One of the more subtle influences in the whole lo-fi revival of the last few years has been shoegaze - that genre of early 90s music characterized by walls of distortion built from heavily textured guitars effects. Yet for most lo-fi bands shoegaze's gauzy sound was only a single, and often small, element in their sound. Sure Wavves and Vivian Girls played behind walls of distortion, but both bands were far more indebted to punk and garage rock than My Bloody Valentine. Now comes New Jersey's Big Trouble wearing shoegaze on their sleeve (btw, what is the water in New Jersey all of a sudden that it keeps producing so many great bands?). I would hesitate to call them a proper shoegaze band, because they are as equally indebted to C86 and lo-fi, making for a near perfect mix of sonics, but there is a very strong element of Jesus and Mary Chain's "Psychocandy" and MBV at work on their debut album "Worry."
Of course all of these references mean that inevitably Big Troubles are not fostering the most original sound ever, but even if "Worry" is composed of recycled pieces of early 90s indie rock they are the best pieces. Tracks like "Modern Intimacy" sounds like "Slanted & Enchanted"-era Pavement covering My Bloody Valentine. If that description doesn't at least make you want to soak in the band's retro mash-up of lo-fi and shoegaze, then I don't really think I wanna know you.
What makes the album a keeper is the amount of diversity between tracks. Some songs like "Freudian Slips" and "Bite Yr Tongue" are pure C93 pop sweetness, others like "Slouch" and "Georgia" sound like long lost Lush b-sides. Then there are the rockers like "Drastic and Difficult" that go into the red only to be followed by the mellow and beautiful haze of numbers like "Boomerang," one of the album's best tracks, even if it does come close to sounding suspiciously like Jesus and the Mary Chain's "Darklands." And, I haven't even mentioned yet how these guys totally have Pavement's "Watery, Domestic"-period down to a tee on other tracks, but they do.
Usually when a reviewer falls back on comparisons like I have throughout this review it is indicative of lazy writing. Sometimes music is hard to describe for writers, so they simply say "this sounds like xyz," even when it really doesn't (I wish I had a dollar for every stupid review that compared countless drone, post-rock and metal bands throughout the aughts to Godspeed You Black Emperor, if I did I would be writing this to you from a sandy beach near the equator). I promise you that isn't the case here. It is just that "Worry" truly does sound like a whole lot of other bands, and it would be dishonest to pretend otherwise. That doesn't detract from or necessarily make this album superfluous. It isn't like this is a remake of "Loveless," and it isn't like Pavement made a shoegaze record, so at least Big Troubles have excellent taste in music going for them, as well as an uncanny ability to combine styles into a seamless whole. Besides, a majority of indie's brightest lights over the past few years are guilty of pillaging the past, why should Big Troubles feel any shame in doing it and doing it well?
Earlier this year Zola Jesus (a/k/a) Nika Roza Danilova caused what could be considered a stir among music obsessives with the release of her "Stridulum" ep. The record was a sharp break from her previous lo-fi 4AD proto-goth. "Stridulum" maintained Zola's dark roots, but was a far more polished affair, so polished that fans of her work had to radically adjust their expectations in order to digest what was, in the end, a pretty solid release. At the same time, some wondered if this was really indicative of a change in direction for Danilova, or if it was a one-off experiment. While I understand the desire by some to hold out hope that she return to the hazy atmospherics of her superb "The Spoils" LP, typically when an artist goes from grime to shine, they don't go back. Unfortunately, "Valusia" drives a stake right through the heart of any hope for a "Spoils II" (as does the fact that her new LP is slated under the title "Stridulum II" rather than "The Spoils"). Not only has Danilova dyed her hair from black to blond, but she's left Madison, WI for the city lights of LA and turned up the brightness on her sound even further. Thankfully she still has that amazingly soulful voice to see us through these drastic changes.
"Valusia" starts off with "Poor Animal," a song that virtually qualifies as a pop single when compared to Danilova's past work. It still bears the imprint of 80s post-punk and proto-goth, but it tilts further toward bouncy dancy new wave. Yet just when the track threatens to relegate itself to a fate less than stellar, a bit of that Zola Jesus of old returns injecting some much needed dynamism into the proceedings with a dramatic bridge of strings, a single steady beat and her incredible voice. Once over she maintains the intensity to finish the song out on a high note. It maybe a far cry from her past, but if you can get over that "Poor Animal" will grow on you, and you'll find yourself humming it from time to time like any good pop song.
The ep's darkest moment comes with "Tower," a synth-based blues dirge that recalls the menace and horror of Danilova's earlier work. Having said that, it is still a much more polished version that you can't help wishing was a little more charred around the edges. Still Zola Jesus does darkness well, and "Tower" is a welcome blackened pit in between bright and shining lights. "Sea Talk" follows and sounds a bit like a more upbeat version of Joy Division's "Atmosphere." It's not a bad song, but it is also the ep's least memorable track.
"Valusia" comes to a close with the stripped down "Lightsick." The track feature's Danilova's voice over staccato piano and effects. It's an incredibly pretty song, not beautiful, but pretty that features Zola Jesus' greatest asset - Danilova's voice - front and center. In the end, like "Stridulum," "Valusia" is a solid, if not spectacular work, and one that will require an adjustment of expectations for fans who have been with Zola Jesus since the beginning. Although, I think it's fair at this point to simply give in and acknowledge that this is indeed who Zola Jesus is now. She may be less mysterious, but she is nevertheless an engaging and unnaturally talented artist with a voice to die for. I wouldn't be surprised if her forthcoming full-length lays all present doubt about her change in direction to rest.
Welcome to a new feature here at the Luna Blog. Recently, I was forced to change my writing schedule, and didn't like that there was more than a two day gap between weekly posts here, so I wanted to come up with something to fill the void, but something that was worthwhile on its own accord.
Often as a music writer your week is consumed with listening to the same couple of new releases over and over again to write a thorough and honest review. It's only on occasion that you get to take some time and chill with the records that populate your past and made you a professional music fan in the first place. That's okay though, I have always been a big believer in progression, and unlike a lot of older reviewers, I don't find any particular period of music better than any other. I think that new bands are releasing as good of records today as others were back in the 60s, 70s, 80s and 90s. So I get pretty thrilled when I hear what labels like Mexican Summer, Woodsist and Olde English Spelling Bee are cooking up, and pretty bummed with mid-age music reviews refuse to acknowledge any good music past Wilco's "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot."
At the same time, I encounter a lot of younger indie rock fans who don't even know Pavement's entire catalog, which I kind of thought was a pre-requisite to even be considered an entry-level alt. But that's cool. In everyone's life there is that first time in learning something new. There was certainly a time when I didn't know who Can was, and a first time that I heard their music. Now that I have, I find that I sometimes take music's past for granted while I seek out the newest and freshest sounds available. Also, having been as serious a fan of music as I have been throughout my waking life, I also take for granted that 'sure everyone knows who Can is, right?' so let's talk about this new limited 7" on Not Not Fun that sounds like Can, when, of course, they don't know who Can is.
Personally I find the progression of the popular music's history fascinating. I think it's interesting to watch as music evolves and mutates, and I think it adds to our appreciation to understand music's history and a particular artist's place in that history. Music doesn't exist in a vacuum, there are points of reference and context for everything we listen to, and I hazard to say that to gain a full understanding of whatever it is that you choose to listen to, you must understand its context.
So I thought, what if I feature a song every Monday as a way to give props to our past, and, who knows, maybe even turn some people on to sounds they missed in their personal development as a music fan. Further, I realized that most blogs are worried about staying one foot ahead of everyone else by exclusively focusing on the newest and latest sounds, rather than looking backwards. That is just the nature of the beast now and I am certainly just as guilty of that as everyone else. But, what if we take just one little post, one little day to shine the light on something old, which may turn out to be something new for the uninitiated? What could be the harm in that? At worse, maybe it will remind us of something we have long neglected in our record collection.
I'm going to shut up now and get this Throwback Monday started. For our inaugural post I offer up someone that everyone is probably aware of - the John Coltrane Quartet. Their music has influenced artists as far and wide as the Beatles to Sunn 0))), and, I would argue, they are the single greatest musical group in the history of popular music, and yes I am saying they are better than the Beatles. You can flame me in the comment section for that statement, but while you are doing so check out this 1963 performance of "Alabama" performed by John Coltrane, Elvin Jones, McCoy Tyner and Jimmy Garrison. Enjoy...
Torche's new eight song ep "Songs for Singles" carries with it a cover sticker with a quote from drummer Rick Smith, reading "It’s a bunch of radio rock bullshit." Smith's characterization, while meant as a joke, is a fairly accurate descriptor of the band's approach on the aptly titled "Singles." Legend has it that when the band set out to write their follow up to 2008's all killer, no filler "Meanderthal" they came up with an overloaded bunch of songs that they didn't quite know what to do with just yet. Rather than force an album, they stripped some of the tracks down and decided to work within the confines of an ep. The band's decision to scale back format, and thus expectations, was probably a wise choice, as "Singles" is an enjoyable if, at times, minor record.
Clocking it at just under twenty-two minutes, the ep is an onslaught of short, tight and fast tracks. Given the ep's limited breadth, the band focuses almost exclusively on their pop-metal side, rather than offering up the type of massive diverse statement of intent that "Meanderthal" was. The band burns straight through the first six tracks without pause, but even playing with a get in and get out approach, they still manage to make a hell of an impression. These may be quick and simple pop tracks at heart, but Torche plays them with all the power and heaviness of the sludge gods they have become.
The real payoff comes with "Singles" second half. "Face the Wall" and "Out Again," which time-wise account for nearly half of the total ep, finds the band slowing things down, pulling more serious faces and annihilating everything in their path. "Face the Wall" is a crushing atmospheric track reminiscent of Jesu that features neo-shoegaze guitar and plodding doom-laden drums. It's a thoughtful and welcome change of pace after the sudden rush of blood that was the ep's first half. "Out Again," returns to an upbeat pop format, but the track tones down the heavy and breaths a bit more than Torche's other slabs of pop-metal here. The track even has a bit of a groove that you kind of get lost in as it plays out. It's a nice change of pace proving that the band can rock hard even when they turn down both volume and speed.
In the end, "Singles" works as both a stop-gap between albums, as well as a worthy work in it's own right. It's certainly not a proper follow up to "Meanderthal," but it's not supposed to be. If you adjust your expectations though, these twenty-one minutes and some change will rock you nevertheless. It's fun, fast and furious, and easy to hit the repeat on. Just understand that minus "Face the Wall," this is mostly a simple snack in between (hopefully) two much more substantial meals of sludge metal greatness.
Nick Cave. Really what the hell can you say about Nick Cave at this point? He is like the Clint Eastwood of rock and roll; the perennial bad-ass for the thinking man. He is an inch away from the legendary status of Iggy Pop, and if we are honest his music has been massively more consistent and groundbreaking throughout the years. This is the guy who gave us the brutality of the Birthday Party in the early 80s followed by the even more spectacular post-punk blues of the Bad Seeds, one of the greatest acts in the history of rock music. Period. And for the record, I'll fight any man to the death who says differently. His is a dark universe of indifferent and angry gods, lovers and murderers (who are often one and the same) and generally bad mutherfuckers; bad in the Queen's English sense of the word, as well as in terms of street cred. Even his ballads sound predatory for the most part, like a wolf meticulously preparing to overtake a more than willing victim. His characters are always striving toward either salvation or annihilation, and as a result his music and lyrics are laden with a romanticism. Like Johnny Cash before him, he is a prince of darkness striving for light, but simply can't quite get there because of some internal flaw put there by nature, nurture, god or the devil, depending on your reading of existence. To quote his tailor's assistant (and he is impeccably dressed like the devil in a Sunday hat) he is "terrifying, but always polite and courteous." In short he is Nick fucking Cave.
Having said all of that Cave took the Bad Seeds down a very different and, admittedly, less satisfactory road beginning with "The Boatman's Call" in 1997. He moved away from dark and violent narratives toward confessional ballads throughout the aughts until the advent of Grinderman in 2006. Consisting of Bad Seeds' members Warren Ellis (also of Dirty Three fame), Martyn Casey and Jim Sclavunos, Grinderman wasn't just a return to form for Cave, it was a fucking rebirth. Nearly as raw as the early Bad Seeds work, the four-man set-up featuring Cave on the most rudimentary primitive rhythm guitar was dirty, dangerous and raw as fuck. It also seethed with evil, so much glorious evil. Some critics called it Cave's mid-life crises, I prefer to think of it Cave's mid-life gift. Cave proved that mid-life didn't have to devolve into a cliche of cheating on your wife and buying a sports car, it could also be an opportunity to become an authentic individual again with the wisdom that a younger version of yourself simply couldn't begin to approximate. Grinderman kind of reminds me of a Louis CK quote: "I know too much about life to have any optimism because I know even if it's nice, it's going to lead to shit." After years of Cave's 'niceness' that pessimism and shit was Grinderman. Yet, in typical Cave fashion he played the part of predator, not victim, and it was glorious.
Grinderman not only featured Cave in the role he was born to play, but it also re-energized the Bad Seeds, who produced "Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!!", their best album in over a decade in the year following Grinderman's debut album. "Lazarus" was full of the vim and vigor that made Grinderman so exhilarating.
Now Grinderman has returned with a follow up album that mixes the rawness of their debut with the diversity and semi-polish of the Bad Seeds' "Lazarus." The band tears through the first three dirty blues tracks with a coiled intensity that explodes during choruses wherein Cave howls his tales of sex and horror with a punk ferocity. Each song provides the type of visceral thrill that only an artist like Cave can invoke. There is a well-earned seedy danger to these songs that is so sorely missing from today's younger artists. The Black Keys and Jack Black's various projects are nice and all, but no one does this kind of twisted raw virile punk-inflected blues like Cave and his band.
Following the album's front-loaded rockers, the band slows things down for the slow burning epic "When My Baby Comes." Initially reminiscent of the Bad Seeds' work, full of sorrowful strings and lacerating guitar stabs, the song eventually culminates into a bombastic blues-laden finale that reflects the horrors of the track's lyrics, which paint a picture of personal and collective annihilation, institutionalization and delusion. Like I said, the White Stripes this isn't. It's one of the album's most captivating and fully realized tracks, combining the Bad Seeds' years of professional refinement with Grinderman's stripped to the bone approach.
The minor, almost freak-folk, "What I Know" follows before the band flexes it's muscle again with the stellar 'but this goes to 11' "Evil!" Over a chorus of voices screaming the titular word, Cave belts out his tale of obsession as Sclavunos' explosive jazz drums do battle with Ellis' violent guitar attacks while Casey attempts to keep them both balanced on the same axis with a bassline that acts as the song's sole backbone. It's an absolute barn burner of a song and one of Cave's best in years.
The album slows down again for the swagger of "Kitchenette" which contains one of the year's best verses:
What's this husband of yours given to you/Oprah Winfrey on a plasma screen/And a brood of jug-eared buck-toothed imbeciles/The ugliest kids I've ever seen
Kicking against the pricks indeed. That's the kind of invective that made Cave in the first place, and it's a welcome return to form. In typical contradictory Cave fashion he follows up "Kitchenette" up with the album's most uplifting, sincerely romantic track "Palaces of Montezuma" which recounts all the things he promises to deliver to his lover including "Miles Davis the black unicorn" and "a custard-coloured super-dream of Ali McGraw and Steve McQueen." With it's northern soul backing vocals and light-infused melody it's initially the most jarring song on the record, simply because it stands out starkly against the overwhelmingly violently dark tracks that populated the rest of the album. After repeat listens, though. the track emerges as a highlight, even if it does sound like the kind of inspired grand gesture of love that Bono used to write, and would probably kill an African child for just to get a taste of that kind of magic again.
The album ends with the psychedelic blues of "Bellringer Blues," bringing "Grinderman 2" to a proper shadowy close. Once the album ends, it's hard not to hit play again and again, and in fact that is what I have been doing going on a week straight now, and not only because I wanted to write an honest review of this record, but because this is Cave's best release in over a decade. It tops the first Grinderman record and is much more of a return to form to the classic Bad Seeds' sound, or at least attitude, than "Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!!" Cave seems to have been working through some things over the past decade, and expressing it in a more introverted version of the Bad Seeds along the way, but "Grinderman 2" is proof that the wolf is back and he has no hesitation about going in for the kill and making it as bloody as possible.
Wheeler says: "If Nick Cave were the leader of a religious cult, I would totally join...and I would drink the Kool-Aid."
"Heathen Child" NSFW and batshit crazy in an awesome way video
More often than not when you put on a new record there is a courting period wherein you digest new sounds gradually and assimilate grouping structures within the music, while attaching emotional responses to what you are hearing, which can be changed based on time and context. Even albums that may end up being favorites, are not immediately loved. Most records, like any relationship, take time to get to know before you make that commitment to stick with it beyond a fleeting lustful fling. But some records...well some records jar you out of complacency like a bolt of lightening and make you feel something immediate and strong; whether it be aggression, excitement, sorrow or joy. Some records you have a connection with that surpasses the normal progression of incorporating music into your being. Autre Ne Veut's self-titled debut is one of those records. It's jarring, disorienting, familiar and comforting all at once; and insanely good.
Let me attempt to convey what went through my head when I hit play and album opener "Tell Me" came rolling out of my speakers: 'This isn't too bad, it isn't like I thought it would be. Kinda sounds like a lo-fi TV on the Radio. Like that guy's voice, real soulful. Check out this freaky funhouse rhythm. Hmm, it's kind of like a chillwave version of TV on the Radio. Oh yeah here we go, that's the sweet spot! Sexy as hell multi-tracked chorus is pulling all the right strings. This is the fucking bomb. Hot damn!!! Oh keep it coming, keep it coming, please don't stop...' No, I didn't have to change my pants afterwards, but I did feel like I had finally found the one album this year that would come out of nowhere and kill. And if you don't want to read any more, I'll make it quick and let you know that yes, that feeling became reality once I came to the end Autre Ne Veut's debut. This is it. This is the album we've been waiting for to come and sweep us off our feet with precious little hype or buzz to precede it.
So, if you are still reading this and haven't already dropped everything to pick up a copy, let me try and convince you a little bit more. The mysterious act (don't know if they are a band, a man, or a unicorn) produce a quasi brand of chillwave that incorporates heavy doses of R&B as well as off kilter electronica into their mix of heartfelt songs. As a result they/he/it have crafted an original sound that is as challenging as it is comforting. It's soul soothing, yet jarring at the same time. The familiarity locked within the complexity of the music is what makes this immediately lovable, while at the same time rewarding repeated in-depth immersions into the album. Take a listen to "Emotional" and you will latch quickly onto the subtly tweeked R&B vocals, but be disoriented by the shuffled beat and keyboards that sound a bit like a drunk falling down the stairs. It is that mixture of the experimental with the straight forward that makes this an album for everyone. Dance kids can groove on it, IDM snobs will find much to sift through, indie rockers will love the emotionality, hell, I bet even your grandma could rock this, even though she might wonder if she doubled dosed on her pain meds.
I don't really know what more to say about this, other than a single moment more of life without it is not worth living. I'm sure I could stick around and come up with more comparisons and analogies, but that would waste your time in getting off the computer and picking up a copy of this incredible record, which is destined for year end lists for sure. I will end with one more addition to my description of Autre Ne Veut's debut and that is beauty. This is an incredibly beautiful record. In the manner that Pavement's Slanted and Enchanted carried with it so much beauty in between the noise, Autre Ne Veut's debut carries with it so much beauty in between it's topsy turvy electronic compositions, making the human heart at the center of all the machines the real star here.
Three years ago Les Savy Fav returned from an extended hiatus with the rollicking and infectious "Let's Stay Friends". The album wasn't so much a return to form, as it was a new beginning for the band. The band's angular art-punk was toned down and dipped in a pop sheen for easier, but no less satisfying, consumption. What remained was the band's undeniable energy matched only by their mind-boggling live performances. As a result, "Let's Stay Friends" lived up to its name, never seeming to wear out its welcome on the stereo. Now the band has released their follow up, "Root For Ruin," which, in a nutshell, is a continuation of the sound the band cultivated on "Let's Stay Friends," and while it may not reinvent the wheel, it finds the band tighter than they have ever been before, refining their sound into crystalline nuggets of addictive post-punk pop.
"Appetites" kicks the album off with guitarists Seth Jabour, Andrew Reuland and drummer Harrison Haynes stabbing at the air with angular hooks, riffs and beats that recalls Les Savy Fav of old before the song begins to take shape as a pop-punk barn burner, albeit one sewn from the sharp jagged angles of art-punk. Lead madman Tim Harrington leads the charge forward from this point in an ode to gluttony. He closes out the song quoting the Silver Jews "Punks in the Beerlight" screaming "I love you to the max." It's a unifying indie rock insider moment that elevates the already anthematic song into battle hymn territory for an army of beards and fixed-gear bikes.
The band continues to tear it up on the superb "Dirty Knails." A bit darker and more ferocious, but no less anthematic, the track mixes a dirty blues rhythm pattern with spider-web post-punk guitars. Harrington sings with the passion of a preacher at a religious revival, even intoning "Holy Ghost, come get me now, I wanna hear those church bells sound," before coming back to earth with the brutal "watch me grovel, watch me bruise, watch me crawl across the fucking floor for you". In typical Harrington fashion he is able to blend the profound with the profane seamlessly while never giving pause to the fist pumping rockers his maniacal vocals breath life into.
The band slows things down a bit on "Sleepless in Silverlake" and "Let's Get Out of Here," and while "Silverlake" may veer into filler territory, it's still better than most other bands' singles. "Let's Get Out of Here", on the other hand, is a perfect chunk of indie-pop. With an addictive chorus that recalls "Doolittle"-era Pixies, the song is one of the band's most straight-forward and accessible pieces to date, yet substantial enough to satisfy longtime fans. "Lips n' Stuff" is just as poppy, but more perverse, painting a picture of drug-fueled sex, and full of a grin-inducing lyrics.
Not every song is a pop-punk rager though. The band returns to their experimental roots with "Poltergeist" which sounds like no wave played by Spacemen 3 backed by A Silver Mt. Zion. Not surprisingly the track is an immediate standout, and a welcome one at that. For all their delirious pop-punk awesomeness, Les Savy Fav have always been much smarter than that. More than any other art-punk band, Les Savy Fav has the talent and ability to craft songs with more energy and inventiveness than anyone, save, maybe, Fugazi. "Poltergeist" is a prime example of what the band can do when they shed pop trappings and push the boundaries of their sound. Album closer "Clear Spirits" is another break away from pop for the band and toward something approximating Public Image Ltd.'s brand of post-punk, and while not as immediately satisfying as "Poltergeist" it's another reminder that Les Savy Fav is more than just a hopped up pop band.
Admittedly the album is backloaded with some truly forgettable filler. "Dear Crutches" and "Calm Down," are not really worthy of the Les Savy Fav catalog, but despite their dead weight, the album delivers up more great songs than most. What the band will do next, after what is sure to be a tour chock full of outrageous live shows, is anyone's guess. Whether they continue down this post-punk pop road, or whether they return to a more experimental art-punk stance, "Root For Ruin" makes it clear that they have the intelligence, energy and chops to do whatever the hell they damn well want and still please their audience.
What the hell am I doing writing a review of the new Interpol album? The band long ago appeared to pass their expiration date. Even when they seemed to be the most relevant band in the world, it was not without question. For anyone other than entry-level alts, their much-heralded debut "Turn On The Bright Lights" was burdened with not unfounded accusations of recycling post-punk's sacred scriptures, particular Joy Division. Even when it appeared there might be something original to their sound, someone would come along and point to a band that had been there and done that years prior. In other words, Interpol was never the most authentic band in the world, and among most serious music snobs, they enjoyed about the same status as Oasis - a guilty pleasure whispered about only to those you know and trust enough to share such a dark secret with.
So why am I writing a review of the new Interpol? Maybe it's because I shared in that dark secret. After initially dismissing the band, the seductive sway of "Bright Lights" eventually got to me and admittedly I loved it more than any self-respecting music snob ever should. Their follow up "Antics," was less thrilling, but still decent. Then the inevitable happened; the band's brand of post-punk revivalism began to fall out of favor and they turned in a third album that was so forgettable that it threatened to make the band itself forgettable, or at least as easy to dismiss as they initially seemed. So it was almost as a joke that I took a copy of the band's new album for review. Surprisingly, it doesn't suck. It's not a great album, and it isn't about to set the world on fire like "Bright Lights" did, but it isn't entirely without merit.
First the good; to begin with singer/guitarist Paul Banks' voice is the most prominent feature of the album, which is a very good thing. Banks' has one of the darkest and sexiest croons of anyone working today. He is able to impart longing, seduction and menace in equal measure with a richness lacking among nearly every other indie-rock vocalist (The National's Matt Berninger excluded). Throughout the album Banks' voice stands out against everything else, and, for the most part, it is that voice that carries the record. Thankfully for the rest of the band this is a guy who could read the phone book and make it sound good.
Another plus is that taken as a whole, Interpol has created a consistent mood piece with this record. The band sounds darker and more subdued here than before, making for a more than satisfactory fall listen. With the exception of the stellar "Lights" it takes many listens to differentiate between songs, since most maintain a similar mid-tempo pulse that works just fine under the right conditions.
Now the bad; Interpol has created a consistent mood piece and less of an album of individual songs. Yes, as stated above it works just fine if you are looking for some good autumnal background music, but nothing really pops here, except "Lights," but more about that in a moment. What made "Bright Lights" successful was not just darkly romantic posturing, it was also killer rock songs that contained memorable choruses, bridges and shifts in mood. Here the band settle into one gear and stay there. Granted, it isn't a bad gear, it just makes for a much less dynamic ride than these guys are capable.
Admittedly after many repeat listens details start to reveal themselves that at first were easy to gloss over, like the powerful ending of "Always Malaise (The Man I Am)" and the coiled intensity of the album's quasi-conclusion "Try It On", which is followed by the strangely beautiful and stately "All of the Ways." The problem is that you really have to dig into this album to separate out those components from what is overall a dark and chilly mass of undifferentiated sound. Certainly one could argue that it's those albums that reveal themselves over time that are the best, and often I would agree, but I don't think that is going to be the case here.
The single exception to this criticism is "Lights," which is Interpol's best song since "Bright Lights". The song begins with just Banks and a skeletal guitar before drums, bass and keys come in and build into a slow burn that only gets more intense throughout the piece. The track has the same dark restless energy that the best tracks on "Bright Lights" did. Consequently, the band sounds more alive than they have in years. It's a bright shining light in a sea of drab, and also a reminder that - dammit - these guys can do better than this. Period.
To answer my own question about why in the hell I would do a review of the new Interpol, it's because this isn't really the joke I thought it would be, and it deserves reasoned criticism, rather than outright dismissal. If anything the record makes me want these guys to produce something really great, because the components are there. They have the mood, they have the voice, they have the chops, they just need to remember what it was like to write a rock song again. They should take a lesson from their spiritual forefathers Joy Division. Ian Curtis danced his ass off, while Peter Hook pounded out some of the most enthralling basslines ever, even when they were playing songs about atrocities. That band proved that you can be as dark as you want, but still rock and groove like hell. Banks and crew should know by now that their subdued cool has nothing on that kind of intensity. Turn the bright lights back on guys, it's okay to break a sweat every now and then.
Wheeler who has been strangely silent about music for about a month now had this to say: "Interpol, Intertool. Who cares?"
"Lights"
"Barricade"
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Summer is fastly slipping away, but Ernest Greene is going to make it alright during the transition. Beautiful song, beautiful video. Thanks a ton bro. Seriously...
Way back in 1996 life itself became just a little brighter with the mere existence of one of indie rocks greatest acts - Belle & Sebastian. They were like a security blanket against the twists and turns of failed relationships, shitty jobs and the general cruelty inherent in the human condition. They sung about damaged people in damaged times, but theirs was a voice of understanding and comfort that made the slog not only tolerable, but somehow beautiful. Their wit and wisdom would save many a rainy day, and when they played happy, you couldn't help but get caught up in their infectious joy. It's been four long years since we have heard from them, but on October 11 Belle & Sebastian will return with "Write About Love" just in time for Autumn, when they sound even better, although they always sound great.
In the run up to "Write About Love" the band has released a short 30 minute film bookend by two excellent new tracks. In between you will hear interviews about the state of the band, and most interestingly a commentary on the state of music in the age of the Internet. The film is far from a cheap promotional gimmick, instead the band turn in something interesting, thoughtful and downright thrilling after you hear their performances. Four years has been a long time to wait for a new Belle & Sebastian, but if these songs are any indication, it will have been well worth it.
Two years ago Pitchfork awarded Mogwai's best album in nearly a decade with an inexplicable 4.5 rating. The album in question, "The Hawk is Howling" was a return to the brooding explosive sound that had made Mogwai one of the most revered bands of the late 90s and early aughts. Along with Godspeed You Black Emperor the band defined what post-rock came to be known for - mostly instrumental compositions that trade between loud and soft dynamics, and which usually culminate in an intensely emotional climax. After releasing a string of genre-defining albums, eps and singles the band released their first, and only, real dud in 2003 "Happy Songs For Happy People". The album was far too subdued for Mogwai, who work best when they paint in giant, and often harrowing, strokes. There was a reason why the band was dubbed the "Scottish Guitar Army", and it wasn't because they focused on vocoder and piano (not that keyboards didn't on many occasion wrack up the tension on a classic Mogwai number). Unfortunately they kind of forgot the whole guitar army part of Mogwai on "Happy Songs," and the album was mostly forgettable as a result. The band moved away from "Happy Songs" with "Mr. Beast," another album that challenged notions of what a Mogwai record should sound like. While not nearly as snooze-worthy as "Happy Songs," "Mr. Beast" was not necessarily a return to form (although I do maintain it is grossly underrated). The songs were shorter and while not nearly as restrained as "Happy Songs," they only exploded forth a couple of times, which is not nearly enough to make for a classic Mogwai album. One gets the sense that while listening to "Mr. Beast" that if the band had cut a couple of tracks, lengthened and let breath a few more they would have been able to produce a proper sequel to "Rock Action".
While Mogwai were off attempting to find new directions in sound, indie rock was increasingly becoming subjected to the demands of a blogosphere fueled by a hype-generating, trend-fucking, I heard it first attitude. As a result, musical trends were coming and going at the speed of light and what band wore the crown one year, could just as easily find themselves in pauper status the next. The term "old stuff", as in 'I liked their old stuff better,' came to describe a period of months not years. One of the first trends thrown to the lions happened to be post-rock. Bands like Explosions in the Sky and Mono, both of whom owed their entire careers to Mogwai, went from being the next great thing to also-rans nearly overnight. Even Godspeed You Black Emperor, arguably one of the biggest indie-rock bands at the turn of the millennium, were forgotten as the band who rose from GYBE's ashes, A Silver Mt. Zion, received no more attention in blogs and websites than your average mid-level indie act.
To their credit, Mogwai didn't seem to care. They kept producing albums and kept touring, and in 2008, after a few years in the wilderness, they produced their roaring return to form "The Hawk is Howling." It featured mainly the kind of the in red rockers and meditative downers that made the band so important in the first place. Most importantly they let each piece breath and grow to lengths appropriate for a proper Mogwai songs. So how where they rewarded? With utter indifference. Pitchfork, who had long abandoned any semblance of being anything other than a trend tracker, least they go the way of Rolling Stone in the face of increasing pressure from up to the minute blog hype, not only meet the album with indifference, but with an insulting 4.5 rating. For a site that regularly inflates scores this wasn't just a slap in the face, this was a kick in the balls while we burn down your house and rape your family kind of thing. It was the kind of rating often reserved for scene veterans who the hipster powers that be believe have passed their "hype" prime. This was Pitchfork's way of saying Mogwai needed to be put out to pasture.
That review coupled with the trend of throwing perfectly great acts under the bus because they had gone past some sort of perceived expiration date (a date, like I said, that seems to come in terms of months and not years anymore) is what caused me to start a music blog in the first place. I started writing reviews because albums like "The Hawk is Howling" deserved praise, rather than being thrown onto the fire because it was a post-rock album in a chillwave world.
So imagine my shock and, frankly, feeling of vindication when I saw that Pitchfork gave "Special Moves/Burning" a whopping 8.2. Yes, trends aside, Mogwai is just that fucking good. And no, that isn't inflation, Pitchfork actually got something right. "Special Moves/Burning" is an incredible document of some of the absolute best post-rock ever created played perfectly by the band who created it.
Recorded over a three night stint at Brooklyn's Music Hall of Williamsburg, "Special Moves" is the band's first ever live album, which also acts as an overview of the band's career by featuring tracks from every one of their studio releases. What elevates "Special Moves" from being just another live album is that while it operates like a document of a band's performance for sure, it also makes for an intensely emotional journey. This isn't just a greatest hits live collection, it's a damn soundtrack to life itself.
Opening with the stately "I'm Jim Morrison, I'm Dead," the band sets the tone for what is to follow. Meditative piano and guitar strums slowly build into an epic wall of sound that is easier felt than described. At their best Mogwai make some of the most emotionally powerful music ever, and their loud soft dynamics are only one partly the reason for that. They also craft massive arching guitars that sound like revelation, transcendence, or, my new favorite analogy, a superhero defying the laws of physics in an effort to save someone. But - and this is an incredibly important point - that superhero is an all too human one like Batman. Mogwai doesn't play music for superheros who cheat with special abilities like Superman, they play anthems for real-life heroes, they play anthems for all of us and all of our trials and tribulations. If victory had a sound that wasn't a quasi-fascist brass band, Mogwai would be it. Granted that victory is won only after a long fought and often dark internal struggle, but that's what makes the explosive payoff that much more powerful. Throughout "Special Moves" Mogwai focuses on those kind of songs from their catalog, stopping only slightly for an emotional breather on tracks like "Hunted By A Freak" and "Cody". Obvious tracks like "Mogwai Loves Satan" and "Like Herod" are featured, but just as exciting are lesser known tracks like "I Know You Are But Am I?" and "I Love You, I'm Going To Blow Up Your School." The band lets all of the tracks breath providing them each with enough space to work toward their eventual climaxes organically. That approach makes for a captivating listen throughout and elevates each piece to the level of their classic material, so that you don't think twice about "2 Rights Make 1 Wrong" and "Glasgow Megasnake" sandwiching "Like Herod." Hell, actually "Megasnake" might just blow "Herod" out of the water here. Just sayin'.
"Burning" takes a more concise approach. The film is just around forty-five minutes long, but packs in the essence of Mogwai at their absolute brightest and most intense. "Burning" only shares three full songs with the "Special Moves" LP, while the rest seem to be included to craft an emotional arch for the film. Director Vincent Moon shot the live footage in black and white and unlike so many other concert films, rather than attempt to recreate a wide view of the performance, Moon comprises his work of quick cuts, extreme close ups and mood laden crowd shots. Surprisingly it works wonderfully. Rather than document a concert, Moon is more concerned with focusing directly on the feel of the show and, in turn, the feel of Mogwai at their most explosive. There are nearly no wide shots here, instead the experience is as subjective as it would be if you were in the crowd that night being pummelled and transformed by Mogwai in peak performance. I've been privy to that experience and it was utterly transcendent, particularly during the religious experience-inducing "New Paths To Halicon Part 1." Moon does real justice to the performance of that track by focusing on audience member's blissed-out expressions as they become caught up in the layers of white light noise that increasingly engulf them. It's rare that you get to see a concert film that eschews convention to get at something deeper inherent in the live experience, but "Burning" is one of those. The only complaint about "Burning" is that it is too short. When it was finished I hit replay, not once but twice, because I needed just that much more.
This is the part of the review where I am supposed to sum everything up in a conclusory paragraph, but rather than that I will leave you with the words of Mari Myren who was quoted in a newspaper article referring to a show Mogwai performed in Bergen, Norway in 1997, sampled by the band on the opening track of their legendary "Young Team" album "Yes! I Am A Long Way From Home," and utilized by Moon prior to the intense finale in "Burning": "This music can put a human in a trance like state and deprive it of the sneaking feeling of existing, cause this music is much bigger than words and wider than pictures...if the stars had a sound it would sound like this."
"Special Moves/Burning" is bigger than words and wider than pictures and very much the sound of stars.
One of the more subtle influences in the whole lo-fi revival of the last few years has been shoegaze - that genre of early 90s music characterized by walls of distortion built from heavily textured guitars effects. Yet for most lo-fi bands shoegaze's gauzy sound was only a single, and often small, element in their sound. Sure Wavves and Vivian Girls played behind walls of distortion, but both bands were far more indebted to punk and garage rock than My Bloody Valentine. Now comes New Jersey's Big Trouble wearing shoegaze on their sleeve (btw, what is the water in New Jersey all of a sudden that it keeps producing so many great bands?). I would hesitate to call them a proper shoegaze band, because they are as equally indebted to C86 and lo-fi, making for a near perfect mix of sonics, but there is a very strong element of Jesus and Mary Chain's "Psychocandy" and MBV at work on their debut album "Worry."
