You know, in my younger and more vulnerable years (i.e. two years ago), I didn't really think much of Chapel Hill, North Carolina's native sons, Polvo. They seemed talented as instrumentalists, I thought, but, damn, is it too much to ask they write some fucking songs?
Man. I just didn't get it.
To my younger self: Hey genius, these are songs! Sure they require a calculus degree to figure out their time signatures, but songs they are, nonetheless.
Polvo's style is a pretty weird one, to say the least- a fusion of punked out guitar histrionics, avant-garde riffs, Asian musical motifs and instruments, and the occasional pretty, fragile hook buried in a squall of storming, slashing, howling madness. They remind me of Mission of Burma in a way- like Burma, they don't get easily pigeonholed, their style ranges quite a bit, but their songs couldn't be done by anyone else quite so well. You can spot a Mission of Burma song structure from a hundred paces, same with Polvo's twisted, spazoid guitar notes.
Perfect illustration- from their excellent reunion record, In Prism, here's a personal fave, Beggar's Bowl.
Fuckin' mean hooks there. Love it. It's their most immediately arresting song.
An oldie from the vault- Fast Canoe from '96. First track from Exploded Drawing.
Fantastically tight musicianship, great interplay.
A medley of Fractured (Like Chandeliers) and Solitary Set. This one's got a great slide riff, plus their guitars go Krang! and Brank! which is quite cool shit.
Polvo's work is available on Amazon, iTunes, and elsewhere. Please patronize reunited bands so sensitive indie kids who don't know how to rock can starve.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Monday, February 8, 2010
All In the Game- Running out the Wire
Finished Season 5 of the Wire recently, folks. Great TV, must be seen to be believed. Throughout the show's run, one character struck me as representative of the strengths of the show's collective talents. Andre Royo as drug fiend Bubbles is undoubtedly one of my favorite characters from any TV show. His evolution through the seasons of the Wire, his homespun wisdom, and his charm and fortitude of character all establish him as the surprising moral center of the show. From the outset, Bubbles is portrayed without apology or whitewash- he scams drug dealers, steals junk that he can hock, shoots up. In the first season, the injury of a friend he has taken under his wing compels him to become a confidential informant for the police. As the show progresses, he struggles to make ends meet through other odd jobs, like by selling junk metal, selling wares on the street from a cart, and working at a fruit stand.
But when tragedy forces him to turn his life around, his struggle to survive becomes entangled with the struggle to get clean. Accompanying him on his journey of self-redemption, we as viewers can't help but root for him, feel for him; he may be down on his luck, but he doesn't pity himself. He doesn't blame others, either. He accepts his lot, not by acquiescing, but by facing reality and fighting the good fight to stay clean, stay off the streets, and stay true to his own principles. Here's actor Andre Royo's take on his character as the fifth season begins.
We loves ya, Bubs. You da man.
But when tragedy forces him to turn his life around, his struggle to survive becomes entangled with the struggle to get clean. Accompanying him on his journey of self-redemption, we as viewers can't help but root for him, feel for him; he may be down on his luck, but he doesn't pity himself. He doesn't blame others, either. He accepts his lot, not by acquiescing, but by facing reality and fighting the good fight to stay clean, stay off the streets, and stay true to his own principles. Here's actor Andre Royo's take on his character as the fifth season begins.
We loves ya, Bubs. You da man.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Down in the Hole- The Seedy Underworld Drama of The Wire
I've been meaning to get to HBO's epic The Wire for a while now. A crime procedural story with season-long arcs and powerful characterization, this gritty and realistic drama is surely deserving of the title of one of the best damn shows ever to grace television. But what, you may ask, makes it so great?
The characters, silly people. (Oh. I guess I am the silly one for answering my own question. Tee hee.)
A few of my favorites...
Jimmy McNulty- detective, alkie
Played by- Dominic West
Classic anti-hero Jimmy McNulty is the hard-drinking Irish homicide cop whose pride is outstripped only by his disdain for authority. Fiercely intelligent, outspoken, brash, and not a little self-destructive, his tragic flaw is that the same qualities that feed his worst character failings (pride and intellectual vanity, rebelliousness, and stubbornness) are those that enable him to be a truly great police officer. In between bouts of drinking and one-night stands, he chases down Baltimore's drug kingpins with a vengeance. The worst irony? He doesn't do it for the love of the job, nor out of a sense of justice, or to help the community. No, he does it because he needs to win. He needs to be smarter than the guy he's chasing. In the end, he does the right things for the wrong reason, to feed his own ego. And that, combined with his 'lovable fuckup' charm, may make him a terrible person, but it also makes him a cop worth rooting for.
Lester Freamon- detective, tiny furniture maker
Played by- Clarke Peters
The ultimate smooth operator, 'Cool Lester Smooth' Freamon is the brains behind Baltimore's Major Crimes Unit. Benched in the pawn shop unit (for a length of time he reminds everyone is specifically thirteen years and four months) for keeping to his principles, Lester is dedicated to the case above all else. He is incredibly talented at putting connections and clues together; he's 'natural police' in the parlance of the show, though at first glance he appears to be little more than an eccentric (and useless) senior detective who spends his time making miniature armoires. He establishes himself as a supremely tenacious detective by tracking down a photo of a suspect through only an offhand comment about the suspect's amateur boxing days. He soon begins pulling the strings behind the titular wiretap by cataloging phone exchanges and pursuing financial records, serving as the driving force behind the Major Crimes Unit's best moves.
What would a great series be without great villains, though? Ladies and gentlemen, I give you...
Stringer Bell- underworld mastermind, semi-legit businessman
Played by- Idris Elba
Played with a great American accent by British-born Idris Elba, Stringer Bell is the Freamon for the other side- a drug lord who is cold, calculating, intelligent, methodical, and, though technically serving under kingpin Avon Barksdale, is the true leader of the Barksdale clan in the eyes of many. The brains to Avon's brawn, he aces Economics tests and buddies up to politicians by day and directs thugs and dealers by night. He holds every card in the deck, constantly plotting, evading capture and ruthlessly putting down the enemies of the Barksdale drug organization. McNulty is his sworn enemy for a reason; he just might be the one criminal who is his equal in terms of intellect and ability. Bravo, sir, bravo.
Omar Little- stick-up man, homosexualist
Played by- Michael K. Williams
Omar is the charming anti-hero that sticks up drug dealers for a living. Whether he's lying in court, pointing a shotgun in someone's face, or just whistling a chilling 'Farmer in the Dell', he does it with panache. Panache, dammit. How can you not love him? He's polite, endearing, witty, professional, and most of all principled. His sights never fall on civilians, he rarely if ever curses, he takes his grandmama to church, fer Chrissakes! He's just so darn good at being good that it's almost weird to see him shoot a man in the face. But, we accept this fact because, as he might say, 'the game is the game'. And when you're in 'the game', you lose your right to not get face-shot by Omar.
Roland Pryzbylewski- detective, general fuckup
Played by- Jim True-Frost
Roland "Prez" Pryzbylewski is our resident idiot with a heart of gold. His boyish naivete and initial ineptitude for police work seem to paint him as a terminal doofus. However, when he broke a telephone code no one else could figure out in the first season, I coined the term 'pulling a Prez' for the moment a character comes into the fold from the wastes of loser-land. Prez goes from a hotheaded and bungling street cop who can't get fired because of family connections to a hound for the paper trail. His instincts for tracking assets and finding patterns makes him a natural Freamon understudy. Later, he becomes a caring and effective middle school teacher, which of course earns him extra awesome points. (Much respect to educators, y'all.)
Part one's finished youse guys. Stay tuned for more.
The characters, silly people. (Oh. I guess I am the silly one for answering my own question. Tee hee.)
A few of my favorites...
Jimmy McNulty- detective, alkie
Played by- Dominic West
Classic anti-hero Jimmy McNulty is the hard-drinking Irish homicide cop whose pride is outstripped only by his disdain for authority. Fiercely intelligent, outspoken, brash, and not a little self-destructive, his tragic flaw is that the same qualities that feed his worst character failings (pride and intellectual vanity, rebelliousness, and stubbornness) are those that enable him to be a truly great police officer. In between bouts of drinking and one-night stands, he chases down Baltimore's drug kingpins with a vengeance. The worst irony? He doesn't do it for the love of the job, nor out of a sense of justice, or to help the community. No, he does it because he needs to win. He needs to be smarter than the guy he's chasing. In the end, he does the right things for the wrong reason, to feed his own ego. And that, combined with his 'lovable fuckup' charm, may make him a terrible person, but it also makes him a cop worth rooting for.Lester Freamon- detective, tiny furniture maker
Played by- Clarke Peters
The ultimate smooth operator, 'Cool Lester Smooth' Freamon is the brains behind Baltimore's Major Crimes Unit. Benched in the pawn shop unit (for a length of time he reminds everyone is specifically thirteen years and four months) for keeping to his principles, Lester is dedicated to the case above all else. He is incredibly talented at putting connections and clues together; he's 'natural police' in the parlance of the show, though at first glance he appears to be little more than an eccentric (and useless) senior detective who spends his time making miniature armoires. He establishes himself as a supremely tenacious detective by tracking down a photo of a suspect through only an offhand comment about the suspect's amateur boxing days. He soon begins pulling the strings behind the titular wiretap by cataloging phone exchanges and pursuing financial records, serving as the driving force behind the Major Crimes Unit's best moves.What would a great series be without great villains, though? Ladies and gentlemen, I give you...
Stringer Bell- underworld mastermind, semi-legit businessman
Played by- Idris Elba
Played with a great American accent by British-born Idris Elba, Stringer Bell is the Freamon for the other side- a drug lord who is cold, calculating, intelligent, methodical, and, though technically serving under kingpin Avon Barksdale, is the true leader of the Barksdale clan in the eyes of many. The brains to Avon's brawn, he aces Economics tests and buddies up to politicians by day and directs thugs and dealers by night. He holds every card in the deck, constantly plotting, evading capture and ruthlessly putting down the enemies of the Barksdale drug organization. McNulty is his sworn enemy for a reason; he just might be the one criminal who is his equal in terms of intellect and ability. Bravo, sir, bravo.Omar Little- stick-up man, homosexualist
Played by- Michael K. Williams
Omar is the charming anti-hero that sticks up drug dealers for a living. Whether he's lying in court, pointing a shotgun in someone's face, or just whistling a chilling 'Farmer in the Dell', he does it with panache. Panache, dammit. How can you not love him? He's polite, endearing, witty, professional, and most of all principled. His sights never fall on civilians, he rarely if ever curses, he takes his grandmama to church, fer Chrissakes! He's just so darn good at being good that it's almost weird to see him shoot a man in the face. But, we accept this fact because, as he might say, 'the game is the game'. And when you're in 'the game', you lose your right to not get face-shot by Omar.Roland Pryzbylewski- detective, general fuckup
Played by- Jim True-Frost
Roland "Prez" Pryzbylewski is our resident idiot with a heart of gold. His boyish naivete and initial ineptitude for police work seem to paint him as a terminal doofus. However, when he broke a telephone code no one else could figure out in the first season, I coined the term 'pulling a Prez' for the moment a character comes into the fold from the wastes of loser-land. Prez goes from a hotheaded and bungling street cop who can't get fired because of family connections to a hound for the paper trail. His instincts for tracking assets and finding patterns makes him a natural Freamon understudy. Later, he becomes a caring and effective middle school teacher, which of course earns him extra awesome points. (Much respect to educators, y'all.)Part one's finished youse guys. Stay tuned for more.
Friday, January 22, 2010
The Cutting Edge- The Music of Sheffield's Comsat Angels
Many bands follow a predictable career path- promising early singles after toiling in obscurity, an auspicious debut, and from there you might get a few gems, then the masterpiece, then the decline into mediocrity.
Not so with the Comsats. Though they had their share of major label troubles, they maintained a stable lineup all throughout their career up until their final album, and their discography ranges from the masterful (Waiting For A Miracle, Sleep No More) to the horrendous (Fire On The Moon, Land) in the opinion of both the fans and the band. Their penultimate album, My Mind's Eye, is even considered their best by some. (I'm a fan of Sleep No More m'self.)
They also reunited in 2008 for a pair of shows with the original line-up in the fashion of other post-punk luminaries such as Wire, Gang of Four, Dinosaur Jr, and of course our heroes in Burma.
Bass guitarist Kevin Bacon, guitarist Stephen Fellows, keyboardist Andy Peake, and drummer Mik Glaisher at Sheffield Academy in 2008
But aside from their career trajectory, it's their skillful playing and considerable mastery of mood and texture that makes them such an enduring act.
Their music can usually be called loosely post-punk, after all they shared a stage with Pere Ubu, but though the unremitting darkness so often identified with their style runs deep in the work, the Comsats also never forsake melody for drama, and they never forget to be a rock band, not just some flimsy 'art' band.
Have a listen to the mutated, lurching bass lines and deeply pounding drums from a personal favorite of mine, The Eye Dance. Dig that bending and shimmering guitar and keyboard interplay.
Another fave from Sleep No More is the original album closer, the haunting and emotionally blasted Our Secret. A great anthem for atheists, alongside XTC's Dear God. Just take a listen and dig the lyrics. "One world and one turn, one world only, that's the secret... we will never give it up."
Throughout the song, Stephen Fellows contorts and warps this skeletal, zapping riff that feels like it has more notes than it really does. It's a great effect, using variations on the timing of the nearly screaming riff to communicate the desolate emotional landscape of the song. A steady cyclical bassline keeps time while drums snap off a walloping beat. During the chorus, the tension resolves in the two cymbal crashes during the first half of the lyric. After the second chorus, as the guitar intensifies and skips around, the drums rise up powerfully to smash into the last chorus. What a tune.
Another song that (nearly) speaks for itself is the debut's Real Story, about a man with delusions about the nature of reality. Anchored by a fantastic highly funky, jabbing bassline, the song rides on a rolling drumbeat and effected vocals through a mocking chorus. The ending is a real highlight, though too short- the guitar riffs, though simple, are just perfect in matching the mood.
Keep in mind that these are all from early albums; later albums would produce plenty of classic tunes, but few later works had the conceptual purity and unrelenting mood as Sleep No More.
In their later years, after a string of failure albums in terms of both sales and critical opinion, the Comsats set out to record what would be their second-to-last album, My Mind's Eye. The result was quite the turnaround from the tepid albums preceding it- the production no longer dated, Fellows' voice in its finest shape yet, the drums untreated by cheesy effects, the keyboards used for mood and texture to let the guitar take full responsibility of the melody and direction of a song. The album reconnected the band with their fanbase and is actually a personal favorite of Fellows; he's proudest of My Mind's Eye as his band's best work.
It's no wonder, with songs like Field of Tall Flowers.
That chorus gets me every time. His voice, the accompaniment of strings, that guitar line. Bacon's bass work is in fine form throughout the album as well, powerful and full-bodied as it was on their best early releases.
Though the band produced one more album after 1992, 1995's the Glamour, it was not as well-received, owing in part to the two new band members' desire for a more traditional rock style.
That said, some of their work is still in print, and it's not completely unlikely we may see more shows from them in the future, seeing how well their reunion shows were appraised.
Buy from iTunes or Amazon, or snoop other blogs if you like. Just don't forget to pay for something if you like it.
Not so with the Comsats. Though they had their share of major label troubles, they maintained a stable lineup all throughout their career up until their final album, and their discography ranges from the masterful (Waiting For A Miracle, Sleep No More) to the horrendous (Fire On The Moon, Land) in the opinion of both the fans and the band. Their penultimate album, My Mind's Eye, is even considered their best by some. (I'm a fan of Sleep No More m'self.)
They also reunited in 2008 for a pair of shows with the original line-up in the fashion of other post-punk luminaries such as Wire, Gang of Four, Dinosaur Jr, and of course our heroes in Burma.
Bass guitarist Kevin Bacon, guitarist Stephen Fellows, keyboardist Andy Peake, and drummer Mik Glaisher at Sheffield Academy in 2008Their music can usually be called loosely post-punk, after all they shared a stage with Pere Ubu, but though the unremitting darkness so often identified with their style runs deep in the work, the Comsats also never forsake melody for drama, and they never forget to be a rock band, not just some flimsy 'art' band.
Have a listen to the mutated, lurching bass lines and deeply pounding drums from a personal favorite of mine, The Eye Dance. Dig that bending and shimmering guitar and keyboard interplay.
Another fave from Sleep No More is the original album closer, the haunting and emotionally blasted Our Secret. A great anthem for atheists, alongside XTC's Dear God. Just take a listen and dig the lyrics. "One world and one turn, one world only, that's the secret... we will never give it up."
Throughout the song, Stephen Fellows contorts and warps this skeletal, zapping riff that feels like it has more notes than it really does. It's a great effect, using variations on the timing of the nearly screaming riff to communicate the desolate emotional landscape of the song. A steady cyclical bassline keeps time while drums snap off a walloping beat. During the chorus, the tension resolves in the two cymbal crashes during the first half of the lyric. After the second chorus, as the guitar intensifies and skips around, the drums rise up powerfully to smash into the last chorus. What a tune.
Another song that (nearly) speaks for itself is the debut's Real Story, about a man with delusions about the nature of reality. Anchored by a fantastic highly funky, jabbing bassline, the song rides on a rolling drumbeat and effected vocals through a mocking chorus. The ending is a real highlight, though too short- the guitar riffs, though simple, are just perfect in matching the mood.
Keep in mind that these are all from early albums; later albums would produce plenty of classic tunes, but few later works had the conceptual purity and unrelenting mood as Sleep No More.
In their later years, after a string of failure albums in terms of both sales and critical opinion, the Comsats set out to record what would be their second-to-last album, My Mind's Eye. The result was quite the turnaround from the tepid albums preceding it- the production no longer dated, Fellows' voice in its finest shape yet, the drums untreated by cheesy effects, the keyboards used for mood and texture to let the guitar take full responsibility of the melody and direction of a song. The album reconnected the band with their fanbase and is actually a personal favorite of Fellows; he's proudest of My Mind's Eye as his band's best work.
It's no wonder, with songs like Field of Tall Flowers.
That chorus gets me every time. His voice, the accompaniment of strings, that guitar line. Bacon's bass work is in fine form throughout the album as well, powerful and full-bodied as it was on their best early releases.
Though the band produced one more album after 1992, 1995's the Glamour, it was not as well-received, owing in part to the two new band members' desire for a more traditional rock style.
That said, some of their work is still in print, and it's not completely unlikely we may see more shows from them in the future, seeing how well their reunion shows were appraised.
Buy from iTunes or Amazon, or snoop other blogs if you like. Just don't forget to pay for something if you like it.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Mission of Burma at the Paradise, January 15th and 16th
I ventured to Boston over the weekend of January 15th and 16th, and, having returned from two excellent Mission of Burma concerts, I shall proceed to inform you all of the epic win I witnessed.
Without going into too much about the flight and accommodations, let's just say things went smoothly and were basically not fucked up in the slightest.
My strategy was to position myself quite close to the left side of the stage the first night (Clint's side), then the right side the next night (Roger's side). The bass the first night tore my head off- I don't think I had any idea what loud really was until I saw these guys. They were full of intensity and energy, and you could feel the mutual emotional bond between band and crowd- we both loved every second of the show. The second night I got a clue and took some earplugs (thank you Roger!) and found if I took them out just a tiny bit I could hear everything but the cymbal hiss and guitar screech at the top of the mix, so I was all good.
First night's setlist:
The Setup was a superb opener, featuring hyperfast bass runs and a great dueling guitar-tape section. Einstein's Day contained one of Roger's best solos I've yet heard, the only thing I can think of offhand that tops it is the next night's Donna Sumeria. Everyone was thrilled at the inclusion of Peking Spring and Revolver, but even newer tracks were heartily appreciated by the rather eclectic mix of folks in the crowd. Ages ranged from young whelps like myself all the way up to middle age and beyond.
Second night's setlist:
As you can probably see from the setlist, there were a few too many repeats this night, but there were more tracks overall, and a few rare treats. Hunt Again rocked hard, and Dumbells sated my urge to hear So Fuck It in concert, thanks to similar guitar histrionics in both songs. The new track Hi-Fi seemed to go over better thanks to some stronger lyrics and more impassioned playing in the middle section, which was admittedly quite good. Donna Sumeria was a real standout here, really showcased everything the band could do- a great disco dance beat intercut with gut-wrenching fills, funky guitar with freakouts and weird noise riffs, and pummelling, supple bass throughout. Though the music the second night was not as mind-blowing, I did meet the band, and they were super nice. I was surprised to find that they were rather flattered I made the trip to Boston. Evidently, they don't think of themselves as big famous rock stars. (Probably because they aren't famous, but they do rock.) Both Roger and Clint gave me a firm handshake and an appreciative comment for getting out to their neck of the woods, and I even got a photo with Roger:
I'm the ecstatic one on the right. Shut up.
She had some great stories about the Rat and the Space from '79. A great gal.
All photo credit goes to Brian Hampton, who made a great travel partner and roomie. Thanks dude.
It was a great trip. All in all, a wonderful weekend filled with adventure and delight. Maybe I'll see them again in April when they hit Chicago.
Without going into too much about the flight and accommodations, let's just say things went smoothly and were basically not fucked up in the slightest.
My strategy was to position myself quite close to the left side of the stage the first night (Clint's side), then the right side the next night (Roger's side). The bass the first night tore my head off- I don't think I had any idea what loud really was until I saw these guys. They were full of intensity and energy, and you could feel the mutual emotional bond between band and crowd- we both loved every second of the show. The second night I got a clue and took some earplugs (thank you Roger!) and found if I took them out just a tiny bit I could hear everything but the cymbal hiss and guitar screech at the top of the mix, so I was all good.
First night's setlist:
- The Setup
- 1,2,3 Partyy!
- Possession
- Blunder
- Peking Spring (holyshityesfuckgoody)
- 13
- 2wice
- Absent Mind
- Here It Comes
- SSL 83
- Einstein's Day
- Hi-Fi (a new track, hot off the press)
- Good Cheer
- 1001 Pleasant Dreams
- That's How I Escaped My Certain Fate
- Red
- Encore- a cover of the Yardbirds' Happenings Ten Years Time Ago
- That's When I Reach For My Revolver
- Learn How
The Setup was a superb opener, featuring hyperfast bass runs and a great dueling guitar-tape section. Einstein's Day contained one of Roger's best solos I've yet heard, the only thing I can think of offhand that tops it is the next night's Donna Sumeria. Everyone was thrilled at the inclusion of Peking Spring and Revolver, but even newer tracks were heartily appreciated by the rather eclectic mix of folks in the crowd. Ages ranged from young whelps like myself all the way up to middle age and beyond.
Second night's setlist:
- Devotion
- Possession
- Good Cheer
- 2wice
- Hi-Fi (went much better this night, seemed like it was still being written)
- Trem Two
- Spider's Web
- Hunt Again
- One Day We Will Live There (band flubbed the ending, but they managed to shrug it off)
- SSL 83
- After The Rain
- Innermost
- Dumbells (a rare treat, dating back to the never-recorded Vs. follow-up)
- 1,2,3 Partyy!
- This Is Not A Photograph
- Nancy Reagan's Head
- Encore1- 1001 Pleasant Dreams
- Academy Fight Song (stood in for Revolver as the 'Big Hit' for the night)
- The Ballad of Johnny Burma
- Encore 2- Donna Sumeria (fan-fuckin'-tastic solo, great bass riffs)
- That's How I Escaped My Certain Fate
As you can probably see from the setlist, there were a few too many repeats this night, but there were more tracks overall, and a few rare treats. Hunt Again rocked hard, and Dumbells sated my urge to hear So Fuck It in concert, thanks to similar guitar histrionics in both songs. The new track Hi-Fi seemed to go over better thanks to some stronger lyrics and more impassioned playing in the middle section, which was admittedly quite good. Donna Sumeria was a real standout here, really showcased everything the band could do- a great disco dance beat intercut with gut-wrenching fills, funky guitar with freakouts and weird noise riffs, and pummelling, supple bass throughout. Though the music the second night was not as mind-blowing, I did meet the band, and they were super nice. I was surprised to find that they were rather flattered I made the trip to Boston. Evidently, they don't think of themselves as big famous rock stars. (Probably because they aren't famous, but they do rock.) Both Roger and Clint gave me a firm handshake and an appreciative comment for getting out to their neck of the woods, and I even got a photo with Roger:
I'm the ecstatic one on the right. Shut up.Special thanks to fellow fans Terri and Tina. Terri rocked out with me the first night, as seen here:
God, my head looks huge. Terri's on the right, yeah...
Lucky lady got a souvenir.
God, my head looks huge. Terri's on the right, yeah...She was totally in the zone for most of the show, dancing and singing along and just as into it as you can be. She was a great example of fan dedication, and I dug her rapturous grooving to the music.
The second night I stood behind Tina, a friendly and talkative fan from the band's early days. We had a lot of musical touchstones in common. Here's her with the handwritten setlist from Roger's amp:
The second night I stood behind Tina, a friendly and talkative fan from the band's early days. We had a lot of musical touchstones in common. Here's her with the handwritten setlist from Roger's amp:
She had some great stories about the Rat and the Space from '79. A great gal.
All photo credit goes to Brian Hampton, who made a great travel partner and roomie. Thanks dude.
It was a great trip. All in all, a wonderful weekend filled with adventure and delight. Maybe I'll see them again in April when they hit Chicago.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Braiiiins... and no brains- a pop-movie twofer
Saw two movies in the past week, guys and gals. "Zombieland" and "The Invention of Lying". Both had their moments, but I'd say for your money you'd probably best see "Zombieland". Let's break this down, shall we?
"Zombieland"- most characters eat brains, shamble and moan
"Lying"- most characters have no brains, plot shambles, characters talk on the phone
"Zombieland"- solid actors, gut-busting meta-universe cameo
"Lying"- Ricky Gervais makes fun of his own "solidness" and gut, best punchlines concern nonexistent metaphysical character
"Zombieland"- makes you hate clowns even more
"Lying"- makes you hate God... natch.
"The Invention of Lying" wasn't a bad film, really, just one with an obvious slant to it. I mean, we all get that writer/director Gervais is an atheist. Hell, I even agree with some of his reasons for thinking religion is ridiculous. He's a comedian, he's paid to point out absurdity. But the big problem I had was not just with the ham-fisted atheist-ing, but with the shit nature of the crapsack world the characters inhabit in "Lying".
Sure, in their world, there's no flattery, no awkwardness, and there's no misleading advertising or social faux pas, but everyone has brain-diarrhea. There aren't just no lies; there are also no omissions, so anytime someone thinks something nasty about our main character, they just spit it out. It doesn't seem to be a natural consequence of the world we're told this is; it's just a joke, a gag. It isn't really called for in the premise.
Jennifer Garner has got to be the biggest offender in the movie, if only because she is supposed to be the love interest. I have to ask, why would a nice little toad like Ricky, who plays a downtrodden sad-sack who suddenly comes to fame and fortune through lying, want to romance an absolute cunt like Garner? In the movie, her character is completely unattractive in her personality- she's mean-spirited, shallow, judgmental, and dull. Any theatergoer should have been thinking, "Hell, I could do better than that ice-queen. Ricky, what are you doing?". I know I was.
Aside from the jarring nature of seeing a movie in which no character could even censor themselves and wherein the love interest was a superficial slut, the movie wasn't terrible. It got laughs, it got jabs at the vapid religious types. But the main plot did bother me because of Garner's character, and because, at the end of the movie, when the whole sham of Ricky's lies are revealed, there is no stated consequential end to his revealed religion or anything. It just seems to fall by the wayside. Joke-wise the movie was solid, but the plot could have been done better, especially for such a wicked concept. (One of the better advertising jokes- a bus ad for Pepsi that states: "Pepsi- for when they don't have Coke". Lawls for truth.)
"Zombieland" fared a bit better, surprisingly. I went in expecting a popcorn-munching gore-comedy, but I actually got a bit more sweet, awkward road-comedy than I bargained for. Special mention has to go here to Jesse Eisenberg as our hero. Jesse is a great stand-in for when Michael Cera is not around- for proof, see Adventureland. ("Jesse Eisenberg- for when Michael Cera is busy") Woody Harrelson plays a delightful badass with a Twinkie obsession- he provides the guru-ing, although Eisenberg also has some great tips for zombie-movie survivor types. (Avoid bathrooms, check the backseat- these rules pop up helpfully in a nouvelle vague gag every time a rule is demonstrated.)
Our two lovable, tricky chicks are Emma Stone and Abigail Breslin. The two are quite cunning in this film, and it was refreshing to see female characters in a zombie flick who were neither completely asexually badass nor resolutely pouty and helpless. Instead, we get the girls scheming and plotting while still knowing how to pull off a nice headshot.
So, with our four person cast, the group dynamic falls in place naturally by personality and age difference; we get younger Abigail as our perky instigator who riles up rough-hewn but lovable Harrelson, often disgusted at the spunky youngster's lack of knowledge of old fogey culture. Emma is our badass with a heart of gold, falling for our nervous but surprisingly resourceful Jesse, who is often at odds with the intimidating and not-very-affable Harrelson. Nothing groundbreaking, but it works.
The cameo that elevates the movie from good to hilarious should be against the law to spoil- it's unexpected, but entirely apropos, and the joke is distended and stretched to cover most of the late-middle of the movie. It gets plenty of mileage not only from the jokes, but from the obvious mutual respect and affection between the cast, the writers and director, and the cameo star. The feeling of good vibes is infectious, and stays long after the credits.
So, to wrap, to wit, in totality and sum, just go see "Zombieland". Oh, and buy that new album by... who were they? That veteran rock band, new album, Matador records...
Yo La Tengo, that was it.
"Zombieland"- most characters eat brains, shamble and moan
"Lying"- most characters have no brains, plot shambles, characters talk on the phone
"Zombieland"- solid actors, gut-busting meta-universe cameo
"Lying"- Ricky Gervais makes fun of his own "solidness" and gut, best punchlines concern nonexistent metaphysical character
"Zombieland"- makes you hate clowns even more
"Lying"- makes you hate God... natch.
"The Invention of Lying" wasn't a bad film, really, just one with an obvious slant to it. I mean, we all get that writer/director Gervais is an atheist. Hell, I even agree with some of his reasons for thinking religion is ridiculous. He's a comedian, he's paid to point out absurdity. But the big problem I had was not just with the ham-fisted atheist-ing, but with the shit nature of the crapsack world the characters inhabit in "Lying".
Sure, in their world, there's no flattery, no awkwardness, and there's no misleading advertising or social faux pas, but everyone has brain-diarrhea. There aren't just no lies; there are also no omissions, so anytime someone thinks something nasty about our main character, they just spit it out. It doesn't seem to be a natural consequence of the world we're told this is; it's just a joke, a gag. It isn't really called for in the premise.
Jennifer Garner has got to be the biggest offender in the movie, if only because she is supposed to be the love interest. I have to ask, why would a nice little toad like Ricky, who plays a downtrodden sad-sack who suddenly comes to fame and fortune through lying, want to romance an absolute cunt like Garner? In the movie, her character is completely unattractive in her personality- she's mean-spirited, shallow, judgmental, and dull. Any theatergoer should have been thinking, "Hell, I could do better than that ice-queen. Ricky, what are you doing?". I know I was.
Aside from the jarring nature of seeing a movie in which no character could even censor themselves and wherein the love interest was a superficial slut, the movie wasn't terrible. It got laughs, it got jabs at the vapid religious types. But the main plot did bother me because of Garner's character, and because, at the end of the movie, when the whole sham of Ricky's lies are revealed, there is no stated consequential end to his revealed religion or anything. It just seems to fall by the wayside. Joke-wise the movie was solid, but the plot could have been done better, especially for such a wicked concept. (One of the better advertising jokes- a bus ad for Pepsi that states: "Pepsi- for when they don't have Coke". Lawls for truth.)
"Zombieland" fared a bit better, surprisingly. I went in expecting a popcorn-munching gore-comedy, but I actually got a bit more sweet, awkward road-comedy than I bargained for. Special mention has to go here to Jesse Eisenberg as our hero. Jesse is a great stand-in for when Michael Cera is not around- for proof, see Adventureland. ("Jesse Eisenberg- for when Michael Cera is busy") Woody Harrelson plays a delightful badass with a Twinkie obsession- he provides the guru-ing, although Eisenberg also has some great tips for zombie-movie survivor types. (Avoid bathrooms, check the backseat- these rules pop up helpfully in a nouvelle vague gag every time a rule is demonstrated.)
Our two lovable, tricky chicks are Emma Stone and Abigail Breslin. The two are quite cunning in this film, and it was refreshing to see female characters in a zombie flick who were neither completely asexually badass nor resolutely pouty and helpless. Instead, we get the girls scheming and plotting while still knowing how to pull off a nice headshot.
So, with our four person cast, the group dynamic falls in place naturally by personality and age difference; we get younger Abigail as our perky instigator who riles up rough-hewn but lovable Harrelson, often disgusted at the spunky youngster's lack of knowledge of old fogey culture. Emma is our badass with a heart of gold, falling for our nervous but surprisingly resourceful Jesse, who is often at odds with the intimidating and not-very-affable Harrelson. Nothing groundbreaking, but it works.
The cameo that elevates the movie from good to hilarious should be against the law to spoil- it's unexpected, but entirely apropos, and the joke is distended and stretched to cover most of the late-middle of the movie. It gets plenty of mileage not only from the jokes, but from the obvious mutual respect and affection between the cast, the writers and director, and the cameo star. The feeling of good vibes is infectious, and stays long after the credits.
So, to wrap, to wit, in totality and sum, just go see "Zombieland". Oh, and buy that new album by... who were they? That veteran rock band, new album, Matador records...
Yo La Tengo, that was it.
New Mission of Burma Vid
Music video for 1, 2, 3, Partyy!. Apparently their first official music video. Side note: if there was a Mission of Burma brand beer, would it take 22 years plus change to get your drink on? Just a thought...
Anyways, enjoy the awesome, and sorry again for the delay in postings, I've just had a bout of month-long nerves/ writer's block. I know, pretty specious claim, but, lemme tell ya, I had a lot of doubts as to whether I would keep posting. However, that's all done now, and I'm movin' on, dammit. So Fuck It!
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
The Sound The Speed The Light
Can you see it, hear it, feel it? The sensation upon me, transmitted through these words. Bursting excitement, explosive joy.
A new Mission of Burma album arrives.
Can they top their other reunion albums?
Our first single, "1, 2, 3, Partyy!" is the opener to the new album, a furious scorcher that throttles forward from the deadpan spoken opener. "1... 2... 3..." and with the four count on the sticks that end on "3", a rumbling, slashing bass and guitar duel throws our heroes back into the the ring. No punches are pulled here. Clint barks out his delivery in the same voice he's had since 1979, and one always imagines his lanky form hunched purposefully over his bass during every riff, retreating from the mic to pummel his instrument with the vigor of a man ensnared in the fevered ideals of a youth rebellion, caught within the hands of some politicized, impassioned "movement" that is less discussed than shouted. Burma has always begged anthem status with its biggest numbers, and "Partyy!", despite the jokey title, is a barn-burner on par with Certain Fate or Academy in the canon of pissed-off but somehow exuberant art-punk anthems. Incredible bass solo? Aw, you shouldn't have. It's more than I deserve.
So, how does the rest of the record stand up to the lofty standard set by our opener? Suffice to say that the flow of the typical Burma formula, if they can be said to have one, remains unbroken. "Possession" in its live form has been a treasure of mine; I've deeply dug its groovy guitar scratches and shuffling, morphing beat and gonzo vocal (while listening, notice the completely asynchronized "gotcha!" Roger proclaims during the verse). In studio it has gained a bit of artsy effects, notably some electronic treatments for vocals and harmonies as well as the usual tape manipulations by Bob Weston. All told, it manages to be both as raw as I'd hoped in its ragged, twitchy, anti-groovy squawks and still bizarre enough in its production for Burma to still warrant the "art-rock" label. Listen to "Possession" here.
"Blunder"'s effected intro that retreats into a more live sound kicks in Peter Prescott's first composition for the record, and its lumbering verses give way to a Middle-Eastern guitar riff for the chorus. Clint's bass growls and slices effectively here, and the biting emotional edge of the break is bizarrely truncated by a cymbal crash leading into a tinkling, zonked out bridge. Mean riffage meets weird once more.
Peter's drumming has got to get special mention here as well, as his abilities are fully utilized to great effect throughout the record. It seemed to me that "Obliterati" had straighter beats for the most part, and I feared Peter was simply in a holding pattern, or maybe losing his touch. My fears were, of course, completely unfounded. Prescott contributes muscular beats everywhere, his trademark complex fills, punishing polyrhythms and hyper-fast syncopations driving every song toward the heart of aggression, insanity, emotional desolation, and anger that lurks within even the most upbeat Burma tune.
Roger's vocals are mostly delivered in a classic 60's style, very psychedelic production and frequently screwy lyrics, as is typical of the guy that wrote "Max Ernst". Bob did a better job producing this one; the band feels more than just muscular, they feel like they have more than just volume, more than just power. Instead of "Obliterati"'s flat, heavy tone, SSL is more nuanced, more varied. Everything feels more alive, more electric. Melody comes through with more clarity. Their use of the studio is as good as it's been since that beautiful field of steel-wrapped flowers, "Vs.", appeared in 1982.
This record has melancholy, it can do frailty, sadness. Like Burma's other work, there are some fast songs, some slow. There are still three distinct songwriters here pouring their hearts out. But no matter the sound or the speed, there still pulses behind that light a deep heart of passionate joy and anger in equal measure, a true Heart of Darkness.
A new Mission of Burma album arrives.
Can they top their other reunion albums?So, how does the rest of the record stand up to the lofty standard set by our opener? Suffice to say that the flow of the typical Burma formula, if they can be said to have one, remains unbroken. "Possession" in its live form has been a treasure of mine; I've deeply dug its groovy guitar scratches and shuffling, morphing beat and gonzo vocal (while listening, notice the completely asynchronized "gotcha!" Roger proclaims during the verse). In studio it has gained a bit of artsy effects, notably some electronic treatments for vocals and harmonies as well as the usual tape manipulations by Bob Weston. All told, it manages to be both as raw as I'd hoped in its ragged, twitchy, anti-groovy squawks and still bizarre enough in its production for Burma to still warrant the "art-rock" label. Listen to "Possession" here.
"Blunder"'s effected intro that retreats into a more live sound kicks in Peter Prescott's first composition for the record, and its lumbering verses give way to a Middle-Eastern guitar riff for the chorus. Clint's bass growls and slices effectively here, and the biting emotional edge of the break is bizarrely truncated by a cymbal crash leading into a tinkling, zonked out bridge. Mean riffage meets weird once more.
Peter's drumming has got to get special mention here as well, as his abilities are fully utilized to great effect throughout the record. It seemed to me that "Obliterati" had straighter beats for the most part, and I feared Peter was simply in a holding pattern, or maybe losing his touch. My fears were, of course, completely unfounded. Prescott contributes muscular beats everywhere, his trademark complex fills, punishing polyrhythms and hyper-fast syncopations driving every song toward the heart of aggression, insanity, emotional desolation, and anger that lurks within even the most upbeat Burma tune.
Roger's vocals are mostly delivered in a classic 60's style, very psychedelic production and frequently screwy lyrics, as is typical of the guy that wrote "Max Ernst". Bob did a better job producing this one; the band feels more than just muscular, they feel like they have more than just volume, more than just power. Instead of "Obliterati"'s flat, heavy tone, SSL is more nuanced, more varied. Everything feels more alive, more electric. Melody comes through with more clarity. Their use of the studio is as good as it's been since that beautiful field of steel-wrapped flowers, "Vs.", appeared in 1982.
This record has melancholy, it can do frailty, sadness. Like Burma's other work, there are some fast songs, some slow. There are still three distinct songwriters here pouring their hearts out. But no matter the sound or the speed, there still pulses behind that light a deep heart of passionate joy and anger in equal measure, a true Heart of Darkness.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Hear this now. Fucked Up.
Fucked Up is ostensibly a hardcore band from Toronto Canada, but that's really no descriptor for their sound. Though their vocal barks and howls certainly bring to mind hardcore groups, they frequently use female guest vocals for more melodic choruses, and their song lengths hardly fall squarely into the two-minute hardcore rant range. It's no wonder they can comfortably share a stage and a label with Mission of Burma. (See: the Williamsburg Waterfront show in NYC in July)
Man, that is Fucked Up.
In fact, I came to Fucked Up through Mission of Burma, seeing that both were on Matador records. Their songs don't sound very similar, but the same ethos runs through both bands in totally different and exciting ways.
Mission of Burma's fastest songs and hardest material suggest hardcore, psychedelia, art rock, even heavy metal from time to time. (Fun World is pretty metallic, you could say.) Their anthems are pop-pretty, but ragged, impassioned, sophisticated, and intelligent. Geek punk for those too rational to be angry, but too dissatisfied to just sit down and shut up. I've already waxed poetic on these guys before, so, long story short, they're smart, they rock, kickass bass lines, fuck yeah.
Fucked Up have cultivated mystery and invited controversy since their inception. Their records sport fascist imagery on the sleeve. They take pseudonyms like Mustard Gas, 10,000 Marbles, Pink Eyes, and Concentration Camp. Interviews with the members of Fucked Up have contained incredible distortions and bizarre tall tales told to further the mystery of the group's identities.
Their music is explosive and highly conceptual, combining whip-smart lyrics and hardcore's usual forward-lunging bam-thwok with obtuse arrangements and unexpected moments galore (lounge music, flute solos, strings and whistling). If hardcore bands wrote epic prog-rock anthems... well, I guess now they do.
They've got a style all their own, energy to spare, humor and intellect, and a charismatic front... thing.
Man, that is Fucked Up.
Roger's sunglasses can see everything, even the future.
In fact, I came to Fucked Up through Mission of Burma, seeing that both were on Matador records. Their songs don't sound very similar, but the same ethos runs through both bands in totally different and exciting ways.
Mission of Burma's fastest songs and hardest material suggest hardcore, psychedelia, art rock, even heavy metal from time to time. (Fun World is pretty metallic, you could say.) Their anthems are pop-pretty, but ragged, impassioned, sophisticated, and intelligent. Geek punk for those too rational to be angry, but too dissatisfied to just sit down and shut up. I've already waxed poetic on these guys before, so, long story short, they're smart, they rock, kickass bass lines, fuck yeah.
Fucked Up have cultivated mystery and invited controversy since their inception. Their records sport fascist imagery on the sleeve. They take pseudonyms like Mustard Gas, 10,000 Marbles, Pink Eyes, and Concentration Camp. Interviews with the members of Fucked Up have contained incredible distortions and bizarre tall tales told to further the mystery of the group's identities.
Their music is explosive and highly conceptual, combining whip-smart lyrics and hardcore's usual forward-lunging bam-thwok with obtuse arrangements and unexpected moments galore (lounge music, flute solos, strings and whistling). If hardcore bands wrote epic prog-rock anthems... well, I guess now they do.
They've got a style all their own, energy to spare, humor and intellect, and a charismatic front... thing.
Remember how Henry Rollins ate your children? This is the guy that got your dog.
Pink Eyes, a.k.a Damien, is a woolly, growling man-beast who loves puppies, smiles at the laughter of children, and is no doubt a productive member of society. But, just to be careful, stay far away from this man. You just never know. He might just emit the first vocal from this song, then kill you.
Friday, July 10, 2009
New Mission of Burma album gets title, release date (Updated with first single)
October 6th, 2009, Mission of Burma's new LP drops on Matador. I've put my preorder in on matador's website. You should too, if ya know what's good fer ya. $12 for CD, $18 for vinyl. Tell 'em altron2095 sent ya.
First single from the album, y'all. "1, 2, 3, Partyy!" is pure joy, pure bliss. Hear it, love it.
1, 2, 3, Partyy!
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Happy Fourth, everyone!
Wow! Sorry for the lack of updates! I've been busy at work...
So, on this, the most American of holidays, let's all remember the treaty of Tripoli of 1796, article 11.
"As the Government of the United States of America is not, in any sense, founded on the Christian religion; as it has in itself no character of enmity against the laws, religion, or tranquillity, of Mussulmen; and, as the said States never entered into any war, or act of hostility against any Mahometan nation, it is declared by the parties, that no pretext arising from religious opinions, shall ever produce an interruption of the harmony existing between the two countries."
So, we are not a Christian nation. Glad we're all clear on this. We are a nation of Christians... and Jews, and Hindus, and Muslims, and atheists, agnostics, and just plain apathetic types. All types and creeds and delicious flavors, one big nation. So, I'm going to take this moment to show my own pride in a display of solidarity. It is my belief that patriotism consists not just in national pride but in pride in one's state's ideals, and as America prizes freedom and liberty as its chief ideals, I hereby exercise my own freedom of speech.
I am an American, and I am an atheist. I take great pride in the rights granted to me in this nation, and I faithfully serve my duties as a citizen by remaining an informed voter and a productive member of society. I look today with great sorrow at the state of religious discourse in this country, and at the hijacking of this society by religious zealotry in politics and the general public sphere. However, I know that a new day will dawn, and soon. We secularists, progressives, liberals and moderates will win, and not because we will fight for ourselves, as the conservative theists would. We will fight for all, so that everyone, including our opponents in this debate, will benefit.
Freedom of religion, and freedom from religion, is not best just for secularists, but indeed for all people of every religion in this country. When religion is concerned with the private sphere, with people and not movements, society and not politics, that is where it shall do the most good, and the largest variety and number of people will profit spiritually and socially.
The only religion that should be minimized, marginalized, and shunned is that dangerous beast of literalist or inerrantist religion, the vitriolic, and hateful speech the "true believers" call their domain. It is a fetid cesspool of anti-gay bigotry, anti-woman and anti-liberty speech, anti-scientific and anti-intellectual nonsense, and oppressive, self-righteous arrogance. The problem is not so much that these people believe as they do; it is that they want no one to believe differently. In the name of America's ideals, they must not win.
My tone is meant only to be indignant and righteously impassioned here. Know that I have no enmity for any person for their group affiliations or opinions, but I do have little patience for bigotry or anti-intellectual sentiment. I only ask that the privately held beliefs of those who denigrate or prejudge homosexuals, atheists or any other minority group not be given respect, as they promote hate.
So, on this, the most American of holidays, let's all remember the treaty of Tripoli of 1796, article 11.
"As the Government of the United States of America is not, in any sense, founded on the Christian religion; as it has in itself no character of enmity against the laws, religion, or tranquillity, of Mussulmen; and, as the said States never entered into any war, or act of hostility against any Mahometan nation, it is declared by the parties, that no pretext arising from religious opinions, shall ever produce an interruption of the harmony existing between the two countries."
So, we are not a Christian nation. Glad we're all clear on this. We are a nation of Christians... and Jews, and Hindus, and Muslims, and atheists, agnostics, and just plain apathetic types. All types and creeds and delicious flavors, one big nation. So, I'm going to take this moment to show my own pride in a display of solidarity. It is my belief that patriotism consists not just in national pride but in pride in one's state's ideals, and as America prizes freedom and liberty as its chief ideals, I hereby exercise my own freedom of speech.
I am an American, and I am an atheist. I take great pride in the rights granted to me in this nation, and I faithfully serve my duties as a citizen by remaining an informed voter and a productive member of society. I look today with great sorrow at the state of religious discourse in this country, and at the hijacking of this society by religious zealotry in politics and the general public sphere. However, I know that a new day will dawn, and soon. We secularists, progressives, liberals and moderates will win, and not because we will fight for ourselves, as the conservative theists would. We will fight for all, so that everyone, including our opponents in this debate, will benefit.
Freedom of religion, and freedom from religion, is not best just for secularists, but indeed for all people of every religion in this country. When religion is concerned with the private sphere, with people and not movements, society and not politics, that is where it shall do the most good, and the largest variety and number of people will profit spiritually and socially.
The only religion that should be minimized, marginalized, and shunned is that dangerous beast of literalist or inerrantist religion, the vitriolic, and hateful speech the "true believers" call their domain. It is a fetid cesspool of anti-gay bigotry, anti-woman and anti-liberty speech, anti-scientific and anti-intellectual nonsense, and oppressive, self-righteous arrogance. The problem is not so much that these people believe as they do; it is that they want no one to believe differently. In the name of America's ideals, they must not win.
My tone is meant only to be indignant and righteously impassioned here. Know that I have no enmity for any person for their group affiliations or opinions, but I do have little patience for bigotry or anti-intellectual sentiment. I only ask that the privately held beliefs of those who denigrate or prejudge homosexuals, atheists or any other minority group not be given respect, as they promote hate.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
For my Japanese-speaking friends
My friends and partners in crime, I give you the almighty and amazing Boris!
Power Pop- Iggy's Search And Destroy Mission
Raw Power and Funhouse, kids. Them's the names. The Stooges, those tough, hard-rockin' freaks fronted by crazed rock icon Iggy Pop, were fortunate enough to do two classic albums. Funhouse in 1970, Raw Power three years later.
Let's talk turkey here. Back in 70, the Stooges already had a rep as wild dudes. They had one album of John-Cale produced proto-punk, the brilliantly stupid "The Stooges". That's the one with "I Wanna Be Your Dog" on it for all you indie kids who've heard it covered a thousand times. Iggy was a consummate front man. He had it all- a fake name, a penchant for self-mutilation, and he popularized stage-diving and audience-baiting. He embodied the punk spirit before punk truly came around.
While the Stooges were a brilliantly dumb band, mired in adolescent posturing and simplistic rock, they were also pretty smart in weird ways. Their talent for the apropos riff, the perfect vocal sting, the anthemic but sleazy sex song, was undeniable, and Ron Asheton's basic guitar style was no bar to his experimental spirit. His solos ripped and roared with abandon, no regard for technique or logic, just feeling. It was on Funhouse that these things really came together.
These are still twisted anthems of the street played with an animal at the fore barking madly. But Funhouse loses the sludge and trudges further into psychedelic swaths of noise. Dave Alexander provides tasty bass licks as Ron Asheton digs into the ether and summons forth guitar bliss. Scott Asheton pounds away primitively and with abandon. Through everything, Iggy howls and coos, screams and wails, marshalling all the charisma and energy you can squeeze from a human form. Perfect example? Sure. 1970, go.
Steve MacKay provides some searing sax work. Check the kickass bass too. No wonder Mission of Burma covered it. It rocks hard.
But what of Raw Power? What of it?
Only one of the most pissed-off, destructive, violent, and loud rock albums ever.
By '73, the Stooges were pretty much done for, destroyed by drugs. David Bowie told his management team to give Iggy one more chance. Iggy got James Williamson to play guitar, and Ron and Scott Asheton rejoined the Stooges. Ron was pushed onto bass.
David Bowie's original mix of Raw Power, which I haven't heard for some time, is reputed to be pretty muddy. Iggy remixed the album himself in 1997. The remix is extremely distorted, loud, and violent, completely in the red and in your face.
I quite like the remix myself. The apocalyptic screeches and howls emanating from Iggy cannot be ignored. James Williamson plays a mean, supremely loud lead guitar. For my money, Raw Power is better than Funhouse simply because the guitar playing is less basic. Ron Asheton, the pissed-off guitarist who got pushed onto bass, is practically in a frenzy, really brings energy to the low end. On this record, even the ballads sound evil and pissed off. Ladies and gentlemen, "Gimme Danger".
Gimme danger, little stranger. I'll feel your disease.
"Penetration" is some lecherous, lusty shit, yo.
Let's talk turkey here. Back in 70, the Stooges already had a rep as wild dudes. They had one album of John-Cale produced proto-punk, the brilliantly stupid "The Stooges". That's the one with "I Wanna Be Your Dog" on it for all you indie kids who've heard it covered a thousand times. Iggy was a consummate front man. He had it all- a fake name, a penchant for self-mutilation, and he popularized stage-diving and audience-baiting. He embodied the punk spirit before punk truly came around.
While the Stooges were a brilliantly dumb band, mired in adolescent posturing and simplistic rock, they were also pretty smart in weird ways. Their talent for the apropos riff, the perfect vocal sting, the anthemic but sleazy sex song, was undeniable, and Ron Asheton's basic guitar style was no bar to his experimental spirit. His solos ripped and roared with abandon, no regard for technique or logic, just feeling. It was on Funhouse that these things really came together.
These are still twisted anthems of the street played with an animal at the fore barking madly. But Funhouse loses the sludge and trudges further into psychedelic swaths of noise. Dave Alexander provides tasty bass licks as Ron Asheton digs into the ether and summons forth guitar bliss. Scott Asheton pounds away primitively and with abandon. Through everything, Iggy howls and coos, screams and wails, marshalling all the charisma and energy you can squeeze from a human form. Perfect example? Sure. 1970, go.
Steve MacKay provides some searing sax work. Check the kickass bass too. No wonder Mission of Burma covered it. It rocks hard.
But what of Raw Power? What of it?
Only one of the most pissed-off, destructive, violent, and loud rock albums ever.
By '73, the Stooges were pretty much done for, destroyed by drugs. David Bowie told his management team to give Iggy one more chance. Iggy got James Williamson to play guitar, and Ron and Scott Asheton rejoined the Stooges. Ron was pushed onto bass.
David Bowie's original mix of Raw Power, which I haven't heard for some time, is reputed to be pretty muddy. Iggy remixed the album himself in 1997. The remix is extremely distorted, loud, and violent, completely in the red and in your face.
I quite like the remix myself. The apocalyptic screeches and howls emanating from Iggy cannot be ignored. James Williamson plays a mean, supremely loud lead guitar. For my money, Raw Power is better than Funhouse simply because the guitar playing is less basic. Ron Asheton, the pissed-off guitarist who got pushed onto bass, is practically in a frenzy, really brings energy to the low end. On this record, even the ballads sound evil and pissed off. Ladies and gentlemen, "Gimme Danger".
Gimme danger, little stranger. I'll feel your disease.
"Penetration" is some lecherous, lusty shit, yo.
Monday, June 8, 2009
New Sonic Youth album has arrived. WOOT!
The diagnosis for studio album 16 from veteran underground rockers Sonic Youth? Rockin'. I think my post on Television was pretty timely- the passages in The Eternal seem to echo Marquee Moon and the eponymous Television album; dark moods and tension coiled, pretty and ugly vying for expression and possession of the song. The opener "Sacred Trickster" I had heard pre-launch, and it sounded classic Kim Gordon, bratty and petulant, stabbing and discordant while still rocking in an odd fashion. Check this clip from Later... With Jools Holland, one of Britain's great music showcases.
The second track on the album hooked me pretty hard- "Anti-Orgasm" grooves relentlessly and possesses an excellent bridge of messy, chopping, clanging guitar noise that is classic Youth. Also, the addition of Mark Ibold of Pavement has done wonders for their groove. It seemed with their jam phase that Jim O'Rourke was good as a multi-instrumentalist, but he played guitar more often than not as well as keys and bass.
With a dedicated bassist allowing Kim Gordon to step onto third guitar, the group seems to be recalling their late-80s days more than anything, but with an extra guitar and more killer bass grooves. Check this clip, again from Later With Jools Holland.
I've always preferred Lee's songs as a rule for most of the Youth's albums, and "What We Know" turned out as expected. Lee's "Rats" also had the most badass bassline on Rather Ripped, so there ya go. I can't believe that "Antenna" is the first Lee/Thurston vocal harmony- it really does work, it makes you wonder why a band with such usually unspectacular singers wouldn't just half-ass a few harmonies to cover up their vocal weaknesses in concert more often. Lee usually does fine on his own in a Beat/spoken word style, though. Usually only Kim truly grates my nerves, and only very occasionally- I usually have a perverse admiration for her growling and hollering delivery. I like the non-processed, amateur style in a way. It's the Youth's big "fuck you" toward vapid pop mavens, sorta like Television's Tom Verlaine being a less-than-fantastic crooner. It's these idiosyncrasies that make a band either special, or just plain annoying. Fortunately, I've opted to enjoy Sonic Youth. Back to 'in praise of musics'.
Steve Shelley is still a great drummer, machine-precise and not overly flashy, but he can really anchor down a heady jam. His trademark fills and metronome-accurate pounding really give the Youth the edge they lacked in their very early days- it's no wonder he's the only full-time drummer the Youth ever had for more than two albums.
All in all, The Eternal is about as far as one can get from 2006's Rather Ripped- few clean edges, tons of fraying and squalling and spitfire guitars slicing and singing relentless. Sure, some of the material is a bit clipped or drags, but that's the nature of the Youth. You gotta let their indulgences slide and let their strengths stick. If you can get past some of their quirks, as I have, you'll have a great time with their unique brand of revelling in noise.
The second track on the album hooked me pretty hard- "Anti-Orgasm" grooves relentlessly and possesses an excellent bridge of messy, chopping, clanging guitar noise that is classic Youth. Also, the addition of Mark Ibold of Pavement has done wonders for their groove. It seemed with their jam phase that Jim O'Rourke was good as a multi-instrumentalist, but he played guitar more often than not as well as keys and bass.
With a dedicated bassist allowing Kim Gordon to step onto third guitar, the group seems to be recalling their late-80s days more than anything, but with an extra guitar and more killer bass grooves. Check this clip, again from Later With Jools Holland.
I've always preferred Lee's songs as a rule for most of the Youth's albums, and "What We Know" turned out as expected. Lee's "Rats" also had the most badass bassline on Rather Ripped, so there ya go. I can't believe that "Antenna" is the first Lee/Thurston vocal harmony- it really does work, it makes you wonder why a band with such usually unspectacular singers wouldn't just half-ass a few harmonies to cover up their vocal weaknesses in concert more often. Lee usually does fine on his own in a Beat/spoken word style, though. Usually only Kim truly grates my nerves, and only very occasionally- I usually have a perverse admiration for her growling and hollering delivery. I like the non-processed, amateur style in a way. It's the Youth's big "fuck you" toward vapid pop mavens, sorta like Television's Tom Verlaine being a less-than-fantastic crooner. It's these idiosyncrasies that make a band either special, or just plain annoying. Fortunately, I've opted to enjoy Sonic Youth. Back to 'in praise of musics'.
Steve Shelley is still a great drummer, machine-precise and not overly flashy, but he can really anchor down a heady jam. His trademark fills and metronome-accurate pounding really give the Youth the edge they lacked in their very early days- it's no wonder he's the only full-time drummer the Youth ever had for more than two albums.
All in all, The Eternal is about as far as one can get from 2006's Rather Ripped- few clean edges, tons of fraying and squalling and spitfire guitars slicing and singing relentless. Sure, some of the material is a bit clipped or drags, but that's the nature of the Youth. You gotta let their indulgences slide and let their strengths stick. If you can get past some of their quirks, as I have, you'll have a great time with their unique brand of revelling in noise.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Tell A Vision- Standing Under the Marquee Moon
1977 was a momentous year in music by any estimation, and this is thanks in no small part to one of the greatest debut albums and one of the most essential documents of a band ever. Television's seminal "Marquee Moon" is not just a classic of punk or art rock, but indeed all rock music, and even a fan of stale and mainstream classic rock should enjoy it as much as the eggheaded art-punkers who to this day slaver over Tom Verlaine and Richard Lloyd's unmatched guitar virtuosity. Its appeal is so immediate, its power and technical achievement so palpable and undeniable that only the most staid and cynical of human beings can deny its brilliance. If you hate Television, I hope you hate all music. You could be forgiven for not liking music in general, but Television? No. That would be blasphemy toward our God of Guitar Noodling, Tom Verlaine.
The first time I heard Television, I was in high school. I had been to the local hipster record store (in St. Louis, the only record store of note is the awesome Vintage Vinyl), and had purchased Television's debut album Marquee Moon after a heavy round of internet buzz lauding it as one of the best 70s albums. My initial reaction was of great surprise; the music was much more traditional than I expected, at least in its basic setup. Two guitars, bass, drums, and tasty riffz. But "See No Evil", the opener, got a lot more interesting in the pre-chorus. Billy Ficca turned out this inspired, complex cymbal rush the likes of which I'd not heard anywhere before; Tom and Richard traded cosmic, glinting notes and crunching chords; Fred Smith held it all together with an upbeat and energetic bassline. The chorus itself perfectly encapsulated the song with moral relativism laid out with a start-stop vocal and a dragged out screech from Tom Verlaine's dry, reedy voice- I see, I see no... eviiiiiiiiiiiillllll! Richard Lloyd laid down an absolutely jaw-dropping solo after the second chorus, a non-stop flow of incredible playing that read like prose and sounded like poetry. Tom always said that Richard played solos that sounded like stories or scripts, and it's easy to understand what he meant. From that moment of brilliance, I knew I was hooked, and would never go back. Since then, Television has become one of the most reliable listens in my library. If I ever need a lift, ever need a just sublime moment, I turn on the TV with Tom Verlaine and Richard Lloyd.
Structurally, there are some touchstones of normal music, some hints of familiarity. It's from this basic framework of classicist rock music that Television's songs spiral into their trademark heady, cerebral jams. Their flow is unmistakable. No other band would be able to pull off a song like Marquee Moon. It takes the tension between traditional rock music and punk and art rock and extracts brilliance from a tightwire rope walk between the familiar and the utterly alien sounds that can emanate from a cleanly picked, undistorted guitar. Spontaneous jams and scripted solos blend seamlessly. Take a listen for yourself to their amazing "Venus" and hear for yourself.
What's amazing is that no part is uninteresting, or merely filler. Everything is in its right place, and even if one guitar is playing just chords, no note progressions, the harmonic relationships are still as interesting as the drum line, as the bass. Though Tom Verlaine dominated Television musically in a lot of ways, it's heartening to know that the band was egalitarian in emphasis on musicality and structure. No instrument really overpowers the mix, and there are few holding patterns, just killer parts, the interlocking teeth of gears that inexorably turn to power the fantastic machine that is Television.
After one more album, 1978's Adventure, Television split. Solo projects followed, of course. Bassist Fred Smith and drummer Billy Ficca worked amicably on and off with Richard and Tom, but the two guitarists would not reconcile until a reunion in 1992. An eponymous album followed, but for the most part was not as brilliant as the debut, though it may be on the level of Adventure. The best track on 1992's Television is, undoubtedly, the epic "Call Mr. Lee". It's got a killer hook, dark and impenetrable lyrics, and a dramatic, powerful solo.
The first time I heard Television, I was in high school. I had been to the local hipster record store (in St. Louis, the only record store of note is the awesome Vintage Vinyl), and had purchased Television's debut album Marquee Moon after a heavy round of internet buzz lauding it as one of the best 70s albums. My initial reaction was of great surprise; the music was much more traditional than I expected, at least in its basic setup. Two guitars, bass, drums, and tasty riffz. But "See No Evil", the opener, got a lot more interesting in the pre-chorus. Billy Ficca turned out this inspired, complex cymbal rush the likes of which I'd not heard anywhere before; Tom and Richard traded cosmic, glinting notes and crunching chords; Fred Smith held it all together with an upbeat and energetic bassline. The chorus itself perfectly encapsulated the song with moral relativism laid out with a start-stop vocal and a dragged out screech from Tom Verlaine's dry, reedy voice- I see, I see no... eviiiiiiiiiiiillllll! Richard Lloyd laid down an absolutely jaw-dropping solo after the second chorus, a non-stop flow of incredible playing that read like prose and sounded like poetry. Tom always said that Richard played solos that sounded like stories or scripts, and it's easy to understand what he meant. From that moment of brilliance, I knew I was hooked, and would never go back. Since then, Television has become one of the most reliable listens in my library. If I ever need a lift, ever need a just sublime moment, I turn on the TV with Tom Verlaine and Richard Lloyd.
Structurally, there are some touchstones of normal music, some hints of familiarity. It's from this basic framework of classicist rock music that Television's songs spiral into their trademark heady, cerebral jams. Their flow is unmistakable. No other band would be able to pull off a song like Marquee Moon. It takes the tension between traditional rock music and punk and art rock and extracts brilliance from a tightwire rope walk between the familiar and the utterly alien sounds that can emanate from a cleanly picked, undistorted guitar. Spontaneous jams and scripted solos blend seamlessly. Take a listen for yourself to their amazing "Venus" and hear for yourself.
What's amazing is that no part is uninteresting, or merely filler. Everything is in its right place, and even if one guitar is playing just chords, no note progressions, the harmonic relationships are still as interesting as the drum line, as the bass. Though Tom Verlaine dominated Television musically in a lot of ways, it's heartening to know that the band was egalitarian in emphasis on musicality and structure. No instrument really overpowers the mix, and there are few holding patterns, just killer parts, the interlocking teeth of gears that inexorably turn to power the fantastic machine that is Television.
After one more album, 1978's Adventure, Television split. Solo projects followed, of course. Bassist Fred Smith and drummer Billy Ficca worked amicably on and off with Richard and Tom, but the two guitarists would not reconcile until a reunion in 1992. An eponymous album followed, but for the most part was not as brilliant as the debut, though it may be on the level of Adventure. The best track on 1992's Television is, undoubtedly, the epic "Call Mr. Lee". It's got a killer hook, dark and impenetrable lyrics, and a dramatic, powerful solo.
Monday, June 1, 2009
The Chameleons
Damn, May was a dry month. Sorry that I didn't have much to say.
Sit down, kids, and let's take a trip to another world. This is a world of lovely sounds, gorgeous sweeping melodies, lush and vibrant sonic textures. This is the world of the Chameleons, one of the finest post-psychedelic British rock bands.
The Chams formed in Middleton in Greater Manchester in England in 1981. Leader Mark Burgess plays bass and sings lead vocals, and while he's no Clint Conley or Dave Allen, his bass work is driving and buoyant. John Lever plays drums, and though the Chams are mostly known as a guitar band, Lever's their secret weapon; his playing is consistently great and often jaw-dropping. Adept at speedy rhythms, off-kilter time signatures, and punishing pounding, he's all that a rock band can ask for. The signature element of the Chams' sound is the sensational guitar playing of Reg Smithies and David Fielding- their biting guitar riffs are polished to a pretty sheen, managing never to end up brittle or wispy even when soaked in reverb and delay effects. Their playing is superbly rich and textured, and their repertoire ranges from the melancholy to the epic, from the biting and scorching guitar riffs of "Return Of The Roughnecks" to the majestic bombast of the incredible "Swamp Thing", one of my favorite guitar tracks. Have a listen to Swamp Thing as performed by Mark Burgess and the Sons of God.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XJ6zVlIxnrQ
Sorry I can't embed, but it's been disabled.
Their first single, "In Shreds", is absolutely ace as well. Please enjoy.
Each of their albums is a fantastic listen, but most fans tend to cling to one or another for various reasons. For me, the atmospheric production of "What Does Anything Mean? Basically" and the wonderful drumming throughout propels it past even 1986's epic "Strange Times". It doesn't hurt that "What Does" also includes some of their loveliest guitar work and the hard-charging power of their debut single, the aforementioned "In Shreds" backed with "Nostalgia", a song whose title is a recurring theme in the discography of the Chameleons. Combine those great tunes with chiming, achingly beautiful tracks like "Perfume Garden" and the acoustic-prefaced but crunching "Intrigue In Tangiers" and its awesome vocals, and you've got a sure winner, "Swamp Thing" be damned.
For further proof, check out "Return of the Roughnecks", and dig that marvelous guitar interplay during the intro break. Solo rocks too.
The Chams disbanded after their manager took his own life in 1987, but reunited in 2000 and released one new studio album before disbanding again.If you have the chance, don't hesitate to check out Mark Burgess' solo projects and post-Chameleons work. He even performed a tribute to the Sound's Adrian Borland, mentioned here previously, in a concert series dedicated to the deceased musician's memory. Here's the Chams' Mark Burgess performing Borland's awesome ode to self-reliance, "Possession".
Dave Fielding and Reg Smithies, guitar virtuosos extraordinaire, also played in the Reegs, and any band with such a great guitar team is surely worth a listen. Hope that now that the Chameleons' work is available in deluxe editions, more of the public can enjoy their fine brand of lush and atmospheric rock and roll.
Thanks for reading.
Sit down, kids, and let's take a trip to another world. This is a world of lovely sounds, gorgeous sweeping melodies, lush and vibrant sonic textures. This is the world of the Chameleons, one of the finest post-psychedelic British rock bands.
The Chams formed in Middleton in Greater Manchester in England in 1981. Leader Mark Burgess plays bass and sings lead vocals, and while he's no Clint Conley or Dave Allen, his bass work is driving and buoyant. John Lever plays drums, and though the Chams are mostly known as a guitar band, Lever's their secret weapon; his playing is consistently great and often jaw-dropping. Adept at speedy rhythms, off-kilter time signatures, and punishing pounding, he's all that a rock band can ask for. The signature element of the Chams' sound is the sensational guitar playing of Reg Smithies and David Fielding- their biting guitar riffs are polished to a pretty sheen, managing never to end up brittle or wispy even when soaked in reverb and delay effects. Their playing is superbly rich and textured, and their repertoire ranges from the melancholy to the epic, from the biting and scorching guitar riffs of "Return Of The Roughnecks" to the majestic bombast of the incredible "Swamp Thing", one of my favorite guitar tracks. Have a listen to Swamp Thing as performed by Mark Burgess and the Sons of God.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XJ6zVlIxnrQ
Sorry I can't embed, but it's been disabled.
Their first single, "In Shreds", is absolutely ace as well. Please enjoy.
Each of their albums is a fantastic listen, but most fans tend to cling to one or another for various reasons. For me, the atmospheric production of "What Does Anything Mean? Basically" and the wonderful drumming throughout propels it past even 1986's epic "Strange Times". It doesn't hurt that "What Does" also includes some of their loveliest guitar work and the hard-charging power of their debut single, the aforementioned "In Shreds" backed with "Nostalgia", a song whose title is a recurring theme in the discography of the Chameleons. Combine those great tunes with chiming, achingly beautiful tracks like "Perfume Garden" and the acoustic-prefaced but crunching "Intrigue In Tangiers" and its awesome vocals, and you've got a sure winner, "Swamp Thing" be damned.
For further proof, check out "Return of the Roughnecks", and dig that marvelous guitar interplay during the intro break. Solo rocks too.
The Chams disbanded after their manager took his own life in 1987, but reunited in 2000 and released one new studio album before disbanding again.If you have the chance, don't hesitate to check out Mark Burgess' solo projects and post-Chameleons work. He even performed a tribute to the Sound's Adrian Borland, mentioned here previously, in a concert series dedicated to the deceased musician's memory. Here's the Chams' Mark Burgess performing Borland's awesome ode to self-reliance, "Possession".
Dave Fielding and Reg Smithies, guitar virtuosos extraordinaire, also played in the Reegs, and any band with such a great guitar team is surely worth a listen. Hope that now that the Chameleons' work is available in deluxe editions, more of the public can enjoy their fine brand of lush and atmospheric rock and roll.
Thanks for reading.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Let's talk about the charge of deicide. Oh, goody...
I recently had this conversation for the second time at work. Strange origins it may have, but it is interesting to note how it relates to Important Things.
A manager of mine has an interesting way of settling contests amongst workers who desire to be cut from work and clock out early. When more than one person is scheduled to leave at 3 o'clock, for instance, an equal amount of labor would be saved by not having to pay the wage of either one of the employees. Therefore, because neither side has any tactical advantage, a game of "rock, paper, scissors" rules the day. However, this particular permutation of the familiar game is, though harmless, emblematic of distorted perceptions of history common, it seems, in working-class America. This game is called "Jesus, Hitler, Jew".
Let me explain the rules, as they are a wonderful melange of nonsense. Jesus beats Hitler, Hitler beats Jew, Jew beats Jesus. Now, the question is, why? In the traditional game, rock covers paper, (which makes no sense, I must admit) but scissors cutting paper and rock smashing scissors do sort of make sense. (Perhaps rock is supposed to need to breathe or something, and suffocates when paper covers it?) Well, I guess that in the logic of JHJ, Jesus beats Hitler because Hitler is dead, and in Christian theology, God, of whom Jesus is one manifestation, decides when humans are to die, and so, by this logic, Jesus 'took' Hitler. The rule that Hitler beats Jews is as sound as scissors cutting paper, because, historically, his anti-Semitic views and the policies of his government carried out the Holocaust.
The biggest thorn in my side, however, is the charge of deicide levied by the rule of Jews beating Jesus because they are responsible for his death. The game's rules, because they are more morbid than the traditional game and substitute death for dysfunction or destruction in the case of the titular objects, concern responsibility for the death of the archetypes represented in the game. The charge that all Jews share blame for the death of Jesus as a result of the actions of the Pharisees is no longer an official position of the Catholic church, but I have no idea how many Christians do still hold this view. This excuse for anti-Semitism has been levied throughout history as justification for a variety of prejudices and serves in part as the cornerstone of historical European suspicion and xenophobia of Jews.
Now, all this arises, not only out of my problems with some silly game, but because this semi-intelligent manager of mine who proposed the game actually defended the charge of deicide. This is unacceptable.
It is wrong for many reasons, but some are more theological in nature, some, more moral or historical. Let's go through the list and have a look at this issue.
The reason that the charge of deicide can be levied in the first place is because the Bible claims that the Pharisees, who were Jewish leaders, turned Jesus over to the Romans. The Pharisees believed Jesus preached heresy, and the Romans found his views inconvenient for their political power.
Now, one of the great mistakes of the Christian faith in the view of the non-religious is its distorted view of personal responsibility. At the core of its theology is the doctrine of scapegoating, the belief that the sins of a person or group can be absolved by transferring them to another person or animal and punishing or driving away the object that has received sin. The core doctrine holds that no person is good enough for Heaven; only Jesus' sacrifice and belief in him are enough to merit an eternity in Heaven. The convoluted logic states that Jesus' atonement is for Original Sin, which is in this day and age is completely given the lie by all modern genetic study and even passing knowledge of evolution. However, ignoring the issues surrounding Original Sin itself, of which there are many, the doctrine is clear that all humanity bears responsibility for the death of Jesus. It is sin, the sin of all humankind, that necessitates the sacrifice. Therefore, fault for Jesus' death should lie with all people equally (for sinning), or God (who decided to incarnate himself) in this view.
Logically, there is little ground for the charge of deicide to stand. Even taking the events described in the New Testament as accurate (a large leap, I assure you), there is no grounds to accuse the Jews as a whole of killing Jesus. Now, if we posit the Christian system as true, then granted, the Jews do deny on theological grounds the messianic state of Jesus. The Pharisees (if we grant the narrative as truth) did offer Jesus to the Romans. However, this at worst only makes Jews deniers of Christian divinity and the Pharisees guilty by association. No Jew alive today spat on or attacked Jesus, nor drove nails into his flesh, nor flagellated him. No accusation can stand against the man who is not party to the crime. No guilt can be assigned to the blood, no curse to a race. If my brother kills a man, am I tried for his crime? If a white man defrauds a large swath of the population, does that make all white men guilty? There is simply no justifying punishing those who do nothing wrong.
Morally, the charge of deicide has much to answer for in the history of anti-Semitic thought. The charge has historically been levied by Christians either to excuse or to justify their xenophobia and hatred of the Jews. Deicide has been used in troubled times as a matter of convenient scapegoating when the Jews are needed as targets. Now, anti-Semitic thought does not begin and end with such claims, but it does underlie much ugly history of antagonism. This does not make a strong logical argument against deicide, but it does not make it an attractive position to hold.
Please, don't let this line of thought pollute you as well. Don't fall prey to judgement of others for the crimes of their ancestors, their parents, their class, or any other group you can shoehorn them into. Just let man stand and fall on merit alone.
A manager of mine has an interesting way of settling contests amongst workers who desire to be cut from work and clock out early. When more than one person is scheduled to leave at 3 o'clock, for instance, an equal amount of labor would be saved by not having to pay the wage of either one of the employees. Therefore, because neither side has any tactical advantage, a game of "rock, paper, scissors" rules the day. However, this particular permutation of the familiar game is, though harmless, emblematic of distorted perceptions of history common, it seems, in working-class America. This game is called "Jesus, Hitler, Jew".
Let me explain the rules, as they are a wonderful melange of nonsense. Jesus beats Hitler, Hitler beats Jew, Jew beats Jesus. Now, the question is, why? In the traditional game, rock covers paper, (which makes no sense, I must admit) but scissors cutting paper and rock smashing scissors do sort of make sense. (Perhaps rock is supposed to need to breathe or something, and suffocates when paper covers it?) Well, I guess that in the logic of JHJ, Jesus beats Hitler because Hitler is dead, and in Christian theology, God, of whom Jesus is one manifestation, decides when humans are to die, and so, by this logic, Jesus 'took' Hitler. The rule that Hitler beats Jews is as sound as scissors cutting paper, because, historically, his anti-Semitic views and the policies of his government carried out the Holocaust.
The biggest thorn in my side, however, is the charge of deicide levied by the rule of Jews beating Jesus because they are responsible for his death. The game's rules, because they are more morbid than the traditional game and substitute death for dysfunction or destruction in the case of the titular objects, concern responsibility for the death of the archetypes represented in the game. The charge that all Jews share blame for the death of Jesus as a result of the actions of the Pharisees is no longer an official position of the Catholic church, but I have no idea how many Christians do still hold this view. This excuse for anti-Semitism has been levied throughout history as justification for a variety of prejudices and serves in part as the cornerstone of historical European suspicion and xenophobia of Jews.
Now, all this arises, not only out of my problems with some silly game, but because this semi-intelligent manager of mine who proposed the game actually defended the charge of deicide. This is unacceptable.
It is wrong for many reasons, but some are more theological in nature, some, more moral or historical. Let's go through the list and have a look at this issue.
The reason that the charge of deicide can be levied in the first place is because the Bible claims that the Pharisees, who were Jewish leaders, turned Jesus over to the Romans. The Pharisees believed Jesus preached heresy, and the Romans found his views inconvenient for their political power.
Now, one of the great mistakes of the Christian faith in the view of the non-religious is its distorted view of personal responsibility. At the core of its theology is the doctrine of scapegoating, the belief that the sins of a person or group can be absolved by transferring them to another person or animal and punishing or driving away the object that has received sin. The core doctrine holds that no person is good enough for Heaven; only Jesus' sacrifice and belief in him are enough to merit an eternity in Heaven. The convoluted logic states that Jesus' atonement is for Original Sin, which is in this day and age is completely given the lie by all modern genetic study and even passing knowledge of evolution. However, ignoring the issues surrounding Original Sin itself, of which there are many, the doctrine is clear that all humanity bears responsibility for the death of Jesus. It is sin, the sin of all humankind, that necessitates the sacrifice. Therefore, fault for Jesus' death should lie with all people equally (for sinning), or God (who decided to incarnate himself) in this view.
Logically, there is little ground for the charge of deicide to stand. Even taking the events described in the New Testament as accurate (a large leap, I assure you), there is no grounds to accuse the Jews as a whole of killing Jesus. Now, if we posit the Christian system as true, then granted, the Jews do deny on theological grounds the messianic state of Jesus. The Pharisees (if we grant the narrative as truth) did offer Jesus to the Romans. However, this at worst only makes Jews deniers of Christian divinity and the Pharisees guilty by association. No Jew alive today spat on or attacked Jesus, nor drove nails into his flesh, nor flagellated him. No accusation can stand against the man who is not party to the crime. No guilt can be assigned to the blood, no curse to a race. If my brother kills a man, am I tried for his crime? If a white man defrauds a large swath of the population, does that make all white men guilty? There is simply no justifying punishing those who do nothing wrong.
Morally, the charge of deicide has much to answer for in the history of anti-Semitic thought. The charge has historically been levied by Christians either to excuse or to justify their xenophobia and hatred of the Jews. Deicide has been used in troubled times as a matter of convenient scapegoating when the Jews are needed as targets. Now, anti-Semitic thought does not begin and end with such claims, but it does underlie much ugly history of antagonism. This does not make a strong logical argument against deicide, but it does not make it an attractive position to hold.
Please, don't let this line of thought pollute you as well. Don't fall prey to judgement of others for the crimes of their ancestors, their parents, their class, or any other group you can shoehorn them into. Just let man stand and fall on merit alone.
Friday, May 1, 2009
New Sonic Youth album on the way, and more
Sonic Youth's "The Eternal" comes out next week. I've already got a preorder, here's hoping it's as good as the rest of their post-2000 works. The band is back to a five-piece for this one, with touring bassist and former Pavement member Mark Ibold joining the band officially to supplement our core Fab Four. I'll let you guys know what's up whenever "The Eternal" gets here.
Mission of Burma is putting the finishing touches on their album, I don't have a deadline yet, but rest assured, it's gonna rock. Expect it within a few months, and my own examination of the as-yet-untitled disc soon after.
I've been completely immersed in a role-playing game recently, a little older than most of what I play. Now, I appreciate gameplay over graphics, this is true, but no one likes looking at a butt-ugly game, am I right? To be fair, though, one must account for when a game was made. So I was pleasantly surprised by Troika's Vampire: The Masquerade- Bloodlines. When it came out in 2004, it didn't sell too well, mostly because it was based on Half-Life 2's engine and came out on the same day. Piss-poor timing, that. The game was buggy, as even its ardent supporters admit, but underneath the grit was an unpolished diamond. It's one of the few games I know of that really transcends its technical issues by telling a superb story and having great gameplay at its core. If one can overlook some framerate issues and graphical problems, the core game is fantastic.
Lately, my most-played album has been Lou Reed's "The Blue Mask". Recorded with a superb band consisting of ex-Voidoid Robert Quine, bassist Ferando Saunders, and Doane Perry on drums, it's by turns an evocative and poetic work that isn't afraid to run ragged into an inferno of guitar immolation. There's pastoral beauty in "My House", an aching melancholy in the chiming guitars and emotionally fraught bass riffs. There are penetrating character studies in "The Gun" and "Underneath the Bottle". However, what is perhaps the most inspiring song on the album is the raging, spittle-flecked title track. After a minute of feedback, "The Blue Mask" explodes into rampaging drum fills and a roiling, violent bass riff that anchors down Lou's delivery and carefully pens in the screaming guitars. Reed's lyrics are some of the most perverse and deliriously misanthropic I've had the pleasure of singing along with- check this out.
If this song doesn't make you dry heave and bang your head simultaneously, nothing can be done for you. I can't resist letting this one get me all riled up.
Mission of Burma is putting the finishing touches on their album, I don't have a deadline yet, but rest assured, it's gonna rock. Expect it within a few months, and my own examination of the as-yet-untitled disc soon after.
I've been completely immersed in a role-playing game recently, a little older than most of what I play. Now, I appreciate gameplay over graphics, this is true, but no one likes looking at a butt-ugly game, am I right? To be fair, though, one must account for when a game was made. So I was pleasantly surprised by Troika's Vampire: The Masquerade- Bloodlines. When it came out in 2004, it didn't sell too well, mostly because it was based on Half-Life 2's engine and came out on the same day. Piss-poor timing, that. The game was buggy, as even its ardent supporters admit, but underneath the grit was an unpolished diamond. It's one of the few games I know of that really transcends its technical issues by telling a superb story and having great gameplay at its core. If one can overlook some framerate issues and graphical problems, the core game is fantastic.
Lately, my most-played album has been Lou Reed's "The Blue Mask". Recorded with a superb band consisting of ex-Voidoid Robert Quine, bassist Ferando Saunders, and Doane Perry on drums, it's by turns an evocative and poetic work that isn't afraid to run ragged into an inferno of guitar immolation. There's pastoral beauty in "My House", an aching melancholy in the chiming guitars and emotionally fraught bass riffs. There are penetrating character studies in "The Gun" and "Underneath the Bottle". However, what is perhaps the most inspiring song on the album is the raging, spittle-flecked title track. After a minute of feedback, "The Blue Mask" explodes into rampaging drum fills and a roiling, violent bass riff that anchors down Lou's delivery and carefully pens in the screaming guitars. Reed's lyrics are some of the most perverse and deliriously misanthropic I've had the pleasure of singing along with- check this out.
If this song doesn't make you dry heave and bang your head simultaneously, nothing can be done for you. I can't resist letting this one get me all riled up.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
The Sound- a tribute to Adrian Borland and his collaborators
Formed in 1979 from the ashes of the Outsiders, The Sound, hailing from London, are one of post-punk music's most criminally unsung bands. Bandleader and guitarist Adrian Borland crafted fantastic songs that overflowed with emotional power and perfect pop songwriting, and his band delivered tight, polished songs played with power and passion. Just one listen to the headlong charge of "Heartland" from 1979's "Jeopardy" is reason enough to marvel at their collective abilities as a band. For that icy, stabbing synth, that rumbling and bouncing bass that carries the melody, those fantastic guitar riffs and singing, there's little else like the Sound.
From the first, the distinctive sound of the Sound (get it?) put them firmly on the map as one of London's leading bands. They showed great promise and received much critical acclaim, but had little opportunity to break through to a wider audience. While bands like Joy Division and their progeny New Order scored fans and hits, many more obscure acts like the Sound or their contemporaries the Chameleons and Comsat Angels toiled in obscurity. Though they produced a substantial body of work, both pop and post-punk, the Sound never reached the audience they should have due to their refusal to pander to record label demands. They disbanded in 1988, three years after their last album,"Thunder Up". Despite their lack of success, they recorded quite a few classic tracks, and their albums "Jeopardy" and "From the Lion's Mouth" are both stone classics of underground British rock music. Adrian Borland, their lead singer and guitarist, went on to a very promising solo career. Unfortunately, his life was cut short by his losing battle with depression and other mental problems. He took his own life in 1999, throwing himself under a train at Wimbledon station. Tributes to Borland have been substantial, and can be viewed and contributed at his personal memorial website. Please visit http://www.brittleheaven.com if interested in merchandise, condolences, or discussion on the web forums. Thank you all for reading. Once more, I'll let the music speak for itself- the Sound, with "The Fire".
From the first, the distinctive sound of the Sound (get it?) put them firmly on the map as one of London's leading bands. They showed great promise and received much critical acclaim, but had little opportunity to break through to a wider audience. While bands like Joy Division and their progeny New Order scored fans and hits, many more obscure acts like the Sound or their contemporaries the Chameleons and Comsat Angels toiled in obscurity. Though they produced a substantial body of work, both pop and post-punk, the Sound never reached the audience they should have due to their refusal to pander to record label demands. They disbanded in 1988, three years after their last album,"Thunder Up". Despite their lack of success, they recorded quite a few classic tracks, and their albums "Jeopardy" and "From the Lion's Mouth" are both stone classics of underground British rock music. Adrian Borland, their lead singer and guitarist, went on to a very promising solo career. Unfortunately, his life was cut short by his losing battle with depression and other mental problems. He took his own life in 1999, throwing himself under a train at Wimbledon station. Tributes to Borland have been substantial, and can be viewed and contributed at his personal memorial website. Please visit http://www.brittleheaven.com if interested in merchandise, condolences, or discussion on the web forums. Thank you all for reading. Once more, I'll let the music speak for itself- the Sound, with "The Fire".
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Lat den ratta komma in- a mesmerising vampire film
I just saw the Swedish romantic vampire movie "Let The Right One In". I watched about four movies in rapid succession over the past few days, and this is the one that stuck in my mind most prominently. The cinematography, score, and themes were all hauntingly and beautifully deployed. The spare musical gestures and interminably snowy and stark landscapes conjured a fragile, dark and lovely story of the friendship between a 12 year old boy and an androgynous vampire. Wonderful sound direction here; the sound effects captured countless ambient nuances of both atmosphere and self- the sound of dry and cold lips gently parting, a brittle crackle of toys moving in cold air, blood dripping languorously into a jar or open mouth. The musical score could be called spare were it not consistently wonderful and, while unobtrusive, utterly hypnotic. The lead children had a great chemistry as well, capturing the awkwardness of adolescent yearning and chaste friendship simultaneously. Thanks to the ambiguity of vampiric Eli's gender, the relationship between s/he and Oskar develops as both a platonic boy/boy interaction and a sweetly romantic childhood love. It's to the credit of the movie that Eli can announce "I'm not a girl" and still maintain his/her femininity and girlish form.
Eli (top) in a strangely sexual/ nonsexual situation with Oskar (bottom)
"Let The Right One In" takes a pretty unconventional approach to vampire movies. Eschewing ultraviolence and tacky stunt-filled fight scenes, it focuses instead upon the psychosexuality of vampire romance and especially that of childhood romance. There are smatterings of violence, but they are as likely to involve humans exclusively as they are vampire attacks. There are few vampires in the film as well, and the film succeeds largely because it can afford to focus on individuals and their relationships instead of vamp politics.
Striking at the heart of the vampire mythos, "Let The Right One In" presents the tragic nature of vampires alongside the ethereal and fragile nature of the humans in whose lives they prowl. Though snow and ice dominate the film, its character interactions lend it warmth and humanity. Truly, a great film.
Eli (top) in a strangely sexual/ nonsexual situation with Oskar (bottom)Striking at the heart of the vampire mythos, "Let The Right One In" presents the tragic nature of vampires alongside the ethereal and fragile nature of the humans in whose lives they prowl. Though snow and ice dominate the film, its character interactions lend it warmth and humanity. Truly, a great film.
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