your finest oral impersonations, "Buckingham Rabbit" uses a repeated phrase that's immediately accessible and impossible to forget. 

       With two powerhouse songwriters/musicians working together to create such beauty, it's obvious that they must have learned to stifle the tendency to say "no". That's the kind of thing that seems to have a hard time being sustained for an extended period of albums. Though there are three other Silver Jews records these two worked on together, it never quite coalesced as well as it did here on American Water. 

Hold tight my lass, things are about to get weird.

       In the pursuit of all things honest and true, I have a confession to make. I was one of those "no" holdouts myself. It took me years to get comfortable with this album, despite the protests of those who knew better. Whether it was a holdout from my childhood years or just the tendency of many music fans to want to "find" something on their own, it took me much longer than necessary to discover what a gem I had in this record. So, who am I to judge? Give it a listen. If you don't like it, give it another listen and another until someday you realize the same thing we all do. Resistance up to a point is acceptable, but inevitably it's futile.  My hope would be that a day may come when I (or you) learn that saying "yes" isn't always such a bad thing after all. 

Final Score: .95 You're Living All Over Me's

Albert Hammond Sr. Spawning a Keeper

       "Hit or miss" is a term that purportedly dates back to the early 1600s. It's safe to assume King James VI of Scotland used it as a phrase when justifying his daily witch hunts. For me, it couldn't be more appropriate than when used to describe the solo projects by members of bands you enjoy. What works as a collaboration of minds and styles isn't always going to work on an individual level. Most musicians seem to THINK they have the ability to write their own stuff, but clearly this is not always the case. Perhaps they feel the band isn't giving them enough creative input, with the band headed in a direction the individual isn't happy with. Invariably, most members will someday join a side project or front their own band, especially in an age when it's so easy to release music. "Hit or miss" seems to have been coined as a way to define how these experiments work out. Sometimes you're the witch and sometimes you're the manancial ruler of a sovereign land killing those that supposedly practice the dark arts.

A serene Looney Toons landscape.

      Keeping all of this in mind, and knowing how much control the lead singer of The Strokes seemed to exert on his band, I wasn't sure what to think upon the 2006 release of Albert Hammond Jr.'s Yours to Keep. At the time, Albert had the distinction of being a famous son, and one of the founding five members of The Strokes.  As a big fan of his parent band, I knew he contributed excellent lead and rhythm guitar parts, enjoyed wearing his guitar at a seemingly uncomfortable height and rocked an excellent 'fro that my own curly hair never had the fortitude to reach. Plus, Guitar Moves sat down with him and outed him for his trademark windmill flail. Each of these are solid credentials but were they enough to prove that he could handle his own album? The answer became a resounding "hit".

      The excellently named opener, "Cartoon Music for Superheroes" gives you a beautiful preview of things to come. In it's brief two minutes it packs in everything you need; lullaby guitar and melodica, straightforward drums, a cloud-like melody and the ability to easily tranquilize a pissed off grizzly bear. The ragged pace of the Strokes was nowhere to be found. Until the next song that is, when "In Transit" proved just how much influence Albert clearly had. A slowed down but familiar Strokes drum beat paces the tune as the guitar line calls out to his four compadres like the Bat Signal. Thankfully though, he continues to make it his own with soaring synths and the sunny production value seen throughout the record. 

      The rest of the album is littered with wondrous pop tunes that manage to expertly straddle the line between "musically good enough to want to share with all my friends" and " someday I plan to play this on repeat for my newborn child as a way to comfort them". Every track stands out and that tends to leave me without a favorite. "Everyone Gets A Star" showcases a ping-pong guitar and drum machine groove.  "Back to the 101" is the another tune that has a Strokesian vibe to it but Albert does plenty to make it his own. "Call an Ambulance" brings out a ukulele and serenely weaves a layered tale of unrequited love. "Scared" has an ambiance built upon gorgeous harmonies and backing vocals coming from none other than Julian Casablancas and Sean Lennon. The closer, "Hard to Live in the City" is packed with jangly guitars, piano and ends with horns that build to a crescendo that makes you want to drop the needle and start the album again.

Hammondsaur Jr.

                           

       In college I became obsessed with playcounts in iTunes. Spending the majority of my time in front a computer, it was an easy way to quantify which songs I liked the most, a tome to my dedication. Thankfully this single mindedness didn't entirely prevent me from exploring what albums sound like, something many people have forgotten today. That used to be the only way to listen. Looking back, it's sad to see that I had fallen into the trap too, playcounts proving I was only playing one or two songs off an album. This is not one of those albums. Every track has the practically the same number of plays. In an age of skips and shuffle, this is a true rarity. It's an album that I put on and listen to front to back, every time. 

       Yours to Keep is a tour de force of supremely catchy power pop, infectious melodies and layered songwriting that any artist would be proud to call their own. It's one of the few albums I own that is so bright it honestly and truly lifts my mood every time I put it on (which may say things my psychiatrist will one day break to me gently). The combination of the songwriting and production give the album a light, airy and luminescent feeling that resonates deeply within me. I plowed through this repeatedly at a time when a lot of things were changing, unstable and uncertain in my world. Life may have been rocky but I always had this 35 minute respite to fall back on. Without getting too touchy and or feelie, that's a pretty cool thing to have, especially when it's something you can bring with you into adulthood. 

        

Final Score: .90 You're Living All Over Me's

Furr Trapping

       Every music fan I know has a secret stash of killer band name ideas, artfully crafted throughout the years of their musical fandom. They commit the titles to memory and have them at the ready. They do this just in case a bunch of musicians approach them with the sole intention of forming a new group. This new group would have all the pieces in place, and they would be looking to you for a name and some scintillating woodblock. Thankfully, they would've come to the perfect person. I'd like to assume that's how Blitzen Trapper got their name. Sadly though, this isn't the case. Apparently, they saw it painted on the outside of an old, 70s, creeper van, which is still pretty awesome. But, screw it, I like living the lie. It gives me hope.
       I did not however, feel hope that I would someday become consumed with bands in the alt/folk/country revival scene. The country aspect was always a little too twangy, the folk side always a little too lacking in the instrumentation department.  For every Uncle Tupelo or Neil Young there were significantly more artists I couldn't take the leap with. Becoming fully engrossed with the rootsy americana funk of The Band allowed me to step out on the ledge. With the 2008 release of Furr, the fourth album from the Trapper, I was ready to do a full fledged swan dive off the cliff.
   

Carved with a craftsman hand.

      How many albums do you feel comfortable sharing with every single friend you have? Regardless of their muse, inclination or proclivity, you'd be pretty sure they would dig it. After some intense contemplation, I would have probably settled on zero if you asked me this in the past. It's just plain rare to find that middle ground that isn't too center of the road lame. Enter Furr. Opening with the carny rock galumph of "Sleepytime in the Western World", my zero gracefully ticked up to one. With swirling Garth Hudson organs, gnarly Harrison licks and the narrative timbre of Dylan, worlds melded to form something pure and new. I wanted to conceive a child on the spot just so I could play them this somewhat demented bedtime story. 

      This wondrous amalgam of styles continue throughout with "Gold for Bread", "God & Suicide" and "War on Machines", all of which add in just enough strange flourishes to prevent categorization. The oft-cited title track, "Furr" is a tour de force of storytelling. An acoustic strum and layered vocals provide the perfect backdrop for a romp through the eyes of a woodland man/beast. It's one of many instances showing the excellent lyrics crafted throughout the entire record. Another example is my first obsession, the classic murder tale, "Black River Killer". It's a Tom Petty ditty that has been sprinkled with Chronic era Dre production. Strange as that sounds, I dare you to try and avoid grooving along. I already look forward to the day when the great-grandson of Slick Rick weaves an account of ghetto misery over an extended sample. 

        Beautiful is a word that gets thrown around way too much (especially by a hyperbolic machine such as myself) but there is really no other way to quantify the acoustic guitar/piano ballads "Not Your Lover" and "Lady on the Water". They are truly beautiful. Their simplicity reminds you that with as much talent as these musicians have, the anchor is the melody and songwriting at the heart of these tunes. Each is the type of song you might use to entice your significant other into appreciating the band, only to one day realize they are now your favorite tracks. 

      Channelling The Band and showcasing their trademark versatility, funk rears its sexy head on "Saturday Night" and the "Echo/Always On/Easy Con" medley. The former uses jaunty piano and a groovy, syrupy-thick bassline to paint a background over which acoustic strums and synth flourishes dance. The latter begins as another piano ballad, then drifts into a Pink Floyd/Wizard of Oz clock homage before finally becoming the type of folk-funk that should have archivistics stumped for years to come. 

Sounds painful.

      If you become enough of a fan to immerse yourself in their (rawer) previous three albums or (more polished) three subsequent albums you may find yourself waist deep in the rabbit hole. There are so many genres and sounds they create that you can become lost in a vortex of their music, regardless of the genre or sound you are fiending for at the time. This album was the perfect entry point for me. It gave me faith that bands could still take something I didn't fully embrace (folk/country), put a modern spin on it and subsequently develop something that I couldn't get enough of throughout my multiple obsessive periods. Now, let's all grow furry beards!

    

Final Score: .95 You're Living All Over Me's

Fishbulb Challenge #2: What, me wave?

From time to time, IFL and I will challenge each other to review specific albums. Ideally, the albums will enlighten (or torture) the reviewer. Either way, we’re guaranteed a fresh perspective.


        Despite their strangely familiar-sounding name, I’d never heard of the Dead Trees before Fishbulb challenged me to review their 2011 album, Whatwave. A quick googling^[1] revealed that they’d toured with Albert Hammond Jr from the Strokes. Upon listening to the first few songs, I realized that, fortunately, their connection to the Strokes didn’t end there. You could argue that many bands today sound like the Strokes, but the Dead Trees were reminiscent, while also possessing a laid back retro-sounding quality.

        

        Whatwave opens with the lazy drumbeat and gently strummed guitar of “Slow Faze”. The lyrics are soft and not very provocative at first glance, but since they contain motifs that are referenced throughout the album, they gain a greater depth of meaning with repeated listens. The dawdling drums are suddenly replaced with a rapid-fire blast, as the aptly named “Slow Faze Fast” marries upbeat early Strokes with the rhythm section from CCR. After a country tinged guitar solo, the song ends almost abruptly after only 90 seconds.

        Next, “My Time Has Just Begun” wags a finger at people who waste their lives chasing superficial, materialistic pursuits. At this point in the album, I first started to detect a definite Beatles influence. It’s subtle at first, but stands out the more I think about it^[2]. The Dead Trees do a rather good job of recreating the sound from that particular era. Their melodies may be reminiscent of the Beatles, but at certain times, their tone is dead on. I wouldn’t be surprised if the bassist used a violin-shaped Hofner bass on some of the songs^[3]. The initial galloping drums and rolling guitar lick of “Rayna” gives way to a tempo-changing bridge that is very derivative of the “Mean Mr. Mustard” portion of the Abbey Road medley. “Arrows” achieves the laid back, West -coast swagger of Stephen Malkmus with Pavement, only without the adventurous sense of spontaneity. Another indicator of Beatles-aping is the intro of “Play Your Hand”, which sounds like “Get Back” mashed up with “It Ain’t Me” by CCR^[4].

        Now, don’t get me wrong, I love both of those bands, but I’m starting to feel like the Dead Trees are too comfortable playing around in the established sounds of others. What results from this is music that is very palatable and, at times, effectively catchy, but ends up sounding underdeveloped and overly safe to my ears after repeated listens. The first few tracks of Whatwave whetted my appetite to explore a new, yet familiar sound, but I feel like I was expecting a climax that never arrived^[5]. The band can competently change tempos and musical gears, even mid-song, but there seems to be some dynamic missing from their music that is leaving me unfulfilled. It’s almost as if they’re going through the motions, hitting all the right notes, but with little feeling. A good example of this is the little guitar solo near the end of “World Gone Global”. It starts off pretty enough, but ends with a series of unconvincing bends. This could just be me, but it sounds like they’re there because “that’s what you do in these types of guitar solos”, rather than adding anything to the song. Similarly, the vocals use the same casual delivery on almost every song, despite somewhat dark lyrics complaining about aging, creeping suburbs, and entitled youths^[6].

        Ultimately, I like Whatwave. It’s a good album from a promising young band with all the right influences. It seems like an excellent album to play at the end of summer while relaxing outdoors with a few friends and few more beers. This can be attributed to its catchiness and broad appeal, but also its ability to become background noise. That’s not to say that I’ve made my final judgement on Whatwave^[7]. I just may not be in the best mood to enjoy their sound, right now. Also, please keep in mind that I’ve only listened to the album about ten times and with each new listen I pick up on a new lyric, like the great opening line to “World Gone Global”, “Laying down by the river watching you die”. Hopefully, I can look forward to exploring more of the Dead Trees’ catalog as they strive to explore new musical frontiers.

Final Score: .70 Animals

---

[1] “Binging” if you’re a fucking psychopath.

[2] Just like my flaws :,-(

[3] Due to his divorce settlement, Paul McCartney now plays a heavily modified prosthetic leg courtesy of Heather Mills.

[4] Not necessarily a bad thing.

[5] By the way... sorry, ladies.

[6] “Older”, “Punch For Punch”, and “Comfortable Kids”, respectively.

[7] And certainly not the Dead Trees.

Dick Dank Challenge #2: Destroyer? But I barely...nevermind

(Quick note from the desk of the FishLantern: Every so often Dick Dank and I will be "challenging" each other to listen to an album we haven't heard before, reviewing it after only a few listens. The hope would be that these lead to amazing revelations and deep insights that allow us to connect like covalent bonds over a new-found passion. In all likelihood, that will happen about a third of the time. Realistically, it will end up as a somewhat messy review packed with things we'll want to go back and change after one more listen or diving deeper into said album multiple times later in life. Let's see em'!)

       One of the reasons I wanted to co-found this endeavour with Dr. Dank was to open myself up to new music. Though I'd like to think I enjoy a large swath of the musical landscape, there are certain areas/genres where I have hardly dipped an appendage in. Some might even say I've been willfully ignoring these styles, perhaps even disparaging them. This thought is swirling around my mind when I play the first song on the Destroyer album "Kaputt". It had the sound of something I would normally turn off, immediately, without any further investigation. But, being in d-bag rehab, and knowing the entire point of "The Challenge", I let 'er ride. After letting it wash over me for a few days, I wasn't hating it. In fact, the weird part was; I kind of...liked it. 
       I'm a man of decades. (Thanks Uncle Neil). Co-workers have called what I listen to "weird" (60's psychedelia or 90s grunge squall). My wife has claimed once or twice that she isn't a fan off all the guitar (70's extended wankery and the 00's modern rip-off equivalent). Assuming that most popular music began after 1959 was behind us, if you peruse those eras I enjoy, its not hard to notice one is missing. I needed to get comfortable with the 1980's. Not hair metal. Not Madonna. Not even Spandau Ballet. But, travelling the bridge that is the Smith Westerns and the Strokes (or even the Stranglers), I aim to find a place in my cadre for light airy vocals, drum machines and plenty of horn solos. 

       I'm sure the Doctor of Dankhood knew all this when he asked me to check out this 2011 tribute to the time of Marty McFly and Kenneth G. He had informed me that this was the perfect soundtrack for drifting off into a deep, dream filled sleep. Don't let the menacing moniker fool you, this album is a breezy traipse through a secluded French woods. The first track, "Chinatown", paints a clear picture of why this is the case. It opens with subtle strumming, laid back atmospherics and Daniel Bejar's far from urgent delivery. Bejar is the architect of this sound, and according to everything I read, this album was a departure from previous styles he had worked with. 
     After the first go round, I wasn't comfortable yet with the easy-listening sound that I had pulled from it. Yet once a few more listens had made their way under my belt, I started to notice the subtleties, this time in a positive light. The odd horn treatments, sprinkles of female backing vocals and guitar flourishes became a landscape that was pleasant. My personal favorite tracks (for the time being), "Blue Eyes" and "Savage Night at the Opera" even had a little mellow-swing groove going on. These were the kind of tunes a twelve year old me would have contemplated asking a girl to slow dance to, ultimately failing to do so while playing air sax in my head instead. 
     Still, I can't seem to shake a distinctly European mood when I hear this album. Between the Spanish guitar intro of "Suicide Demo for Kara Walker" and the laissez faire attitude that the music manages to convey, I imagine when all is said and done it sells more in Euros than it does in dollars. Again though, that's not to say I don't enjoy it. There are certain qualities that I'm still wrapping my head around (an awful lot of smooth jazzy horn solos) but when it comes down to it, I (surprisingly) find myself coming back for more. After digestion, the Dick Master Dank claim that it's the ideal soundtrack to slip off into a relaxing land of slumber makes perfect sense. Sometimes, that's all you want. 

This just can't be a coincidence, can it?

      Old me (read: 2 days ago) would have merely humored a friend who suggested this, listened to a track or two and politely claimed it "just wasn't hitting me right now." In fact, I think I said as much to my wife after hearing the first two songs. I was a young buck. Obviously I've grown up since then. It's important I remembered the whole point of these challenges was to broaden my horizons. Being open to other's opinions and thoughts is something I could work on in general. Music is something I appreciate/care about enough that it might allow me to pick up on some skills that could be applied elsewhere. Clearly, this might include just having a little patience. 

Final Score: .76 Dick Danksing All Over Me's

Multiplied by the Oso

         I had to learn how to wade through the river of musical feces. Recommendations come from so many places and all you have is a half-charred oar with which to slog your way through. When you meet someone and you find any sort of musical connection, suggestions start flying and the paddling begins. You learn to whittle down how serious you take these ideas over time. Some people are absolute money when it comes to picking bands for you. Others, you just learn to placate. With this in mind, in the summer of 2006, in a small British seaside town, I had the typical "you gotta hear these guys" thrown my way while in the midst of being stabbed by a gangly chap with a large, inky needle in his mits.  I said "absolutely"(because, honestly, what else do you say in that situation?) and a fortnight later, flew back across the big pond to my homeland.
        Freshly scabbed with my first tattoo, I jumped online and searched "Minus the Bear" in hopes of not disappointing the only man to ever puncture me sweetly, yet forcefully. The name intrigued me and they had some oddly familiar and altogether hilarious song titles. Their site was advertising a new album out called Menos El Oso. Thanks to my six years of Spanish, I knew this meant "purchase the CD without listening", so I did. Why spend all those nights studying another language only to not follow directions when I finally have the chance?

Plus the shipping.

       A week later, a box arrived. Having not known any of their music, it took a very long time (read: two weeks) to become massively obsessed.  Often described as "math-rock", for me this wasn't a sound that conjured any equations, formulas or theorems. Au contraire. With sneakily sexual lyrics, killer drum beats catapulting the songs into another stratosphere of catchiness and obscure guitar parts, I had found a new type of band with which to become enthralled; a technically proficient one that had feeling.

       Now perhaps it's unfair to say that without knowing the true musical inner-workings of the other bands in my rotation. More often than not they were very accomplished musicians making tunes of which I couldn't comprehend the difficulty. But these guys seemed different. It's clear from the start these guys have chops; guitars slice in and out of your ears and drums belt out odd time signatures that remain stuck in your mind for weeks at a time. Everyone contributes to a full sound that can tip-toe along on cracked ice ("The Game Needed Me" or "El Torrente") just as easily as it can pulverize your concept of what you can dance to ("The Fix" or "Pachuca Sunrise"). Game on. 

        Even writing this now, after immersing myself in their sound for the 537th time, I have a hard time quantifying just what it is Menos does that makes me want to keep coming back. But this is one of those albums that surreptitiously slips into your car and three weeks pass before you realize it's all you've been listening to. Going to my first show after the initial immersion, it became clear that I was fixated on the drums. Erin Tate laid down funky, proggy, sexy-ass drum beats that I feel are the mortar to their uniquely cobbled together wall of sound. There is nary a song that just has a simple drum part plodding along. I challenge you to take an aural vacation on "The Game Needed Me" or "The Pig War" and try to count the number of changes in his parts. They are constantly shifting, advancing and creating, dragging the songs into another realm. The drums had captured my senses to the point that I wanted nothing more than to attempt to keep up.

        As made clear though from previous reviews, I'm clearly a man who enjoys his gee-tar. But, outside of a brief foray on "The Fix" and a few seconds on "Hooray", there really isn't even a guitar solo to speak of on the album. Instead, there are swaths of musical innovation where the band is working as one to bridge musical ideas. Menos El Oso helped to bring me to a place where I could listen to and subsequently appreciate guitar in a different way. It wasn't always about waiting for the monster riff or the big payoff solo. The snaking interplay between Jake Snider and Dave Knudson is masterful. Check out the ping-pong intro on "The Fix" or the metronomic dance that is the verse of "Michio's Death Drive". They alternate between laying down a drum-like rhythm and barrelling between each other with riffage, often within the same song. Doing so helps deliver a wonderful dynamic that makes these songs as unique as they are enjoyable. 

Minus the loincloth.

      It comforts me to know that you can appreciate music for different reasons. When talking about these songs, rarely do I find myself appreciating the same aspects as my friends. Everyone has their own part, instrument or innovation that they attach themselves to. Once I hurdled the idea that music didn't have to strictly be about emotion, a new world opened up, filled with technicality. While these songs certainly do have their fair share of heartbreak and insecurity buried within if you delve deeper into them, it was not these things that attracted me. Instead this was a band that allowed me to realize it was OK to love a unique sound that's jam-packed with talent, a sentiment Rush fans have been trying to convince me of for years. 

Final Score: .95 You're Living All Over Me's

Operator, Get Me A Killer EP...

       A Lesson In Crime by Tokyo Police Club has the single greatest opening line of any album produced, ever. It's really fruitless for any other band to try and top it.  I'm sure many would argue with this statement by citing a variety of landmark artists and records. Alas, it would be sad to watch them all fight so vociferously, only to remain dead wrong. Creating a concept album of angular, jacked-up adolescent indie pop centering around the world being taken over by a master robot alien race is a tricky enough proposition. Doing it in a mere 16 minutes and change, on a 7 song EP, is downright magical.  There is no better way to start said album than with furiously crashing cymbals and the linguistic brilliance that is "Operator, get me the President of the World...this is an emergency."
        By this point, if you're still reading, you either agree with me (while wondering how any band could possibly produce music to match that opening) or you're hoping the robots kill me first. Thankfully, these four Canadian nerd-throbs managed to create an album that not only did everything mentioned above, but also revitalized my hope that new bands could do things, period. This album was released in 2006 during a time in my life when I was convinced nothing good had come out by a band formed after 1993. Despite my musical history being a veritable litany of miscalculations and errors, these sprite young fellows showed up on MTV's website, which promoted their new album.  To be honest, I can't even take credit for finding them.  That prestigious honor goes to one Mr. Sausage, a college comrade of mine, who still had faith in the musical landscape of our world (and apparently used to be real into the MTV website). Turns out, it's a damn good thing he did.

       "Cheer it On" is a bouncy, joyous tune of robot murder that sets the mood for the majority of this record. Angular guitar riffs dance around, a funky fuzzed up bass keeps your head bobbing,  and a militaristic drum steadily beats the groove while a droning synth gives you the sense that there might be some overarching entity watching and recording your every move. (Hey, wait a minute...) "Nature of the Experiment" follows and delivers well with a similar formula. It allows for a little more space in the drum pattern, plus it also gives you the first taste of random, fantastic secondary vocal yelps. Not to mention it shows that in only a blazing two minutes, it's somehow possible to create a tune that has an excellent instrumental breakdown.
      Next, handclaps and synth smoothly transition you into a zone of false comfort in the first verse of "Citizens of Tomorrow".  This comfort is expertly interrupted by the introduction of the guitar, drums and screamed vocals, which is the heart of what happens to be my personal favorite track on the album. Thankfully, their proclamation that the animatronic overlord Armageddon would happen in 2009 turned out to be false. (Or did it?)  Either way, your first lesson in how to potentially rise up against these evildoers is brought to you in "Shoulders and Arms".  It contains shimmering cascades of guitars and a great loud-quiet/quick-slow dynamic throughout that continues to show the versatility possible in such a small space.
        Having seemingly failed in defeating our oppressors, "If It Works"showcases a rolling drumbeat and a high in the mix bass building to a suddenly quiet "transmission from your robot masters"-esque silence that ends abruptly with the return of the next verse. Perhaps all faith isn't lost just yet. "Be Good", a last ditch effort to retain humanity, is another favorite of mine that repackages all of the elements seen throughout the first five songs into a shiny new treat. A guitar/bass combo kicks in at the 30 second mark and is the kind of musical moment I wouldn't mind having as a personal theme music. Due to the similarity throughout, some critics worried about their follow up albums' potential to become a stale rehashing of old ideas (turns out, they were great and unique instead). 

Die you robot scum!

       The album closes with the most obviously unique track, "Le Ferrassie", starting off almost entirely absent of the desperation, pace and style of everything else we've heard up to this point. It would seem the robots have defeated mankind as a spooky synth line accompanies a downtrodden vocal delivery. At the midway point however, similar musical themes re-emerge, giving the listener hope that perhaps Neo will one day know kung-fu. Having been stuck in my own barren wasteland of a musical rut when exploring new bands, this album provided the same glimmer of hope, like the quintessential blade of grass growing through a crack in the asphalt. Taking the time to look back, music can be a fantastic way to chart your (hopeful) growth as a person. Doing so can also help to remind me that things I'm hesitant to investigate right now may someday become all I want to listen to and talk about in the future (if the robots let us).


Final Score: .88 You're Living All Over Me's

Thus Spake Shy Guy

Bands are amazing. Well, not all bands, but rather the concept of two or more different people collaborating to create music out of thin air. Often, all they have in common is a vaguely defined shared aesthetic. Sometimes not even that much. The fact that people can temporarily set aside their differences and create something bigger than themselves gives me some hope that the human race is more than just a giant clusterfuck flying through space.

Due to the volatile nature of human relationships, bands often fizzle out before achieving their full potential or, if they’re lucky, only have a few years of optimal output. Catching a band in the “prime” of their creative window is one of the most exciting things an avid fan of music can experience. This is the excitement I felt when I first laid ears upon Sucraphrenia by Shy Guy Says.

If you’re asking yourself “Shy Guy Says? Isn’t that a Mario Party mini-game?”, the answer is “yes”, but it is also a very cool young band from Illinois. You should listen to their album Sucraprenia immediately, if not sooner. It’s a short 11 tracks, clocking in at just over 34 minutes. Here is a link to their website, where they are currently streaming the album. Self-described as “undefinable”, the band has an admirable DIY attitude. I was instantly attracted to their similarities to math-rock acts like Rooftops, Sharks Keep Moving, and early Minus the Bear.

I was intrigued as soon as I heard the chime-like guitar and barely comprehensible radio voice on the intro track “nova”. It flows seamlessly into “if the shoe fits”, which first showcases some of the sonic qualities that make this album great: shimmering guitar lines interweaving over driving, yet loose drums. The vocals are often soft and understated, but perfectly complement the songs. “Lacus veris” is a short instrumental interlude that sets the stage for my favorite track, “oxytocin”. The band's talents are in full display here: bright, contrapuntal guitar melodies, inventive drumming, and perhaps the best lyrics on the album. The vocal performance starts off almost somber, but subtly gains in intensity as the song evolves, before ending in a frenzied instrumental breakdown. The next track “cool side” has an atmospheric intro, briefly recalling the work of Doug Martsch with Built to Spill, before changing tempos and melting brains with a jam that is the spiritual successor to This Is What I Know About Being Gigantic. Another highlight for me is the funky, laid back noodling of “metafog”. Yet again, Shy Guys Says shows a prodigal mastery of changing tempos and dynamics, which keeps me enthralled and my head bobbing. The album is rounded out with the crystalline harmonics of “warp zone”, the appropriately slow drawl of “keanu reeves”, and the ever-intensifying “white space conflict”.

Sucraphrenia is the type of album you can listen to straight through without even realizing it. The songs often flow effortlessly into one another and explore different variations of an overarching musical theme. This combination of creativity and commonality makes Sucraphrenia more than just a collection of songs cobbled together by a young band. It’s a monument to the ability of imperfect humans to work together in harmony towards a shared goal. I’m not sure if Shy Guys Says is actively working on a new album, but I hope they are, because Sucraphrenia shows that these young, talented individuals are more than capable of gelling together to form an original, coherent musical creative force. Maybe there is hope for us after all.

This fucking guy...

Final Score: .91 Animals

Fishbulb Challenge #1: More Like Cockwork...

From time to time, IFL and I will challenge each other to review specific albums. Ideally, the albums will enlighten (or torture) the reviewer. Either way, we’re guaranteed a fresh perspective.

           My first real experience with the Queens of the Stone Age took place in or around 2004 at a Red Hot Chili Peppers concert somewhere in Ohio. It was my first time seeing RHCP live and I was excited enough to tear my shirt off in a fit of passion. The Queens were the opening act. Of course, opening acts can often be surprisingly good and add value to the concert experience. However, in this case I was not in the mood to have my horizons broadened and they symbolized the last barrier between me and my Frusciante face-melting destiny. Their angular riffs just seemed stupid and abrasive to me. The vocals were incomprehensible. I felt like I stood there for hours, suffering through song after seemingly identical song. It was on that day that I decided: I hated the Queens of the Stone Age.

           My gut reaction when IronFishLantern sentenced me to multiple listenings of QOTSA’s new album ...Like Clockwork, was predictably one of disappointment. How could ‘RonFish be so cruel? He was well aware of my anti-Queens stance! He’s practically begging for a retaliatory Gary Cherone era Van Halen review challenge.

           Okay, so maybe that’s a little dramatic. In reality, I’ve been softening to the Queens for a few years now. I’d seen them open up for other bands a few times since the original ear-raping and I was willing to concede that they weren’t awful... I was willing to chalk up the first time to a bad set on their part and high expectations on mine. Through IronFishLantern and other sexual acquaintances, I became familiar with some QOTSA songs that I really, really liked. The infectiously syncopated “Better Living Through Chemistry” and gritty “Feel Good Hit of the Summer” from 2000’s Rated R opened my eyes to why so many people whose musical opinions I respected were recommending the Queens of the Stone Age. With that tale of failed first impressions and subsequent redemption in mind, I give you my review of ...Like Clockwork.

           There are definite sexual undertones throughout ...Like Clockwork. Not in a cheesey, overt way; it’s almost as if Homme can’t help but taint anything he creates with the subconscious echoes of his own repressed urges. The effect it has on the album is huge. It permeates almost every song with an aggressive helping of sexual tension, which keeps it from sounding like other promising, but ultimately generic cookie-cutter, modern alternative rock albums (see Zeitgeist by The Smashing Pumpkins or Wasting Light by the Foo Fighters). Speaking of the Fighters of Foo, Dave Grohl contributed drums to a number of tracks, as well as an impressive list of collaborators, including Elton John, Trent Reznor, and the Arctic Monkey’s Alex Turner.

           On “Keep Your Eyes Peeled”, the album opens with the sounds of breaking glass followed by a reverberating, sludge-drenched guitar riff. It’s like the music to the Sega Genesis game Cyborg Justice on acid. In a good way. Josh Homme’s falsetto moaning and growling vocals swirl over the quasi-perverted rhythmic instrumental interplay. “I Sat By The Ocean” changes gears with a rocking, upbeat guitar intro and handclaps in the pre-chorus.

My personal favorite track is “If I Had A Tail”. It saunters into your eardrums with a Rolling Stones-esque guitar riff that could make a dead Keith Richards cum. Homme conjures a horned up David Bowie as he sings some of the most explicitly sexual lyrics on the album. The guitar solo is, again, pure Keith Richards. So brief and restrained, yet satisfying, like an impromptu fling with a co-worker during your lunch break.

A low point for me is the guitar intro to “My God Is The Sun”. To me, this recalls everything I originally didn’t like about the Queens of the Stone Age: a harsh, angular riff being stupidly forced down your throat and repeating into eternity. The rest of the song redeems itself enough where I clicked the “thumbs up” next to it in my Google Music, but this type of guitar riff turns me off every time --and I’m one to forgive great depths of guitar wankery and mal-riffage.

“Kalopsia”, featuring lyrical contributions from Alex Turner, is a contrastingly gentle ballad that starts off slightly reminiscent of “Porcelain” by the Red Hot Chili Peppers then explodes into a feedback laden sing-along finish. Another bright spot is “Fairweather Friends”. Elton John’s driving piano and Trent Reznor’s screaming backing vocals help make an already good song into one of the best on the album.

The Queens summon a late-70s Zeppelin-style disco metal sexbeat for “Smooth Sailing”. Homme again utilizes falsettos and overdriven growls as he “blows his load all over the status quo”. All accented by a guitar solo that would bring color to Jack White’s pallid flesh and an intense sonic buildup/release near the end.

I don’t know much about Josh Homme’s personal life, but like most people, I’m sure he’s a complex guy with his share of hang ups and vices. I can’t help but feel like these “negative” qualities of his personality had a very positive effect on the shape and sound of ...Like Clockwork. A more zealous reviewer might attempt to draw Freudian parallels between specific elements of the album and certain events in Homme’s personal life. I’m content knowing that no artist is able to completely remove themselves from a creative work. The best learn how to use their strengths while minimizing the self-indulgent side-effects. By this measure, Homme and company did a stellar job of creating a uniquely accessible album that gives equal emphasis to the talents and faults of the creators.

Perhaps the truest testament of the auto-proselytizing, redemptive goodness of ...Like Clockwork has to do with Biff, my brother. Biff had a similarly awful Queens of the Stone Age opening act experience at Lollapalooza several years ago. Biff spent hours on an oppressively hot day in a rowdy, sweaty pit (waiting to see the Red Hot Chili Peppers!) and was psychologically scarred by the incredibly loud, boorish guitar bashing that held him hostage on that fateful day. The other evening, when I was giving the album a listen, Biff dug it and couldn’t believe that it was the same band that buttfucked his ears in Chicago.

Ginger Elvis

Final Score: .80 Animals