Hello Internet, long time...

Jobs right? Either you can't get one, you hate the one you have and can't get anything else, or maybe you like your job but it isn't paying you shit. Or maybe it's just a control thing, the work's not that bad, they pay is more than enough but damn, will I ever have a say in how shit get's done around here?
So, I have several 'jobs.' I have my day job at the MCA. It's great, really can't complain. I love the museum, I really like my coworkers, the day to day responsibilities aren't very taxing, and I usually feel pretty good about life at work. The rub: it's three days a week and I make let's just call it not-a-whole-lot an hour. Then there's a paid gig with my alma matter doing sound design work for theatrical shows. Again, wow, what a great gig. I can work mostly off my laptop using some of my more technical and creative skills, I get paid, get to help put together a piece of collaborative art every semester. The rub: it's emotionally draining, and I don't know why. I get throw-shit-against-a-wall temperamental during the last two weeks of rehearsal no matter the show (usually not at rehearsal, although I'm afraid that one day I will just snap). And a career in sound design would probably mean a career in theatre, which is for better or worse, a world that still feels foreign to me. Long story.
Then there are two internships, one with Gallery 400 and one with Thrill Jockey. Again, wow, what the fuck right? Both are fantastic. At the Gallery, I'm learning and developing a skill set, I'm meeting so many incredibly talented people, I get to be intellectually engaged with work. Fucking fantastic, not getting paid. And Thrill Jockey, let's put it this way, if I was independently wealthy and never had to work again I would still come in on Monday to put records together at the office. The rub: neither pays, and at this point anything resembling a personal life has been obliterated. This has lead to some awkward over sharing, TMI, and just dicking around at my jobs because, well, I barely have any personal time.
Now, don't get me wrong, the last six months of my life have been incredible. I took on more than I could handle and I've handled it. Maybe not A+ handled it, but much better than my usual average. I feel much more capable than before, much more aware of myself and my limitations. But my schizophrenic schedule has left me with the same question, what do I actually want to do with my life. And my answer is still, well, everything.
Or be a musician. That's always the real answer, be a musician. I'm not going to get into the bloody details of why I am one but don't really consider myself one although I've always kinda been one no matter how hard I try to be one or not. It's really like saying to myself, I want to be a Christian. I am one, but I'm not really one you know, don't go to church enough, am too critical of the church at large, feel uneasy with how it makes others feel, etc. But like, I am one, sorta kinda. I just really don't feel good about calling myself one and then having to take on all the responsibilities of being one. With music, it's more like, I don't thing I'll ever be able to pull it off, like I'm staring down a series of failures and panic attacks and puzzled looks and yeah, not a whole lotta bread.
You know that slow moaning thing some people can do with their voice where it almost sounds like they're purring. Like a square wave slowed down so much that all you hear is clicks. I've caught myself making that sound a lot without realizing how long I've been at it. It's like the sound of an old hard drive when it was processing too fast. But I'm processing nothing, just making sound to soothe my own brain. I've started dancing and head bobbing a little too emphatically when listening to music in public lately. I'm doing that half assed literary speak thing where I pick up little idioms and poetic expressions that don't fit me at all and carelessly toss them around until they lose their intended effect. I wonder how far off I am from catching myself singing "Turtle Island" in a broken falsetto at work while staring blankly off into space. It's then when I think, man, I'm never gonna make it. Adults with responsibilities don't do that shit. Who am I trying to fool?

Songs:
Beach House-Gila


Gives me the shivers, that little two note guitar line just kills me. My Beach House obsession is not waning.

Round and Round-Ariel Pink's Haunted Graffiti


So, I never was really into Ariel Pink. I saw a disastrous set at U of C years ago where we dubbed his band Tears for Suck. But hey, he's still going isn't he, and apparently improving. I guess it's a sin to diss his earlier material now that his aesthetic has taken off in certain circles, but fuck that aesthetic. I like the self assured production values Arthur Russel cribbing way more.

Flying Lotus-Robo Tussin/A Milli Remix


This has been around for a while, but I felt like posting after seeing Flylo at the Double Door, which was absolutely amazing. He's a consumate performer who knows how to get a crowd moving with sheer enthusiasm. He dropped this one and everyone went crazy.

Sorry for the mixed up embed formats, the internet is being a pain in my ass, and I'm too lazy to find a solution.

Your Sound Design Questions Answered

    I haven't been writing much lately as I've been busy with sound design, band, day jobs, etc.  However, I did write a little something during some rehearsal downtime.  It started out as something like "letters to a young sound designer" but I thought it might be interesting to those who don't really know what I mean when I say sound designer.
    A sound designer finds, creates, or otherwise wrangles sound effects and music together for a performance, and makes sure those sounds are played at the right time for the right length of time and at the right volume.  Beyond that, the definition get's sticky.  In a larger theater you might have a music director, a composer, a sound designer, a sound technician, and a sound board operator.  In smaller "store front" theaters, a sound designer might (frequently) have to do all the above jobs.  Sound Design doesn't require a standardized technical knowledge, just enough proficiency to justify getting paid for it.  The vague job requirements and varying job description will lead to a lot of ass busting to learn to do something you have no previous experience doing or (more likely) lead to a lot of embarrassing moments where you have to tell a director that either his expectations are unreasonable or totally reasonable but he hired the wrong guy, so, sorry about that.
    What the job always requires is the ability to think and learn quickly, to be articulate and specific about a very abstract and temporal phenomenon in more or less plain language, and of course, the ability to be creative in a collaborative setting, all of which require trial and error.
    If I could offer some on the job advice to anyone starting out in Sound Design, it would go something like this:

Equipment matters more than you ever want it to.  This pretty much runs against every bit of punk ethos left in me but it's unavoidable.  The purpose of a sound design is to help transport the audience into the world of the play, either the physical (diegetic) world or the emotional/psychological (non-diegetic) world, and to do that, you don't want a shitty lofi system coloring and distorting that sound unless the play is in a shitty lofi world.  Those plays sadly don't exist.  Learn what equipment is meant to do, what it can do, and what it will never do. 

Yes you can do it, but do you have time?  The quicker you learn this lesson, the better.  It's always tempting to say yes to complex and time consuming design choices during the beginning stages of a production when you have weeks to get everything done.  But when you run out of time and fall short of your grand promises, you're going to look like a lazy flake.  On that note, be organized, save everything twice and create more than one draft for each big moment.

You can say no to the director, and you definitely should learn when and how, which is never in front of actors and extremely delicately.  Also, never use the word "no."

Music is universal, musical tastes aren't.  This is without a doubt the most frustrating aspect of the job. 

Listen to hip hop.  Reason 1, hip hop producers largely use the same tools as you.  Reason 2, hip hop producers (and sample based musicians in general) tend to think of what a sound as a mutable material, they listen for what it can be rather than what it is.  Being able to make completely new music out of say, two or three records requires a clever ear and deft technical proficiency, both of which are paramount to sound design.  Reason 3, nothing sounds better after being stuck inside a theater all fucking day.

Be a geek, or at least be comfortable being called a geek.  You're working in theater after all. 
If you think you're too cool for the job, you're right, so don't do it.

Have a personal creative outlet, realize that this job is not that.  Remember that scene in Charlie Brown Christmas where Lucy asks Schroeder to play Jingle Bells over and over again until he frustrated plunks it out note by note?  It's gonna be like that sometimes.

Think about how the sound feels.  If the design is good, no one will be paying attention to it but they'll be subtly affected by it.  One director said it best, "With gunshots, it's not about how real they sound, it's about the emotional impact of the shot."

Unlike other design elements (staging, scenic, lighting), when you make a mistake it will be big and obvious and it will piss people off.  Don't take it personally.

Always shroud your techniques in secrecy.  So you spent a whole week figuring out how to power a remote speaker in the back of the house so that marching band effect can sound like it's slowly coming closer and filling the space?  No one fucking cares.  Not to say it wasn't a good choice, but no one is going to pat you on the back for an effect that could have been adequately accomplished by clever fading and panning.  But when a director wants something to sound like it's underwater and all you do is put a tremolo and reverb on it (which takes 15 seconds) and she looks at you like your a wizard, just let her be mystified.  

Have a huge collection of music, listen to it all the time.  Always good to have jazz, classical, and ambient on hand (anything "moody" or textural and or rhythmic, without words). 

Have the cast send you their favorite party jams and play them during preshow warmups.  You will be their hero forever.

Pitch in to help someone else when you have some downtime.  Again, everyone will love you.

Avoid Tom Waits, run, fly, flee.  Delete it from your hard drive.  When directors mention his name (trust me, this happens with staggering frequency) feign ignorance and change the subject.

At the end of the day, realize that you're working behind the scenes and there's not a lot of credit or awards being handed out.  Sometimes the only way to tell you've done a good job is when no one complains and you get asked to do it again.

A Quick Thought on John Mayer's Dumb Ass

If you haven't heard yet, Mr. "Your Body is a Wonderland" Mayer recently drank a little too much scotch and got "raw" in a recent Playboy interview.  He said some pretty inane shit like "my dick is kind of a white supremacist," claimed he had something called a "hood pass," referred to Jessica Simpson's body as both a drug and then later called her "sexual napalm" which makes me wonder whether or not Mayer knows that napalm isn't a drug.  Anyway, I could go on but you've probably heard enough and if you haven't just google it, "John Mayer is a huge douche" is still one of the hottest search terms.
Um, so yeah.  John Mayer is maybe a racist, almost definitely a misogynist, and for sure is a fucking moron.  But that doesn't really surprise me.  The man has a Stevie Ray Vaughan tattoo and makes sincere adult contemporary songs about just wanting to get stoned.  This guy obviously lives in a postmodern nightmare where things signify nothing and fessing up to your insecurities while cavalierly admitting your own self absorption is what passes for authentic (thanks Kanye!).  But for me, what's most interesting is a small moment when he talked about Jennifer Aniston disagreeing with him about his Twitter use.  Mayer wrote her off as being stuck in the past, not willing to realize that the rules of the fame game have changed.  And for once in my life, I actually felt bad for Aniston.  After enduring an all too messy and public divorce she has this douchebag telling her she doesn't share her personal life enough with the public.  I can hear him now, "Sorry babe, you gotta get with the program.  You got fight for their hearts and minds you know, gotta keep people interested.  Hey, how bout I tell them about how I like fucking airheads and getting stoned, and you can pout about your divorce.  They'll eat that shit up."  Hell, I might even be more sympathetic if that was the case, but I honestly think there isn't really a divide between Mayer's public and private life.
Well, you live by the sword, you die by the sword.  I know, douchebags are going to think he's gutsy for being so "real" and I'm sure there are enough female fans out there who secretly believe they could change him.  But at least we have some hard and fast evidence that this guy really is a total ass.

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.

Hypocrite Listener vs Daftpop Mix Showdown part II-I'm turning this into a summmit

First, since Anna made such a fantastic list with a far superior defense attached to it, I'll give it a track by track response. My unfocused rant will follow. So let's dive in...

Beyonce-Single Ladies
This song never really did it for me, but I'll admit to the power of this song. I actually like the verse's melody more than the chorus. I've seen people just lose their shit dancing to this, so I'll back down from criticism.

Big Boi and Gucci-Shine Blockas
I love this song so much. Oh man yes, yes yes.... It reminds me of the first time I heard Hey Yeah or Ghettomusick, like getting my mind kicked in. I just feel like Big Boi tries a little harder than most to deliver, like he doesn't phone it in. This year's Int'l Players Anthem.

Fabolous and The Dream-Throw It In The Bag
Not feeling this one. Seems like paint by numbers to me.

Ghostface-Do Over
Fantastic. Maybe it's unfair to give props to straight up samples over synth beats that sound like samples, but the production gives the song a life blood, a warm throbbing thing to ground it. Maybe I'm too much a product of the 90's. I will never fuck with Wu Tang anything.

Beyonce-Halo
I've never appreciated this song until now. Beyonce is a great performer, her timing and delivery are perfect here. This is something I don't think Rihanna (I'm sorry) could pull off. One qualm, the production is pretty schlocky. Like, they could have had some real strings here, it would done her voice justice. Maybe it would have broken the aesthetic of the album as a whole, but it would have elevated the song. And if the Dirty Projectors can afford real strings, than Ryan Tedder can put down his fucking synths for one second.

Pet Shop Boys-All Around The World
Ok, I like this song. There are a number of indie acts working within these tropes, but none I've heard do them justice like this. I don't like his voice but fuck it. Maybe I just got spoiled by Beyonce on the last track.

Basement Jaxx-Scars
This is sweet, great dubstep vibe. This got me out of my seat on first listen to dance around alone in my apartment. Ace pick.

Elektrik Red-Freaky Freaky
Not doin' it for me. When “My Love” came out it seemed revelatory, like the future of music. But those synth stabs now just take me right back to 2006.  Although this is a decent track, it's using some well worn tricks.

MSTRKRFT-Heartbreaker
This is close to cheating Anna, dude was in DFA1979. I do really like this track though. Some straight up dance material, but done exceedingly well. Love those oh's.

Kanye West-Knock You Down
This sounds like Kanye phoning it in. I feel like I've heard this song before.

Raekwon-Cold Outside
YES. Right here, I like that the bass is kinda low in the mix, and that sample is tinny and a bit harsh. It allows the tension to build up to a desperate fever pitch. And those chorus vocals are the best argument against the current trend of robo-pop singing I've heard this year (close second is DOA). This is so fucking good, nothing I picked even touches this Anna. Again, Wu Tang=probs gonna love it.

Lady Gaga-Bad Romance
This right here is Rococo. So, Lady Gaga is channeling some interesting source material, and she has an impressively wide range of vocal stylings. Her lyrics sway between cheesy and clever, and there's something liberating and weird and subversive about her. She is still suffering from some of that robo-future shock that's all over the radio right now. Granted, she was a progenitor of that sound. Still sounds expensive and hollow, so perfect for clubbing.

The Dream and Kanye West-Walking on The Moon
The Dream wins me over on this one. It's hard to say why exactly. Seems a little more restrained, more relaxed than the other tracks he's done.  This get's close that  80's late era Motown hit sound.

Cam'ron-My Job
Thank you for introducing me to this song. We need more mundane-shit songs like this. Did you ever listen to that Diamond District album? It's not as funny as this, but has the same M.O. I guess the lesson here for me is that I do love Hip Hop after all.

Clipse-Kinda a Big Deal
This has a good Madlib/Dilla style stutter beat to it. I actually like this better on the second listen. Still think the rhymes are a little flat here, some retread Kanye shit.

Basement Jaxx-Raindrops
Another winner. I don't listen to enough dance music. Don't have a single criticism, just love.

Oh my god Anna, you've written quite a response to my mix. I've missed a lot of these songs, which is admittedly pretty sad. So we'll wait until later to say which mix is better (if that's necessary or even possible) but you certainly have won in the war of words/blog posts. Your post actually had me excited to hear these songs, which is something that countless Slate articles and NY times pieces could not do. So I'll concede defeat as far as that goes. Beers are on me.
Also, I've realized something that has been staring me in the face for a while but didn't want to admit. I've turned my head away from top 40 music for so long, I don't even think of it as a choice. Like, I stopped listening or caring at around 13 (a nadir for radio if you remember) so now I'm actually just lost anytime I think about pop music actually being, you know "popular." I can't read the signposts anymore. Whereas the very popular but still secondary world of "indie" or just sorta-pop, or critically acclaimed pop (or whatever) is a territory I feel more comfortable in. And when things happen there, in that world of music obsessives and innovators/trendspotters, they matter to me more than what ever happens in the top strata of cultural exchange. I mean really, pop radio could fucking burn to the ground for all I care. And yeah, that's a pretty childish thing to say. I'm know not everyone feels that way, nor should they, but I guess I should own up as to where I'm at.
But, allow some last bitter defenses for the independent world:
   As much my auto-tune beef sounds geriatric, I still stand by my assessment that pop music suffers from a serious case of dumbed down production values. Now maybe the production contains some quality compositional merits or even stylistic innovation, but as far as sound design/engineering (sense of space, dynamics, harmonic richness, timbre), it sounds depressingly flat and similar. I think this is one of the overlooked aspects of say Dilla or FlyLo, that the music actually takes up physical space in a very different way. Some of that has to do with source material and composition, but a lot of it is production values, straight up.
   This is a complaint of someone who loves records as discreet art objects, who doesn't mind turning up the volume for a quiet section of a song, that will actually sit in front of a stereo and do nothing but listen to a record. So, yes, it's unfair to criticize pop music for being super compressed (within an inch of it's dynamic life) when that is a technical concern for radio play and ipod listening (shit needs to be loud to be heard on the train, in the club, or let's be honest, as your ringtone). BUT, I think it's plenty fair to say there's more than one way to skin a cat, and that record producers have been shy when it comes to fucking with anyone's expectations as far as what a top 40 record should sound like. If you've ever heard the early leaked versions of 808's and Heartbreaks, you'll see what I'm saying. The leaked version of “Robocop” is far superior. Sounds jumping out at you, the vocals even a little low in the mix, the over all effect actually less robotic sounding than the overcooked album version. And what about the independent world? Well, recording aesthetics abound, lofi, midfi, glowfi, expansive and spare (Grizzly Bear), expansive and dense (Animal Collective), intentionally shitty (Wavves), and many that will mix it all up (Bon Iver's haunting and genius use of autotune). This seems like a small bone to pick, except that this shit is literally in my head for hours a day, so I like timbral variety. This rant could go on forever, this is obviously a Nigel centric issue.
    Here's a more hasty defense: Independent music, as codified as it is, is actually more of a free for all. You'll have to allow in the definition of “independent music” to include bands and albums not on Pitchfork's Best New Music List, or even on p4k at large. Independent labels release more records by more bands. Maybe majors move more units, but the indie world has a larger roster. And it may seem like small stakes to some people, but there's a lot of squabbling and debate between the different camps of bands who often have to share the same stage on the same night. As much as Jay Z listening to Grizzly Bear is undeniably cool, it's also just the biggest name of one world giving props to one of the biggest names of another. There are weirder and wilder bands informing each other, playing the same festival, and sometimes those conversations can get interesting. Hipsters may look the same, but there are battles going between these kids (over some stupid shit at times. Ok, maybe most of the time). That is to say, no one totally dominates and it's hard to win everyone over (even for AC). Now, who's actually gonna take potshots at Jay Z?
But, I will admit there are some real virtuosos and innovators on your list. And, I do like a lot of it at first listen. In fact, overall, it's made me a bit more poptimistic.  So thanks for the mix.  I didn't expect this to turn into a summit (yes I did), but I'm glad to have done this.  Means a lot to me, Anna.

Stay critical or die,

Nigel

Music As Cultural Artifact vs Music As the Thing Itself

    I had the pleasure of getting my hands on the latest (or almost the latest) copy of WIRE.  This is always a good thing.  I remember tooling around high school in Borders or B&N with some friends (where else are precocious and culturally hungry young people in South Bend s'posed to go?) and browsing through music mags trying to absorb as much news and information as possible.  I tried to get a mental snapshot of the music world at the time, who were the big names in England, up and comers in New York, cool labels, cool festivals, cool hitherto unknown albums from the past and present.  Copies of WIRE always loomed conspicuously, and I would poke my nose into for 30 seconds before lifting my head up totally confused.  There was always an interview with someone I'd heard of, but most of it covered artists and genres I'd never even tangentially heard of.  It was as if there was no clear entry point for me, a young man from the plains who just wanted to stay culturally relevant.  Fast forward three years, I'm working at Borders on the north side during my Junior year.  I work in the cafe which is gracefully located all of fifteen feet from the magazine racks.  I could take home the unsold copies, their covers ripped off but so what, and again stay as current as anyone I knew.  I ventured into reading WIRE as a conscious challenge to my laziness.  And besides, I was already wading into an interest in experimental compositions, sound art, improv and noise.  Every once in a while, I'd even read the damn thing cover to cover, reading in depth interviews with artists I'd never heard of.  It's mostly incredibly intelligent writing on intelligent and serious artists. 
    While reading the most recent copy, I felt like I could finally tell what really set the magazine apart, that WIRE considers music as a thing unto itself.  Not that each work is hermetically sealed, every piece they review was taken within the context of the history and current climate of music, and more broadly, within the context of the Art.  It's that in WIRE, music and sound art are always judged  by the appropriate standards, that is primarily against the goals of the work itself.  When praising say, Disintegration Loops by William Bansky, I can't imagine the review would pull an aside and say, "Well, it's not party music."  Because of course it's fucking not.  What an inane thing to say about a massive experimental loop based work about the impermanence of material record and in intractable nature of time.  Their reveiws don't trade heavily in irony.  I imagine that if they set out to review a dense and difficult work, that most writers there would take it as their duty to give that piece their utmost attention and thorough examination before weighing in on its merits. 
    This is not how music criticism works in my world.  For me, music criticism exists along an continuum between two schools of though: consumer reviews vs criticism as discrete artistic exercise.  Most of the magazines that I used to compile my cultural snapshots featured reviews that were poorly masked consumer guides.  This is the British school of music rags: they exist to give their readers a who's who, what's hot-or-not guide to the mercurial youth culture zeitgeist.  On the other side was criticism in the vein of early Rolling Stone, Creem, and in some ways early Pitchfork.  Long form reviews that were frequently entertaining and thought provoking reads, that may only tangentially relate to the piece of music or artist at hand.  Frequently, reviewing an album is just a springboard for broader cultural critique, if not just a technical exercise of the author's talents as a writer.  This is very obviously the school of thought that has influenced me most.  Not only has it influenced the way I talk and write about music, but also how I listen to music, find music, weigh the importance of music in my life, even at times affecting my worldview.  And so here's a review in WIRE, stoically, carefully examining a piece of music, making insights, providing useful comparisons, and never being lazy enough to confuse personal anecdote with profound insight. 
    Now, let's be clear.  WIRE is not for everyone, and it is at times, a little dry, maybe almost boring, or actually just boring.  It's an expensive and content filled missive for people who take music seriously and who are probably very type B and maybe even a little cantankerous.  That is, WIRE is written for Jim O'Rourke, and as much as I like Jimmy O, I'm not sure I'd want to grab a beer with him.  But I have to wonder, are they right?  Am I wrong?  Not wrong because I actually do love Kid A even if it is derivative, or that I do care (begrudgingly) about Brooklyn's finest poor little rich boys, [fill in your guess here].  I wonder if the way I talk about music, the shifting standards by which I try to judge everything, are just completely off target.  Under further examination, is it that all my pretensions of intellect, taste, and cultural fluency, I'm just talking up my own ass most of the time?  Aren't most of us?
    This feeling is compounded by the culture shock I've experienced while working at Thrill Jockey.  If your not familiar with the label, TJ trades in mostly serious, often unflashy, experimental artists such as Tortoise, The Sea and Cake, High Places, and Pit er Pat, music WIRE would write about.  Although I love Tortoise and The Sea and Cake, I can't say that Thrill Jockey's catalog is really up my alley.  It's growing on me for sure, but the looming lack of  CULTURAL RELEVANCE (imagine this phrase hangs in big block letters like a judgmental specter over everything I say or do) just puts a little sour note on my enjoyment.  Two examples come to mind.  First was Pitchfork's mild review of Tortoises new album, Beacons of Ancestorship, an amazing album by any metric and a huge step for the band.  The review admitted that the album was solid, exciting, made my masterful musicians.  But the album lost points for being too "hermetically sealed" which in this instance I'm almost certain means "not referencing or reacting to or hanging out with any hot new bands."  Then just the other night the Sea and Cake came on on someone's stereo, and I let out one of those auto-exhalations like "I looove this band" to a small chorus of eye rolls.  As if I'd professed a love for Garden State in a film studies program.  I know that these bands aren't for everyone, but I gotta wonder how much these two reactions have to do with those floating block letters that seem to hang over everything if you let them.
    Obvs, this is touching on a larger topic, and I'd appreciate the irony of writing a free form rumination on identity and personal taste in what started as praise for simple and direct music criticism.  Maybe later.  For now I'm happy to read a copy of WIRE, even if it's a little stodgy.  It's like reading the New Yorker after only having read the Red Eye for weeks straight.  It may not be as fun or frustrating, but it restores your faith in the world.

The Thing About Girls

Girls - Album

   First, you will inevitably have to get past the fact the haven't fucking heard of them, even though you think so (you're thinking of either Women or the Vivian Girls though). It's usually not the worst thing in the world to be blindsided by a new critical darling whose debut just dropped like a V2 rocket into your unsuspecting life. It happened with the Arcade Fire, it seems to happen so regularly these days. But there's something excruciating about it this time and you can't say why. Maybe it's that the big names act as if they've seen these guys coming for months now. Maybe they have, that is their job and all, but you can't help but feel cheated, that despite your best efforts, you're hopelessly out of touch and getting more out of touch each second.
   This will be compounded by the the second obstacle: no one you know likes this album, or really wants to give it a fair shot. In fact, in some cases they don't even want to listen to it. You'll go to the record store and hold a copy of it in your hand and ask the clerk in all earnestness (not something you do often), "Should I buy this?" And you'll watch him struggle to be equivocal while you can tell what he wants to say is no fucking way man. This will influence your initial reaction to hearing the first ten seconds of the first four songs on your laptop speakers as you declare this to be the lamest thing you've heard this year.
   Then comes obstacle number three: both Cokemachineglow and Pitchfork love the record. Each site alone is not to be trusted, Pitchfork for its breathless sense of importance, the Glow for breathless dedication to being contrary. Yet in the rare moments when they agree, they've been safe bets (Meriweather, Veckatimest, Embryonic). Intrigued, you watch their live video on Pitchfork (which was so obviously filmed months before their hit record dropped, is this some fucking conspiracy?) and despite yourself you think, these guys are pretty good.
   You watch their music videos (pre the XXX nonsense) and read the interviews, and although there's enough to roll your eyes at, there's not enough to outright hate about them either. You are inevitably charmed by this secret insomnia fueled obsession with the band you declared unwavering hatred for just 36 hours ago. You will torrent Album and listen to it on your way to work for a week straight. It takes all of those days until you finally drunkenly declare that you love Girls, you pound the table spilling your beer and point your finger right in the face of a close friend and shout "Goddamnit, I want to be zeitgeisty!"
   After this, you'll recoil in shame. You won't listen to Album for weeks. You will again feel cheated, feel that your love for this record was ill begotten and lame, more revealing of your own desperate desire to be relevant than your musical tastes. You come just as close to pounding another bar table at another bar and drunkenly declare yourself a sham, but decide against.
   But then, the song "Summertime" will come on random on a freak warm November day, and you'll be lovestruck again. But for whatever reason, you won't listen to the rest of the album.

   I've been meaning to write something on Girls for a long time now. And only now that enough html has been spilled on the subject do I finally feel like putting my two cents in. For what it's worth, Album contains some of the most likable and affecting songs this year. It also contains just as many charming but forgettable numbers. The record does sustain a mood of sunkissed (sunsoaked, sundrenched, sunbaked, sundried, take your goddamn pick) heartbreak, and yes, has a hazy, dare I say narcotic sound to it. But, about that, hm, ah, meh. Christopher Owen's talent for writing pop songs is strong but not nearly perfect. The band's strengths aren't in the woozy nightime songs, like "God Damned" and "Headache" or nor in the tongue-in-cheek brattiness of "Big Bad Mean Motherfucker". Girls is at their best when letting it all out, on "Lust for Life," "Laura," "Hellhole Ratrace," "Summertime," and "Morning Light."
   When they're on, it's a great listen. And the hit or miss quality of Album is endearing, although a little disheartening. Disheartening because I worry about Owens being pegged as some sort of fucked up rock and roll savant. Not many reviews ever say anything about technique or musical ability, just about this broken soul and his triumph over pain. And although that makes good copy, it ignores a glaring fact that these guys are actually really talented and (for the most part) tasteful musicians. Ignoring their chops would be a shame because Girls absolutely nail a wide range of styles, all without losing coherence as an album. And, I'll admit begrudgingly, that Owen's vocal talent is unmistakable, especially during a year of mostly forgettable new voices (Longstreth and Vile aside).
   It will be interesting to give this another spin next year and see how it holds up. It's unfortunate that instead of just being excited about these guys, I have to dole out my appreciation in measured amounts. But if it's good now, it will be good later, no?

An Open Letter:

Dear Yeasayer,

   I think I want to love you. Your sound is so globalized, post-history, whatever up-to-the-second virtue/expectation we modern folk would like to ascribe to young Americans making music. Your cultural appropriation is so well curated, and the sounds you assimilate are scattered so microscopically throughout your music, it's hard to nail you for actually robbing any one thing from any one place. You have a dense sound but also an airy sound. You're ultra modern yet organic and tribal. Your musical ability and tastes are airtight, and you're obviously a hard working unit.
   And I am sitting here, listening to your new single (apparently you at your most accessible) and I am on the verge of a yawn. It's the kind of quiet and muffled yawn I would let out when I listen to people pass the thirty minute mark in a discussion about Madmen. I'm a little ashamed of this desire to yawn, because I didn't actually want to express my boredom. I'm not trying to force my cynicism onto an adored cultural artifact that is much larger than myself or my opinions. But there it is, my body involuntarily trying to let the world know that as far as I'm concerned, it's nap time now.
   I should let you know, this disconnection between mind and body, my body's inability to submit to my own will is something I don't suffer very often. Throughout the years my body has taken the abuse of my superego like a champ, rarely complaining and usually warning me ahead of time when it's reaching a breaking point. I've also suffered some boring people and events in my life all while keeping a glossy eyed appearance of rapt interest. So this desire to yawn is taking me off guard. The only warning I had was the twitch in my eyes (so desperately wanting to roll, me not letting them) right before the little unsatisfied expulsion of air came rushing to my mouth, threatening to totally embarrass me and make the point all too clear, that this music is boring me on a very basic physical level.
   But why, when there are all these beats? They sure are beating alright, beating like some UN charter on the fundamental right of all humanity to hit objects (any object) rhythmically as an expression of self and culture. Your beats are the Esperanto of beats. And yet, there isn't a single moment where any of these rhythms even comes close to compelling any part of my body to move, except for said eyes, mouth and lungs.
   Ah, but listen guys, don't worry, I hear the echoes of genius! There's David Byrne, Brian Eno, IDM, XTC, Afropop, Sampledelia, um, Whitney Houston.

   And hey, this song's got hooks too. Well, I'd say that it has something that reminds me of a hook. Melodic, familiar, delivered with passion, it repeats itself. Sure, gotta be a hook. Forget that it doesn't hook anything, least of all my sustained interest, attention, surprise, or desire to enjoy a piece of music. But all the parts are there, so this must be catchy and accessible. It's got a saxophone and R&B style falsettos. Wasn't I drooling over the Dirty Projectors for similar reasons? Why do I find this boring? Yeasayer, why aren't you delivering when you did everything right? What's wrong with me?
   As I listen to this track for the fifth time straight, trying to free my mind and by extension my ass, I realize I'm totally incapable of being a music critic. I cannot for the life of me find your misstep. I can't articulate why this song is flying right through my skull without stirring so much as a grin. Time for me to pack it in and accept myself as a total fraud, a philistine with a hard heart and a half baked intellect. Good job Yeasayer, I cannot muster any real ire towards you and I wish you well. Don't worry, the New York Times is gonna love it! But if you could excuse me just a second...

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWN

Nigel Overreacts Again

   First, Pavement is reuniting next year. Oh shit. I don't know what to say. For some reason I want to hide even though I'm inexplicably happy and shocked and yet not shocked and then a little underwhelmed when I think of the reality of it. But what if they went into the studio? Oh shit oh shit oh shit. What the fuck am I going to do when I live in a world where Pavement is back together?

   Ok, second, anyone who hasn't read this or this, should if you're into that sort of thing. Nitsuh Adebe's passing glance at 'indie culture' is spot-on for the most part and Anna's addendum takes the debate out of the aesthetic ether and brings it into the real personal-political realm in which we live, and where most of these questions of good vs bad, twee vs hardcore, inde-cred vs indie-tastic are banged out. I had the privilege of knowing Anna during her indie years, making this an even more interesting topic. Because it's both a story about zeitgeist and personal histories.
   Everyone agrees that things have changed since those oh so distant pre 9/11 days where independent and mainstream music sat confortably on either side of the aisle. The change has been pretty massive, but it's happened rather subtle. Or maybe rather, in a herky-jerky and uneven fashion, leaving a pretty fractured music world in it's wake. Fractured, but also indelibly connected and intertextual, if I want to get all faux-academic, which I definitely do for god knows why. This is where I break from Nitsuh's argurment: that there are two warring factions. I know it's a streamlined thesis, a simple way of looking at a complex thing for a certain ease of discussion and summation. And suprisingly, he's on point. He's got a good point about indie having been a pretty uncomplicated term in England for a while. He also nails the early aughts desperate desire for propulsive and snappy guitar rock. It's easy to forget what life was like before the Strokes and the White Stripes. Which leads me to another pet project of mine: Although we think all indie roads lead back to Pavement, most roads probably lead back to the Strokes. More on that in some other post. But yes, a bunch of stylish rich kids on a major label living an impossible New York fantasy life kicked open the doors to a lot of minds. Lame but true, and also not totally lame.
   Which brings me to another much larger pastime of mine: bitching about New York. I think my major objection to Nitsuh's article is that he never mentions New York, let alone does he bitch about it. And bitching about New York or defending it has been a major topic of discussion this decade, so let's talk about it. New York has an unimpeachable music history, by far a towering meccah of cultural importance. But as many have pointed out so elequontly, New York doesn't exist anymore. That is, it is not a real place. Follow me here, CBGB's is a fashion outlet. The Village, Chelsea, SoHo, the Bowery, all impossibly priced and razed beyond recognition. Surely, history has not been totally scrubbed from the streets, but the narrative that starts there is dead, killed by gentrification or co-option or what have you. Totally inarguably dead. Brooklyn is maybe a place, but I have my doubts. Becuase I don't understand how it works. Does everyone's parent's pay their rent? Is there a 1:1 ratio of practice spaces to apartments? Does anyone have a real job? I ask these questions because from everything I see or hear, from the New York times to Pfork, Marnie Stern, to the lyrical content of Brooklyn bands themselves paints Brooklyn as fantasy world where everything and everyone is creative, vibrant, well dressed, in a band, an artist, a cloumnist, a dj, between 18 and 30. Whatever Brooklyn does is lapped up, documented, dissected, worried about, and praised. Like, this is where America's precocious navel gazing children go for life camp, and the media are their collective overbearing and exuberant parent's who force us to weigh in on every accomplishment and mishap. And the Times piece on the hipster paunch must be the watershed moment that forces a mea culpa on behalf of the media. Shit has to stop. Right? Homework assignment, someone tally up the Best New Music picks from the last two years, and see what percentage of the Americans are from New York. I took a passing glance, and it looks devastating.
   I'm not saying that New Yorker's aren't talented. Not at all, and the fact that Brooklyn's hegemony is so pervasive, just means bands will flock there, widening the pool of good music. But, there remains a serious lack of real life coming from Brooklyn. That is, most of these bands are deficient in speaking to any of the experiences of most of their fans. Either too vague and cryptic, or too ironic and overly clever.
   But enough about New York. Back to real life.
Let's talk about how we come into contact with new music these days. The Internet is the short answer, a longer answer would probably include our friends tastes, pitchfork, the New York Times, NPR, CW shows, Ipod commercials, blogs, etc. We can talk about the death of print music criticism, the dying music industry, obsolete physical medium, leaks and piracy. But what about the subtle personal shifts?
   When I was in high school, I had what is called an opinion leader, and his name was Andrew. By opinion leader, I don't mean that he made the opinions for his peer group, but he was the central source of information about music for a handful of his friends. Not only because he had good taste and intelligence, but also because he had a high speed internet connection, access to a credit card for online puchases, and a CD burner, all things I did not. I was what is called a low end technology user. A funny thing happened after I got my own computer and credit card and went to college, the balance of information and debate shifted. I had my own concurrent stream of new music and information, and began to stake out my own cultural individuality.
   I mention this because I think it's a nice little microcosm of the shift in the influence of music in social exchange. Andrew was like a record store clerk. He heard everything before you did, had access to albums you didn't, and his own opinions about what was good and bad. But like any record store owner, he was also curator to his friends and spread the gospel of good music, new and old. This was the story for a lot of kids interacting with music. There was a record store, an older brother, a cool friend, that girl you were interested in, etc. These people still exist for sure, and there will always be the guy or girl who just cares a little bit more than you, who will be more up to date. But access is more or less equal to all. This matters because it helps to obliterate time and place and the cognitive space of music culture. As Andrew deftly pointed out when talking about local music scenes, it's just as easy to have a scuzzy Philly noise rocker that actually lives in Minnesota as it is to have the Philly scene. Ok, Andrew I butchered your quote, sorry. But it's a good point.
   This is how Brooklyn exists in the minds of millions who have never been but dream about it. It is possibly even more real online and in our (my) fantasies than in physical space. Which makes the development of a local scene easier in one way, the fact that you can connect quickly and easily, and harder because why stick around your shitty town when urban escape fantasies abound. I know that people have always flocked to New York to make it. The difference now is that fantasy world is so reinforced by ubiquitous media, so much of it uncritical of the indie lifestyle, that anything outside of it irrelevant. There are exceptionms, but have you noticed how much these other scenes look identical to each other? What does this mean for independent music as a whole? Will kids chase the fantasy of bohemia and make the music of their heroes, or will they dig their heels in and say, this is where I am, this is who I am, enough with the bullshit?
   Nitsuh brings up another good point: what's at stake in taking a critical stance on an album or band. This has always been a part of the hipper than thou indie culture. But now, it's not just about taste, it's personal, it's political. You like Pains at Being Pure at Heart, fuck you, you're ruining music! You like the Black Lips, no you don't, not really, you don't actually listen to their records, fuck you, no one does. On one hand, as I get older I have the firm sense that I can listen to whatever the fuck I want more or less unapologetically.    And under the weird big tent-The Animal Collective, Deerhunter, Dan Deacon, No Age tent-this sentiment is the norm. You can like whatever, that's cool. As long as we're all cool about it, and politics of fame or influence aren't involved. But the problem is, those politics are omnipresent on the web, and to some extent, in real life.
   Consider Nathan Williams and his crimes. His biggest crime wasn't being an ass onstage, his biggest crime was being anointed by the hype-machine and not being genuflect about it. I don't mean to drag this episode out again, but I think it was one of the most interesting events this year. The scuzzy noisy rock guys (Psychedelic Horseshit, Black Lips) attacked him because he's a little spoilt bitch who can't handle his drugs. I also imagine a lot of those nice polite indie fans hated him for being such a rude little punk. And of all people, he would be the ideal mixture of the two camps Nitsuh talks about. Scuzzy, gruff, loud, noisy, on an honest to god inependent label(s), but also pop-accessible, popular, young and sorta attractive, sorta awkward. But instead, he was a mixture of the things both sides hated (so it seems), the unearned popularity, the self entitlement, the hipper than thou stance, the lack of technical proficiency, the hot chicks dancing absentmindedly at his show. And this is where I posit that the Nathan Williams Daytripping episode and subsequent breakdown (they are inseparable in my mind) act a cogent characterization of the indie world at that moment. Everything's there: the shit hot label showcase at SXSW, the hype, the token weird band from Philly with token unkempt hair that you're supposed to like, the burgeoning alcoholism, overly earnest MTV interviews, the vampirical bloggers, the insidious consumerism no one really seems to mind anymore, the awkward hip-hop fandom (and let's be honest, cool as it is, it's fucking awkward as all get out, just look at Jay-Z swaying to Grizzly Bear, awesome and awkward, which is I guess, what indie rock always kinda was).
   I watch this all and I think, this is real, this is what's really happening! The Smell, Todd P, Brooklyn, Baltimore, 'Loft Pop' are all real yes, but only for those who are actually there. For the rest of us in flyover country, they remain a distant fantasy. And yet something about the Kafkaesque spectacle of Nathan Williams failing to graciously navigate the unreal world of indie-rock hype strikes me as the unseen unheard underbelly to all this. He's was at the center of the disgusting circus, and just his ability to make people feel weird is admirable. That is, the argument about what's wrong with Wavves inevitably leads back to the argument about what's wrong with the music world that spawned him, and that's why I keep coming back to it. Also, god it's fun to talk about at parties.
   I think it's interesting that Anna has been pushed away from indie and towards Hip-Hop. Interesting because I've had my own initiation into Hip-Hop love and fascination. Interesting because lyrically speaking, Diamond District's In the Ruff has been the most relevant album I've heard (well, at least a tie with Merriweather Post Pavillion, which doesn't count cuz it's big and universal and stuff). And it hit's me that it's no longer hip-hop tourism anymore, and I feel oddly a participant. Oddly, because I know I'm outside the world of hip-hop fans and even further from street life. Then again, maybe not. I dunno. Maybe it's just a bit closer to my life than the aesthetic aloofness, niceness, and/or genre exercises of indie music.

It’s still ok to have reservations about Michael Jackson

   Look, this isn’t about me. I don’t get any sort of pleasure from being on the outside of collective human suffering. I understand that a very talented man died, and a lot of people are upset.
But I still don’t get it. I understand the enormity of his talent and fame. I understand his unreal celebrity status and his too-ridiculous-to-be-true personal biography. I know about the seductive and hallucinogenic quality of celebrity disaster. But the reaction to MJ’s death just doesn’t add up. Wasn’t he already dead? I don’t mean to be crass here. I mean, didn’t the MJ that America fell in love disappear somewhere during the 90s? Didn’t we watch the man slowly disintegrate before our eyes as the truth of his abusive past and the allegations of pedantry surfaced. I know there was a big trial not too long ago, but didn’t that already prove that the Michael Jackson of the 80’s had finally been eclipsed by Wacko Jacko.
   And this is why I sighed a little at the news of his death. Not a sigh of boredom, but a sigh of relief. Not of personal relief, but relief on behalf of the man himself. Relief that the whole horror show of celebrity decay was over, and that the man can finally leave a world that really didn’t suite him. I had a vain and ultimately vanquished hope that after his death we could finally see him as a human being and put the whole tragedy in perspective.
   Silly me, I should have known that his death would stir the same voyeuristic panting fandom that has plagued him during his life. And I can’t help from being more than disgusted by it.
   When I was too young to fathom why or how, Kurt Cobain committed suicide. He was a huge celebrity to me, even though I was too young to identify fully with what he stood for. In time, he would become a mythical figure in my mind, the misunderstood musical rebel plagued by fame and his own personal pain. In even more time, I would have to come to terms with my (our) problematic mythology of the man. And now, I see the symbolic importance of his death: the end of the tragic rock and roll hero. It wasn’t a final, total end. Nor was he the last musician to die by his own hand. But I see his death as the end of the rockstar era, and for so many reasons that is an unequivocal good.
   Nirvana famously knocked MJ off the top 40 charts he’d dominated for so long. It’s tempting to think this has some historical significance, a changing of the guard, a rock and roll coup, the end of an era. Rockists see it as a victory for gritty and authentic music over slick and sterile pop. I’m sure there’s another camp that saw this as a big downer, and a sign of the boring decade to come. (On a side note, I doubt Kurt had it in for Michael as much as he had it in for hair metal and G&R. And we should thank grunge for killing that genre). The issue for me isn’t who was the better star (MJ, no question), the better artist (debatable, probably MJ), or who was more fucked up (even split). The issue I have is our desire to turn people into spectacles. Kurt Cobain as alterna rock savior and Michael Jackson as pop deity are more than silly titles, they’re destructive expectations.
   And so, yes, I feel really off about celebrating the musical career of a man who was coerced into the entertainment business by the threat of domestic violence. I see a great problem with wanting to gloss over his fall from grace to celebrate his years of greatness, because few are willing to admit that crazy MJ has anything to do/is the same man as the king of pop. He was brilliant, yes, incredibly brilliant. But I don’t want to hear the words god given talent. Why? Because his talent and the fame it brought him was no blessing. That talent was fostered and exploited by a maniacal father and a sanguinary entertainment industry. That fame allowed him to disappear into himself in a multimillion dollar fantasy world funded by you and I.
   Well, ok, maybe that’s unfair. I’ll stop shorting of hanging all the blame on his fans. They really do adore him, and most want only to see the best in their idol. But that same impulse also pushes back all the dirty pain stuff, and I wonder if that’s why Michael himself never seemed to come to grips with reality. No one wanted him to be real.
   I bring Kurt Cobain up for this reason. Kurt was plagued the opposite curse, the pain and suffering only curse. The same unfortunate situation Ian Curtis found himself in. When you make your name and reputation being the perpetual downer, you’re already painted into a corner. You’re not allowed to make fun music. And your fans only want to see and know the pain and suffering, they only want the martyr. Well, I’d rather have a living Kurt Cobain that faded away. That ultimately was his choice to make, but I think that was the stupidest decision he ever made. And you know what, I’d rather have had a human Michael Jackson, a man who could eventually look hard into his past and at least try to come to terms with it. From what I can tell, he did try. But eventually, it was just easier to disappear into a world where he couldn’t be touched.
   And I’m back where I started. Listening to Barry Gordy mourn Michael Jackson and feeling sick to my stomach about it. Hearing the hitmaker wax elegiac about the greatness of a star, completely ignoring his humanity. And I’m hoping that the popstar era is dying with him, dying with the music industry as we know it, and hoping there isn’t a new generation of Joe Jacksons and Barry Gordys waiting and ready to exploit the talent of tomorrow.
   I know it’s not true as I remind myself of the Disney channel celebrity making machine and the fucked up (but successful) kids it chews up and spits out. But maybe one of those kids is watching the coverage of Michael Jackson’s death and thinking long and hard about the price of a life lived in the spotlight. One can only hope.

A Review of Reviews of Bitte Orca, and Kind of A Review Too.

By now the merits of Bitte Orca have been expounded at length: Dave Longstreth is really brilliant, and this album is so sweet.
Of course it’s shortcomings are also flushed out and rationally articulated: That guy’s voice sucks.
I would like to first point out that neither of these opinions have anything to do with my own opinion on the Dirty Projectors, but rather what I have culled from reading the Pitchfork review, the Stereogum review, and the comments after the Stereogum article titled “Wait is Bitte Orca the Best Album of 2009?” (My personal response was “Wait, Is that The Worst Headline of 2009?”)
Then I would like to note that the praise of this album as previously stated still begs the question of why he is brilliant. The answer seems to be that he makes concept albums. No, no, not like Tommy, like, art-rock concept records. Dude’s got one about Don Henely. Wild right? Like how I just said “Dude”? Not an article to be seen. Street.
The detractors actually engage the music a little more, but kind of also miss the mark. Dave Longstreth has a really good voice by indie rock standards, he just seems either incapable, or more likely just uninterested in writing an actual melody (In my worse moments I think, Christ does he even plan? Has he ever sang a song the same way twice?). But his voice is fine, the best description is that he’s not Bjork, and someone needs to remind him. His guitar lines are also given to this proclivity. He’s a completely atonal shredder. Is this any more or less impressive than someone who creates more linear lines? For the moment let’s allow it.
Here’s where the real divide comes: if it’s art rock, all sins of atonality are forgiven. If it’s held to any other standard, Dave Longstreth probably needs fewer people to say that he’s brilliant, because what he actually is is unfocused. And yeah, the unfocused occasionally produce a DaVinci, but more often they give us golden retrievers. Here is where I propose that all music is art, and to call something “Art rock” tells us nothing about a music other than “You’re not going to like it the first [couple] times you hear it,” and this album is praised as being the DP’s most immediately likeable album, so you know, the statement’s kind of vacuous. As long as you accept that good music takes attention, and music should give back what you put in, the title “Art rock” should be written off as an insult, saying that the album in question is deficient in the category of “First Impressions.” It’s a shallow category, one that has more to do with someone’s mood, and even more to do with what they’re used to.
Music criticism most often seems to follow the formula of “back story, then comparison,” (except in the golden age of Pitchfork when it was more like “Personal anecdote + virtuosic string of contemptuous statements”), and to a degree I’ve gotten used to that, and can interpret fairly well what’s going on from this formula. But the reviews of the Dirty Projector’s new album were especially deficient. Can I for a moment try my own hand at reviewing?

Good effort, but the lack of [a linear] melody, in both the vocals and guitar lines amount to even the cathartic moments still being kind of tense. I think ideas here drag on a little too long, and that the instrumentation is only surprising in how little it surprises. So if you want a fun record, it’s occasionally kind of fun, and if you want to challenge your assumptions of rock music, this is about on par with the Red Eye’s crossword.

I'm rooting for them though. B minus. I know you can do better.

Back Off

So Nathan Williams is pulling out of Europe with his tail between his legs (one assumes) and the the future of WAVVES and of angry bloggers worldwide is cast back into the unknown.

I've been trying to write a response to this for days, but can't keep up with the unfolding events. I was going to (did) write a rambling defense of Mr. Williams against the deluge of shit talking and Schadenfreude that has been coming his way since Pitchfork founder Ryan Schrieber threw him under a bus and turned a Best New Music act into a whipping boy overnight. And since I have no idea what will happen in the next couple of hours, I'll try to do this while I have the chance...

If you haven't heard of Williams or his noisemaking project, WAVVES, then you probably don't read online music criticism because the internetz has been all a tizzy over him since his album got the blessing/curse of Best New Music. Wavves is the latest in a new crop of Pitchfork lauded “lo-fi” acts that have been polarizing fans and critics and stirring up all form of undeserved praise and ire with only a passing listen. For many, this 'meltdown' wasn't the first questionable move young Nathan has made in his months old career. There's a hilarious daytripping episode where he gets piss drunk and pretty much deflates the gaudy spectacle of SXSW. Some saw it as a portrait of a self important prick. I like to see it as the only reasonable response a young man could have to endless free beer, gushing praise, vampirical bloggers, and nonstop performances. And, if you have even a cursory understanding of his music, it should be no fucking surprise.

You see, Wavves makes noisy melodic punk rock, a kind of bastard throw everything on the wall and see what sticks music that takes up every bit of sonic space in a swirling mess that is (admittedly) hit or miss. I mostly like it. It's indulgent, it's at times annoying, and it never hints at any amount of technical ability. But it is made with urgency and and a certain kind of honesty. Not the bullshit honesty of someone who hunts for days on ebay for a cassette four track so he can sound like Robert Pollard. He doesn't push the boundaries of music, nor does he faithfully pay tribute to any one tradition. It's a mix of Williams' musical interests, a mix that isn't revolutionary, but isn't tasteless. And it isn't a bit pretentious either, which is where he get's himself into trouble.

Something has happened in the last couple of years in the independent music world. Something has developed amongst Pitchfork's cultural ascendancy, web 2.0, American Apparel, Stereogum, and the countless cultural signposts that have sprung up since say 2003. The independent music world, and 'indie-culture' has grown into a half defined, half praised, half maligned, sorta movement, sorta thing. That is, there is a HUGE amount of cultural baggage that wasn't there before. Back in the good old days, hipster culture could be pretty well explained by High Fidelity, or maybe a Yo La Tengo album. Now, the lines have been blurred. The sense of otherness and alienation in response to mainstream culture has disintegrated because, where is mainstream culture anyway? Hipsters are sitting on a good portion of it now, and it's made a lot of people feel uncomfortable to say the least.

And this is all a completely silly thing to talk about, isn't it? But, consider Nathan Williams. What king of hipster is he? Is he the well dressed American Apparel cultural tourist? Is he the laid back west coast vegan alterna-kid Believer? Is he the more-obscure-than-thou contrarian? A member of the Brooklyn trust fund elite? These questions are never asked straight out, but almost everyone weighing in on the situation has an answer. And I think, this is where a lot of the hatred and the instant backlash come from. New artists who debut with a Best New Music approval have to submit to this ritual, this is nothing new. His breakdown only provides living proof to his instant detractors that he's not up to the task.

Here's the rub: he didn't ask for this. I'm sure he was probably glad to have the press, the hype, the festival invitations, the good reviews. But only up to a point. He seemed pretty weary already when his Daytripping episode was filmed, and I can see why. Not one person seemed to care all that much about him or his music, but rather the aura of fleeting fame buzzing around him. Everyone seemed incredibly disappointed when the guy who made scuzzy stoner punk rock, was actually a scuzzy stoner punk.

People are disappointed in his shows because he's unprofessional. Well where the fuck did you get the idea that he was a professional? He has almost no touring experience. He's just a dude who recorded some sweet songs at home alone. He has had almost no time to gather a band to do justice to his recordings, so he paired down to what he could manage. It still sounds fun. And maybe he doesn't deserve the praise or the attention, but he's not exactly reveling in it. He's not demanding it either.

I'm sorry that he doesn't come fully packaged with a fully formed sound and look, ala Vivian Girls, Crystal Stilts, or the Pains of Being a Laboriously Long and Stupid Band Name. I'm sorry he's not posturing well enough. What, did the sunglasses, skate shoes, and vaguely hip hop baseball hat throw you? Here's a clue, he's from California, he skates, and he fucking loves hip hop.

Maybe people just don't want to hear about him anymore. Maybe he is just too pedestrian, too amateur, too much just a fucked up kid. But that's what I like about him. No, I don't want him to stay a fucked up kid, and I'm glad he issued that apology. I hope he gets his shit together and pulls throw this mess. I hope he develops as an artist, continues following his interests, and develops as a live act. But I hope he doesn't feel the need to submit to the wills of critics or anyone else who doesn't give a shit about him or his music.

I know I'm throwing a bunch of shit into this that may not belong. I know I'm defending someone who on the surface probably resembles Asher Roth more than I'm willing to admit. I know, I know, I know...

Just cut the kid some fucking slack, he's not the problem with music today, not by a long shot.

Thanks no No Trivia for this.

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.

The fuck happened to P4k?

Really?

This isn't a music crit website, this is an ipod ad.

WTF

It's not that I hate an independent musician for getting driven around New York while chugging Starbucks, picking up her $1000+ guitar, claiming Williamsburg is the best place in the world, impulsively buying recording equipment on credit, being aggressively boring, all to end the day in a prolonged photo shoot at her gorgeous Manhattan apartment with her pack of poodles in an inch of gawdy make-up.
It's that I get the impression that I'm not supposed to hate it.

Young Chicagoans are more than aware of the tired trixie/chad/Northside vs art school brat/scuzzy hipster/Westside dichotomy. But alas, New York has surpassed us uniting the above into an unstoppable late capitalist nightmare. Give me a tie and a blackberry and point me to my middle management job because I'm packing it in. Anyone want to buy some guitars?

Modding guitar pedals and otherwise fixing things that aren't broken

I just finished modifying two guitar pedals in my possession, giving them both new life and better functionality. And, without trying to pat myself on the back (although I am quite impressed with them), I realized how gratifying it is to take something apart and make it better.

Not only have I learned basic electronics, but also sharpened my ability to research, to learn new systems and develop new skills with almost no instruction. It's not like I just fucked around until I got lucky (a lil maybe). I feel like this is another merit badge for my list of Skills For Surviving a Post Apocalyptic Future.

Andrew and I had brainstormed about this very issue. He's seen a biker with a weedwacker sized engine attached to his bike frame. As he buzzed down the road, Andrew declared that the Apocalypse has befallen us, but news hadn't spread yet. This guy must have gotten the memo though, and was already on top of it. Mind you, this is before the financial meltdown. So like William Gibson says, the future is here, it's just not widely distributed yet.

I'm hoping that what I'm learning now fucking around with second hand distortion pedals, could some day help me build wind turbines to power my own pirate radio station of the apocalypse. Or at least power a sweet soundsystem for those end of the world dance parties. Or maybe, I should just be buying lotsa guns.

All of this seems much more feasible than me EVER using ANY of the "SKILLS" learned in dramatic writing. Besides, in an oral culture (and you can bet that's what we'll be for the most part), narrative will be a more important art anyway. Or maybe, there will be post-civilization "happenings" or new forms of performance. But let me tell how fucking useless the dramatic form will be in a world where food is scarce and there is no government to protect you. That will be almost as useless as the degree I'm spending 3000 extra dollars just to get.

Of course, all debts will vanish. So, maybe I don't have an excuse not to show up on Tuesday.

Pitchfork.tv makes me wanna smoke crack

All in all, I find Pitchfork's venture into internet video pretty entertaining. I like that it's commercial free, I usually enjoy the content, and even its flaws usually aren't glaring or obnoxious. One small bone I have to pick with the site is the usually breathless fanboy interviews (see Justice, Liz Phair, Animal Collective). Not that I feel like these artists need the third degree, but the wide eyed puppy dog interviewers tend to deflate the interview pretty quickly. And then there's this...



From the completely shrugged off show of fraternal physical affection, to his ability to be completely disoriented by a single word answer, Cosmo Lee steals this interview with his black hole of a personality. To Jesse's credit, his comic timing is unflappable. But it's as if his one liners and aphorisms just register a "DOES NOT COMPUTE" in the CPU of Cosmo's humorless android brain. Give this man an original series, or maybe just drop him into Tim Harrington's waste of server space, Beardo.

Bros

A response to Leigh's eloquent post about her girlfriends...


During Christmas, my roommates and I had sent a series of emails checking in and wishing each other well. Each one of us had admitted (sometimes begrudgingly) that we were all important to each other, and that we were all thankful for such good friends. Now, you can blame Christmas cheer or cabin fever for this, but it was kind of a big deal for me.


This shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone who knows us well. We’ve lived with each other or known each other for years now. We’re the official Lost Boys, the Princes of Pilsen, those assholes, or whatever you want to call us. Jokes aside, I have to admit that I wouldn’t know what to do if I didn’t have these guys.

I’ve had so many close friends in my life, and I’ve tried to tell most of these friends how important they are to me. But looking back, I haven’t had a group of guys were I felt so much a part of. I played sports, I had a band, I’ve had plenty of good male friends. But I haven’t known many guys who I consider my bros. My brother and my dad, sure, we were tight. We were the boys, and I have healthy relationships with them both. But as far as friends, I’ve rarely felt that I could let my guard down amongst other guys. In high school, my friends were petty and competitive. There was a lot of drama, a lot of bitching and cruel backstabbing. The guy I probably had the most healthy relationship with was my bandmate Andrew, but I talked shit about him behind his back out of pure jealousy.


I don’t know if people always realize how cruel men can be to each other. There’s this idea that guys are always out-front with each other, that they get into fist fights and beat each other to a pulp, but afterwards are cool with each other. And yes, that does actually happen. But there are just as many guys who can pull some real mean girl style bullshit and appear totally masculine uncomplicated when they do it.

So when I finally fell in with these guys, I felt a huge sense of relief. We can be masculine and stupid with each other. We can get drunk and disorderly and make cruel fun of each other. But I feel like we all have each other’s backs. And we can be disarmingly honest with each other. That’s the defense I have against the Lost Boys tag. We’re not just dicking around and avoiding responsibility. We’re all very concerned with growing up, becoming good men, good people. And no one is more critical of us than each other.


I know I’m lucky, and I know this won’t last forever. We will all grow up, move out, possibly marry, have families of our own. But I hope we never grow too distant. I would love for our children to be friends, to feel like cousins. That may seem like a pipe dream, but it’s not totally unrealistic. Working with MPAACT, I see old college friends working together, in community with each other, their children playing together like cousins.

I hope we haven’t alienated ourselves from our other friends. This winter has been isolating, and I know, this is what we get for moving so far away. But I hope our friends feel like our doors are open to them anytime. I also hope that the 'boys only club' feeling isn't too strong, that we haven't alienated our female friends. I know that we have, and I'm sorry. It's a pity that it often took breakups or frustration with girls to bring us together. But it's not what holds us together. Besides, as Weezy says, "[we've] been hated by the seasons, so fuck y'all whos hate'n fo no reason"


ahhh


Stay critical or die,

Nigel

P-fest

Pitchfork is coming to town, and I feel like the only boy I know who's still excited. I know I'm not alone, considering Saturday is sold out. And even the detractors are still somewhat enthused. It is Pitchfork, and the festival has established a firm reputation as a good time to be had by all (unless, you're the GZA last year).

I have a couple friends who always used to be two steps ahead of me in their record collection (playlists, sure) who seem to be lost recently. And I suppose I can't blame them. This year's lineup features so many names that would have been totally unrecognizable this time last year. Which I consider to be a good thing, a very good sign for the state of independent music. And dare i say it, an identifiable 'movement'? I suppose not.

It is safe to say that noise is back firmly into the musical lexicon. And noise as in noise music per se, but the shoegaze noise, the band that is loud and not incredibly tight and or well produced noise. Which is refreshing to hear after years of taught, angular music, dance music, free/freak/neo folk, and indie stardom. Artists like No Age, Deerhunter, Panda Bear, Animal Collective, and HEALTH have a very similar aesthetic although working with different ideas towards different goals.

My friend Andrew said that African is the new angular. And as far as Vampire Weekend goes, I guess they stand outside of the noisy trend. And whatever about hype and fame, they deserve the attention they get, even if they will be forgotten in the near future.

Either way, I feel like music has become a little rougher around the edges, and thanks for that.

And Mahjongg, thank god a Chicago band is on the bill. Pitchfork can sometimes be a mixture of pride and embarrassment for someone living in Chicago. Pride in being the host, pride in being a major hub for independent music, pride in our venues and labels and history. But, then a sense that there's something missing from the fest, Chicago bands.

There are definitely some incredible bands from the area that exist today, and a long artists from the cities history. But looking at places like Montreal, New York, Portland, Atlanta, L.A., Baltimore, it's hard to hold up the Chicago scene against them. I welcome angry responses from people defending our scene of non-scene, but I know I'm not alone in this.

One of the problems seems to be a very fractured music community. There's a big jazz/experimental scene, a noise scene, drone scene, psychedelic revival scene, punk revival scene, the never dying power-pop band thing, a growing number of excellent hip-hop acts, the also never dying folk/roots scene. And, what am I bitching about right? The problem isn't a lack of talent or opportunity. The problem is (and maybe this is only a problem, in theory, in my brain, for whatever selfish reasons) that they don't seem to be communicating with each other. At all. Even counting the alliances and shared friends between these groups, I don't see them informing each other. And that's the hope of a musical scene, or discernible movement. It's not that everyone is on the same page, or doing the same thing, or going to the same shows. It's the hope that by proximity, these disparate elements could inform each other.

Proximity magazine is a new arts glossy for the Chicago area that seems to recognize this hope. And reading through it, I could see an attempt to bring together the visual arts community in Chicago for the same reasons I want a more interactive musical community. The potential is there.

I'm falling into the second city mindset, I know it.

So, in light of that, here's to Mahjongg, and the hope that they make us all proud. There certainly a band to be proud about. A band that combines some of the best aspects of Chicago music, pretty effortlessly, while remaining entirely singular. And they're (psychogeographically, if not actually geographically) southsiders, which makes me proud.

Here's to good music, here's to Chicago, here's to summer.

The Liars+No Age=Ear Ringing Bliss

Wow. Some shows are jaw-dropping, eye-watering, ear bleeding good. This is one of those shows. First, Aleks and the Drummer was a total surprise, I'm glad to have bands this good in Chicago. I hope to see them again soon.
No Age ripped through their set and I was again blown away that just two people could put on such a great show. I had very high expectations for them, and they blew me away. From the first song, I just lost my shit like I was fifteen at my friends basement show.
And the Liars are the Liars, back injuries or not. They were almost as unstoppable as their performance at pitchfork fest two years ago. By far one of the best shows I've ever seen.

While waiting at the Metro I struck up a conversation with two new friends about the Chicago music scene, and the experience we've had at shows in the city. I'd been to the Metro at least a dozen times since moving here for school. It's a fantastic venue with a long impressive history and probably the best sound for a venue its size.
However, the staff is notoriously awful and even as a 21 year old, they never fail to make me feel like criminals. And at this show, a Tuesday night where everyone there had slushed through sleet and hail to get there, I don't think they were going to have a problem with any of us.

We all agreed that crowds there have a tendency to be stiff and inanimate. Admittedly, I've stood there with my arms crossed when I first moved to the city and thought that was the appropriate thing to do. But when a band like No Age plays an incredible set, there doesn't seem anything else to do but freak out and enjoy. C'mon kids, be hospitable. Show them Chicago isn't full of boring fucktards and aspiring hipster statues.

Also, Randy was showing some love for Corey Rusk and Touch and Go, and the crowd didn't seem to know what he was talking about. Which is pretty ridiculous considering this is CHICAGO and T&G isn't some obscure fetish label. It'd be like playing a show in Olympia and asking about Kill Rock Stars or Bikini Kill and getting blank stares. This happened when Broken Social Scene played the Metro and Kevin was talking about Tortoise and Shellac to no response. He replied "What, you people don't buy records?"

Well for those of us that do, thank you for the props. We're proud of our bands as well. +2 to Aleks and the Drummer for holding there own in an excellent bill.