Dad Rock Podcast - Episode 1: Blowin' Superchunks

The first episode of the Dad Rock podcast has arrived! IronFishLantern and I discuss life, growing older, and Superchunk. Dig in and Dad out!

Your Majesty, I Present To You: Shredding

(Note: Dr. Dunkn'Dank and I are going to try something new. The idea is that we are going to attempt to tag-team some reviews. This should provide some unique perspective, clunky transitions and insightful thoughts, especially when it's an album we both enjoy. The goal here is to not only alternate ideas and thoughts, but to do so without talking to each other along the way. This may or may not be a trainwreck. Here's to finding out!)


I've been thinking about my age a lot lately. Apparently this is something that people do a lot when they approach a certain age that rhymes with "blurdy" and happens to be more than 29. Even just writing reviews for this site, going through older albums helps to remind me of just how long it's been since I first heard these wondrous sounds. The gap feels weird. Thankfully, I didn't know Superchunk when they started making music, or listening to their 2010 comeback album Majesty Shredding would have made me feel remarkably decrepit. It's the type of album that seems to perfectly mirror my own struggles, simultaneously feeling markedly youthful and exuberant while managing to curse those young punk kids on the lawn all the same. It was exactly what I needed when I heard it. It was a glorious reminder that getting older doesn't mean I had to stop being young.

*****

Dr. Dunkenstein here. One hopes my choice of font helps differentiate our alternating passages (and doesn't lead to Crossed Wires... tee hee). Besides, I've always felt I was much more serif-y than IronFishLantern. Despite having 1 more year to live before the dreaded "blurdy" than he does, I too have felt the impending sense of inevitable doom. I basically have 400 days to complete all of my athletic, youthful, perverted dreams. I didn't know much, if anything, about Superchunk's music before IFL turned me onto to Majesty Shredding, but their name did have an odd familiarity. I feel like I was always vaguely aware of their presence on the periphery of my musical scope (or perhaps that was Supergrass?).

As stated above, Majesty Shredding has an undeniable youthful feel. Mac McCaughan's voice may have been frozen in amber at the age of 17. It's almost a caricature, but I've become addicted to his coarse, enthusiastic falsetto. The band invariably accompanies this perfectly with high-speed upbeat instrumentals. Sticking to their guns, the entire band's sound has remained astonishingly unchanged since they formed in 1989. Appropriately, much of the album's lyrical content reflects on past events and life's gradual changes. I'm not sure you could get more simultaneously energetic and wistful without doing a techno remix of Morgan Freeman's monologues from The Shawshank Redemption.

On the Beach: Part Duex.

*****

When I stumbled across a Rolling Stone review for Majesty Shredding I knew as much as the good Doctor did about Superchunk. Upon tracking the album down and hearing the first few seconds of "Digging for Something", I was immediately in a comfortable and familiar place. Though the voice of Mac has a borderline emo quality to it, the angst comes across as legit and sincere as opposed to manufactured. It's a great way to open an album, especially when you combine that with the "oh oh oh's" and the gnarly guitar. Right from the start you've got yourself an exuberant burst of power punk pop and there are many days where that's enough to keep you sane. The song concludes with a well orchestrated horn section that helps shows a subtle twist the 'Chunk have in their arsenal. The second track, "My Gap Feels Weird" rises from the ether of a child struggling with the loss of a tooth. Brilliantly, it transitions into a perfect descriptor of the chasm between us blurdy-somethings and the youth of today with their turned up collars and eye liner. Containing a beautifully executed ping-ponging, point-counterpoint Plinko-esque guitar solo, this track should allow our youth to marvel at the ability of their elders. It also makes me feel a little more human. No one wants to be the old guy screaming "get out of my daughters makeup", but I've certainly reached a point where the disconnect between myself and the young chaps they speak of seems as distinct as ever.

*****

I agree that Majesty Shredding starts stronger than Mark Henry. "Digging for Something" and "My Gap Feels Weird" are instant favorites. Intentional or not, this is genius album construction, as the listener is instantly hooked by the first two tracks and subtly trained not to skip ahead. This inclination to let the album play is quickly rewarded with the opening groove of "Rosemarie". In the lyrics, Mac pleads for a cynical friend to open her eyes and notice the good things in life. After repeated listens, I've fallen in love with the song's understated chorus. 

Another highlight is "Fractures in Plaster". The longest song on the album, it reveals a slower more deliberate side of Superchunk (with gorgeous strings!). The feedback-laden guitar at the beginning of the track provides the perfect amount of perpetually youthful energy to complement the nostalgia of the lyrics. Throughout their discography, Superchunk's guitar work reminds me of a socially well-adjusted J Mascis. The screaming guitar at the end of "Fractures in Plaster" is prime example of this (as is "Rope Light"). 

The next track, "Learned to Surf" cranks the joviality back up to 11. It's repeated chorus, backed by a chunky palm-muted rhythm guitar, should convert any of your friends that were somehow not convinced by the album's first two tracks (if not, get new friends). On the surface, the lyrics may make you feel regret for never pursuing that hobby that always piqued your interest. If you dig a little deeper (for something), you'll uncover a lesson about not letting the negative things in life drag you down into the abyss. Unfortunately, it often takes until middle age before you're skilled enough to gracefully rise above and navigate the inevitably rough waters of life. Sure, being young and carefree is fun part of life that we'll all miss, but life really begins once you have enough experience to actually enjoy it for what it is.

I don't know what to do with my hands.

*****

Turns out those damn adults who told us things when we were young may have been onto something. With all the changes that adulthood brings, music like this is what you can use to simultaneously feel young while still remembering to pay your taxes. The tempo of your life fluctuates just as the tunes do on this album. Things slow down until one day an oddity stands out. The mid-tempo "Winter Games" is like standing up in your late twenties and trying not to freak out upon the realization that your knees sound like a box of Rice Krispies exploding. This rumbling tune is propelled by the excellent drumming of Jon Wurster, giving you a chance to get your bearings (and throwing in another killer Dino Jr. riff-rip just to remind you why you're old enough to have creaky knees). And now that you're finally standing, the aforementioned "Rope Light" is the perfect song to thrash every awkward limb you have as delicious riffs go hand in hand with Mac weaving a tale that evokes the late night pursuit of unrequited love. Turns out, arthritic knees feel a lot better when you have a steady someone to get you an ice pack.

The album closes with "Everything at Once", another of my favorites. "Here's a song about nothing, and everything at once" is one of the amazing kind of nonsensical lyrics that Uncle Neil would have been proud to craft. The same power-punk groove that kept the band relevant throughout the last 25 years gives you a chance to reflect on the life you've lived. Paraphrasing the enigmatic genius that is Joe Walsh in the new Eagles documentary, as it happens your life seems like an extremely random collection of unrelated events (the nothing) but when you look back on it later it comes across as a well planned novel whose dots all connect (the everything at once). Youth is a glorious time filled with glorious moments. We all tend to lionize those moments from our past, soundtracking those mind movies with the exact kind of music Superchunk manages to crank out on Majesty Shredding. The album becomes a much needed reminder that growing up is not too bad and in fact, actually pretty cool. Nothing could prove that more than the timeless music of a group of musicians who swore otherwise not too long ago.


IronFishRanking's Final Score: .86 You're Living All Over Mes 

Rick Rankstardly's Final Score: .89 Animals

Average Final Score: .875 You're Living All Over Animals

Bottle Of Whiskey, The Boss And A Map Of The U.S.

As a new contributor I was asked to pick and review my ultimate album. My mind immediately went to The Beatles and Bob Dylan. Where’s the fun in that though? Both artists and their catalogues have been dissected to no end. Not to mention, I've heard them ad nauseam for the last 15 years. So I started to think about albums I've discovered within the last few years that have had a profound effect on me. I kept coming back to one album. Nebraska by Bruce Springsteen.

I shrugged and wrote off The Boss for years, pegging him as some kind of American loving patriot wiener thanks to the song "Born In the USA” that seemed to be everywhere when I was a kid (how young and dumb I was and apparently unable to understand sarcasm). This mentality kept up for much longer than I'd like to admit until one day I was listening to a band (who shall remain nameless) that incorporated Springsteen lyrics into a live performance of one of their own songs. I was so taken by the lyrics that I asked around and found it was the first few verses from "Thunder Road". That was the tipping point because after that I knew that if I could have been wrong about him I might be missing out on something good and I'd at least have to investigate. Now to this day, while I love Springsteen, his work is still extremely hit or miss.  Even on what’s considered some of his best albums, I'll love half the songs but can't stomach the other half. It’s crazy, I know. However, in my eyes his best record start to finish is 1982’s Nebraska.

One of the reasons I find it so interesting, is the legend around it. Springsteen dropped Nebraska on an unexpecting fanbase. Springsteen demoed songs that would make up this album at his home on a 4 track with mostly acoustic guitar, some harmonica and the occasional slight backing vocal. He had always been a storyteller in his songs, but these were different. These were songs about the dregs of society, people so desperate that murder and theft were the only options left. When he showed the E-Street band the demos, they couldn't get the sound the songs needed. Ultimately, it was decided to commercially release the demos AS the album. This was a radical idea for the time but it captures something special. There’s an uninhibitedness in the performance with warts and all that he believed only a few people would ever hear, not the record buying populace. Lines from one song will end up in another over the course of the album, further proving its “rough draft” state but also connecting the album through cohesiveness.

The album starts with title track about the Charlie Starkweather murder spree from the 1950’s sung from the killer’s point of view. Right from the lonesome harmonica blast that opens the song you can practically see the waves of heat cascading off a car that’s driving through suburbia. Springsteen delivers the lines of the killer with deadpan and no remorse “They declared me unfit to live/said into the great void my soul’d be hurled/they wanted to know why I did what I did/well sir, I guess there’s just a meanness in this world”.

“Atlantic City” is the closest thing to a radio friendly song on this album and it’s far from it. A story of a man caught up against the odds in a life of crime but trying to go straight. “I got a job and tried to put my money away, but I got debts that no honest man can pay” It’s the outline to a low rent gangster flick or film noir. Another track, “Johnny 99” describes a man at wits end after he loses his job and the bank is ready to foreclose on his house. He gets drunk and out of desperation shoots and kills a night clerk. The judge gives him 99 years but he pleads for death instead. It’s slightly uptempo shuffle almost betrays its dire message. “State Trooper” does not have that problem. It’s one of the creepiest songs I’ve ever heard. Sung in a hypnotic whisper, it’s the sound of driving in pitch black at 3AM. A plea to a State Trooper to not pull the narrator over, “Maybe you got a kid, maybe you got a pretty wife/The only thing that I’ve got’s been botherin’ me my whole life”. The end of this song contains one of the spookiest yells I’ve ever heard. It affects me every time.

Both “Mansion On The Hill” and “Used Cars” look at the other side of the album, away from the bleakness and despair and highlight Bruce’s timeless storytelling. “Mansion” discusses a house that literally looks over the town. “At night my daddy’d take me and we’d ride/through the streets of a town so silent and still/park on a back road along the highway side/look up at the mansion on the hill”. In “Used Cars” it’s a simple song from a child’s point of view of him desperately wanting his family buying a new car when all they can afford is a used one. I know that doesn’t sound like much, but it’s elegant and simple and on an album with such intense lyrics a palate cleanser is needed occasionally.

 The centerpiece of the album is the song “Highway Patrolman” a remarkable and in depth character study and a meditation on what it means to be family. Our narrator, Joe Roberts works on the local small town police force in Michigan. He’s married, settled down and lives a good honest life. The problem is Joe has a brother, Frankie “and Frankie ain't no good”. The song takes us on a journey through the past as we learn about the brothers and what it means to be part of a family. “I catch him when he’s straying’ like any brother would/man turns his back on his family, well he just ain’t no good”. Joe’s dedication is tested when he gets a call to go check out a dispute at the bar. When he arrives he finds a man in a bloody mess and he knows Frankie was the cause of it. He jumps in his car and pursues him through the back country roads. After he sees Frankie’s headed towards the Canadian border, he pulls to the side of the road and turns his car off to watch Frankie disappear. The chorus picks up again and we are left to ruminate over their relationship. A simple tale of morality becomes more philosophically complex with each listen. It sounds like a modern update of the songs from Bob Dylan’s John Wesley Harding album.

I find the writing on this album to be remarkable, it’s taught and it’s lean. It follows the principle Hemingway bestowed upon himself to write the truest sentence he could once a day. Well old Brucey’s got an album full of them. Each song is its own short story or vignette. The older I get, the more I can empathize with certain characters and see different interpretations in the lyrics. It’s like it’s constantly evolving with me. The vocal quality is so gentle and spooky at times, there are songs that literally give me goose bumps on this record. It’s so intimate that I find myself always wanting to go back to it like the good novel that it is. Art should make you feel something and that’s what I chose Nebraska as my ultimate album. I always get a reaction from it every time I hear it. The music is timeless too, so 30 years from now when trends change it will never sound dated. It’s here for eternity.

Something Vicious for Today

        The late 80s/early 90s Idaho troupe the Treepeople are certainly not the type of band I normally listen to, especially on days where I am feeling anything resembling happiness. In fact, most of the time, the entire genre of angry music being played at a quicker than normal pace doesn't really appeal to me in the slightest. It's not that everything is perfect in my existence, but rather that I'm the type of individual who would just assume wallow in a dark cave of mellow sadness when he's upset as opposed to breaking the skulls of small animals. So how does it get to the point where I'm willfully reviewing a double EP album of aggressive, punk infused rock? It's as simple as two sweet, sweet words; Liquid Boy.
        Let's back up a little. Thanks to the internet (and not having to rely on only hard-to-come-by fanzines), we live in an age where one can dig through the back catalogue of their favorite artists. Due to these advancements, we not only have the ability to study their history, but odds are there is a recording of it somewhere, regardless of how obscure. Think about that. It's incredible.  This allows us to map out a family tree style band lineage, backtracking through their career as they make their way to what interested us in the first place. This can be amazing, insightful, embarrassing and or completely understandable. Artists have to feel their way as they grow into the dominant performers that we know them to be later in life. My well chronicled infatuation with Doug Martsch (see: Built to Spill and UOY) led me down this type of a rabbit hole in search of his former groups and guest roles. Armed with an iTunes gift card to help purchase anything I couldn't physically or shadily get my hands on, I dove headfirst into his past. Clicking through the various samples that fine afternoon I stumbled upon something that has driven me as a music fan for the last 20 years; a perfect song.

Doug, are you in there?

        Whether I admit it or not (depends when you talk to me), this never ending search for a crisp, new song to obsess over and possibly become enamored with to the point of creepy infatuation is the real reason I am constantly searching through new music. With millions upon millions of songs out there and me having only heard roughly .06 percent of them, it's easy to become convinced that my next true love is just another click or purchase away from being forever lodged in my cerebral cortex. This is both a blessing and a curse. On the plus side, I've got an amazing new song that will provide hours of repeated listening sessions filled with pleasure and serotonin. On the negative side though, I will now have to start over, almost immediately embarking upon a new search for the next great tune missing from my life. This is a dangerous, cyclical routine that has the potential to leave me disappointed much more often than the alternative. Anytime I think hard about this, it makes me a tiny bit sad. But once the first few bars of "Liquid Boy" pipe through my aural pathways for the 683rd time, it's all worth it.
     When separate (in their original form), these two EPs become the 7 song Something Vicious for Tomorrow and the 6 song Time Whore. Years later (read: when I bought it), these two had been combined into one album with savagely disturbing cover art. Even with that image fresh in my head, all the unpleasant thoughts went away when I heard "Liquid Boy". I have absorbed this song in every possible situation, in every possible mindset and in every possible location. There hasn't been a single time when it was anything other than incredible. When Tommy Iommi thought up the idea of swirling guitar interplay (note: this credit to Tommy may or may not be true) he never could have dreamed that it would lead to such perfection. Mr. Marstch and his bandmate Scott Schmaljohn link minds in a way that must have been inspiration for the neural drifts in Pacific Rim. Guitars dive and dart amongst each other like sea birds gathering a fresh meal. The song weaves it's way through four glorious minutes of this tango, cresting with easily one of my favorite guitar solos of all time. It's reasonable to say that if you and I can't sit down and jam on this song there is a good chance we are going to struggle as friends on any meaningful level (don't ask if I'm kidding about this if you aren't prepared for the truth).
        Thankfully, we are not left with an album that has only one enjoyable song. Though "Liquid Boy" is far and away the standout, there are plenty of other tracks that satisfy your need for rocking out at an acceptable level of thrash. "It's Alright Now Ma" (I'm only Douglas?) delivers on the metal riffs and punk ethos but still manages to sprinkle in enough melody to sour those that like sewing anarchy patches to jean jackets. "Something Vicious For Tomorrow", which oddly enough for an EP is not the first track/single, provides more of the break neck guitar swirls that helped to make these guys something special. It's twice the pace of anything else I would listen to and I have a hard time even trying to hand-drum the beat. The slowed down pre-chorus and mid-song breakdown (filled with vocals that seemingly, sadly inspired Linkin Park) prove that these guys were honing their songwriting chops by the second. From there the EP takes an unexpected turn with the acoustic intro of the Smiths cover "Big Mouth Strikes Again". While not a Smiths fan per se, this interpretation of their work does enough to get me to reconsider my stance on not actively seeking their music out. "Filter" merely does a nice job of reminding me why I prefer when Doug sings, but otherwise is another enjoyable tune. It's filled with what comes to be the trademark sound of this EP; spiraling guitars, a fast paced pounding rhythm section and enough twists and turns to prove that "Liquid Boy" wasn't a happy mistake.
         The first EP closes out with "Ad Campaigns" and "Funnelhead". The former is a track that seems practically sludgy in comparison to the others. Remove the somewhat unfortunate vocal yelps of the verse (and keep the Doug chorus) and it becomes a blueprint for songs that Built to Spill would make exceedingly well for years to come. "Funnelhead" reverts back to the breakneck speed and manages to do so as my second favorite track, bookending this EP with pure gold. While the guitar can be almost classic rock at times, the surging bass/drum help to lead the angst ridden vocals on a path of glorious rebellion. It swerves through multiple layers of intensity before ratcheting things down a few notches for the fantastic outro that showcases everything good about what the Treepeople could be.

Welcome to the club, Tree Person. 

        The crazy thing is, that's only half the collection. The "Time Whore" EP is up next and to be quite honest, it doesn't quite deliver on the same level. That's not to say it doesn't have it's share of enjoyable tunes, but SVFT may have set the bar a little too high. It opens with one of the better examples, "Party". This is the type of tune that is excellent musically and weak lyrically. Normally that doesn't bother me too much, but here it stands out a little more than it needs to. Others, such as "Tongues On Thrones" and "Lives" manage to continue to highlight the brilliant fretwork of the guitar duo. "Radio Man" starts off promising but then gets dangerously close to the kind of angry that I'm less OK with before leveling off at a place where I would again enjoy an instrumental more than anything else. "Size Of A Quarter" borders on being labeled as an instrumental and would have benefited from being one (the odd, news report in the background may have some significance but any spoken words are way too buried in the mix to be decipherable). The title track, "Time Whore" closes out this still solid stockpile as my other favorite track. A bit less hectic with the vocals, the track has more of the ambling feel fans would grow to know and love from Doug in the future. These slower moments combined with the aggressive side makes this a familiar stop on the musical highway.
       All in all, these two short collections are the best work that the Treepeople managed to do in their brief time as a band. While the other albums they created have a few tracks here and there that satisfy my need for brilliant guitar work in symphony with enjoyable melody, too often they're missing those same elements. Honestly though, that's not important to me. This started as a Doug Martsch history lesson and became an unexpected discovery of one of the five best songs ever put on tape (OK, OK, I'm willing to concede I might be underrating it just a little). Finding songs like "Liquid Boy" and packaged EPs like Something Vicious For Tomorrow/Time Whore are one of the reasons that I keep searching for new music. There is always the potential for something amazing that's slipped through the cracks of your world.

Final Score: .95 You're Living All Over Me's for Something Vicious for Tomorrow (+.10 for one song...)

Final Score: .76 You're Living All Over Me's for Time Whore

A Vital Step for Pearl Jam

        **Disclaimer: This post may be a little longer than normal. If you are not a fan of Pearl Jam, I suggest you stop reading at once and attempt to remedy that problem.

        Recently, I asked Hobo Keith, a soon to be contributor to Dad Rock, to give me a masters course in Bob Dylan. With his ever deepening Robert Zimmy knowledge, he is constructing "essential" cds for each of the 48 (and counting) eras of relevance Dylan traversed through. Starting with the folk-filled, solo acoustic social commentary days, an image was crafted that an adoring public came to fawn over. This was followed by him wanting to evolve and surreptitiously sneaking an electric band into half an album (Bringing It All Back Home). The test run lead to the now famous plugging in at the Newport Folk Festival and subsequent blowing of the gourds of the folksy fanatics. Rock scholars much more knowledgeable than I will be able to hopefully determine someday if the rest of his career worked out. As it turns out, this was far from the only time he morphed styles, but it's that initial change, done as a method of survival, that I've become fascinated with.
        Throughout musical history, artists seems to hit a point where they are tired of doing whatever they do that fans became attracted to in the first place. Due to this adjustment phenomenon, fans are faced with the choice of remaining loyal (i.e. accepting the sound of Bob backed by some instruments attached to amps) or freaking out and renouncing their fandom (see: fans at above mentioned NFF). Though I'm sure that Bob would have his own thoughts on this, one has to wonder if he knew just how bad the reaction was going to be when he made his choice (he probably did and didn't give a poop). Nowadays though, most artists are clear as to how the public is going to react to any change they happen to make. While it may be accepted in time, odds are, the artist is going to lose some fans or at the very least have many clamoring for the sounds of yore. In my college years I watched this happen to The Strokes (with First Impressions of Earth, a bloated yet mostly excellent work), Kings of Leon (with Because of the Times, a very good album, after which they knowingly dove off the d-bag cliff) and the Arctic Monkeys (Humbug, a stark stylistic maturing that may someday be looked back upon more fondly). Due to its seeming inevitability, these mixed results always lead to a certain level of fear for the fan base when they find a new, young band. Just when is a band going to change, and how much?

Home remedies for the musical soul. 

        While each of the three bands mentioned above had varying levels of popularity, none would be considered a truly dominant force in the middle of a musical resolution (with the Strokes coming closest during the early 2000's). Whatever your feelings are on early 90s rock, it was certainly a (welcome) change from 80s video influenced, pyrotechnic filled, hair metal bombast. Nirvana and Pearl Jam helped lead the charge and the general public became full-on obsessed with their sound. With such pressure to sustain popularity, both bands began to veer into new directions. Nirvana started to hit their new phase with In Utero, going back to a much more raw production and eliminating some of the immediacy of the pop hooks of Nevermind. Obviously, we'll never know where else they could have gone or how far they would have strayed from what made them legendary. Pearl Jam, on the other hand, after two massive selling beasts (Ten and Vs.) followed the Dylan road map and chose to do what they wanted to do, regardless of how they masses felt about it.

       This is how we end up with the 1994 cleanser known as Vitalogy. Though it sold extremely well, I say cleanser because whether intentionally or not (arguments can be made for both), this was the tipping point for their career. It was the first hint that they were going to be OK with wiping out, or at the very least confusing, a massive section of their fans. From this point on, no album in the Pearl Jam cadre sold nearly as well. Most people continued to appreciate them for their live shows, but at the same time they were quick to claim to not be as much of a fan of what they were putting out on record. Now, that's not to say they didn't have their loyal, diehard fans intact, but there was certainly a sea change when it came to their view through the public, rock-radio, prism. It was decided; let's mess with the formula. Vedder figured that he needed to learn guitar, and play guitar, even though he was in a band that already had two guitar players. The 1995 tour that went along with Vitalogy also marked the Ticketmaster debacle where they (nobly) attempted to boycott the ticket-selling giant and perform in other venues without exclusivity. While an ultimately heroic gesture to help out a lot of those same fans who would soon renounce the band, it was a markedly failed endeavor. Thankfully the same can't be said about the album. 

        Vitalogy is often looked back upon fondly, but outside of "Betterman" and "Corduroy" there is a strong chance that even some loyal fans can't name you another song. Compare that to the hordes of singles that dripped off their first two albums (along with plenty of other songs that would probably have worked as singles) and a new dynamic was born. Fans were going to be asked to appreciate songs that didn't have an arena-sized (or maybe any) chorus. As someone who became a fan much later in their career, it's quite noticeable how drastic the change was. I wish I had been around to pay attention to the feelings that swept over the fanbase. Pearl Jam (especially Mr. Vedder) seemed to be ready to crawl out of the spotlight and perhaps bash a few overly invasive privacy leeches along the way back to some semblance of normalcy. Vitalogy is a snarling indictment of the media, fans, the industry and most of all, a group of young men figuring out how to live suddenly different lives. Take a walk through this album and as you do, pause for a second to marvel at how biting the commentary seems to be. 

Edward, Michael, Jeffery and Stoneward.

       Years later, the warning signs seem a little more obvious. But just in case you weren't sure, the opening track, "Last Exit" was a literal attempt to give the listener a final chance to bail. A cacophony of instrumentation bleeds into a driving drum beat that is relentless throughout the whole tune. Including a backwards solo and brilliant Vedder wail, it's a final warning to the fans that if you're not cool with what's going on, get off now. From there, "Spin the Black Circle" helps to simultaneously long for the days of vinyl and look into the crystal ball to see it's eventual resurrection. A punishing punk groove careens this song to the point where it sounds as if the band might come apart at the seams. It's a glorious blast through Vedder's love of a seemingly forgotten musical delivery system. Decades later, critics might be shocked to see that both the band and the format are alive and well.

      The clearest middle finger to the overly obsessive fans/media comes next with "Not For You". The second single (hot damn, "StBC" was the first?), it was a direct indictment of the fans ever increasing obsession with knowing everything about the band members. Lines had been crossed, stalkers were stalking and it couldn't have been a comfortable time to be an artist unsure of how to handle everything. This towering beast is as clear a sign as any that something either had to change, or this was the end. Listen to the tortured lyrics as Vedder repeatedly admonishes all that will listen, "this was not for you, it never was for you". This is a man who needs some space. Though many complain about the lack of quality rock music in our world, there is a reason the type of band Pearl Jam was at this point doesn't exist today; the intensity of this invasion of privacy has magnified tenfold. Who could, or would want to, deal with that?

       As someone who certainly can't claim to have been on the ground floor with the band, it's possible that right away fans didn't quite pick up on the seemingly obvious swipes within the lyrics "take my time, not my life" or song titles ("Nothingman") but the odd musical interludes are as clear as could be. Sandwiching the "still missing a big time chorus" fan favorite, "Corduroy" are two prime examples. First up, "Pry, To", a one minute jam that has Vedder repeatedly spelling out the word privacy. No subtext here. Leave us alone. Next comes "Bugs", a messed up accordion (??) ballad that has Vedder ruminating on what to do with an invasive bug species (the media, fans, probably both), settling finally on giving up and joining them. This is no accident. They really wanted the fans to have to work. 

           This phenomenon happens again later in the album with their third single, "Immortality". The beautiful and touching (supposed tribute to Cobain) is smack dab in the middle of the oddly chanting amble of "Aye Davanita" and the moderately-to-extremely disturbing, little girl sounding insane and possibly referencing suicide "Hey Foxmophandlemama, That's Me". Putting two of the most popular and accessible tunes between such enigmatic curiosities is a sure sign of their reluctance to be a part of the continued level of stardom they had been living with. This, in combination with putting each of these on the second half of the album say we'll give you what want, but you are going to have to wade through an awful lot of muck to get there. 

Currently using the force to strangle an invasive photographer. 

       It needs to be said that though some digging has to occur, when you remove the detritus, there are some fantastic songs on this album. "Nothingman" is a heartbreaking, slow look at a man who is having trouble finding his identity. It's a great example of the versatility of Vedder voice. He layers it on top of itself in an attempt to create an effortless harmony that helps to bring the mood to another level. As mentioned above, "Corduroy" is another standout effort, bubbling with hatred right below the surface on a churning traipse that fans clamor to hear live to this day. The aggressive romp of "Whipping" is a hard charging testament to the strength required to survive in the world that they were anxious to leave behind. The blistering bass work of Jeff Ament in combination with the frenetic fretwork of McCready and Gossard brings about an urgency that helps to put you inside the chaotic headspace they must have been occupying. "Satan's Bed", with it's killer whip-crack opening, has a strange pace that almost has Vedder scatting as the song starts. An ode to dissuading the uninvited groupies who constantly threw themselves at the band, it's an excellent look at how something that might seem like heaven to some can seem like hell to others. 

       The one song that doesn't seem to fit at all is also the one that has the most notoriety, by far. "Betterman" is quite personal, much like all the tracks on the album, but something is different. Unlike the others it's missing an immediacy. This is the only time Vedder reaches back into the past, and in the context of the album it's easy to see why he didn't even want to include it. It may be well known, and a fan favorite to sing along to in concert, but it sticks out as the one track that would have made much more sense on one of the first two albums. Vedder was all about reclaiming personal space, so another song about his troubled childhood would seem to deliver the opposite of what he was going for here. One could assume the record label may have pushed them to include it after hearing everything else.  "Tremor Christ", on the other hand, while nowhere near as successful a song has a much more veiled meaning. Buried within the guitar's stabbing odd counterpoint dance with the bass is the same confused little boy found within "Betterman", but now he's grappling with how to deal with those feelings instead of just documenting the past. 

Shh! You're happiness is too loud. 

       It seems to be a testament to the talent of the band or to the gullibility of their fans that such a scathing group of battle-scarred songs became as notable a collection as Vitalogy did. Most likely, this album only sold so well as a result of the massive success of their first two albums. While I love and appreciate this album as much as any other in their catalog, it's hard to argue with that claim when you analyze what they presented to a blood thirsty fanbase that was craving more mega hits. From all accounts, this was a rough time within the band. Certain members (read: everyone other than Vedder) didn't want to alienate any fans while others felt the herd needed to be thinned out. As tempting as it was to attempt to advance their ever-growing fame, if you look back, this may have been the move that saved their career. Without this change in mindset, they may have bloated to the point of parody or stayed at the unsustainable level of fame and possibly lost a member or two to drugs. It seems quite likely that another Ten or Vs. might have been the beginning of the end. Instead, Vitalogy is now able to sit back and be a wolf in sheeps clothes in the long career of a seminal band. 

Final Score: .89 You're Living All Over Me's

Dick Dank Challenge #3: Orchestrating Simple Math

(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. In fact it's almost a guarantee we'll want to start from scratch after one only more listen or diving deeper into said album multiple times later in life. Let's see em'!)

     Sir Dankington felt that it was time for me to be exposed to some straightforward rock and or roll. After having dipped my toes into the world of The Stranglers and Destroyer, he has bestowed upon me the task of investigating Manchester Orchestra's Simple Math. Clearly, by writing for this site, we both have the urge to try and quantify an unquantifiable thing (music). This becomes inherently difficult because it's created on a different plane of thinking, especially for those of us (read: me) that have no real musical training. I feel this is why, when given something new to listen to, my first instinct is to attempt to find connections to other bands. This allows me to compare, compartmentalize and list the influences or similarities I hear. As the PhDank wrote when reviewing The Dead Trees, if we can attach their sound to a band we like, we've found a way of saying that we enjoy what we're hearing, without outwardly doing so (because you know, feelings are icky). It's dangerous though, because there are issues that can arise when one takes this approach. For one, the album could sound like bands we don't enjoy (which isn't the case here). Plus, it could sound like what we think certain bands sound like, even though we haven't listened to said bands enough to make an accurate judgement (very possibly the case here). Or, we can spend our time trying to force bands into a classified hole of the pigeon variety because it's what we know (very likely the case here). I'd like to think being aware of this will help me work through it when reviewing this album. It doesn't.

Simple Cover

      Throughout my first few listens into this 2011 release I hear (in no particular order) Modest Mouse, My Morning Jacket and tinges of Built to Spill. The problem becomes that I "hear" these bands but I only know one of them (BTS) well enough to speak confidently about. I've managed to leave myself in the odd position of therefore not being able to vouch for my own statement. This bothers me. Not because I don't enjoy the music, because I certainly do. More so, it bugs me because it's a reminder that the amount of music out there that I don't know enough (or anything) about is seemingly insurmountable.  For the time being though, I still have enough knowledge on said comparison bands that I don't feel like a completely asinine fool for making the connection. I dread the day when that is no longer the case.

      Simple Math is a reminder of why it's important to, at the very least, continue trying. The opening track, "Deer" is where the initial smack of MMJ struck me. The vocal line was a beautiful combination of styles that only exists in this modern period of music. Hearing it build with harmonies and horns only added to the connection. The separation came when the song ended, because if Jim James had been at the helm, the song would have built to a resounding conclusion. In this instance however, "Deer" ends with a feeling of resignation. The second track, "Mighty" opens with a dingy, heavy rock sound that is a complete 180. Filled with darkness and lush orchestration, the track is my first glimpse into their mutating sound.

      A prime example of this is "Pensacola", which comes across as their most poppy, accessible tune. Doubled vocals and a building rock beat groove along nicely at the outset. Twinges of Doug Martsch's semi-strained vocals appear for the first time. The quiet pre-chorus provides a nice respite leading into the drunken sailor, horn-amplified, shout-along shanty of a chorus/outro. Despite the somewhat downtrodden lyrical topics (as seen throughout), this tune seems like it would be an absolutely raucous time live. The apparent Doug-fluence continues with "Pale Black Eye". The stop-start nature of the guitar/drums, the weaving of the vocals/guitars in the chorus and the space to breathe amongst the keys and strings provide a familiar Spill-ian background that soothes me nicely. 

     Modest Mouse rears it's influential head with the start of "Virgin". Isaac Brock has a way of always sounding on the verge of absolute insanity, even when singing softly, and that shows up here. I always picture him singing wild-eyed and among the littered remains of various elements that failed to help him sleep for the last three days. That urgency, or missing sense of resolution, can be found throughout the vocal delivery, while again the orchestra is used quite nicely in combination with a horn section and a....children's choir? For whatever reason, a children's choir has always given me an uneasy feeling. In this case, hearing them sing about heavy topics presented me with a fascinating dichotomy that simultaneously intrigued me and gave me a slight case of the heebie-jeebies. Perhaps that was the point? 

        The opening vocal line of the title track again elicits some Jim Jamesian memories. Unlike "Deer", the similarities continue beyond the quiet beginnings, stretching into the build, the quiet bridge and the crashing conclusion. It's a really well done song that I know I am going to appreciate more when I have the time to absorb the lyrics. Throughout the first few listens, this is something that became quite clear; the content of the lyrics might be the thing I can end up relating to and appreciating the most in time. It's really cool to have a band that wraps up heavy ideas in catchy and enjoyable musical blanket, allowing me to unveil and appreciate the underlying heaviness only after repeated listens.  

       The album closes with, in my opinion, two of the better tracks. A catchy lick that reappears throughout starts off my initial favorite song, "Apprehension". It slithers in a way that is both comfortable and unexpected at the same time. The churning, viking ship-like drum beat of the chorus summons you to the return of that infectious lick, encircling the song in that strange combination of hopeful despair. The duplicate guitars that introduce you to the final track, "Leaky Breaks" almost have a prog-rock feel to them (as does the seven plus minute length), but that is quickly replaced by reserved vocals and minimal instrumentation. The tune moves along at this languid pace, allowing for a few excellent solos (great tone) that help to bring you back from the (lyrical) cliff of sadness. As mentioned before, I feel this musical life raft is going to seem all the more necessary once I get deeper into the content and context. 

Except my analysis of it of course.

       In the end, aping your influences is a fine line to walk. In one way, it can be seen as a badge of honor. A band is essentially professing "this is who we like and we're fine with sounding like them." At other times though, the "influence" can stray dangerously close to being an outright facsimile or at the very least a poorly done copy. It's excellent to pull from those you love and appreciate, but at the same time you want to create your own little musical niche that you can build on. Manchester Orchestra does a jim-dandy job of taking the acts (I think) they sound like and sewing them throughout their songs in a way that is more of a doff of the cap and less of a treacherous smash and grab theft. Unless you're in the brain of John Frusciante, there have been 40-50 solid years now where bands have attempted to find ways to reinvent the musical wheel. As someone who often fails in his attempts to immediately quantify what I hear, this is both a blessing and a curse. I've got plenty to draw from, but I wonder if I'm missing the real connection. Thankfully, it seems that MO has left sprinkles of bread crumbs showing where they came from, all the while leaving plenty of room to expand out on their own.

Final Score: .82 Dick Danksing All Over Me's