11. Mariachi El Bronx - Mariachi El Bronx
The best punk rockers on an album this year is this mariachi record. Wait, what? LA-based The Bronx take a detour from putting out a lot of fun but dark rock for an extremely upbeat and almost serene mariachi record. After the surreality of the work is settled, there is a lot of fun to be had. Vocalist Matt Caughthran has to earn credit for going from his trademark yelping to reveal a very solid singing voice. Listen to "Litigation" for some serious happiness, or listen to a couple of songs to understand the pure fun of this record.
10. The XX - XX
While it would seem like sex's taboo and the success of rock through the ages is viewing sex as a mechanical response, art has had a longer history of sex as emotion. All too often, the art is minimalist, as is the case of Japanese poet Ono no Komachi's poem "Autumn Nights." "Autumn Nights" refers to a one night stand that merely ends. Her work, in a few stark lines, occupies both the passion and emotion of eroticism, as well as the mechanical emptiness it underlies.
She seems to have kindred spirits in the strangest of places in Londoners The XX. All of XX is purposefully empty. There's a lot going on underneath the periods of silence throughout the record, including possible periods of warmth on album standouts like "Heart Skipped A Beat." The warmth of the human touch is evident on "Shelter," which says so much in female co-vocalist Romy Croft's asking, "Can I make it better, with the lights turned on?" And once again, emptiness plays a part in even that. Croft's vocals belie a sense of desperation to make this work for longer than a night, to not merely be an act of spontaneity. But by the end, it just doesn't work out. The spontaneous and the rational are not entirely the best of friends.
9. Andrew Bird - Noble Beast
It is hard for me to pinpoint why Andrew Bird's cooing tunes are fascinating, but not quite perfect, although I've attempted to do it before. The Chicago multi-instrumentalist is the only man ever who makes the whistle into a non-annoying instrument, but that statement doesn't really do justice to his music. Neither does noting that he graduated as a music major in college, although his love of the violin does add to the easy beauty of Noble Beast.
Maybe it is the wordplay of Mr. Bird, although, he entirely forgoes trying to interpret what exactly he is doing with his words. I interviewed Andrew Bird for a piece I worked on in September, and he noted (in a line that I stupidly did not include), "Words are just sounds we make with our mouths." Even way out of context, it sounds like he really just loves the verbiage he makes because it sounds good, and that the language he, I, and you use is ultimately not the point. He loves reading, he loves words, but the meaning is a little useless after a while. A fair point, and a fine reason that would describe the lack of verbalizing one could do here. The music's just really great. Nothing more is needed.
8. St. Vincent - Actor
Annie Clark's spontaneous insanity is inspiring and unattainable. The multi-instrumentalist who plays under the pseudonym of St. Vincent just runs on spontaneity in the creation of her music, which is evident from a listen to "Your Lips Are Red" from 2007's Marry Me. In the song, she throws in an amazing horn section and some lovely guitar noodling that progressively gets more chaotic. Actor does this trick at least once on "Marrow" and it still works. Clark is a musical charmer, coercing a lot of fresh energy from her thin frame and making herself the most intriguing female musician to watch since Karen O.
There's also the genius of making a soundtrack to a movie that doesn't exist. Not only that, the album itself is an all over the place narrative that is not quite clear, but fascinating. Songs like "The Bed" and "The Party" are fun narratives on mystery and detail further supplanted with appropriately moving music. And because of this, the narratives and the album are both somehow more beautiful in the process. Something is clearly ticking in Annie Clark's head, and all that comes out of it is just gorgeous to listen to.
7. Grizzly Bear - Veckatimest
It is kind of redundant to say that Grizzly Bear had a big year, if you pay attention to the internet in any way, shape or form. Grizzly Bear's Veckatimest shocked many with a top ten debut on the Billboard album charts upon its release in June, similar to the breakout success of Neon Bible in 2007. And it likely won't impress the indie genre's naysayers as far as it being a soft, not totally knockout album on first listen. However, this is an amazing album to digest. It is more accessible than the previous record, Yellow House, but that doesn't mean it is totally easy to understand.
After a few listens, the record actually gets hypnotic to its listener, though. Veckatimest has the amazing "While You Wait For the Others" on its tracklist. It says a lot that the same words can be sung in the low-key tone of vocalist Ed Droste and in the showy voice of Michael McDonald (who seriously sings the whole song on the single) and the message is just as haunting in either form. This is the hallmark of a great song on a great album. "I Live With You" is haunting in technicolor. "Two Weeks" is haunting and fun (and the closest to a pop hook here). "Southern Point" is haunting and continuous. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
6. Neko Case - Middle Cyclone
After being in the best collective of the decade, and making some of the finest songs of the decade, Neko was pretty well set to coast through the rest of the decade. So naturally, the redhead's Middle Cyclone might be the best complete work she's ever done, and there is no sign of coasting at all. The alt-country titan makes more evocative songs that just feel organic. And her voice lets a weight carry on every word. She lets words like "I dragged the clanging notion I was nobody" hang in the air with just the right amount of impact. She is not too light, not too heavy, and the Virginian knows how to belt a chord and weave a folk tale.
5. Lily Allen - It's Not Me, It's You
Pop music sucks. It always does. It always comes to a point to where it always sounds trite (even if most music is written without the lyricist's feelings in mind because most people cannot relate to millionaires). And yet it is always impressive when pop music feels personal and accomplished, as well as pretty damn fun to listen to. Lily Allen's followup to the very cute Alright Still is just this. It's Not Me, It's You sounds like a dance hall record made by a personal spirit. It purposefully undercuts its mechanical exterior for a person who maybe wants to admit that she likes relationships for the sex, and without it, she's pretty disappointed. ("Not Fair") She dissects the famous pop stars around her while analyzing her own self in the process in a meta fashion. ("The Fear") She didn't like President Bush. ("F-ck You")
The dance hall success could be attributed to going for more of a sound akin to Ladyhawke, who made one of the best pop albums of last year simply by being awesome in her first four tracks. And obviously, Allen's bite is still there. She is a perfect pop contradiction. In a genre where less and less of the job of the artist is to be naked and exposed, Allen's willing to admit that she's a screwup, and that she is awesome because of it. Bravo.
4. Raekwon - Only Built for Cuban Linx, Part II
Rap music sucks. It always finds a way to embrace everything idiotic and ignore the intelligence of its parts, and it has seemingly lost its way in figuring out intriguing narratives that truly breathe on wax and only on wax. The mainstream embraces swag and the garbled language of a Lil' Wayne while it nearly forgot the greatness of Wu Tang. In 2009, Raekwon created one of the tightest narratives in hip-hop, a street story that cannot be emulated in any other genre. It might be a bit too much of a takeoff of Clipse's Hell Hath No Fury and its stream of consciousness drug narrative (which was inspired from the first Only Built for Cuban Linx), but Raekwon is on point throughout Cuban Linx.
The detail is not skimped on, either. Ghostface Killah makes many appearances throughout Cuban Linx, including an appearance on "Gihad" where he describes fellatio with the same amount of gusto that most would give to writing a novel. And it isn't done with a bit of change in vocal tone or a child-like excitement to it, either. (This is similar to Raekwon's appearance on Blakroc, where he says "I'm ready to come, she lookin' at me with a relevant stare" with the same amount of lazy admittance. He is unphased by anything, including sex with a woman.) He revels in concepts like re-doing the Wu Tang Clan, robbing the neighborhood, bagging crack, and creating "black Mozart shit" with the same type of calm. All of the cameos on Cuban Linx have a link to old school Wu, and everyone, even the more obscure Inspectah Deck, is totally on point. Maybe Raekwon just knew he would make the best rap record of 2009.
3. Animal Collective - Merriweather Post Pavilion
After the trippy pop Panda Bear created on his 2007 solo masterpiece, Person Pitch, the growing cult of Animal Collective continued to escalate. After under-the-radar releases like Sung Tongs and Feels, the attention elicited to Strawberry Jam, Water Curses, and their 2009 release Merriweather Post Pavilion showed a night-and-day reaction upon release. Merriweather has already been hailed a classic by the internet. I doubt it, but I don't deny that this is one of the most unexpected releases of the year. Much like the guys in Grizzly Bear, Panda Bear is a shocking pop tunesmith. (If "I just want four walls and adobe slats for my girls" isn't the accidental hook of the year, I'm dying to know what is.)
I doubted its goodness, too. I hated this record on first listen. I didn't understand its noise. But naturally, it is really awesome. Much like the silly (but trippy) cover art, it is entirely meant for a specific appreciation at certain points. "Daily Routine" is going to catch you off guard, and so is "In The Flowers." It will be danceable, and it will be shockingly great.
2. Art Brut - Art Brut vs. Satan
Eddie Argos is probably my favorite person on the music scene right now, and it is probably hard to describe why. To simply say that he is an earnest musician is under-cutting his impact. To say that he is completely spontaneous is not entirely true; a lot of his mannerisms and stage banter is clearly thought about in advance. But I figured out what it was: He is the musician who seems completely awesome and of a different plain, but naturally he is truly just a guy. He doesn't try to pretend that he is an amazing tunesmith and just thinks what he says. Everything he writes down on paper seems like a legitimate concern on the day it was written and is representative of that day alone. Bang Bang Rock and Roll revels in a brash young attitude, It's A Bit Complicated pries through the paranoia of life going right, and Art Brut vs. Satan replenishes the man-child persona and glee of Eddie's voice. He hates science museum rock, but dreams of the day that ART BRUT will defeat Satan. He doesn't like the glut of Brian Eno-produced work because it is repetitive, but he offers to bang it out within a couple of days, faults and all adding to the charm. And he gets Frank Black to produce it all! How is this not one of the best records of the year solely based on the happiness of it all!?
1. Vivian Girls - Everything Goes Wrong
Innocence is always fleeting. The concept of innocence involves a certain degree of ignorance about the world around you. Obviously, we do not entirely have the rationale of children in our present lives (or do not have the exuberance of children at least, even if our behavior still exhibits immaturity). And the saddest moment of life is probably the loss of innocence.
The Vivian Girls' self-titled debut is entirely designed in a world of innocence. With the rush of garage rock splintering the ears, the soft female touch belies the happiness of youth, of first romance, and of the impending doom to come when the rush of happy emotion is shattered. Everything Goes Wrong is the embodiment of the shattered youth. Loneliness, nervousness, and tears rush in instead. "Walking Alone at Night" is the opening track and "Before I Start to Cry" is the closing track. None of these songs are happy, and yet still flow with rushed spirits. Excluding an amazing breakdown for "Tension," the album blitzes from track to track, and things feel the same as before. The music sounds almost exactly alike to the debut. However, something is different about the girls. They never really change, they will always be the same people, but the world that they know is lost to them. Their first brush with the sadness of real emotion does make them change, or at least see that the innocence is gone.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
The Top 20 Records of 2009: An ongoing list of irrelevant proportions that will create fighting arguments in its readers: Part 1
This is a list I crafted out of stone and clay, even though all of the listening took place on modern technology using modern methods. Soundtracks are being excluded, because it doesn't seem an accurate way to judge the singularity of the word, although Dark Was the Night and the New Moon soundtrack (yes, seriously) deserve props for being fine aural listens. Also, here's a lot of critically acclaimed albums that will miss the list either by my lack of good consumption of their contents, or because they weren't that good.
Missed Records (by record title): Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix (Phoenix), Wilco (The Album), March of the Zapotec/Realpeople Holland (Beirut), Why There Are Mountains (Cymbals Eat Guitars), Post-Nothing (Japandroids), Phrazes for the Young (Julian Casablancas), Together Through Life (Bob Dylan), Stir the Blood (The Bravery), Outer South (Conor Oberst), Tonight: Franz Ferdinand, Album (Girls), Vapours (Islands), Watch Me Fall (Jay Reatard), Octahedron (The Mars Volta), etc.
With this in tow, we begin the crevices of my top twenty:
Honorable Mention. Blakroc - Blakroc
This spot was the most contested out of all of the spots on my list, because it seems to be my "there's a few really awesome songs" spot, which could have went to the Brit insanity of The Big Pink or to the hilarious Peaches, or even to that Muse record from this year that I didn't much like as a whole. However, Blakroc, the genesis of garage rockers The Black Keys, wound up being the most fascinating concept of the bunch.
Blakroc is essentially the members of the Black Keys backing up rappers from Raekwon to Mos Def to Jim Jones (who is remarkably still alive post-"We Fly High"). This record stands out because of the pure awesomeness of two whole songs in the brew of Raekwon's contribution "Stay Off the F-ckin' Flowers" and Mos Def's "On the Vista."
"Stay Off" plays with Raekwon's amazing sense of rap narrative, which he blissfully gave us a lot of on his Only Built For Cuban Linx..., Part II from this year as well. However, the way Raekwon's lazy lackadaisical draw perfectly meshes with the laid back stoner rock provided behind him makes the track perhaps his best of the year including much of Cuban Linx's material. We'll get to such debates later, but this earns its place on one mere glimpse of Raekwon's simple mid-fellating dialogue which he then note his girl is "lookin' at me with a relevant stare."
"On The Vista" is trippy indie with Mos Def, which seems to make either no sense or complete sense depending on your level of fandom for Def's career output. However, this is a spectacular careen where Def's words eventually become trite whispers towards the end of his "total control" as he is laid out on the vista. Obvious drug metaphors surround the song's sunny vibe and Def is on fire, also the second time he creates studio magic in 2009.
Unfortunately, a lot of stuff does not work on Blakroc. Efforts involving Nicole Wray never work out quite right, and the other songs never match the peaks. But those peaks just have to be scaled and heard.
20. The Von Bondies - Love, Hate, and Then There's You
In a scant five years, the Von Bondies finally found a way to return to the studio and release this record. They are no longer backed by a major label (most of the reason for the delay in release involves their release from Sire Records). However, they have only furthered the extent of their garage-pop, taking their efforts to producer Butch Walker and creating one of the more fun expeditions of sound seen in the past year. While it's hard to view the record as knockout spectacular, its success is reared by the catchy gems of "The Chancer" and "21st Birthday" as well as the lovable nature of its contents.
19. Kid Cudi - Man on the Moon: The End of Day
If you spoke to me in the first half of the year about hip-hop, I would be about as bad as every pasty-faced lover of a genre telling stories they can't comprehend. I would ask "Hey, where's Pete Rock and the Digable Planets these days?" I would wonder when they let the embrace of cool music die and turn into repetitive beat structures that I couldn't stand listened to by people that I also couldn't stand (white guys in polos). And I would realize that I wasn't looking hard enough and needed to keep searching, which would lead to the cycle of thought again. By the second half of the year, though, the music returned.
Everything on Kid Cudi's album is musical ear candy, from surprising production from MGMT and Ratatat to "Make Her Say" having a gorgeous sample of a piano-based version of Lady Gaga's "Poker Face." The embrace of indie pop and Kanye West-esque musical backing is a total charm, and Cudi's flow fits effortlessly with the music. However, Cudi also seems simplistic throughout the album. We seem to figure out in fifty minutes what could be said in roughly three sentences: Kid Cudi was a lonely dreamer in high school. Kid Cudi likes sex with women. Kid Cudi is stoned and famous now.
In that sense, this record is both a pleasing record and a massive disappointment at once. Cudi doesn't go any deeper than his mainstream contemporaries in subject matter, and yet embracing acts like Ratatat seems poised to adding an interesting bend to hip-hop. Additions like Luke Steele to Jay-Z's record or even innovations like Jon Brion producing Kanye's Late Registration a few years back are changing the genre for the better, and Man on the Moon is at least a partial attempt to innovate.
18. Morrissey - Years of Refusal
Morrissey isn't really that depressing of a man. Sure, his concept and songs are entirely based on the cryptic emotions of a man who was a long-time celibate and never showcased any trait of happiness and a complete stone-faced seriousness about all of his music, but the music itself isn't all that depressing, especially in his modern form. Following up the more murky Ringleader of the Tormentors, Years of Refusal seems to initially play like a Morrissey stereotype in its opening track "Something is Squeezing My Skull." Morrissey quips, "There is no hope in modern life."
And yet Years of Refusal is more Morrissey the person finally settling himself and being shockingly upbeat. Instead of continually entailing his troubles, he stares at the concept of death and merely shrugs. He knows it is coming, and he's as ready as he'd ever be. "One Day Goodbye Will Be Farewell" is not even downbeat at all. If anything, it is as carpe diem as Morrissey will ever be, essentially telling the listener to treat those they love well because no one knows their ending. (Of course, in the same song, Morrissey intones "When I die, I want to go to hell" to remind you that he's Morrissey.) And the music is very energetic, very pleasing to the ears for sure.
17. Lucero - 1372 Overton Park
One of my biggest regrets in forming the Top 10 of 2008 list was that I instantly regretted all of my picks, because conclusive lists are made to be broken. Moreover, I didn't give any credit to The Gaslight Anthem's The '59 Sound, a record that has actually bonded me to people and actually is not nearly as flawed as half of the list (and also, Death Magnetic was way overrated in hindsight).
So I fully expect that in the future, 1372 Overton Park could be a lot better than a lot of this list. The record's producer is Ted Hutt, who was the producer of The '59 Sound, and Lucero shocking sounds a lot like a more mature and wistful Gaslight Anthem, referring to folk heroes of the 60s like some man named Johnny Davis in a song of the same name. Horns and piano fly all over the piece almost in pure contrast to the hardened vocals of Ben Nichols (and in homage to the olden traditions of Memphis soul). Moreover, this is all being done on the dollar of a major label, so the sheen is clear but nothing of the legitimate soul itself is lost.
It is a record that seems intent to grow on the listener and to seep into your head, similar to Brian Fallon's wistful stories on '59 Sound. So keep that in mind in six months to a year.
16. Fever Ray - Fever Ray
It actually took a bit of looking up for this entry, because it is hard to establish the sound of The Knife and co-vocalist Karin Andersson's solo project Fever Ray. It is everything you would expect out of rave-based electronica, but there's a lot more creepiness and construction to Andersson's songs. "If I Had A Heart" is a particularly unique example of the perfect blend of sensuality, creepy, and disturbingly beautiful that is capable on this record. The song underlines its overly haunting beat with a down-tuned voice transmixed in mid-song with the delicate voice of Andersson, and it just cuts the soul in its three minutes and fifty seconds. There's no other way to put the song's impact in written perspective.
Of course, no song on Fever Ray strikes chills as effectively as "If I Had A Heart" and its piano-tuned repetition. "Dry and Dusty" is evocative, and the rest of the record is aural fascination, but it may have been guilty of not matching its lead in pure power. Still, if I have to go to another party again and this ISN'T on the playlist, I'm going to feel a "why bother staying" effect because it accomplishes amazing dance music with an interesting creep factor about it.
15. The Pains of Being Pure at Heart - The Pains of Being Pure at Heart
If you read Metacritic or Pitchfork this year, sadly, you won't be very impressed by all the "new territory" this list will cover, including many of the more highly raved about records of 2009. But at least in the case of Pains of Being Pure At Heart, there is a fun and nervous charm to their take on Cure-era pop as filtered by the Magnetic Fields. (God, I had to make the hyperbolic comparison at some point, might as well at this point.) The band seems to operate like a nervous, skinny 15 year old just learning into the concept of love. This sounds pejorative, I'm sure. It is not intentional. "This Love is F-cking Right!" and "Young Adult Friction" seem to understand the cuteness in nervousness and Stephen Merritt will be pleased. (Yes, that is possible. Yes, I said "nervous" three times. Well, now four.)
14. Mos Def - The Ecstatic
Going into 2009, it was a wonder if Mos Def would ever return to the lyrical smarts he showed on Black on Both Sides. After detours like The New Danger, a burgeoning film career, the disaster of True Magic, and leaving Geffen Records, it seemed like Mos was about ready to stay focused on acting full time. Of course, nothing is what it seems. With the release of The Ecstatic, there is a Mos who is completely fired up and writing some of the smartest lines of his career. The Ecstatic seems shockingly political on the surface, with songs having titles like "Workers Comp" and "The Embassy," but these songs are actually more of a sharp attack on the impersonal aspects of humanity. "The Embassy" especially skewers overly polite workers who act nice for the sake of employment, not for the sake of human generosity.
Moreover, the beats are especially on fire here. "Casa Bey" sounds like a screwed up 1970s game show, and is incredible. "Supermagic" is a phenomenal blast that opens the album with energy, perhaps adding to the feeling of Mos himself being more alive than ever before. Even the minimalism on display in "Quiet Dog" is amazingly fitting. Thus, The Ecstatic is a continually intriguing listen from a man who has regained his prominence in alternative hip-hop.
13. Bat for Lashes - Two Suns
Now, I'm not going to lie to you. Natasha Khan, the chanteuse who records under the name Bat for Lashes, is a bit intense. She also potentially is unappealing without the right mindset as well. Defining Two Suns as merely an album where Khan and her alter-ego Pearl exist feels too much like comparing the Brit to Sasha Fierce, and no one wants that. Her music also ran on the edge of dance-pop and medieval intrigue last time out on Fur and Gold, a solid record that perhaps attempted too much at once, instead of the calm of "What's A Girl to Do" and "Sarah" being present through its whole runtime.
Two Suns is an infinitely better record than Fur and Gold, however, because Khan is so utterly engrossing. She waxes poetic about a boy she made up in a dream. She says "I'll be boy and you'll be girl. Beautiful" on "Moon and Moon" where she notes about "a lover lost at sea." I have no idea what any of this means, other than the likely incorporation of Pearl throughout half of the album, namely on a song called "Pearl's Dream." However, it is blinding poetry. Khan speaks of a thousand crystal towers and of concepts that only she might only be able to comprehend as she details her mind's eye. This isn't to say Khan's a genius, but it is to say that her imagination ran vivid.
12. Jay-Z - The Blueprint 3
For the longest time, I never got Jay-Z's appeal or ability. His biggest fame came from losing to Nas in rap beef, he would even readily admit to holding back on lyrical denseness for commercial success, and up until his first "retirement," he seemed completely uninteresting to me as a rapper. Of course, I partly understood when I heard The Black Album, because the record was a solid enough effort, but I still did not think of him as a favorite rapper. If anything, it was more disheartening to see Nas sign to a label where Jay-Z was boss and to where they could record one not so great mix-up together (the otherwise great Hip Hop Is Dead's "Black Republican"). Then Kingdom Come came out and had its most remarkable track be from Chris Martin and was a failure otherwise. Then American Gangster came out and it was alright, I guess.
Then Blueprint 3 came out. I have to admit, I was shocked. I liked about everything. Jay-Z found the best elements of his production, got some great efforts out of the newer producers (like Swizz Beatz), and even had pitch-perfect cameos. Pitch-perfect cameos like Alicia Keys in the amazing "Empire State of Mind." Like Kid Cudi being a pretty awesome singer on "Already Home." Like Drake! Like Pharrell! The list goes on. This is the best mainstream rap record of the year. (Well, if the higher one doesn't count as mainstream, hint hint.) Jay-Z's flow is shockingly awesome in contrast to the last two records. Everything just seems to fit for a pleasing populist effort that might actually silence the hate from Shaun Carter's work.
(At this point, if you're going "WTF, why no more albums," I have decided to split this into two parts, because I could and because twenty one two paragraph entries won't get read unless you are an avid AV Club reader, which I suspect most of the people reading this aren't. So, it's split. 11-1 will be done within the week most likely. Oh, and album covers to format it better might be added soon, too.)
Missed Records (by record title): Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix (Phoenix), Wilco (The Album), March of the Zapotec/Realpeople Holland (Beirut), Why There Are Mountains (Cymbals Eat Guitars), Post-Nothing (Japandroids), Phrazes for the Young (Julian Casablancas), Together Through Life (Bob Dylan), Stir the Blood (The Bravery), Outer South (Conor Oberst), Tonight: Franz Ferdinand, Album (Girls), Vapours (Islands), Watch Me Fall (Jay Reatard), Octahedron (The Mars Volta), etc.
With this in tow, we begin the crevices of my top twenty:
Honorable Mention. Blakroc - Blakroc
This spot was the most contested out of all of the spots on my list, because it seems to be my "there's a few really awesome songs" spot, which could have went to the Brit insanity of The Big Pink or to the hilarious Peaches, or even to that Muse record from this year that I didn't much like as a whole. However, Blakroc, the genesis of garage rockers The Black Keys, wound up being the most fascinating concept of the bunch.
Blakroc is essentially the members of the Black Keys backing up rappers from Raekwon to Mos Def to Jim Jones (who is remarkably still alive post-"We Fly High"). This record stands out because of the pure awesomeness of two whole songs in the brew of Raekwon's contribution "Stay Off the F-ckin' Flowers" and Mos Def's "On the Vista."
"Stay Off" plays with Raekwon's amazing sense of rap narrative, which he blissfully gave us a lot of on his Only Built For Cuban Linx..., Part II from this year as well. However, the way Raekwon's lazy lackadaisical draw perfectly meshes with the laid back stoner rock provided behind him makes the track perhaps his best of the year including much of Cuban Linx's material. We'll get to such debates later, but this earns its place on one mere glimpse of Raekwon's simple mid-fellating dialogue which he then note his girl is "lookin' at me with a relevant stare."
"On The Vista" is trippy indie with Mos Def, which seems to make either no sense or complete sense depending on your level of fandom for Def's career output. However, this is a spectacular careen where Def's words eventually become trite whispers towards the end of his "total control" as he is laid out on the vista. Obvious drug metaphors surround the song's sunny vibe and Def is on fire, also the second time he creates studio magic in 2009.
Unfortunately, a lot of stuff does not work on Blakroc. Efforts involving Nicole Wray never work out quite right, and the other songs never match the peaks. But those peaks just have to be scaled and heard.
20. The Von Bondies - Love, Hate, and Then There's You
In a scant five years, the Von Bondies finally found a way to return to the studio and release this record. They are no longer backed by a major label (most of the reason for the delay in release involves their release from Sire Records). However, they have only furthered the extent of their garage-pop, taking their efforts to producer Butch Walker and creating one of the more fun expeditions of sound seen in the past year. While it's hard to view the record as knockout spectacular, its success is reared by the catchy gems of "The Chancer" and "21st Birthday" as well as the lovable nature of its contents.
19. Kid Cudi - Man on the Moon: The End of Day
If you spoke to me in the first half of the year about hip-hop, I would be about as bad as every pasty-faced lover of a genre telling stories they can't comprehend. I would ask "Hey, where's Pete Rock and the Digable Planets these days?" I would wonder when they let the embrace of cool music die and turn into repetitive beat structures that I couldn't stand listened to by people that I also couldn't stand (white guys in polos). And I would realize that I wasn't looking hard enough and needed to keep searching, which would lead to the cycle of thought again. By the second half of the year, though, the music returned.
Everything on Kid Cudi's album is musical ear candy, from surprising production from MGMT and Ratatat to "Make Her Say" having a gorgeous sample of a piano-based version of Lady Gaga's "Poker Face." The embrace of indie pop and Kanye West-esque musical backing is a total charm, and Cudi's flow fits effortlessly with the music. However, Cudi also seems simplistic throughout the album. We seem to figure out in fifty minutes what could be said in roughly three sentences: Kid Cudi was a lonely dreamer in high school. Kid Cudi likes sex with women. Kid Cudi is stoned and famous now.
In that sense, this record is both a pleasing record and a massive disappointment at once. Cudi doesn't go any deeper than his mainstream contemporaries in subject matter, and yet embracing acts like Ratatat seems poised to adding an interesting bend to hip-hop. Additions like Luke Steele to Jay-Z's record or even innovations like Jon Brion producing Kanye's Late Registration a few years back are changing the genre for the better, and Man on the Moon is at least a partial attempt to innovate.
18. Morrissey - Years of Refusal
Morrissey isn't really that depressing of a man. Sure, his concept and songs are entirely based on the cryptic emotions of a man who was a long-time celibate and never showcased any trait of happiness and a complete stone-faced seriousness about all of his music, but the music itself isn't all that depressing, especially in his modern form. Following up the more murky Ringleader of the Tormentors, Years of Refusal seems to initially play like a Morrissey stereotype in its opening track "Something is Squeezing My Skull." Morrissey quips, "There is no hope in modern life."
And yet Years of Refusal is more Morrissey the person finally settling himself and being shockingly upbeat. Instead of continually entailing his troubles, he stares at the concept of death and merely shrugs. He knows it is coming, and he's as ready as he'd ever be. "One Day Goodbye Will Be Farewell" is not even downbeat at all. If anything, it is as carpe diem as Morrissey will ever be, essentially telling the listener to treat those they love well because no one knows their ending. (Of course, in the same song, Morrissey intones "When I die, I want to go to hell" to remind you that he's Morrissey.) And the music is very energetic, very pleasing to the ears for sure.
17. Lucero - 1372 Overton Park
One of my biggest regrets in forming the Top 10 of 2008 list was that I instantly regretted all of my picks, because conclusive lists are made to be broken. Moreover, I didn't give any credit to The Gaslight Anthem's The '59 Sound, a record that has actually bonded me to people and actually is not nearly as flawed as half of the list (and also, Death Magnetic was way overrated in hindsight).
So I fully expect that in the future, 1372 Overton Park could be a lot better than a lot of this list. The record's producer is Ted Hutt, who was the producer of The '59 Sound, and Lucero shocking sounds a lot like a more mature and wistful Gaslight Anthem, referring to folk heroes of the 60s like some man named Johnny Davis in a song of the same name. Horns and piano fly all over the piece almost in pure contrast to the hardened vocals of Ben Nichols (and in homage to the olden traditions of Memphis soul). Moreover, this is all being done on the dollar of a major label, so the sheen is clear but nothing of the legitimate soul itself is lost.
It is a record that seems intent to grow on the listener and to seep into your head, similar to Brian Fallon's wistful stories on '59 Sound. So keep that in mind in six months to a year.
16. Fever Ray - Fever Ray
It actually took a bit of looking up for this entry, because it is hard to establish the sound of The Knife and co-vocalist Karin Andersson's solo project Fever Ray. It is everything you would expect out of rave-based electronica, but there's a lot more creepiness and construction to Andersson's songs. "If I Had A Heart" is a particularly unique example of the perfect blend of sensuality, creepy, and disturbingly beautiful that is capable on this record. The song underlines its overly haunting beat with a down-tuned voice transmixed in mid-song with the delicate voice of Andersson, and it just cuts the soul in its three minutes and fifty seconds. There's no other way to put the song's impact in written perspective.
Of course, no song on Fever Ray strikes chills as effectively as "If I Had A Heart" and its piano-tuned repetition. "Dry and Dusty" is evocative, and the rest of the record is aural fascination, but it may have been guilty of not matching its lead in pure power. Still, if I have to go to another party again and this ISN'T on the playlist, I'm going to feel a "why bother staying" effect because it accomplishes amazing dance music with an interesting creep factor about it.
15. The Pains of Being Pure at Heart - The Pains of Being Pure at Heart
If you read Metacritic or Pitchfork this year, sadly, you won't be very impressed by all the "new territory" this list will cover, including many of the more highly raved about records of 2009. But at least in the case of Pains of Being Pure At Heart, there is a fun and nervous charm to their take on Cure-era pop as filtered by the Magnetic Fields. (God, I had to make the hyperbolic comparison at some point, might as well at this point.) The band seems to operate like a nervous, skinny 15 year old just learning into the concept of love. This sounds pejorative, I'm sure. It is not intentional. "This Love is F-cking Right!" and "Young Adult Friction" seem to understand the cuteness in nervousness and Stephen Merritt will be pleased. (Yes, that is possible. Yes, I said "nervous" three times. Well, now four.)
14. Mos Def - The Ecstatic
Going into 2009, it was a wonder if Mos Def would ever return to the lyrical smarts he showed on Black on Both Sides. After detours like The New Danger, a burgeoning film career, the disaster of True Magic, and leaving Geffen Records, it seemed like Mos was about ready to stay focused on acting full time. Of course, nothing is what it seems. With the release of The Ecstatic, there is a Mos who is completely fired up and writing some of the smartest lines of his career. The Ecstatic seems shockingly political on the surface, with songs having titles like "Workers Comp" and "The Embassy," but these songs are actually more of a sharp attack on the impersonal aspects of humanity. "The Embassy" especially skewers overly polite workers who act nice for the sake of employment, not for the sake of human generosity.
Moreover, the beats are especially on fire here. "Casa Bey" sounds like a screwed up 1970s game show, and is incredible. "Supermagic" is a phenomenal blast that opens the album with energy, perhaps adding to the feeling of Mos himself being more alive than ever before. Even the minimalism on display in "Quiet Dog" is amazingly fitting. Thus, The Ecstatic is a continually intriguing listen from a man who has regained his prominence in alternative hip-hop.
13. Bat for Lashes - Two Suns
Now, I'm not going to lie to you. Natasha Khan, the chanteuse who records under the name Bat for Lashes, is a bit intense. She also potentially is unappealing without the right mindset as well. Defining Two Suns as merely an album where Khan and her alter-ego Pearl exist feels too much like comparing the Brit to Sasha Fierce, and no one wants that. Her music also ran on the edge of dance-pop and medieval intrigue last time out on Fur and Gold, a solid record that perhaps attempted too much at once, instead of the calm of "What's A Girl to Do" and "Sarah" being present through its whole runtime.
Two Suns is an infinitely better record than Fur and Gold, however, because Khan is so utterly engrossing. She waxes poetic about a boy she made up in a dream. She says "I'll be boy and you'll be girl. Beautiful" on "Moon and Moon" where she notes about "a lover lost at sea." I have no idea what any of this means, other than the likely incorporation of Pearl throughout half of the album, namely on a song called "Pearl's Dream." However, it is blinding poetry. Khan speaks of a thousand crystal towers and of concepts that only she might only be able to comprehend as she details her mind's eye. This isn't to say Khan's a genius, but it is to say that her imagination ran vivid.
12. Jay-Z - The Blueprint 3
For the longest time, I never got Jay-Z's appeal or ability. His biggest fame came from losing to Nas in rap beef, he would even readily admit to holding back on lyrical denseness for commercial success, and up until his first "retirement," he seemed completely uninteresting to me as a rapper. Of course, I partly understood when I heard The Black Album, because the record was a solid enough effort, but I still did not think of him as a favorite rapper. If anything, it was more disheartening to see Nas sign to a label where Jay-Z was boss and to where they could record one not so great mix-up together (the otherwise great Hip Hop Is Dead's "Black Republican"). Then Kingdom Come came out and had its most remarkable track be from Chris Martin and was a failure otherwise. Then American Gangster came out and it was alright, I guess.
Then Blueprint 3 came out. I have to admit, I was shocked. I liked about everything. Jay-Z found the best elements of his production, got some great efforts out of the newer producers (like Swizz Beatz), and even had pitch-perfect cameos. Pitch-perfect cameos like Alicia Keys in the amazing "Empire State of Mind." Like Kid Cudi being a pretty awesome singer on "Already Home." Like Drake! Like Pharrell! The list goes on. This is the best mainstream rap record of the year. (Well, if the higher one doesn't count as mainstream, hint hint.) Jay-Z's flow is shockingly awesome in contrast to the last two records. Everything just seems to fit for a pleasing populist effort that might actually silence the hate from Shaun Carter's work.
(At this point, if you're going "WTF, why no more albums," I have decided to split this into two parts, because I could and because twenty one two paragraph entries won't get read unless you are an avid AV Club reader, which I suspect most of the people reading this aren't. So, it's split. 11-1 will be done within the week most likely. Oh, and album covers to format it better might be added soon, too.)
Monday, November 16, 2009
Like a Rolling Stone.
Today, I got an issue in the mail of this magazine that I'm sure you've heard of. At their heyday, they were named after the second most known rock band of all time, talked shop with Paul and John after the breakup of the first most known rock band of all time, and oh yeah, Hunter Thompson wrote a few awesome pieces for them. But now, in 2009, what does it mean to read Rolling Stone?
It means that there is a scary trend that actually serves to ruin the consumption of our reading forever. That trend is this feeling of trying to cover "the most important development ever" in every issue. This sounds vague, and the first sentence is hyperbolic on purpose for this reason: writers and publishers are very un-sneaky in how they go about this.
When you look at the picture above, there are obvious things to notice. Shakira's breasts are pretty obvious, for one. But look at the headline: *Can Shakira Conquer the World?* The correct answer is no. The music scene is too fragmented and too fast for a woman whose last major splash is 2005 to really run on success. And Rolling Stone is further guilty of trying to entice the reader into mediocrity. In the era of Lady Gaga, we're being told that Shakira is still valid in her own ability to conquer humanity. Sure, she's a good dancer with inhuman hips, but how do you not see through the bullshit there? It makes me feel sort of embarrassed that my non-existent money (I paid a dollar for a shirt and got 12 issues of the magazine out of it) is going to a magazine with no clear intent for its audience.
Yes, the above sounds petty, but we do need to actually dig into the magazine. On page 34 is a piece by one Rob Sheffield entitled "Sitcom vs. Reality," which is based around the concept of the new ABC sitcom Modern Family and its apparent game-changing style of embracing reality show archetype versus the traditional sitcom format. This is well-written, because Sheffield does back up his arguments and at least makes a mighty defense. But acting like the sitcom is a culturally irrelevant art and that ONE SHOW will save it is the piece's only flaw, which of course means it is the front and center headline. It's not even that the sitcom isn't beloved, it's this silly belief in "the relevancy of it to culture" that only writers ever really think about. Only overthinking types care about the relevance of art. For everyone else, art is just there. And that is the current Rolling Stone's biggest flaw: overassuming relevance.
The fourth paragraph is even more ridiculous when the magazine is putting names like Adam Lambert, the Jonas Brothers, et al. on the cover. I don't need to tell you that the magazine industry is facing its inevitable death, and that even Rolling Stone cut their page counts in lieu of falling advertisement dollars. (My issue is 94 pages in total.) But how do you just attempt to champion things few actually care to follow?
Sheffield doesn't help this when he compares the Twilight saga to Pretty in Pink in a review of the New Moon soundtrack. (Complete with saying the shirtless werewolf guy is the film's Duckie.) The actual quality of the soundtrack aside, it feels so needless to compare things to other things to make our age "feel important." (I will note the irony of me saying this later.) Twilight is probably not Pretty in Pink 2009, even if our generation responds to it as such. It is its own idea of vampiric lust mixed in with staring, which might be similar to Molly Ringwald and John Hughes' adventures (in that it's a fight for a normal girl, though, this has more supernatural attacks to it), but shouldn't be compared because everything can be compared. The talent it takes to compare two things is nil. Hitler and I are similar in that we were both socially awkward in high school. Does that make us similar as people? I hope to god we aren't.
We should not let the past define our cultural relevance, but moreover, we should not let ourselves try to create needless importance. I'm typing a note on Facebook that five people will read. It is not that important in the grand scheme of life. However, if I noted that this was the best thing I had ever written and tried to force the importance, you know what would happen? A couple more people would read it, but the value of the work would not be the same. It goes against the art of criticism, but one source cannot declare the greatness of something much bigger than themselves. It would be a pointless exercise.
It means that there is a scary trend that actually serves to ruin the consumption of our reading forever. That trend is this feeling of trying to cover "the most important development ever" in every issue. This sounds vague, and the first sentence is hyperbolic on purpose for this reason: writers and publishers are very un-sneaky in how they go about this.
When you look at the picture above, there are obvious things to notice. Shakira's breasts are pretty obvious, for one. But look at the headline: *Can Shakira Conquer the World?* The correct answer is no. The music scene is too fragmented and too fast for a woman whose last major splash is 2005 to really run on success. And Rolling Stone is further guilty of trying to entice the reader into mediocrity. In the era of Lady Gaga, we're being told that Shakira is still valid in her own ability to conquer humanity. Sure, she's a good dancer with inhuman hips, but how do you not see through the bullshit there? It makes me feel sort of embarrassed that my non-existent money (I paid a dollar for a shirt and got 12 issues of the magazine out of it) is going to a magazine with no clear intent for its audience.
Yes, the above sounds petty, but we do need to actually dig into the magazine. On page 34 is a piece by one Rob Sheffield entitled "Sitcom vs. Reality," which is based around the concept of the new ABC sitcom Modern Family and its apparent game-changing style of embracing reality show archetype versus the traditional sitcom format. This is well-written, because Sheffield does back up his arguments and at least makes a mighty defense. But acting like the sitcom is a culturally irrelevant art and that ONE SHOW will save it is the piece's only flaw, which of course means it is the front and center headline. It's not even that the sitcom isn't beloved, it's this silly belief in "the relevancy of it to culture" that only writers ever really think about. Only overthinking types care about the relevance of art. For everyone else, art is just there. And that is the current Rolling Stone's biggest flaw: overassuming relevance.
The fourth paragraph is even more ridiculous when the magazine is putting names like Adam Lambert, the Jonas Brothers, et al. on the cover. I don't need to tell you that the magazine industry is facing its inevitable death, and that even Rolling Stone cut their page counts in lieu of falling advertisement dollars. (My issue is 94 pages in total.) But how do you just attempt to champion things few actually care to follow?
Sheffield doesn't help this when he compares the Twilight saga to Pretty in Pink in a review of the New Moon soundtrack. (Complete with saying the shirtless werewolf guy is the film's Duckie.) The actual quality of the soundtrack aside, it feels so needless to compare things to other things to make our age "feel important." (I will note the irony of me saying this later.) Twilight is probably not Pretty in Pink 2009, even if our generation responds to it as such. It is its own idea of vampiric lust mixed in with staring, which might be similar to Molly Ringwald and John Hughes' adventures (in that it's a fight for a normal girl, though, this has more supernatural attacks to it), but shouldn't be compared because everything can be compared. The talent it takes to compare two things is nil. Hitler and I are similar in that we were both socially awkward in high school. Does that make us similar as people? I hope to god we aren't.
We should not let the past define our cultural relevance, but moreover, we should not let ourselves try to create needless importance. I'm typing a note on Facebook that five people will read. It is not that important in the grand scheme of life. However, if I noted that this was the best thing I had ever written and tried to force the importance, you know what would happen? A couple more people would read it, but the value of the work would not be the same. It goes against the art of criticism, but one source cannot declare the greatness of something much bigger than themselves. It would be a pointless exercise.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
I am existent/ant.
My fear is ostracision. I have grown to realize this. I suspect that explains my tendencies well. I realize there is a complete paradox in essentially admitting that I'd rather live alone and yet feeling like I am not the black sheep or the something that is more insane than the others. I realize that even my irrational behavior will never match the consequences of others, which I should be pleased about. But it's almost kind of ostracizing to me. It's like “What the hell do I have to rationally complain about when I don't have irrationality?” I have awkwardness, which a lot of people have. Michael Cera has made a career out of acting awkward in ways that are endearing. I suspect my awkward tendencies are not endearing, but exist as a facet of me much the same.
But my giant problem is that I have no problems. My parents divorced, which happens a fucking lot. My parents were similarly littered with various emotional and physical problems in relation to their union, which I'd imagine is also common. I'm sure I have that tendency to be bipolar, like the typical modern family has seemed to come down with constantly. But even then, mere images have been the things haunting me for years versus irrational actions.
I think there's almost a layer of me that's completely unlikable because of this. Bringing up problems to someone who has attempted worse makes the point kind of fruitless. I guess the point is to prove that some things are futile, but human comprehension makes such thought similarly impossible. In order to rationalize existence, we have to get out what is bothering us, or else it gets worse. This isn't a justification for bitching...but it sort of is. That's sort of the point of bitching's existence, to get out thoughts we know are needless, but we also know bother us to such a high extent that it is maddening.
Will I ever change? I have the capability. Do I have the willpower? It's certainly possible. I don't feel like the whole atmosphere of fitting in necessarily works with me. The outsider aspect is easily the most fascinating aspect of hanging around a group of people because there's almost no obligation for friendship of all of them. There's nothing that breaks you when you realize that you'll never relate to their emotions in your own personal context. I might be how I am because it's saved me the trouble. I want a bond, but there has to be something just off there. Not that the person is insane, no, but that I can point at with a similar oddness.
As mentioned, my problems maybe come down to basic signs of awkwardness. I have a tendency to shake my hands in a case of moribund excitement, which I have never met a single person who has this, but versus sleepwalking and finding you put a knife to your neck, this is almost rational. Almost. There comes the part of unrelatibility because I will never be as obsessively “normal” (i.e. boring, but at least in control of their own apparent rationality) nor as processionally “fucked up” for a better term. I have moments where I'm nervous, but I haven't had a panic attack. I can speak in prepared manner to a group of people, but unprepared manner kind of baffles me. I'm stunningly normal, and I'm not.
God, even my weight is literally falling on an average. I'm huge enough to have obvious love handles, but not huge to even be classified as fat nor to be considered “the fat friend.” My weight is almost never addressed in conversation, but I don't know what that means, because I don't know people's barometer for what constitutes healthy, or that even a guy's weight all but doesn't matter in the cycle.
So existent it is. I have no idea if this is a rationalization of who I am, but it's an idea. I also have no idea if there's a care in the world for this, but eh, it felt completely necessary to address.
But my giant problem is that I have no problems. My parents divorced, which happens a fucking lot. My parents were similarly littered with various emotional and physical problems in relation to their union, which I'd imagine is also common. I'm sure I have that tendency to be bipolar, like the typical modern family has seemed to come down with constantly. But even then, mere images have been the things haunting me for years versus irrational actions.
I think there's almost a layer of me that's completely unlikable because of this. Bringing up problems to someone who has attempted worse makes the point kind of fruitless. I guess the point is to prove that some things are futile, but human comprehension makes such thought similarly impossible. In order to rationalize existence, we have to get out what is bothering us, or else it gets worse. This isn't a justification for bitching...but it sort of is. That's sort of the point of bitching's existence, to get out thoughts we know are needless, but we also know bother us to such a high extent that it is maddening.
Will I ever change? I have the capability. Do I have the willpower? It's certainly possible. I don't feel like the whole atmosphere of fitting in necessarily works with me. The outsider aspect is easily the most fascinating aspect of hanging around a group of people because there's almost no obligation for friendship of all of them. There's nothing that breaks you when you realize that you'll never relate to their emotions in your own personal context. I might be how I am because it's saved me the trouble. I want a bond, but there has to be something just off there. Not that the person is insane, no, but that I can point at with a similar oddness.
As mentioned, my problems maybe come down to basic signs of awkwardness. I have a tendency to shake my hands in a case of moribund excitement, which I have never met a single person who has this, but versus sleepwalking and finding you put a knife to your neck, this is almost rational. Almost. There comes the part of unrelatibility because I will never be as obsessively “normal” (i.e. boring, but at least in control of their own apparent rationality) nor as processionally “fucked up” for a better term. I have moments where I'm nervous, but I haven't had a panic attack. I can speak in prepared manner to a group of people, but unprepared manner kind of baffles me. I'm stunningly normal, and I'm not.
God, even my weight is literally falling on an average. I'm huge enough to have obvious love handles, but not huge to even be classified as fat nor to be considered “the fat friend.” My weight is almost never addressed in conversation, but I don't know what that means, because I don't know people's barometer for what constitutes healthy, or that even a guy's weight all but doesn't matter in the cycle.
So existent it is. I have no idea if this is a rationalization of who I am, but it's an idea. I also have no idea if there's a care in the world for this, but eh, it felt completely necessary to address.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
No, There Is Not A Conspiracy to Kill Off Random Celebrities
Over the past two weeks, a smidgen of people involved with entertainment in different ways have all passed on. Obviously, the biggest one of these is Michael Jackson, but they've ranged to the passing of names like 70s sex symbol Farrah Fawcett to TV pitchman Billy Mays to the passing today of Karl Malden, who starred in A Streetcar Named Desire and On The Waterfront. Morbidly, people are asking "who's next?" as if there's some sort of conspiracy to kill people in the middle of June. But let's look at the fact that most of these names, bar the freak accident that killed Mr. Mays and the possible overdose that took Jackson's life, all died of something that naturally happens all the time to people. Cancer, as sad as it is, happens to millions every year and takes away many of those who try to fight it and it took Farrah's life as if she were just your average 62 year old woman.
People seem to forget when tragedy strikes that death is not discerning. It is often random, but it's not discerning. This also isn't Final Destination here. Billy Mays didn't die because death was having a bad morning. He died because of a freak accident that occurred and cannot rationally be explained as to why it happened or why the tire busted from that airplane and baggage hit him on the head and likely led to his death.
On the same note with Farrah's passing, some people make it out of cancer treatment and others don't. But it is forgotten that death is one of the more random developments in our world simply because any moment can be interrupted by a gunshot or a car wrecking into the side of a house or something that often cannot rationally be explained.
Or it can simply be attributed to age. It is also forgotten that Malden was 97 when he died. The guy was out of acting for years and was obviously winding down his life. Gale Storm, who got a passing mention as a notable dead celebrity, was 87 years old. Ed McMahon was 86 years old and had not been seen in public in quite a while. All of these losses are tragic, but the fact that all of them died (all of natural causes) at the same week or so period is entirely coincidental.
More importantly, there isn't a conspiracy to kill more of these celebrities off. Sydney Pollack died last year in late May last year. Was it a part of some conspiracy to off the guy that directed Three Days in the Condor? No. He simply died of a disease that has a known history of killing people.
And sadly, things like that occur. But like a lot of things in life, many deaths "in a row" can't be explained as anything more than a sad series of random coincidence.
(Yes, I know I've been covering death a bit too much lately. The next blog will probably be happier when, you know, I get to it. Thanks for supporting FID in any means, especially if you bought this on Kindle. Your support is just awesome.)
People seem to forget when tragedy strikes that death is not discerning. It is often random, but it's not discerning. This also isn't Final Destination here. Billy Mays didn't die because death was having a bad morning. He died because of a freak accident that occurred and cannot rationally be explained as to why it happened or why the tire busted from that airplane and baggage hit him on the head and likely led to his death.
On the same note with Farrah's passing, some people make it out of cancer treatment and others don't. But it is forgotten that death is one of the more random developments in our world simply because any moment can be interrupted by a gunshot or a car wrecking into the side of a house or something that often cannot rationally be explained.
Or it can simply be attributed to age. It is also forgotten that Malden was 97 when he died. The guy was out of acting for years and was obviously winding down his life. Gale Storm, who got a passing mention as a notable dead celebrity, was 87 years old. Ed McMahon was 86 years old and had not been seen in public in quite a while. All of these losses are tragic, but the fact that all of them died (all of natural causes) at the same week or so period is entirely coincidental.
More importantly, there isn't a conspiracy to kill more of these celebrities off. Sydney Pollack died last year in late May last year. Was it a part of some conspiracy to off the guy that directed Three Days in the Condor? No. He simply died of a disease that has a known history of killing people.
And sadly, things like that occur. But like a lot of things in life, many deaths "in a row" can't be explained as anything more than a sad series of random coincidence.
(Yes, I know I've been covering death a bit too much lately. The next blog will probably be happier when, you know, I get to it. Thanks for supporting FID in any means, especially if you bought this on Kindle. Your support is just awesome.)
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Societal Intake of Death
This week, death was an overbearing force in pop culture. Which is odd, because death is around us constantly, but no one thinks about its true effect on society until a famous person dies. It's an all too alarming situation that's the only way we can cope with tragedy, though. If we give significance to every person that dies, how do we move on with our lives? It's cold and callous to view one death as more or less important than the other. But it's a reality in the world we live in. We live not to mourn, but to accomplish, I suppose. This is probably an obvious sentiment to everyone reading this.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
The Bronx Saves Punk Rock
(More retroblogging here. This was from sometime in February destined to be posted on Distracted by Movement, but I just didn't post it. But now you kids get to read it here!)
Sometimes, punk is a hilarious and great genre of music. People claw and get mad whenever a band "sells out" or sounds like crap...which is pretty much determined by the fact that they sold out. In short, it's created a mess of a genre. Any band that sounds like old school punk is readily ignored, because old school punk is terribly crafted music. And pop-punk is plain annoying. But somehow, "hard punk" with pop sensibilities (i.e. catchy choruses and such mixed in with vocals that don't sound like a man's pants are on too tight) is exactly the perfect recipe to save the genre. The Clash, The Ramones, and etc. were poppy bands that managed to sort of rock while they also talked about rocking the casbah, blitzkrieg bopping, and being sedated.
But maybe one band called The Bronx figured out that silly simple rock is exactly what the genre needs. Now when someone says a band is simple, it's usually pejorative. They're trying to slam the band for making songs that are skin deep, that mean nothing deep in any sort of sense. And admittedly, nothing The Bronx talks about in a band is anything I can really legitimately relate to or are about anything particularly deep, not even the desire to kill one's friends is a sentiment that's really deep in any way, shape, or form.
But that's exactly what punk rock at its core should be. When Johnny Rotten acted like a blooming idiot in 1977, all while his bandmates praised the awesomeness of anarchy and even with the awareness that they really hated the Queen, they still were pretty intellectually voided. Even when Johnny Rotten made up for it with the inventive Public Image Ltd. later on, none of the Sex Pistols' sentiments were deep. No, they were simplistic, they had no subtext to them. They liked anarchy and hated the Queen of England. They wanted to be crazy and stupid and overthrow authority.
While I can't say The Bronx is all about anarchy, they relish in being "not deep." They are about laughing about silly things and laughing at the silly people in their silly town of Los Angeles because they can. Now you may say, "Isn't that like every other punk band?" Well, yeah. I guess so, in a way. Except Against Me's now being concerned about war, Green Day's being purely retarded about war, and most of The Bronx's contemporaries aren't nearly as charming at being stupid. They know how to play instruments, and they know how to hate a record label, and they sip cigars and smoke wine.
The band has released three full length albums, with only the second being a dalliance with a major label. (And while I don't believe that major labels always make a band suck, The Bronx (II) isn't as good as the other two. So maybe there's truth to this, in a way.) The first and the third record are almost complete soundalikes, which is also usually a pejorative comparison. But once again, this is exactly how it should sound. They should be a perfectly fine hour-long punk song that has very brief stopgaps. Almost all of the songs should be three minute blasts that bring on the same sort of subject matter, whether it be insecurity and anger on Bronx (I) or insecurity and anger on Bronx (III). The only difference between the first and the third record has to be that the third record is a huge rant on the music industry. "Digital Leash" from Bronx (III) doubles as a massive apology to those who hated the second record and as a great rockin' album closer that inexplicably has two minutes of silence on its end.
Sometimes, punk is a hilarious and great genre of music. People claw and get mad whenever a band "sells out" or sounds like crap...which is pretty much determined by the fact that they sold out. In short, it's created a mess of a genre. Any band that sounds like old school punk is readily ignored, because old school punk is terribly crafted music. And pop-punk is plain annoying. But somehow, "hard punk" with pop sensibilities (i.e. catchy choruses and such mixed in with vocals that don't sound like a man's pants are on too tight) is exactly the perfect recipe to save the genre. The Clash, The Ramones, and etc. were poppy bands that managed to sort of rock while they also talked about rocking the casbah, blitzkrieg bopping, and being sedated.
But maybe one band called The Bronx figured out that silly simple rock is exactly what the genre needs. Now when someone says a band is simple, it's usually pejorative. They're trying to slam the band for making songs that are skin deep, that mean nothing deep in any sort of sense. And admittedly, nothing The Bronx talks about in a band is anything I can really legitimately relate to or are about anything particularly deep, not even the desire to kill one's friends is a sentiment that's really deep in any way, shape, or form.
But that's exactly what punk rock at its core should be. When Johnny Rotten acted like a blooming idiot in 1977, all while his bandmates praised the awesomeness of anarchy and even with the awareness that they really hated the Queen, they still were pretty intellectually voided. Even when Johnny Rotten made up for it with the inventive Public Image Ltd. later on, none of the Sex Pistols' sentiments were deep. No, they were simplistic, they had no subtext to them. They liked anarchy and hated the Queen of England. They wanted to be crazy and stupid and overthrow authority.
While I can't say The Bronx is all about anarchy, they relish in being "not deep." They are about laughing about silly things and laughing at the silly people in their silly town of Los Angeles because they can. Now you may say, "Isn't that like every other punk band?" Well, yeah. I guess so, in a way. Except Against Me's now being concerned about war, Green Day's being purely retarded about war, and most of The Bronx's contemporaries aren't nearly as charming at being stupid. They know how to play instruments, and they know how to hate a record label, and they sip cigars and smoke wine.
The band has released three full length albums, with only the second being a dalliance with a major label. (And while I don't believe that major labels always make a band suck, The Bronx (II) isn't as good as the other two. So maybe there's truth to this, in a way.) The first and the third record are almost complete soundalikes, which is also usually a pejorative comparison. But once again, this is exactly how it should sound. They should be a perfectly fine hour-long punk song that has very brief stopgaps. Almost all of the songs should be three minute blasts that bring on the same sort of subject matter, whether it be insecurity and anger on Bronx (I) or insecurity and anger on Bronx (III). The only difference between the first and the third record has to be that the third record is a huge rant on the music industry. "Digital Leash" from Bronx (III) doubles as a massive apology to those who hated the second record and as a great rockin' album closer that inexplicably has two minutes of silence on its end.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Me and My Rant-Filled Anger: Part I
(Originally Curated: April 22nd, 2009)
Annoyance:
- The media coverage of Susan Boyle.
There's great uplifting stories in the world that are supposed to remind us that superficiality shouldn't triumph over hard work. That "pretty" people don't rule the world and so on and so forth. That's why people are connecting with Ms. Susan Boyle, a YouTube sensation because she's a damn good singer and that's all she needs to be. So immediately the entertainment media talks about her looks and her jacket and her "not being kissed" (which was a kind of a self-humbling joke she made herself on the Britain's Got Talent show) again as if any of those things are issues that actually matter. I wouldn't buy a Susan Boyle CD or anything, but the woman can sing. But of course, talent is insignificant when looks are supposed to be front and center. Good one, guys.
(Two months later, of course, I am reminded that Boyle's slowly gone insane from the media heat and eh, I don't blame her. I would do much the same. Melt in the heat of "what's Susan doing" and whatnot. And yes, I'm only adding this as an excuse to post this.)
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Why pro wrestling and the smark community have no mainstream acceptance.
I thought long and hard about the contents of this particular piece, and getting into geeky and low-rent territory such as this, but I feel that the subject is particularly valid. First, let me get into boring exposition. I have been a wrestling fan since I was around seven years old. I probably should've never watched the hyperviolent WWF product of the late 1990s and thankfully, I forgot most of the more misogynistic and exploitative parts to remember great matches and moments that I never forgot. Of course, I never knew about a smark community, either. Smarks are "smart wrestling fans." They obviously know about the fakeness of the business and seek to find out why a match works, who is loved in the locker room, etc. They also overanalyze the basicness of the business.
Pro wrestling is art, in that art can and should apply to anything expressive. Of course, pro wrestling is also sleazy, pretty racist, and kind of wrong, sort of like Hollywood with lesser money being handed to the athletes. And both properties are art for the same exact reason that they attempt to accomplish the dynamics of a human story, even with midgets, scantily clad divas, and a couple of giants.
I might be calling the kettle black here because I bitch about what I don't like in pro wrestling, as I do with everything else in entertainment at times. But I've grown tired of the idea of worrying about burials (when fans feel that a star is being put down a card) and about what Vince McMahon thinks of a guy. Because what does it fucking matter to anybody? It doesn't. Yes, the pro wrestling business is the only one where on a weekly basis, putting over (losing) and being put over (winning) can change on a dime, but the true amount of bitching and whining over such arbitrary things is pointless.
You do not see film fans complaining that at the end of The Usual Suspects, they were swerved and that Keyzer Soze is Kevin Spacey. No, because it's in the story's plans. Mind you, film is a more concise art, but even then, did anyone complain that the ending of The Wrestler was basically left uncertain? These are arbitrary things and people look like true geeks when they make an argument that "Man B shouldn't be getting buried because he has a better workrate than Man C." There's also a reason why Chris Klein gets as much work as Paul Giamatti in Hollywood and that's because sometimes the look is just right. It is why Keanu Reeves and Will Smith are A-listers while J.K. Simmons is awesome as a character actor. It is because sometimes, the look is a better fit than the work itself. Should it be that way? No. But it is that way. And it is that way not because Vince dictated it or Hollywood dictated it. It is because your girlfriend might be drawn more to seeing Channing Tatum shirtless (as you would be if say Jessica Alba was shirtless). That's basic science and how things are.
My current favorite show on television is a show on Starz called Party Down. In it, there is a nerdy character named Roman who is vastly unlikable, brags about his prestigious blog (HEY!), and also makes semantical arguments about science fiction movies (such as arguing why Edgar Allen Poe isn't a drunk in a movie when the premise of the movie is Poe fighting vampires). You change sci-fi movie to Vladimir Kozlov's workrate and you literally have the same character as the majority of the smark nation. Should we like every little thing that comes out way? Well, no. But to argue the impact of burials or the evils of Vince's revisionist history (because again, revisionist history is such a new concept) or whatever is wasting life. It's semantical. Like drunk Poe fighting vampires.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
I live-Twitter MATH TEST 4 '09.
To bring up the absurdity of my Twitter account, I present to you my tales in the Math Lab for my fourth test of the year. THIS IS USELESS INFO~!
Test day = evil, finding new albums by Omar Rodriguez-Lopez = eh, maybe it's good.
Test day = evil, finding new albums by Omar Rodriguez-Lopez = eh, maybe it's good.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
This writing is probably mildly embarrassing.
It felt like a goddamn bombing.
I stood out to the beautiful yet murky Black Warrior River and had a little bit of a sigh. I was staring out into the water, noticing that once again the whizz and hum of planes exploded in front of me as the noise behind me continued to be a similar explosion of noise.
Something about this seemed sensible, joyous even. In a world where the seas were once clear, there's a bit too much noise for everyone's liking and a bit too much dirt and piss in the water.
I stared at all of this nature and wildness around me and felt mixed feelings. I felt happy and satisfied because of the events that took place, because of the sun's constant ability to beam at just the right moments. I just don't know if I can handle the bad things, though. The world is obviously fucked up, so it's not like this is new information nor does my feelings on the world really change it. But it's still savagely affecting.
At one moment, I was reminded of the simple beauty of the world. Of the gaze of a totally beautiful woman, or the view of leafy green trees composed against the backdrop of totally barren trees. Everything was totally contradictory. Jet fighter planes only reminded me that our world is shitty, wars happen, and that people predictably suck.
But this same day, at one moment, I lay there on a blanket. I have no idea whose blanket it was or why they might have left or even the reason why they would have left. All I knew was that I was in a living photograph. And I was lying next to the most beautiful woman in the world. There was an old man rambling, but this didn't matter. I suspected that I would not have many moments like this in my lifetime, so I probably should appreciate that moment because I don't know how many great friendship or lover opportunities I'd ever have with this person. But I think that there won't be too many of those simple chances. That isn't a pessimistic outlook—well, mostly not—it's just how things work in this world. No one trusts anybody else and no one lets themselves go nearly often enough in front of a giant bunch of people. Pure inhibitions take a backseat to keeping a self-important facade.
I don't know. And maybe that's all I should keep in mind.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
I Blog Shitty Burned CDs I Made Three Years Ago.
We've all done it. We've all made a billion burned CDs that a few years later, on a lark, we find and listen to and abhor our own taste. So I will guide you on a journey of my poor taste and my thoughts on each song I am about to hear. The first CD I inserted was a green Sony burned CD, which is completely unrecognizable on my shitty laptop and totally recognizable on my Playstation 2. This CD, as it turns out, had Korn's Greatest Hits! I was not a kid who knew of irony in those days. You also have not missed much. Go figure. Another was one of the eight copies I burned of Arcade Fire's Neon Bible record. This was great and awesome! I also found it scary that it's been over two years since I heard an outright life-changing record. That's just weird to me. But now I have found another one! Let us begin!
This appears to be one with only seven tracks and might've been burned for my sister once. Also, it plays well on the aforementioned shitty laptop while a few DVD-R discs are completely troublesome. No idea why.
Track 1:
Justin Timberlake - "Senorita"
This was a fine song for the time period, all things considered. I mean, Timberlake got the right people around him to make certain that he didn't fail and all that jazz, and when he talks about his senorita, he could talk about anything and he had a hot beat. I'm not totally crazy about it, but I can understand it, at least.
Track 2:
Justin Timberlake - "Like I Love You"
Oh crap, I think I grabbed one of my great discs where I burned a lot of crap by one artist. I boldly predict that "Rock Your Body" is next. Though, this one was a lot better than I remember. Notably for Timberlake's Prince impression. And you know, everyone loves Prince because everyone loves Minnesota and Lake Minatonka and all that nonsense. It rubbed off on Timberlake here. Also, The Clipse were involved with this, and everyone loves The Clipse.
Track 3:
Justin Timberlake - "Rock Your Body"
This is also awesome. This was more of a progressor for the Timberlake I like, namely anything from FutureSex/LoveSounds. The cheesy dance stuff seems to work for this guy. I have no other comment for this, though, I still laugh heartily at Timberlake boasting that he'd have the girl naked by the end of this song, because I'm certain he's re-lived that fantasy over and over and over in real life.
Track 4:
Britney Spears - "Boyz"
I think this was my sister's Justin Timberlake/Britney Spears forever tape CD. Except...I'm certain they broke it off and Klosterman wrote his awesome piece about Britney before this CD was burned. Also, I think all of these songs had a Neptunes production, might explain why they're fine pop music, though, Brit's voice is more annoying and nasally than Timberlake's, it's not as natural to me.
Track 5:
N'Sync and Nelly - "Girlfriend"
I think this also had a Neptunes production. Also, Nelly is one of those guys who was hilarious back in the day, but I never got why I and millions others loved him so damn much. Maybe he was the best thing for St. Louis since the Rams' Greatest Show on Turf. And for boy band stuffs, this was better than a lot of their other stuff. Also, I'm certain I spelled N'Sync wrong. Screw it. No one cares that much.
Track 6:
50 Cent - "In Da Club"
This might be a little bit older than I thought, but nonetheless, this is not as good. And I listened to a lot of hilarious hip-hop back in the day. "Move, bitch, get out the way," "Awnaw, hell naw, I ain't gon' up and done it," etc. This isn't cutting it as much.
Track 7:
Inside joke song.
One time, when we tipped a song to the computer, the mic was accidentally turned on. In this recording was me, an older cousin, two younger cousins, and my sister. "Make Em Say Unggggggh" was referenced. Lil' Bow Wow was referenced. I refer to Sean Combs as the "Baddest Boy in Hip-Hop." Me and the older cousin get into a debate/slight argument over who sold more in hip-hop, and I talk about Combs being richer than Eminem. Eminem sold more, though. And then I bring up 50 Cent's debut. Older cousin briefly sings what became "Sugar, Sugar" by the one hit wonder Baby Bash. And then, at the end, older cousin says that there was one song that I "wish I never downloaded." Those were the days, huh. When DOWNLOADING hurt me. Those days still happen.
Friday, March 20, 2009
The Idea of Greatness
Lately I've been reading (elitist alert) a couple of books focused on radically different shades of music, Our Band Could Be Your Life by Michael Azerrad and The Rolling Stone Interviews. By nature of the fact that Our Band talks about iconic indie acts like Sonic Youth and Dinosaur Jr. and Rolling Stone Interviews has interviews from outright icons like John Lennon, Jim Morrison, and Pete Townshend, it's interesting to see what some of the greatest musicians of all time perceived as great.
There are even a few outright surreal statements. When Townshend brings up the entire story and plot that would become The Who's Tommy, there is a feeling that he loves this idea but has no idea how it would be formed in music. It's almost like the band was desperate for a good sound to come out of the ideas they had. And I'd say that that definitely happened with Tommy.
On the same point, Lennon's interview is also downright mind-blowing. He felt that the Beatles' best music was never recorded and done in the early days of the band. Mind you, this interview was done in 1972, when the breakup of the band was fresh in Lennon's memory, but it's still an awe-striking comment that a scant few heard the best of the band, at least according to one of the two chief songwriters of that band.
So what is the idea of greatness? I'm not sure, and neither is anybody else, really. Objective opinions tell us that something is great or is shit, but you never quite know until you put it out there. You could compare this theory to film. Blade Runner was reviled by most critics upon its release, and it's not really as great a movie as it's been made out to be, but you see pieces of it in everything.
This leads to another point: artists, writers, musicians, etc. have all been influenced by the simple brilliance of Pete Townshend's music or the eloquence of John Lennon's take on the world or the swagger and attitude of Jim Morrison, who clearly used the media as his playground to experiment with his image as something more than even a mere rock star. But does influence really create greatness or amazement? I mean, I really love The Strokes and would love to make a band that sounds exactly like Is This It-era Strokes, but I wouldn't dare call Julian Casablancas great. He might influence me and my nonexistent musical stylings, but I don't necessarily think he's great. He's cool and I like him. Not great.
I don't know, it's just a question that has no real answer. What is great? It's subjective. So I don't know, it's maybe just a passed down sort of achievement. I will say this, though, Pete Townshend really is damn great.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
A Piece I Wrote Months Ago.
(Context: This was planned by me to be submitted to my local campus' newspaper around mid-October of 2008. This was weeks before the historic election, and so on and so forth.)
"Continual prejudice enshrouds American life"
On October 15, 2008, a group of vandals ransacked 200 copies of this fine newspaper by changing a column title from “Obama fans rally at Gorgas” to “Obama fags rally at Gorgas.” They did this to send out a clear message: that they thought changing an "n" to a "g" was hilarious and that they associate emasculation and the "alternative lifestyle" with Presidential candidate Barack Obama as opposed to the manliness and steady power of Senator McCain. Of course, that's what they intended to do.
Instead, they more or less made a statement about the silly bravado of American culture. For a country so dedicated to saying that we are united and that the 300 million of us can take on anything in the world, we seem to deeply hate each other more often than not. America has struggled through a political season filled with pure vitriol of the views, decisions, and ultimately, the followers of the other candidate. Everyone seems to be in the spirit of hatred of their fellow man merely for supporting two people that they feel should lead the country. This is not even getting into the vast topic of prejudice and how much the country seems to give a care about others' sexual orientation. Does it just look silly if our brawn is sullied by another's choice, or must it be about the muscle-headed nature of the people of this country?
Worse yet, these ingrates also re-affirmed the misguided stance of the South's prejudice towards other kinds of people. While it doesn't seem as worse as say the past century or so on the surface, there's still a black eye given to any concept of even being close to gay, especially among males. The word "fag" (regardless of intention oftentimes) is meant to sting the person in public, like the phrases "geek," "goth," "nerd," or "spaz." And to say that the state is the most tolerant state of other lifestyles is ridiculous, as anti-Christian culture is often immediately classified as "devilish" and homosexuality considered a sin, despite the fact that the same hallowed book offers up the point to "judge not, lest ye be judged."
The South and America reach the fun paradox that keeps the country focused despite our own self-hatred: we are too stubborn to change, even when that change is probably the correct choice. America simply never wants change, and it makes no bones about this. Lack of change could be as small as not wanting to convert to the metric system or as big as thinking that white people and black people should have separate bathrooms, and prejudice be damned on any need to change as a region or as a country because it's the "right thing to do" or because it's the proper thing to do. Keeping a steady path does not always lead to a good end.
Ultimately, what October 15th's incident displayed is the continual ugliness of American culture. This is not to say that our country (and to a lesser extent the South) is entirely filled with bigots, sexists, and generally horrible people, but that those people actually exist. An obvious statement to make, yes, but one that at the wrong times everyone seems to be depressingly oblivious to seeing.
"Continual prejudice enshrouds American life"
On October 15, 2008, a group of vandals ransacked 200 copies of this fine newspaper by changing a column title from “Obama fans rally at Gorgas” to “Obama fags rally at Gorgas.” They did this to send out a clear message: that they thought changing an "n" to a "g" was hilarious and that they associate emasculation and the "alternative lifestyle" with Presidential candidate Barack Obama as opposed to the manliness and steady power of Senator McCain. Of course, that's what they intended to do.
Instead, they more or less made a statement about the silly bravado of American culture. For a country so dedicated to saying that we are united and that the 300 million of us can take on anything in the world, we seem to deeply hate each other more often than not. America has struggled through a political season filled with pure vitriol of the views, decisions, and ultimately, the followers of the other candidate. Everyone seems to be in the spirit of hatred of their fellow man merely for supporting two people that they feel should lead the country. This is not even getting into the vast topic of prejudice and how much the country seems to give a care about others' sexual orientation. Does it just look silly if our brawn is sullied by another's choice, or must it be about the muscle-headed nature of the people of this country?
Worse yet, these ingrates also re-affirmed the misguided stance of the South's prejudice towards other kinds of people. While it doesn't seem as worse as say the past century or so on the surface, there's still a black eye given to any concept of even being close to gay, especially among males. The word "fag" (regardless of intention oftentimes) is meant to sting the person in public, like the phrases "geek," "goth," "nerd," or "spaz." And to say that the state is the most tolerant state of other lifestyles is ridiculous, as anti-Christian culture is often immediately classified as "devilish" and homosexuality considered a sin, despite the fact that the same hallowed book offers up the point to "judge not, lest ye be judged."
The South and America reach the fun paradox that keeps the country focused despite our own self-hatred: we are too stubborn to change, even when that change is probably the correct choice. America simply never wants change, and it makes no bones about this. Lack of change could be as small as not wanting to convert to the metric system or as big as thinking that white people and black people should have separate bathrooms, and prejudice be damned on any need to change as a region or as a country because it's the "right thing to do" or because it's the proper thing to do. Keeping a steady path does not always lead to a good end.
Ultimately, what October 15th's incident displayed is the continual ugliness of American culture. This is not to say that our country (and to a lesser extent the South) is entirely filled with bigots, sexists, and generally horrible people, but that those people actually exist. An obvious statement to make, yes, but one that at the wrong times everyone seems to be depressingly oblivious to seeing.
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