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Musicians say things:





One of my favorite Bowie songs:



I'm reading the 33 1/3 series on Low. It's really good, one of the better one's I've read. The first chapter talks about Station to Station, and I almost wish the whole book was about that album. It's a fascinating point in Bowie's career, made even more intriguing by the fact that no one can seem to remember recording the album. The record seems really personal and it has the electronic experimentation, the plastic soul, and the glam rock all kind of duking it out.

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.

New Music in Brief

Between a new job and being in a band that is coalescing into more of a reality than a fantasy, I haven't had as much time to listen to new music. Summer is also a culprit. Albums are a good way to keep my sanity during the dark and cold seasons, but during the summer a nice bike ride or a walk is all I need to escape whatever stresses come my way. Also, my mp3 player is busted. Yet, some things have popped up on my radar worth mentioning.

The Diamond District-In The Ruff

I've been listening to this since the first couple days of spring warmth, and I can't say enough about how this is a perfect summer afternoon album. I'm at a loss as to how to push this album on my friends. Usually I can point to several awesome 'oh shit' moments on an album to lure someone in. This album doesn't run high on those moments, which is no slight. The charm and strength is in its sustained level of quality, and it's warm lived-in yet confident production. Neither the beats nor the rhymes ever steal the show, but work together letting it all go down easy. And yet, during that time these guys paint a refreshingly honest and clear eyed view of American life in the Obama era, despite the occasional dated Bush reference. And the beats are so good. Just straight up flawless musicianship. Like that organ part on “I Mean Business” that could have been hackneyed, chopped up, or overdone. Instead, it hangs there haunting, Oddisee having the foresight to let it ride through a long progression, allowing it to play perfectly with that little rhodes part when it comes in. And when it fades into “Get In Line,” it's like, yess. That's what this album trades in, those yess moments that make it look so easy. The title track is just one long yess moment, especially when it hits it's stumbling outro. Put this on when you're doing dishes or something, watch your quality of life improve.

Five O'clock Shadow Boxers-The Slow Twilight

A dark, brooding album not afraid to sample Radiohead or Velvet Underground for maximum effect. I have to say, I was surprised how well they used such recognizable source material. Sometimes when people have the balls (gall) to sample something like Venus In Furs, it feels like a celebrity cameo. Charming and sometimes exciting, but ultimately a distraction. The grimy production pulls these samples into its own sense of paranoia and violence, not unlike the way Scorcesse can get away with using Rolling Stones hits (well, before that was a punchline). Zilla himself is so so as an MC. I mean, he's not lacking in ambition or tenacity, but he's not engaging enough to live up to his dramatic backdrop. It's like you're expecting Travis Bickle to come out with his gun in hand, and instead you get some guy talking about being a weird kid in high school, his grandma's tuna sandwiches, and how he took enough martial arts that he doesn't need a gun to fuck you up.


Sunset Rubdown-Dragonslayer

Spencer Krug has taken some cues from Dan Bejar and has learned how to wield his maniacal yelping into self referential epics. Not that his previous work was anything less than epic, but Dragonslayer is less aural onslaught and more lyrical, and fuck it, way more musical than Random Spirit Lover. Whereas RSL was so much catharsis and exclamation points, Dragonslayer is more nimble, more dynamic, and more rewarding for it. Sure, RSL is some document of impenetrable genius. But Dragonslayer makes good on some promises made by Krug's earlier work. It's occasionally just downright beautiful. Like the refrain “Anna Anna Anna oh, why'd you change your name?”

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.

Eddie Vedder's got some (if you need it)

So this is indisputably lame but, I think I love this song


I know it's just Devo's "Gut Feeling" re-rawked by your dad's favorite alt rock band, but I fucking love it. I love that McCready dances around like Billy Joe Armstrong (windmilling on a P-90 Les Paul Jr no less, although a yellow double cut away is way cooler than Billy Joe's white one). I had to watch it completely sober the next day just to make sure I wasn't losing it.

Actually, the feeling I got was the same feeling that this video elicited:



Oh man, I wanna BMX now. I halfway expect James Murphy to show up at some point, I can't explain why. Also, on the topic of old people, I just read the 33 1/3 book on Pink Flag, and I'm finishing the Daydream Nation one. It's been great to revisit both albums, but it's also been good to see that both Wire and Sonic Youth have lasted long enough to produce even more great work. It makes me wonder who's going to survive our current crop of young turks.

It doesn't look good.

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.

While on the subject of videos featuring text-printed t-shirts

Just a fantastic song. Thanks, David Drake.