Billy C has a Heart

Despite what you may think about Billy Corgan and his Smashing Pumpkins (etc), there's no denying that the man packs a lot of passion into his music. And while that sometimes just comes off as spit-laced ranting, just as often (or more so) you get yourself a nice blast of angst driven rock. Just check out their first two nearly flawless outings, Gish and Siamese Dream, for proof of that statement. And while they sorta blew their wad with the over the top and dreadfully long double dipper Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness (I mean the title alone reflects my sentiment), there are still some extremely worthwhile numbers tucked amongst a bit of angry filler. And this pretty much rings true for the remainder of their career (well, the first go around). Their last effort before a lengthy hiatus, Machina/The Machines of God (2000), was a murky, overblown affair where a bunch of really good tunes got bogged down in whatever statement Billy was trying to make at the time. But one absolute masterpiece, the emotive "power ballad" Stand Inside Your Love, is not only a fantastic song, but in my humble opinion one of the top three songs in Corgan's catalog, containing all the elements of rage, regret and pure energy, not to mention catchy hooks and expressive fills, you'd expect from the Smashing Pumpkins. There are three moments in this four minute song that give me chills every time I hear them, and as much credit has to go to drummer Jimmy Chamberlin as to Corgan himself. Check it out!

Really Billy, who wouldn't?

Better Late Than Never

Sometimes it take a few listens for an album or a band to click with me. And sometimes those listens have to be in different settings (the car, work, whilst scrubbing the kitchen counter) or broken down over a period of months, even years. Such was the case for me with several bands that should have been right up my alley from the start, but for one reason or other weren't. Examples would be (in order of eventual acceptance): Echo and the Bunnymen, The Verve and Blur.

A recent addition to this list of better late than nevers (thanks to JT and the bargain bin at McKays) is Longpigs, a throwback to the days of Britpop, and a band that, from where I sat, paled in the shadow of looming giants in the genre like Oasis, Blur, Pulp, etc. Their 1996 debut, The Sun is Often Out, is simply a perfect slice of poptastic pie. Combine The Bends-era Radiohead (you know, when they were halfway good) with Oasis and a dash of Suede and you have a basic idea of the excitement ahead. They had a follow up in 1999 that everyone says is terrible, and who am I to go against everyone, so don't listen to it. Please.

But seriously, if you like a good rock with a melodic feel and the emotional roller coaster of LOUD-quite-LOUD, then check out this album.

Tracks I dig: She Said, On & On, Sally Dances, Elvis

Stains on a Decade: 01

Well, it appears that 2001 was a bit of a dry one in my camp as far as new music goes. And of the new albums purchased, one was a reissue from the 60s, another, an archival collection of live music from the same era and yet two more, collections of previously released material (together at last for the first time!). But that’s not to say that this wasn’t music that was a) either new to me or b) well worth the wait (and expense) in getting everything all together.

Let’s get to it!!!

Life Without Buildings – Any Other City: First, thank you MSP for introducing me to this band. LWB’s time was short-lived, but it was magical. Their sole (studio) album, Any Other City, is really a collection of singles from the previous couple of years. In a lot of ways these eleven songs represent everything I love about music…beautiful, catchy, raw and honest. It’s amazing how much can be accomplished by what seems like so little, and the simplicity of these songs only masks the multi-layered depths each one has to offer. I really wish I could have been there from the first single, to gather this band in pieces and fragments, but it’s just as wonderful (if in a different way) to see them represented as a whole. Sue Tompkins, a visual-sound artist, applies her trade by voice in a sing-talk delivery with wild, kinetic bursts of wide-eyed, excitable innocence that tell tales of misunderstandings and broken hearts as expressively (no, more so) as any bleeding balladeer. Her scattershot, crypto-personal lyrics are so vaguely eloquent that they describe the constant goings on of every life, yours and mine. Nearly every song has a line or two or three that are some of my favorite in pop music, not always so much for what they say, but how:

P.S. Exclusive – Sugar, ice and the right stuff!

Let’s Get Out – Ting ting!

The Leanover – He’s the shaker, baby!

Young Offenders – Night scene stealer…

Philip – For everything!

14 Days – Take all the precious things, nothing less

Sorrow – Eyes like lotus leaves…no, not even like…

Heck, I just have to provide a link to the lyrics. If you can read along as fast as she can put them out there, then you have faster eyes than I do. http://www.student.unimelb.edu.au/jdb/lwb.htm

And the music of Life Without Buildings – chiming, angular, rhythmic – is taken straight from the post-punk handbook of say 1982, yet executed with a crisp, open 90s twist that’s as loosely calculated as the vocals it supports. There is absolutely no denying the absolute infectious enthusiasm of these songs, from the opening blast of P.S. Exclusive to the last fading echoes of Daylighting, each track is a blank canvas allowing listener interpretation, as deep or shallow as they wish to delve, to be used as an emotional release or for the sheer joy of exuberant dancibility. Honestly, the only flaw with Any Other City is the regrettable absence of two songs from their final single, Love Trinity and Is Is and the IRS, the former being one of the greatest songs ever written. Really. And also, ting ting!

Love – Forever Changes (Reissue): I love to discover something new, even if it’s pushing 35 years old at the time. Back in the days when I had time to really surf the internet, I would read up on the bands I loved, learn about the bands that influenced them, and then read up on those bands. If I were intrigued enough, I’d check them out. This is how I found Love (ha, ha). Love’s story is yet another bittersweet rock saga that has played out all too often – loads of talent, critical praise and massive potential, but never much more than a minor splash in the vast ocean that is rock n roll. Seriously, Love is a band that everyone should have heard of and probably hasn’t. This is partly their own fault. Led by the enigmatic, hyper cool and ridiculously gifted Arthur Lee, Love rarely toured far outside their own home base of Los Angeles and, like so many artists before, during and since their time, were plagued by the indulgent use of drugs and booze (and probably girls too…stupid girls). This did not, however, keep them from making several highly regarded albums, the third of which, Forever Changes (originally released in late 1967), often makes the Top 10 albums ever of many a critic’s list. The fact that you’ll likely never hear Love on any classic rock station, especially anything from this record, is a crime where everyone is guilty but the actual music itself, because to me this is a flawless piece of work. Having put out two high-octane, all guns blazing rockers, Arthur Lee and crew stepped back with Forever Changes, which is essentially an acoustic-based album, augmented by horn and string arrangements that are the final ingredient to an almost perfect recipe. This is only a guess, but perhaps one reason the album is a less electric effort is because Lee wrote the songs without his band, which was rapidly falling apart due to their excesses, and so it was put together and arranged in-studio quite literally by session musicians, before the rest of the band – in a final, balls out, let’s do it for the music effort – pulled themselves together and made a true masterpiece of the 60s or any other era. And let me say that just because it’s largely acoustic doesn’t mean for a moment that Forever Changes doesn’t rock, because it certainly does, with 12 songs worth of proof that angst is more than how loud or fast you play a song, but all about how you play it. What’s more, this is a gorgeous album, even at its most morose. Songs like The Red Telephone and Maybe the People Would Be the Times or Between Clark & Hilldale reflect the mood of the younger generation at the time – fear of a society indifferent to itself and a government seemingly all too eager to save everyone the trouble of worrying and dropping the bomb already. If desperation creates beauty, then paranoia refines it, and Forever Changes is dripping with all of the above, drifting out from the speakers in a shy, almost cautious delicacy that draws you in even as it’s pressing you back. Each song is as vital to the integrity of the overall experience as the ones that surround it, and the album is bookended in brilliance by its two strongest (if only by a hair) tracks, the Bryan MacLean penned Alone Again Or (probably the most well known song from this album ‘cos of its multiple covers) and Lee’s sprawling epic, You Set the Scene – two songs that speak volumes to any bitter, jaded anti-socialist with ears blessed enough to hear. This is the dying gasp of the Summer of Love, before the turmoil that exploded in the last two years of the 60s washed over everything that mindset tried to represent, and in some ways, Forever Changes almost foretells it all. (The 2001 edition includes several bonus tracks of demos, outtakes, alternate mixes and a single/b-side from the same era, each as fantastic as the songs that made the final album.)

Low – Things We Lost in the Fire: One simply can’t deny the gentle self-destruction of Low. Their 1994 debut, I Could Live in Hope, was one side of a two-album mix tape JT made for me back in the day (I have no idea what was on the other side…Yo La Tengo maybe?) and I listened to it over and over again until it finally snapped. With every subsequent release I was looking for the same feeling I got when I listened to that album and was always disappointed because, naturally and as it should be, the band had moved on, still retaining their signature “dirge” sound, but running it through so many different filters that at the time I could neither comprehend nor keep up the pace. And such was the case with Things We Lost in the Fire, purchased at a time when I was always on the move, where more active, upbeat tuneage was the necessity. I guess I must have listened to this one more than I thought, however, ‘cos when pulling it out again (honestly, for the first time I can remember since Labor Day weekend of 2001 driving back from visiting friends in Atlanta), I was blown away by how familiar the songs were to me, proof that this album was something special being tucked away for a different need at a future time. That time has come. I won’t be so cheesy as to say this album “speaks to me,” but I relate to it with a quiet sense of melancholy that just seemed like more endless droning nine years ago. Obviously I was listening out of loyalty to the band and not a required need for the music they gave me. Low has always been excellent at creating a melancholy ambience, and it’s amazing how many ways that can be conveyed, from peaceful lulls to outright frightening landscapes, each record seems to come from a different planet of sound (Pixies reference intended) and Things We Lost in the Fire from a distant but not impossible to reach moon. The music glides to the listener in a warm, coaxing way, filling the room, the head and the heart, and often as not with little more instrumentation than a few strums of the guitar, some sparse drum beats, a lone bass note and the ever enchanting vocal melodies of husband-wife team Alan Sparhawk and Mimi Parker. For example, the lullaby-esque Laser Beam is so deceptively full that it takes a closer listen to realize this song is nothing more (and needs nothing more) than an echoing guitar and Mimi’s ever haunting vocals. But as easily as they send you off to dreamland, Low can wake you up again to cold sweat and wondering by jarring your senses with sharp tom beats and distortion-angry guitars, as in the aforementioned track’s follow up, July, and album single Dinosaur Act. And yet a stirring beauty remains throughout all of Things We Lost in the Fire, and as the album’s themes lament the loss of innocence, faith and grace, there is still love and the promise of a future, and the album’s closer, In Metal, is one of the most eerie odes for the affection of a child ever composed. In a way I’m glad to have let this record slip away so many years ago, because I can now love and appreciate Things We Lost in the Fire in a way I could never have then, and in a way that could not have reached me as it does today with the familiar appreciation I may have had in another phase in my life (and yes, I realize that’s a little cheesy).

New Order – Get Ready: Comebacks are a tricky deal. The hype-anticipation of an artist releasing a new album after a silence of 5, 10, 25 years can often overweigh any merits of said album when compared to heyday material from way back whenever. This wasn’t such a problem for New Order since, in the States at least, nobody really cared when they ended their “this might be forever” hiatus following 1993’s dark masterpiece, Republic. But still, for the sake of the music at least, why bother to put out anything if you’re not going to make the effort? And in my opinion New Order did a solid job with Get Ready. Though an off-and-on top favorite band for years, I’ve often lamented that these guys seem to spend a lot of time on singles (just check out their collection Substance for proof of that) while their albums, especially mid 80s, and despite some fantastic songs, seem rather thrown together at best. This being said, New Order has always been great at kicking off an album (aside from Technique’s Fine Time, that song is just rubbish), and Get Ready is no exception, as Crystal is pop perfection in every way. Bernard Sumner and Co play it safe, sticking with a formula they perfected with 1987’s True Faith, managing to squeeze several enjoyable, danceable, singable pop ditties since, and for the first five tracks everything is exactly what you’d expect a latter day New Order album (when they actually started focusing on full albums) to be – catchy, mid-tempo dance-rockers with flashes brilliance (Turn My Way) throughout. Sumner has always been a bit of a goof, giggling in songs on record and changing lyrics in concert to reflect a vulgar sentiment. This “humor” (‘cos it may not have been intended) is most evident on the back to back “everyone sings along” Slow Jam and Rock the Shack, which, true to their reference, are a bit more rock than pop, and frankly the most disposable outings on the entire affair. But New Order have always been a bit all over the board (dance, rock, pop, house, etc, etc) and again, this is to be expected of most any New Order album, the eggshells here and there making the yolk that much sweeter (I apologize for that analogy…but I’m not going to change it). But New Order is also not a band to lag or stay down for long, so thankfully Get Ready picks back up again in fine fashion with Someone Like You and Close Range before closing out with acoustic strum anthem Run Wild. Get Ready will not garner any new fans, but should satisfy the faithful and remind them what the deal was all about in 1985. New Order is no longer reinventing the wheel, they’ve made their mark, their point and their money, so now they’re just set to play out in a way that’s comfortable for them, and expected for us…which is just fine, even preferred.

Old 97’s – Satellite Rides: This third major label release for these alt-country darlings is a little less country and a little more alt, which is what possibly allowed a brief peak into the mainstream during the spring of 2001. I have to say though that this is probably the album I reach for last when in an Old 97’s mood, and not because it’s a bad album, but simply because, as mentioned, it’s the least like their classic and well beloved sound. Still, one can’t deny the rock-on fun of opener King of All the World, the whimsical frolic of Bird in a Cage, the more true to form frenzy of Am I Too Late or the wink and a nod bravado of Designs on You. And while Rhett Miller may not be as humorously self-depreciative about his plights in binge drinking, love gone wrong and missing cats as in previous outings, he clearly maintains his status as the Second Greatest Songwriter of Our Generation by being just as clever, witty and downright insightful as ever. Nowhere else in recorded history will you run across a Salinger reference or a nod to the closure of the GM mega-factory in Flint, MI within less than ten minutes, and in both instances Miller takes something as far away as the printed page or seven states and makes it as personal and believable as if writing about his own mother. But Rhett isn’t the only one with a word or two to say, as once more bassist Murry Hammond churns out a couple of murky gems, the standout (and highlight of the album) being the quasi-supernatural, bad love stomper Up the Devil’s Pay. Really, a couple of the major Old 97’s traits missing from this record are a) Murry’s sweet “ooh-ahh” backing vocals and b) his ever-walking bass lines, which are again due to the more straightforward rock penchants of this set of songs. And again, I really don’t mean to dump water on Satellite Rides ‘cos it’s truly a great pop rock blast of good fun and I’ve definitely enjoyed my re-visit to prepare for this post. Many of the elements that make Old 97’s such a great band, like excellent songwriting and execution, are still around, but folks looking to find the breakneck fury, laughing ‘cos it’s true and near bottomed out desperation of previous works will only catch glimmers of what brought these Texans this far in the first place.

My song source is letting me down, so here's Roller Skate Skinny live...the way they do it best.

The Pixies – The Complete B-Sides: It’s very rare that an artist will put together a compilation that is this thorough, complete or non-redundant, so hats off to the Pixies and 4AD for making such a move. I may be wrong, but this collection brings together every b-side from their seven singles, as well as a handful of one-offs from soundtracks and compilation albums. The only thing I can think of that’s not on here is their version of Leonard Cohen’s I Can’t Forget from the I’m Your Fan tribute album. Regardless, the great thing about a Pixies b-sides collection is that hands down, every time, no exception, their b-sides are just as strong and effective as most any song on their four great to stellar albums (ALL of them are better than Silver). What this means is that the first two-thirds of the Complete B-Sides is fantastic. Songs like Manta Ray, Into the White and the Kim Deal-dreamy-sung version of Neil Young’s Winterlong are not only longtime fan faves, but have been staples of the Pixies live set throughout their career, which makes them vital to the band’s overall catalog. If you’re a Pixies fan and you don’t own this (or all the singles), then you should be ashamed. If you’re not a fan already, this really isn’t a half bad introduction as to what they’re all about. At the end of the day, however, this is a compilation album, which means that things don’t flow as smoothly as a Surfer Rosa or a Bossa Nova (witcha!). But the beauty, and point, of this release is that you can now have all these great, rambling b-sides in one handy-dandy case without the expense of tracking down the (now out of print?) individual singles, or taking up the extra space on your already overflowing CD shelf once you acquire them all.

REM – Reveal: Their second album without truly underrated drummer Bill Berry, the little trio that could took a great leap forward by reincorporating live drums into much of the mix of Reveal, as opposed to the cold, sterile and ultimately ineffective electro-loop noodling found on 1998’s Up. Another step forward was by taking a step back and focusing more on the “classic” REM sound, though stripping away the chiming guitars and putting everything through a pseudo-techno-new age filter. Imagine if a late-1990s Brian Wilson picked up and moved to the Deep South, released his demons, and wrote about the empty ache their absence in his soul left him with. The result, just like a Beach Boys record, is an album that is effective and entertaining, but only rarely exciting – so basically it’s an atmospheric mood enhancer, perfect for a quiet evening under the stars or a leisurely drive in the country. The two strongest tracks are the two biggest singles, All the Way to Reno and Imitation of Life, both of which got some significant airplay and the latter of which made me decide I really needed to check this album out. And, as I believe I mentioned on a previous post, Reveal rekindled the flame I’d once held for the boys from Athens so many years before but begrudgingly lost somewhere in the mire of the 90s. Unlike Up, or even Berry’s last outing New Adventures in Hi-Fi, REM is no longer trying to reinvent themselves in order to stay relevant or popular. This makes for some of the most honest, believable music of their post-Green career, and a chance for all involved to lower their expectations and allow themselves to be pleased with the outcome. At the end of the spin, Reveal is a strong, satisfying, “resting on one’s laurel’s” album, as REM finally realizes that their days of soul shattering significance may be behind them, but they are still competent musicians and songwriters who are happy to create music that they enjoy and that their loyal fan base will look forward to.

The Strokes – Is This It?: I can remember the buzz going ‘round about these cats, and having lunch with some of the boys at Royal Thai in Brentwood where the table was giving the general approval and MSP reluctantly agreed that Hard to Explain was a super catchy song. A couple of days or weeks or something later I finally heard what the hype was about, some blend of the Velvet Underground, Television and the Stooges. I could see all of it but Television, and as much as I hated to admit it, I really rather dug it. I guess to a certain degree, especially amongst the hipster scene and whatever was left of the indie kids, Is This It? was the album of 2001. In many ways it was a breath of raunchy air blowing back in the face of both boy bands and the sensitive “alternative” posturing in the wake of post-grunge, a harkening to the days of dirty arse rock n roll, full of piss and vinegar, self-loathing and a thinly veiled contempt for modern social standards. At the same time, The Strokes were nothing more than a bunch of rich kids with connections playing heroin chic rock star, the product of a slick-minded producer and a music scene looking for a new trend. I remember an early impression, once I’d gotten past just how darn catchy Hard to Explain is, was that they seemed to be trying very hard at acting like they didn’t care, as if the band could fall apart at any moment and that would be ok – a notion that was only confirmed when a bunch of us went to see them live a few months later, still and stoic as statues, playing the album note for note as if they’d been shown what to do. Within a few months the CD shelves and hipster mags were full of similar retro-minded twenty-somethings who were all raised on their parents’ Duran Duran and/or Iggy Pop albums and putting out their own scene’s version of whatever that was supposed to mean. But, despite the tidal wave phenomenon it started, Is This It? is really not a bad half hour of music. Hard to Explain is a super catchy song, as are Someday and Last Night, and the rest of the album chugs and slugs along at a drugged out moderate to angsty up tempo pace that has you bobbing your head and throwing the goat…even if only subconsciously.

The Velvet Underground – Bootleg Series Volume 1 - The Quine Tapes: The title suggests that, similar to the Dylan series of the same name, there would be a slew of like releases. Apparently not, ‘cos this is it, kids. Basically this triple live album is a bunch of shows recorded by the late Robert Quine, a VU fan who would eventually become an influential guitarist in his own right, who basically Dead-followed the band around, recording as many shows as possible and years later compiling the best of those shows into the finished product we have today. What’s nice about this collection of the late 1969 edition of the band’s live set is that it digs pretty deep into the Velvet Underground’s back catalog, so that not only are early staples like Waiting for the Man and Heroin present, but Black Angel’s Death Song, I Can’t Stand It and the infamous Sister Ray (in one set a full 38 minutes long…and the best take I’ve heard of the song), not to mention a couple of tracks, It’s Just Too Much, Follow the Leader, etc, that would never see a studio or any other official release. The sound quality is quite good, especially considering the times, how long the original tapes sat around in boxes, etc, etc, and of course the performances are out of this world. But having said that, this is only for the die hard, must have Velvet Underground fan. I myself could listen to all three plus hours of this without stopping and then ask for another three hour set, but it’s not for the first time dabbler or the faint of heart (so mom, go pick up their self-titled third album first). Most importantly, this is a document of an extremely influential band at the peak of their live abilities, still going strong after line up breakdowns and their initial hype had settled, proving that they were more than feedback and drug-noise and the side show of some big blond haired fop (I love you, Andy!), but a solid rock act bringing the business to the people.

And, without further ado, the winner for Best Album of 2001 is…Life Without Buildings, Any Other City. And your extra special bonus prize is the aforementioned Love Trinity.

Stains on a Decade: 00

When collecting material for my “best of” the aughts I realized yet again how little new releases I generally pick up throughout a given year. While these ten entries will not be everything I purchased coming out as a new release between 00 and 09, they do represent the albums/artists that meant the most to me then and/or now…which is what this entire blog is all about.

And so, in alphabetical order (though I will name a “best” of each year at the end of each entry)…

The And/Ors: Will Self-Destruct – This album is my own special secret, as I’ve never, ever run across anyone else who has heard (of) this band (and if you have, let’s start a club). The only thing In Sound ever gave me before I boycotted them for life when they blew off Paul Spivey and Seesaw Records, this purchase was definitely worth the short-lived relationship. I don’t really know anything about these guys (and a gal on bass) aside from the fact that Will Self-Destruct (the only thing by them I can find) is one of the catchiest, noisiest, most infectiously joyous pieces of indie pop to be held over from that genre’s heyday of the mid 90s. Pavement meets Sonic Youth? Sure, why not? Screeching guitars, driving rhythms, fantastic nonsense lyrics and washes of affected noise to bring it all together, ten years on I still can’t get enough of this album and how fresh it sounds, raw and pure, something completely of its time and influences, and yet like nothing else (including Pavement meets Sonic Youth).

Candy Takes the Cake, At the Saturn Bar

Richard Ashcroft: Alone with Everybody – I wasn’t a Verve fan at all when it mattered. Call it stubbornness. But when it finally clicked close to a decade after the fact, I began my process of picking up all things Verve and Verve-related. And while I’ll admit that Urban Hymns is without a doubt the greatest thing to ever emerge from the Verve camp (don’t tell JT I said that), I’ll argue that Richard Ashcroft’s solo debut really gives that album a run for its money. Truth be told the two can’t really be compared, because while UH is a near CD limit’s worth of noisy vitriol juxtaposed with delicate, heartfelt angst, Alone with Everybody is seriously one of the most “soberingly upbeat” albums I’ve ever heard. While it’s hardly happy times and feeling good, Ashcroft tackles the issues of love and life and turns them all on their ear by saying “Hey, we’re gonna make it now.” True, this style/genre and attitude are not usually my grain of sand, but when something is good it’s good, and there is no denying the immediate appeal found in so many of these tracks, melodies that have you singing, even dancing (within your own private corner) long after the disc has run out.

Brave New World, Crazy World

Belle & Sebastian: Fold Your Hands Child, You Walk Like a Peasant – Usually I’m late for the current “big thing” in the music world. For B&S I came around right when the hype for The Boy With the Arab Strap was just beginning to wane…which means I missed the uber hype of If You’re Feeling Sinister by a good 18 months. But when I jumped the B&S train, I jumped on all the way, and was therefore ready (and waiting) for the band’s next release, Fold Your Hands Child, You Walk Like a Peasant. Unfortunately the rest of the cool music world had moved on. I have to admit that this is a somewhat difficult album. A band in transition? A band in turmoil? Possibly. Bassist and founding member Stuart David left upon its completion, and doe-eyed vocalist/instrumentalist Isobel Campbell after only another single or two. And perhaps that reflects on the finished product, ‘cos the deal with this album is that it’s a near complete mess. Invisible (at the time) front man Stuart Murdoch was giving the other members more pull and freedom of direction (or so it seems), which made for rather interesting if not somewhat off putting sidesteps from what the world had come to know as a “proper” Belle & Sebastian album. And even though things start off “traditionally” with a whisper-quiet opener that builds and layers with each verse-chorus-verse, by track three it’s obvious that cohesiveness is a tertiary thought. So for me what’s made this album worthwhile over the years is not what I thought about it at age 26 when I was still somewhat “freshly” in love with B&S, but the subsequent listens I’ve given it after long periods of neglect when I realized the tune that was mysteriously stuck in my head was found on this disc. Like so many albums by other artists before and after, this is a collection of songs that mainly stand well by themselves, as individual statements, with their only fault being lumped amongst a batch of like-minded misfits whose similarities are that they have nothing in common.

Don’t Leave the Light On, Baby, There’s Too Much Love

Broadcast: The Noise Made by People – Ok, I was on board for these guys nearly from the start (thanks MSP). Easily one of the best shows I have ever seen, it was also one of the loudest, and yet in a sonic way that hit me not so much in the ears as dead in the chest…that is to say the heart. Retro a good 3-5 years before such a move was cool, these guys didn’t go back to the 80s, but two decades before and further underground to the murk of obscure, psychedelic 60s rock. If I had to describe this album in a word, it would be “ambience.” The Noise Made by People is spooky, ominous, “hollow” (I know what I mean) and immediately endearing because this album does not pretend to be anything other than what it is – a batch of songs both simple and good, the way the best and purest of all things should be. Perhaps they had a vision, a goal, but to me Broadcast just created a sound, er, um, noise, that they enjoyed, and despite the fact that parts sound plagiaristically (it is too a word!) similar to virtually unheard tunes 30 years before, it was with a wink and a nod that made it all forgivable (after we all found out just how much The United States of America influenced this album).

Come On Let’s Go (official video), Until Then (Fan vid)

Coldplay: Parachutes – I’ve already admitted I’m a Coldplay fan, so you’re just gonna have to forgive me and move on. As I stated some months before, these guys are hit or miss. Taking their queue from Travis who took their queue from Radiohead, they rocked onto the scene in a mellow, almost Jack Johnson sorta way that made them exciting and yet non-threatening. I used to say that this album was half great, half boring, but honestly, listening to it again to “prepare” for this write up, I found myself quite digging most all of it in a comfortable, familiar way that I could chalk up to nostalgia for my mid 20s, but have to admit is because these songs are really quite solid. Don’t Panic is simply one of the best album openers of all time (though certainly rivaled by Politik two years later), and pretty much sets the stage not only for Parachutes, but Coldplay’s entire mood/stance/career/etc up through the present day. So for better or worse, this is where it all started, and just in case you’ve forgotten (or simply wondered) why and what the big deal was and is all about, you’d have to be a Batey or a Martineau to not find some worth within these walls.

Don’t Panic, Yellow

Mojave 3: Excuses for Travellers – What Mojave 3’s third outing did for me initially was help me recognize the worth of their sophomore effort, Out of Tune. After the shimmering, beautiful, folk-country brilliance of their debut, the follow up was an almost harsh jolt in the wrong direction…until I heard those first two albums blended so perfectly into Excuses for Travellers. Essentially this is a collection of mellow strums, with Neil Halstead (the GREATEST songwriter of our generation) sleep-crooning his take on the pain of relationships and the balm of gentle waves. And while things certainly do pick up the beat from time to time, it’s with a whimsical dreaminess that is more a joy to be alive in spite of the ache than any angst brought on by it. This is truly an atmospheric endeavor, and one that demands repeat listens in order to discover the hidden melody gems buried beneath layers of guitars, organs and foaming surf. Over the years this album (like Ride’s Going Blank Again) has become a favorite travel companion, making the songs it represents that much more poignant.

Return to Sender, When You’re Drifting


Radiohead: Kid A – I was right when I hated Radiohead the first time. But when I read an article in either Q or Uncut about this then forthcoming album in a restaurant somewhere in NYC, I believed they might be the long looked for saviors of rock music. And in a sense they were by creating one of the most “non-rock albums that truly kicks arse” of all time. Rolling Stone panned it (which infuriated me) and came up with the ABCs of why it was so terrible…the one that sticks with me to this day being “Eno-core,” which I agreed with and embraced because I was (and am) such a big Brian Eno fan and thought that obvious influence was one of the key qualities of Kid A. The problem is that while Thom and the boys successfully deconstructed rock n roll, they seemed to have forgotten how to put it back together again, as subsequent releases like Amnesiac (essentially a Kid A outtakes album) and Hail to the Thief just pushed further and further away from what could be considered listenable music. That coupled with the fact I listened to this album repeatedly for weeks and weeks means that its merit and longevity as something of import were lost to me and I had pretty much decided never to listen to it again. Thankfully I did (again, in preparation for this write up) and found that at low volumes Kid A provides quite pleasant mood music. Perhaps that’s all it ever was.

How to Disappear Completely, Idioteque


And the best album of 00 is... The And/Ors – Will Self-Destruct
Here's a video for Flexi-Clocks. I had no idea this existed until three days ago!!!

Q4-09: Greg, this is a long one...

2009 is over and what’s more, so is the decade of the aught. It didn’t occur to me to compile a “Best Of the 00s” until I saw some other folks were doing so. And having said as much, a) this is not that and b) I may or may not get around to such.

What this is though is my fourth quarter update of new music and general listening. Of the former I finally picked up most of the recent releases I mentioned back in my Q3 update, and of the latter I’ve once again been dabbling in nostalgia that’s a bit all over the board.

Here we go!

New Releases

The Church – Untitled #23: Continuing the trend they began with 1992’s Priest = Aura, the best of the best from down under have provided yet another solid outing of epic, textural landscape pieces. The great thing about the Church is that they’re always forward thinking, focusing more on the music than the dollar or even the fan base, expecting that the latter (especially after all this time) will be confidently on board with wherever they’re now heading on their sonic journey. The result is that each release sounds fresh and inventive, never relying on successful sounds of the past or once-tried gimmicks. This gives one the feeling that their best album is still the next album ahead, and that the latest is only a sketch of future brilliance, therefore making each new effort as relevant today as they were when Under the Milky Way was a minor rock hit on college radio 20+ years ago. And of course Untitled #23 is no exception. From the steady throb beats that open Cobalt Blue to the droning pianos and hypnotic vocal swirls and horns of Operetta, everything is delivered with precision and promise. This is elegant music, but not fragile, and even in the most beautifully sensitive moments there lurks an air of dark mystery, of calm foreboding, which is never more evident than on cornerstone track On Angel Street. But the abilities of past pop glory aren’t entirely left behind, just stretched further and to the next level of accessibility, as evident by Deadman’s Hand and the almost funky Space Saviour. As with all bands who care more about imagery than image, The Church is one of those near forgotten secrets that will slip by in the shadows if you don’t keep your finger to the pulse. Don’t miss a beat.

Mission of Burma – The Sound, the Speed, the Light: I hate myself for this, but I listened to this album once, said “eh…” and never put it back in. I think the problem was not being in the mood for Burma (blasphemy, I know!), ‘cos after that disappointing listen I put in some classic MoB and was still “eh…,” which is just silly. So I’ll come back around when I don’t have a million other things going on.

The Bats – The Guilty Office: When the Bats ended their 10 year silence in 2005 with At the National Grid, I was beyond thrilled and rented a couple extra pairs of arms so that I could more properly embrace that album. As I’ve said in previous posts, the Bats pretty much have a sound/formula that they never, ever, ever stray from. So when The Guilty Office came out this year I expected more of that same melancholy jangle…which is delightfully what I got. But even more so, I got a “return to form” in a sense. The Bats have always been a rather “loose” outfit, more interested in strumming open chords along to a basic rhythmic pace than wowing fans with stops and starts, elaborate time changes or inventive sounds. And even when rockin’ out with riffs and solos buzzing all over the place, it’s with a laid back whimsy that gives the impression they might just stop playing at any moment and go have a snack (ok, maybe that’s a stretch). But with The Guilty Office, the Bats seem to be more focused. This feels more like “the next album” rather than some old friends getting together to run through and record a few songs and call it a comeback (which is essentially what they did on At the National Grid). The result is a set of concise and bittersweet pop sing-a-longs that stand up very well to the band’s classic and most essential work – which basically makes this album both classic and essential to any Bats fan. Everything you’ve come to expect from Robert Scott and company is here, from plaintive rockers (Steppin’ Out) to broody ballads (The Guilty Office) and, I’m sure just for me, further support that any song with “satellite” in the title is fantastic (Satellites).

Colin Hay – American Sunshine: Any child of the 80s is at least a marginal fan of Men at Work. If you don’t like Land Down Under or It’s a Mistake or Overkill, you’re flat wrong and you hate music, spring days, your mom and a fresh glass of cold, cold milk from an iced mug. For most all of you who likely don’t know, Colin Hay was their cockeyed front man. His solo career has been very low key but very rewarding for anyone willing to seek out any of his ten or so albums. Admittedly I only own a couple, but when Daytrotter had him in for a session to record some scaled down versions of new songs, I knew I had to get whatever album they were own…enter American Sunshine. A truly gifted songwriter and a truly emotive singer, Hay delivers thirteen tracks that are thoughtful, observant and provide a fresh, unbiased perspective to love, life and the land we live in. I’ll tell you up front that it sounds a bit adult contemporary, but we all have to grow up sometime.

New to Me

My friend April who works for Warner Bros again let me in on their super cheap friends and family sale. I got about 30 CDs for about $20 (these are rounded numbers, kids), everything from the Afghan Whigs retrospective (which works quite well as an “album” despite my dislike for best ofs) to a couple of the Depeche Mode reissues from a couple of years back. I was pleased with most everything I got, but a few discs stood out above the others.

Grant Lee Buffalo – Storm Hymnal (2001): One of those groups I’d always heard of but never heard, this two disc best of culled from their four albums (plus a slew of rarities) will pretty much whet the whistle of anyone looking to see what this LA-based trio was all about. A bit punk, a bit folk, they created a sound that was both large and contained, and delivered it with a raw power equally paralleled by Grant-Lee Phillips’ open, passionate singing. The Shining Hour is simply one of the greatest songs of all time – cryptic, forbidding and catchy as all get out. Jupiter Teardrop takes your heart and wrings out every last drop of moisture in a repeat listen way that makes the pain more sweet than bitter. And even later on in their career, sappy love ballads like Truly, Truly make “theme-based” tunes played over montages in the likes of The OC and One Tree Hill seem almost legit (and right here I’ll point out that Phillips was a recurring character on Gilmour Girls…but they had Sonic Youth on too, so…something). If you like good music that’s as infectious as it is unobtrusive, you need to at least pick this one up.

Mudcrutch – s/t (2008): This is Tom Petty here so it has to be at least pretty good. And that’s not a question, but a statement. Anyone who knows anything about TP likely knows that Mudcrutch was his Florida-based outfit that he took to LA, cut a few singles with and then morphed into the Heartbreakers. To say that the two bands sound similar would sorta be stating the obvious, but, just like most any Heartbreakers and/or TP solo album, the differences are apparent enough to certainly call this a different band. Tom moving back to bass and allowing second guitarist Tom Leadon to supply an additional lead unbridled by vocal duties provides a more intricate, fleshed out sound, while the fact that many of these songs are “roots” based gives the album a leaner, even looser feel than most Petty outings. He goes places here he usually doesn’t on his own or with the Heartbreakers, like the pick-n-grin of traditional Shady Grove, the psychedelic meandering of Crystal River (which takes you all the way “out there” and back again in 9 minutes and 28 seconds) and the honky tonk-esque Queen of the Go-Go Girls, featuring, I believe, Leadon on lead vocals. And of course there are plenty of great this-could-be-on-any-Tom-Petty-album standards like Scare Easy and Orphan of the Storm. Really, if you’re a Tom Petty fan, you’ve already had this for over a year and I’m just preaching to the choir, but even the casual listener who likes the hits on the radio will find this album rewarding.

Foxboro Hot Tubs – Stop, Drop and Roll!!! (2008): I picked up this album solely based on the cover. It looked fun and promising, and for a dollar was worth the risk. I was so pleased to be right. This is simply upbeat, raucous garage rock in its purest, most endearing form. Mother Mary, Broadway, the Pedestrian – it’s the best of any retro revival act out there, and worth the price of admission for the spooky as spooky can be Zombies-like Dark Side of Night. And the big surprise? This band is Green Day…just a fluke, one-off side project. Why can’t they be this good in there more commercial form?

Revisits

Cinderella – Night Songs (1986): As I’ve said before, hair metal was never my thing, but certain variations of glam rock, especially in the 80s, were a very close cousin, and so in 1986 when Cinderella rocketed to fame on the coattails of Bon Jovi’s success, I overlooked their “genre” and got down to the rock of the matter. And really, their debut is straight to business rock n roll. From the infectious Shake Me to the brooding Nobody’s Fool to more obscure album tracks like the balls out Hell on Wheels, Night Songs slows down only enough to be menacing, but mainly just rocks your face off. More than cool riffs and catchy choruses, the refreshing thing about this album is that Tom Keifer’s lyrics are observant without being preachy, indulgent or self-important, and a few songs (Once Around the Ride, Nothin’ for Nothin’) touch on the fleetingness of life – something that definitely set Cinderella (despite their “look”) apart from most all of their party-till-it-hurts contemporaries.

Rush – Moving Pictures (1981): I listened to Rush back in the day because my friends did. I listen to Rush now because I did back in the day because my friends did. So that means I’m really not much interested in anything they’ve done in the past 20ish years, and I only want to revisit what I enjoyed when I was younger. And that’s not to demote the worth of anything this triumphant trio have done at any time, because I did and do truly love me some Rush. Fans all have their preferred albums/eras, and most all would certainly put 2112, Permanent Waves and Moving Pictures somewhere in their top 3-5, so it’s really up to the individual to decide which is the best of those three (or Farewell to Kings or Hemispheres or Signals…). But I picked up Moving Pictures again a couple or so months back and listened to it nearly solid for ten days, and then just within the past couple of weeks, did that all over again. Man, what an album! I believe their biggest seller, Moving Pictures contains Rush’s most familiar song, Tom Sawyer, their most infamous song, YYZ, and their most pop-tastic song, Limelight. And all three of those songs (plus the nostalgio-futuristic Red Barchetta) make for a stellar side one. But for me, side two really takes things to the next level, and none better than the side-opening, 11-minute epic The Camera Eye. Really folks, put all your pretensions aside, ‘cos these guys can do it all and still not bring their egos to the table. If you like well-written, well-performed, intelligent, vibrant and accessible music, then this album is where you need to begin.

Queen – Crown Jewels (1998): Queen is one of those bands that truly defy categorization – glam, metal, pop, ragtime, camp, show tunes, experimental – essentially, RAWK! They’re also one of those bands that everyone (including my mother) likes at least one song. And since their creative heyday was pretty much contained to the 1970s (though there are some songs and even albums of merit later on), all you really “need” is the Crown Jewels box set that came out a few years ago. If you’re only familiar with the hits, this can be a lot to swallow all at once (TWSS). This was the problem I had a decade ago, so while some albums (Queen II, A Night at the Opera, Jazz) really jumped out and stuck with me for repeat listens over the years, others (A Day at the Races, News of the World, the Game) sorta fell flat despite some outstanding singles and album tracks. And while Queen is a band that can have a lot going on at any given point, that doesn’t necessarily mean they beg to be examined – at least not right from the start. Sometimes you have to let an album run its course in the background while you focus on most anything else, and only then will the slight and subtle nuances of songs like Drowse, My Melancholy Blues and Need Your Loving Tonight set themselves apart and give you a reason not to skip to Somebody to Love or Another One Bites the Dust. So with this most recent revisit, while busy feeding, playing with or cleaning up after Fox, I was really able to get in the right zone and enjoy, for the most part, those albums that I once sorta panned. And of course since Queen never ages or fades, those albums that I’ve loved for years now only proved themselves again, especially cuts like The March of the Black Queen, Seaside Rendezvous and Don’t Stop Me Now.

Reissues

U2 – The Unforgettable Fire: Of all the U2 re-releases so far, this is the one I was most interested in simply ‘cos it’s the one I thought would benefit most from a good clean up. And while that’s not necessarily untrue, at the same time the new bright spots are much more subtle. There are really no hidden guitar chimes or bass snaps now released from the murk of mid-80s quality production, just a cleaner, crisper sound for a phenomenal record that was already pretty darn clean and crisp to begin with. Having run through their first four albums several times recently, it’s amazing to me that this one is so far removed from the logical steps forward of Boy, October and War. Truly, it’s a record in and of itself, a breathtaking anomaly, a beautiful freak of nature. And yet this is where the “classic U2 sound” was truly realized and also where it pretty much ended, as aside from about three songs on Joshua Tree (another album pretty much born and bred of its own accord) and a few moments on Achtung Baby, that echo that still haunts my soul has disappeared into the haze of mainstream overindulgence (but Dave, I still love you, man). Also, of the all the other releases, this possibly has the most exciting treasure trove of tracks on the bonus disc -- namely all those fun and funky b-sides from the singles, two previously unreleased tracks, Disappearing Act and Yoshino Blossom, the two studio tracks from the Wide Awake in America E.P., Love Comes Tumbling and The Three Sunrises, and a live re-working (also from WAiA) of A Sort of Homecoming that absolutely brings a tear to my eye. In a word, rejoice!

The Beatles – Let It Be: I’m still not a Beatles fan. But because I’m a fan of music I need to listen to them. So when the reissues came out I was like “interesting, but…evs.” But then I decided to pick up A Hard Day’s Night since Target sells the reissues for only $13.99 (which is a good 5 clams less than you could ever pick up the original CD releases any time, anywhere). When I put the disc in the car CD player I said, “Impress me.” I admit it did. From there it was sorta on…Abbey Road, Please, Please Me, Sgt. Peppers…I’m about halfway there, but the one that’s really, really standing out and impressing me is Let It Be. I traditionally don’t like this album even by Beatles standards. But, as with LA Woman, I just needed to be in the right place at the right time. At last I was (that place was the kitchen). And while it still doesn’t make me happy like AHDN, or keep me singing along like Abbey Road or even intrigue me more than it should like Sgt. Peppers, it has endeared itself to me in a way that I can’t fully explain. Here was a band, so the legend tells us, literally falling apart at the seams, and yet they were still able to come together (Ha, yes! Wait, wrong album...) and bring the rock in ways like no other band could or can, as well as produce some of the most thoughtful, memorable ballads the likes of which we’ll never hear again. And that’s worth $13.99 any day of the week.

The Feelies – Crazy Rhythms/The Good Earth: Like an idiot, I still haven’t picked these up.