Spoon get's iffy, Nigel get's pissed.

I wanted to avoid saying it, but this new Spoon album kinda sucks.  And by kinda, I mean that at best, this record is half empty.  We could focus on the half that's full, but the highlights on this record are not that surprising and often only serve to remind us the band still has a pulse.  Fortunately, my feelings on the album have been articulated elsewhere by a better writer.  Here's a gem from that review:

Alan wants to call this “the agony of Britt” and I see entering the field of discussion how many points we should give the record for being a break-up album, as if the world doesn’t have enough of those. For one, it’s difficult to avoid letting rumors of Britt’s mackscapades taint one’s perception of the theme here (CMG’s got friends you never called back, Britt [or just creeped out]) but move away from slander and Transference becomes even less interesting and/or affecting. Here the break-up aftermath leaves Britt full of uncertainty in the most obvious and uncompelling way possible: track titles/themes that are questions and songs that consist of series of negating or circular statements. “Written in Reverse” is half Cobainisms, for crying out loud.

The rest of the review focuses more clearly on the technical/musical shortcomings, but the above passage hit a special nerve.  I admit, I'm more aware of the gossip surrounding Britt's personal life than normal fandom should allow.  I'm not going to defend this, but I will point out I'm not the only Spoon fan who's heard some disappointing shit about Mr. Daniels and his ways with young female fans.  And let's be fair, he's written pretty openly about his personal life since getting dropped by Elektra.  Hardcore Spoon fans have stuck with this band for over a decade, from critic's darlings to indie stars to  just plain rockstars, kept on board by a faith in their talents.  And so, unfair as it may be, when I hear those stories (and there are plenty) about Britt's sleazy dbag antics, I become increasingly unforgiving of their misteps, especially when those misteps involve chinzy romance and well worn real emotional trash ("Goodnight Laura").  It makes me wonder about all those dudebros and jail-baiting indie-teen girls that make up a Spoon show these days, and whether or not I still want to be carrying a torch for these guys.

If Spoon fans have one go-to defense for their less than perfect frontman, it's that Britt is A) incredibly talented and B) has always been kind of a rock star in his own mind.  Let there be no doubt that Britt is still very talented.  Proof of this fact can be found on "Who Makes Your Money."  As far as lyrics go, they're obtuse bordering on totally hollow but actually used to great effect, which is to say it's vintage Spoon.  It's what I wish more of the album was, obtuse, vague, and above all, little self deprecating.  Instead, we get empty promises, "hang ups and pain," vocal strangulations and posturing.  The cold hard truth is that this album is full of underdeveloped and/or overcooked efforts dressed up as "experimental Spoon" songs that mostly just remind me of how much better Spoon used to be.  And to top it off, we have some of Britt'smost egregious lyrics since the band's debut.  And what are all these songs about?  Britt's love problems.

On that note, I do think the album is brilliantly titled.  It's a perfect forewarning for the unwanted and half stated emotions that litter the album.  Conceptually, it does work and if you're into examining albums as art objects more than enjoying them, this may be your favorite Spoon album by far.  If wikipedia is right, and transference is the psychological phenomena of projecting emotions from past relationships unto someone else (commonly the psychotherapist), then Britt is more self aware than I give him credit.  The ghost of Spoon's past lingers heavily on this record, and no, not often in a good way.  There are too many reasons Spoon shouldn't renege it's past.  They already sound so much like themselves in everything they do as it is and they've already released strong material that's taken stock of their previous successes.  But the biggest reason Britt shouldn't rehash his old songs or his old loves is that he's already released to many goddamned breakup albums as it is, and at this point he's run out of anything worthwhile to say.  In fact, I wonder if Britt's hasn't regressed emotionally since Love Ways and Girls Can Tell. 

Am I being fair?  As a critic, probably not.  But as a fan, I gotta be concerned as to where this guy's at these days.  The man showed so much promise for so many years that I get kinda sick thinking about Britt settling for rockstar cliches or love-is-a-battlefield sentiment.  I still expect great things from this guy, but I think he needs to push himself further both musically and emotionally in order to articulate anything past his own malaise.  Granted, in the past his malaise has served his career well.  But songs like "Small Stakes," "Anything You Want," or "The Way We Get By" were resonant because they expressed the longing and self doubt of your everyman, the Underdog.  These days the dude's making love in backseats of cars with a stream of available groupies and I'm still supposed to care?

There are other some nit-picky complaints as well, like where the hell is Jim Eno on this?  I know, he's behind the mixing board and yeah, his strengths as a producer still shine.  But Jim has fallen asleep on two of his sacred duties: coming up with good drum parts and keeping Britt in check.  Major douchebag Eric Harvey is still in the band (no, I've met him, he's a douche), the production is often lo-fi when it should be crystal clear and vice-versa, and the soundscape is way too cluttered.  I should pat these guys on the back for stretching themselves and not just phoning an album in (actually, some parts do literally sound like they were recorded via cell phone, so maybe the boys are being really self aware here) but I expect more next time.  My advice, ditch your keyboard player, go some place where people don't think you're the shit and if you find the time, grow the fuck up man.

ADDENDUM:

I would feel bad if I never admitted there are some pretty strong points on this album.  I got to thinking whether or not the band actually had a decent EP/Maxi Single marred by the filler surrounding it.  Now, as much as I'm willing to be hard on Spoon (because I really love so much of their work that's not Transference), I hesitate to cavalierly chop up someone else's artistic statement.  But if you want to be perfectly honest, the Great New Spoon EP That Never Was is turning out to be much more rewarding.  So here's the tracklist I settled on:
1  Is Love Forever
2  The Mystery Zone
3  Got Nuffin
4  Who Makes Your Money
Still not a bulletproof release, but with some minor touches I think it would sit well with Soft Effects and Love Ways.  So there, I'm still a Spoon enthusiast.

No Respect: Flashy Python

Flashy Python-Skin and Bones

    Ok, this is a new one, so it remains to be seen if this album picks up any steam.  But as of right now, one of the best releases of the year has garnered almost no real praise from anyone outside my apartment (or so it seems).  Perhaps because Clap Your Hands Say Yeah got too much attention and backlash for Ounsworth's side project to be considered as new act worthy of new fans.  I suspect that this fuzzy in your face album further distances Mr. Ounsworth from reclaiming his once large appeal, and I also suspect he could give a fuck.  And that is exactly why this album sounds to fresh to my ears. 
    As underrated as Some Loud Thunder was, it still is largely a bridge burning, intentionally notching up the weirdness and sacrificing the hooks.  It's easy to respect but at times hard to actually enjoy.  Skin and Bones basically puts the hooks back into the equation, and thanks to his new bandmates (including members of the Walkmen and Man Man), he's also added some, er um, balls to his sound.  It reminds me a lot of Destroyer's Rubies in the way Ounsworth seems free and easy to fly his freak flag.  Though not as sprawling or epic as Rubies, it's thrilling to hear someone so brash and confident and totally unconcerned with current trends while still being concerned with making a fantastic album on his own terms.
    The production is at times gratingly distorted, but it at least maintains a dynamic range if only because of the performers.  And, unlike the generic lofi sound being abused right now (often by bands who really don't need it) it actually suits the music incredibly well.  Unfortunately, the production plus Ounsworth's unhinged vocals render his lyrics all but unintelligible. Overall, I'd describe the sound as drunk and sweaty, and if that sounds disgusting to you, I guarantee this isn't for you.  But for me, this sounds like a show I'd really like to go to.
    Without a doubt, this is Ounsworth working at his best, and as albums go, it may be my favorite of his so far.  It may not be as anthemic as his original band's debut, but it's much less self-conscious, much more off the cuff.  And through the whole album, he sounds completely ON.  I'm not completely sure why so many of his former fans have completely jumped ship.  Perhaps it's the singer not the song, and well, it could just be plain ol' fickle trendspotting.  And to be fair, Alec should maybe sober up spend more than 30 seconds before naming his next band.  But I hope that the albums creators don't feel as ambivalent about it as most of their reviewers do, because they're certainly off to a great start.

The Sad and Beautiful World of The Clientele

The Clientele - Bonfires on the Heath

   I should start by admitting that I am of those in the camp that adores The Clientele's music. I'm not what you would call a dedicated fan. Before this record came out I'd only listened to Strange Geometry and some scattered tracks. I don't know that much about the band's history or personality. I know that they're English, very English, which is to say sad, ironic, dry and pessimistic, but with a soft spot for romanticism and the occasional sunny day. What I do know is that their music affects my soul in a powerful and mysterious way. I've never put on a Clientele song that didn't alter my perception of the world around me. Like the hero in "Losing Haringey," everything around me becomes so imbued with memory and personal meaning, that a small ray of sun pouring into your kitchen is enough to make you misty. It took a while to get into Strange Geometry, but I kept coming back to those sad, beautiful, perfect songs. I'm not really into examining or exclaiming my love for them. I'm perfectly happy having a quiet and unrequited love for this little band that could.
   That was until Alasdair MacLean started his talk about packing it in for good if this album didn't make them big. Apparently the Clientele is not enough of a money making enterprise to keep four adults afloat, so if their luck doesn't change after this album, they'll have to cut their losses. This shocks me, not because the band isn't making much money (sad, but believable) but because their music, although delicate, sounded so self assured and honed. Despite MacLean's dark and often hopeless lyrics, the band's sound is an unwavering constant, like the unconditional love of a man for his art. Which is to say, money or no money, chicks or no chicks, dude's always hot his guitar right? Apparently this little love affair isn't stern enough stuff for a whole life. And I'm now much more engaged in the real world of the Clientele, and it's made their music even more heartbreaking. That warm and deeply satisfying feeling their music gives me, the one I took for granted, now seems threatened by this cold and unforgiving world, like the Nothing that slowly devours Fantastica in The Never Ending Story. Fitting then that Bonfires on the Heath is both a concerted effort to expand their sound while simultaneously being a fitting swan song. This may not be THE definitive document of the band, but I would not hesitate to recommend this album to anyone even vaguely interested in the band. And I argue, it's just as easy to fall in love with as Strange Geometry.
   The first track, "I Wonder Who We Are" bursts out of the gate with horns, jangly riffs, and stacatto 'bah be dahs' that make me wonder if the Clientele could actually have a shot at the pop charts, or at least a spot on the next hit romcom soundtrack. I mean no slight, the song is perfect pop with just a little hint of MacLean's dour style while he sings about his "littered face in the street." But this party is quickly crashed by the aching hallucinatory nostalgia of the title track. This song was apparently written after taking acid in the woods with some friends, who I'm almost sure must have included young Thom Yorke and Johnny Greenwood, considering it's similarity to "Letdown." Again, no slight. This is not your typical acid song, there are no freak outs or psychedelic imagery, just an elliptical riff and a nervy sense of impending dread. "Harvest Time" slips right into place, continuing to lilt you to sleep or your death, a feeling that is equally comforting and disquieting. And as you feel the record is descending in to Autumnal darkness and despair, "Never Anyone but You" and "Sketch" breathe a summery breath of life and romance into the record, the former being a song that equally captures the feelings of new love and love remembered.
   I know, I'm on my way to an album narrative, something I've avoided since trying to write Kid A: The Movie. I attribute this to the strength of this album, the willingness to focus solely on the music of a band you initially felt was a little boring, for thirty odd minutes in a row. But damnit, it's a satisfying listen if I've ever heard one. Even if somber anglocentric music isn't your bag, you have to appreciate a band at the peak of their abilities.
   If this is the end of the line for The Clientele, I will be a sad man. I still have several Clientele albums to search out, and if this is the last album they release, I look forward to digging into their back catalog as slowly as I can, pretending the band is still releasing work. All that being said, I hope Alasdair and his crew will either become wildly successful, or at least have a Jay Z length retirement.

FAIL

There is a man named Asher Roth, and I lived in a much happier world before I knew of his existence.

Exhibit A

Ok, so you say, it’s all in good fun. Too easy to hate on. Too much a whorish and tacky affair to take seriously. And, there’s a sense of humor here. But, exhibit B:




Not the best thing to be said over “A Milli,” not the most intelligent or even clever critique, but it is scathing. It is rewarding in some way.

I’m not going headlong into the delicate subjects of race, privilege, fame, and success in Hip Hop. Just because I’ve been catching up on Dilla, Madlib, and DOOM doesn’t mean I can throw my weight around like I’ve been invested in the genre long enough. But a piece of shit is a piece of shit. That’s all fine as long as a piece of shit doesn’t become this year’s frat rock party jam, and the panting and desperate record industry descends upon us with it in their talons.

Ash could have made anything out of himself. He is an internet phenom, riding on the success of marginally impressive mixtapes. He could have picked used his minor wave of hype and step up and refine the humor and critique of his A Milli freestyle. The fixation on minutiae, conversational delivery, reminds me of Mike Skinner, at least for a couple seconds. But now he’s hip-hop’s response to Tucker Max.
The educated, aware, marginally talented young privileged white kid who squanders his talent and makes a clown of himself. He’s someone who realizes how fucked up his situation is, but takes the money and fucking dances. His only solace is that his success proves how vapid his fans and critics are to give him the success and attention. Or more depressingly, the former doesn’t even apply. He has never questioned his actions.