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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.