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

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[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