Clap Your Hands Say Yeah

Artist: Clap Your Hands Say Yeah
Released: 2005

Clap Your Hands Say Yeah
Are critical darlings but
Seem so average

Arular

Artist: M.I.A.
Released: 2005

One of the dangers of politicking in pop music is its reductive nature (something I’ve already discussed in this post). A byproduct of this is the sloganeering that wends its way into the music. Pop is made for sloganeering – nothing works better for a chorus than an easily remembered phrase that can be repeated ad infinitum over four minutes. Unfortunately, slogans don’t provide for a thorough understanding of one’s subject, which, I suppose, is the beauty of the method. Politicians long ago realized the value of a catchphrase (“Tippecanoe & Tyler Too” anyone), and when you marry it to some strong imagery, you have a winning combination (just ask Mussolini). A band like Rage Against the Machine always seemed to inadvertently indulge in this sloganeering, in turn marring their sincere political beliefs.

Thanks to cultural and music critics, M.I.A. finds herself thrust into a very similar place in the music world. She has the background (her father’s a Tamil Tiger rebel in Sri Lanka), and about half of her songs are filled with revolutionary politics, which tend to crop up in titles like “Pull Up the People” or lyrics like “I’ve got the bombs that make you blow,” or “Thinking ‘bout where I come / It’s all this for revolution.” It seems to me, however, that this politicking is in fact secondary to the music itself. A mélange of synthetic beats, analog synths and various samples, Arular pulls from sources as diverse as reggaeton and drum & bass to concoct an alternative to American hip-hop. The production gives the album a “home-grown” feel that speaks to the DIY attitude and image of M.I.A. herself. Pseudo-uprisings never sounded this good.

I’m curious to see in what direction M.I.A.’s music moves. Beats become quickly antiquated in today’s hip hop/dance scene, and the rapid cannibalization of global sounds creates a small window for something like diwali or baille funk to sound truly fresh. Lyrically, it will be interesting to see her flesh out the themes that pop up throughout the album. Whatever the case, Arular stands as an important document of the cultural stew of music at the midpoint of this decade. If only Usher should be so inspired…

Mr. Tambourine Man

Artist: The Byrds
Released: 1965

When I die and (fingers crossed) proceed to heaven, it will be the sound of Roger McGuinn’s 12-string greeting me at the gates. Chiming, ringing, capable of both intricate contrapuntal melodies and a wall of treble, the Rickenbacker is damn near perfect at expressing whatever emotion the player wishes to convey. It’s even better when it’s recorded in mono, pushed to the front of a mix that’s crammed with drums, bass, lead guitar, tambourines, harmonies, phase shifting, and one hundred monkeys banging out MacBeth on typewriters.

Mr. Tambourine Man introduces this formula to great effect. Although the band was a bit pithy with their compositions (only 5 of the 12 tracks were originals), they had the good sense to cover Dylan four times. The title track may have been the apotheosis of “folk rock,” but “Spanish Harlem Incident,” “Chimes of Freedom,” and “All I Really Want To Do” are just as good at breaking down the artificial genre barriers that had been drawn at Top 40 radio. As for those aforementioned originals, “I Knew I’d Want You” and “You Won’t Have To Cry” show a surprising level of sophistication, while “I’d Feel a Whole Lot Better” may have been the greatest non-hit of the 1960s. The sound, however, is king in these songs, placing The Byrds right up there with the Beatles and Velvet Underground when it comes to a post ‘60s musical influence.

So, Mr. Rickenbacker, I’ll catch you in, say, sixty years. If I hear Journey after I’ve left this life, then I know I’m headed in the wrong direction.

CMJ New Music Monthly CD: October 1996

As those of you over the age of 24 may remember, it used to be rather difficult to discover new, non-mainstream music. You either relied upon word-of-mouth, magazines, or your local college radio station for suggestions. Unfortunately, the first two couldn’t actually provide you with the music (unless one of your friends was a mix tape fiend), so you were inevitably stuck trying to determine whether a new band really could sound like Nine Inch Nails AND Wilco. CMJ New Music Monthly attempted to remedy this situation by providing a free CD with new music every month. Every month! Free CDs may seem quaint nowadays, but at the time, it was pretty exciting. I subscribed for about two and a half years during the ‘90s, collecting a good 30 or so discs from the period. I think I stopped the subscription for three reasons: 1.) there was a definite quality drop-off for both the magazines and the CDs, 2.) I learned that labels paid $1000 to get their songs on the CD, so track lists weren’t necessarily an editorial decision, and 3). I made a greater effort to diversify my sources for new music. Looking back, however, one may find the selections to be funny, absurd, and a bit prescient in terms of a band’s future success. I’ve decided, then, to take one of these CDs every couple of weeks and do a track-by-track review of its contents. Enjoy.

Tracy Bonham “The One” – her follow-up to “Mother, Mother”. You remember the song. Crazy violin, then-ubiquitous soft/loud dynamics. This reminds me of that weird period from mid 1994 until early 1997 when “alternative” had been completely co-opted by the major labels, but they couldn’t figure out what did and didn’t work. Since they didn’t have a clue, they would just pitch everything to Modern Rock Radio in the hopes that something would stick.

Eels “Your Lucky Day In Hell” – I remember when he released his first couple albums as E, and had a minor college radio hit with “Hello Cruel World” in ’91. He used to sing in a Beatles falsetto back then.

Finn Brothers “Only Talking Sense” – decent post-Crowded House song. Let’s see…what else…um, yeah, that’s about it.

Nil Lara “Baby” – I think we all know how Nil Lara revolutionized music in the late 1990s, so I don’t want to bore anyone by rehashing his accomplishments

Les Claypool & the Holy Mackerel “Holy Mackerel” – in my Supergroup from Hell (which may or may not include C.C. DeVille on lead guitar, Paul Stanley on rhythm guitar, and Alex Van Halen on drums), Les Claypool would play bass.

Fun Lovin’ Criminals “Scooby Snacks” – CMJ was on this one a couple months before it was popular. That Pulp Fiction intro couldn’t be more dated.

Speedball Baby “Rubber Connection” – this is sooooooo 1996.

NY Loose “Spit” – before the revival of the New York scene in 2000, there was supposed to be another revival in the mid-90s featuring bands like D Generation and NY Loose. Didn’t happen.

Holly McNarland “Stormy” – Next.

Catherine Wheel “Heal 2” – We’re not shoegazers, we’re not Britpop, we’re Catherine Wheel! Love us, please.

Sam Phillips “Power World” – now performs the incidental music for “Gilmore Girls.”

Emmet Swimming “Arlington” – remember when I said that Speedball Baby song was 1996? This is really, really 1996.

Red House Painters “All Mixed Up” – a typically low-key cover of the Cars by everybody’s favorite down-tempo group. Used in a Gap commercial in ’99.

Congo Norvell “The Girl Who Would Be King” – somebody thinks she’s Siouxsie Sioux.

Metal Molly “Orange” – yes, they are as bad as their name implies.

The Damned “Shut It (Cleopatra Re-Mix)” – OK cut by the punk stalwarts, but I have no idea what was remixed.

Victor DeLorenzo “Blind” – who are these people?

Headcrash “Safehouse” – after listening to this, I’ve determined that Headcrash may have been the formative musical influence on Fred Durst.

Brian McMahon “Made For Each Other” – Hmmm. Not bad. Where have you gone, Brian McMahon?

Alright, this didn’t go as well as I thought, but I’m not abandoning the idea. Perhaps I’ll limit the reviews to “highlights” next time.

Funeral

Artist: The Arcade Fire
Released: 2004

I had initially written an entire review for this album, and posted it for all of five minutes before I had second thoughts about its content. Cliche-ridden, stilted, and without a proper ending, the piece was dreadful (then again, some may say the same regarding all of my posts). The album is fantastic, representing a cross between the overbearing and intimate, and focusing upon loss with an undercurrent of hope. Really, just go and buy it if you don't already own it.

Luckily, I had the opportunity to see the Arcade Fire before the Rolling Stone, Spin, and New York Times articles; before they toured with U2, and had their song "Wake Up" serve as Bono & Co.'s entrance music. The album had been released in October 2004 to no fanfare, save for a glowing review on Pitchfork's website. I picked up the album, loved it, and proceeded to check them out a month later at the Beachland Ballroom. Expecting a smallish crowd, I was taken aback when around 400 people showed up. I was even more amazed that the crowd already knew the words to every song. It was a rare moment of foreshadowing that I was privileged to be a part of.

That's it. Now go and buy the album. I'm waiting...you haven't logged off yet. Oh, you're buying it online? OK, that's cool.

Black Power: Music of a Revolution

Released: 2004

Lyrically, the contemporary hip-hop/R&B landscape is a wasteland. Scratch that. Content-wise, the lyrics of contemporary hip-hop and R&B are a wasteland. There’s still a clever turn-of-phrase here and there, and some artists like the semi-retired Jay Z and Nas can create some pretty intricate wordplay in their songs. The substance of these tracks, however, leaves much to be desired. Singing about one’s humps, or another’s “laffy taffy,” or perhaps the magic of “sex weed,” doesn’t really make for compelling music. Now, there is always room for the salacious, the absurd, and the pornographic in pop music – to expect high-minded treatises on love, liberty, and secular humanism is to be isolated from the lingua franca of 13-24 year olds. The pervasiveness of these bottom-scraping lyrics, however, is a bit depressing. I think it says a lot that Kanye West’s “Golddigger,” an OK song in which our man both praises and criticizes a woman of expensive taste and gives shout-outs to “pre-nups,” is considered one of the lyrical high-water marks of ’05 pop (Now when he accuses the government of spreading AIDS in “Heard ‘Em Say?” That’s awesome).

In stark contrast to this milieu stands Black Power: Music of a Revolution. Compiled from recordings from the golden era of black activism, Black Power finds both mainstream and fringe artists promoting economic and civil justice for African-Americans. Thirty five years on, it’s surprising to hear a band like the Temptations doing “Message From a Black Man,” or the Chi-Lites singing “Give More Power To the People,” and find out that said songs were Top 40 hits (or, in the case of the Isley Brothers’ “Fight the Power,” Top 10). Admittedly, these compositions were not incendiary. They dealt with the movement in rather general terms, vacillating between the demands of the O’Jays “Give the People What They Want,” to the self-improvement anthem of the Staple Singers’ “Respect Yourself.”

For the unadulterated take on black power, one must turn to the audio clips scattered throughout the CD. Featuring snippets of speeches from Huey Newton, H. Rap Brown, and other leading figures of the movement, these sound bites represent black power at its most vital and extreme. What’s fascinating about these men and women was their desire to overthrow not only the country’s socially entrenched racism, but also its economic system. Capitalism was built upon slavery and had led to the social stratification of African Americans; therefore, only through the end of capitalism could any equality be achieved. Their ideal methods of bringing about this revolution, primarily violent in content, ostracized them from other leaders of the movement, and in turn buried their radical social agenda.

With the cyclical nature of the music industry, there’s always a chance that socially relevant material will trickle back into the hip-hop milieu. It’s been over fifteen years since Public Enemy, KRS-One, and the “Golden Age of Hip-Hop” consistently tackled country’s social ills. Until their successors arrive, we’ll be stuck with “Grillz” and “Stay Fly.” Lucky us.

The Beatles aka The White Album

Artist: The Beatles
Released: 1968

Far too much ink (or bytes, I suppose) has been spilled upon the Beatles. Everyone knows the songs, the stories behind the songs, the stories behind the stories behind the songs, Ringo’s favorite cereal, etc. This is especially unfortunate for me, since I have to review 21 of their albums for this blog. I’ll do my best to keep it fresh. So, without further ado, the “Five Worst Songs On ‘The White Album.’”

Honorable Mention:
Wild Honey Pie
You know, the Pixies covered this song. That’s kind of funny, right? I mean, the
world certainly doesn’t need another version of “Yesterday.”

5. Revolution #9
I give John Lennon mad props for placing this unwieldy nine minute sound collage on
the album, and in turn frightening countless numbers of Beatles fans. Unfortunately, it’s
still a sound collage.

4. Piggies
A painful attempt at social commentary by George Harrison. This is one area where the
Kinks could kick the Beatles’ ass on a regular basis.

3. Cry Baby Cry
Lennon’s “I need to have as many cuts as Paul on the album” song. Let’s see…”The king
of Marigold was in the kitchen / Cooking breakfast for the queen / The queen was in the
parlor / Playing piano for the children of the king.” Donovan called. He wants his outtake
back.

2. Good Night
Proof that Lennon could outschlock McCartney on any given day.

1. Honey Pie
Manages to encapsulate every bad tendency in McCartney’s writing – Tin Pan Alley
melodies, simpering vocals, and a dreadful narrative lyric. Paul would eventually become
even more cloying on subsequent albums.

I Could Be Happy: The Best of Altered Images

Artist: Altered Images
Released:1997

Not that anyone remembers this, but Nickelodeon was commercial free during its early, Lewis & Clark years on cable TV. This inevitably led to gaps in programming, with nothing but dead air separating Pinwheel from The Tomorrow People. To remedy the situation, the channel would air music videos. Mind you, music videos were still somewhat of a novelty. MTV was only a year old, while VH1 and Friday Night Videos were but a glimmer in Viacom’s eye.

I’m certain that Nickelodeon aired a variety of clips, but the only two I remember were Billy Joel’s “Pressure,” and Altered Images’ “Happy Birthday.” Anything involving Billy Joel can be a life-scarring event, so the less said about him the better. “Happy Birthday,” on the other hand, was fantastic. Arguably one of the happiest songs ever written, “HB” is chock full of rolling tom-toms, scratchy yelping guitars, and a lead singer who sounds permanently attached to a helium tank. The song was so catchy that I…promptly forgot about it for, oh, about 21 years. It was only through the miracle of VH1 Classic (I should write a blog about that channel alone) that I reconvened with the band.

I Could Be Happy: The Best of Altered Images contains “Happy Birthday” and some other tracks from their brief career. A non-entity in the US, the band scored a few Top Ten hits in England during the country’s “anything goes” era of pop music (I’ll explain this in another review, I swear). The early songs find the band mining a Siouxsie-light sound, while the latter compositions are straight-up new wave deliciousness. The band also manages to find an undercurrent of sadness amid the pop assault via their lyrics, which dabble in the fecund themes of longing and regret.

I still can’t figure out how Nickelodeon latched on to Altered Images. Perhaps the video and the song were innocuous enough to appeal to the pre-adolescent audience. I guess its other option would have been Ronnie James Dio running around in a bearskin with a broadsword, slaying hunchbacks in a castle. “Holy Diver” or “Happy Birthday?” Yeah, I thought so.

Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain

Artist: Pavement
Released: 1994

The death of indie rock occurred sometime around 1988. Or around 1994, although some would swear that 1999 or 2003 saw the genre's final demise. What the hell does "indie rock" even represent anymore? It's bbecome the 21st century version of "alternative rock," which officially lost all meaning during the 1990s, when it contained both Jewel and the Gin Blossoms under its auspices.

Technically, indie rock refers to bands that are signed to independent labels - i.e. labels that are not affiliated with any of the majors (Sony, WEA, etc.). Indie bands, therefore, should not be subject to the following:

• bidding wars
• being plied with booze and cocaine by the A&D representative
• indignaties like appearing at the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade on the UPS float, or the latest craptastic WB sitcom ("seriously, you guys were great on 'What I Like About You'")
• getting screwed over on both royalties and "advances"
• getting dropped after one album when they sell under 300,000 units

The term "indie," however, now seems to refer to any artist that isn't usually played on commercial radio, or is featured on "The O.C." while Ryan or Seth are brooding.

This brings us to Pavement. They could sense the demise of a scene that had flourished during the '80s and had begun to peter out after the success of Nirvana and the subsequent rape and pillaging by the majors. Ditching the lo-fi aesthetic that screamed "indie" to so many disaffected college radio DJs (yeah, you knew at least one in school), the band beefed up their production and wrote a song cycle about the, well, death of indie rock. Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain finds the band diving headfirst into the then-current state of modern/alt music and in turn wallowing in the long-dead mythology of rock & roll. Rock's cult of personality is dredged up with "Silence Kit," which borrows the melody of Buddy Holly's "Everyday," and is concluded later with the Fall-ish "Hit the Plane Down." "Cut Your Hair" takes a crack at the major label machine, while "Elevate Me Later" and "Range Life" find the band ruminating on the travails of touring.

I would go on about their sound, which one critic described as Sonic Youth meets the Fall meets the Beach Boys, but I'll save that for one of their other albums. I will say, though, that I love Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain more than my sister. Actually, I don't have a sister, so, um, forget I wrote that.

Their Satanic Majesties Request

Artist: Rolling Stones
Released: 1967

Look at them. Look at how supremely unhappy they are in their getups. Charlie resembles a reject from “The Merchant of Venice,” while Mick seems poised to animate mops and buckets in order to clean the castle. Keith cradles his tabla, waiting to pounce upon Brian for coming up with this whole ridiculous scenario.

Blame the Beatles. They had the burden of being the tastemakers in popular music, inadvertently prompting hundreds of bands to grow out their hair and overdub sitars on every song. Unfortunately, any missteps they made along the way, like, say, the lack of any real “concept” on a supposed “concept album” like Sgt. Pepper, would inevitably be exploited by other artists. Which brings us back to the Stones and Their Majesty’s Satanic Request. It’s not a bad album, per se. “She’s a Rainbow” is great; “2000 Light Years From Home” is even better. “Citadel” is an underrated rocker, and “2000 Man” is a nice continuation of the sound they developed on Between the Buttons. After that, though, it’s slim pickings. No one should be forced to listen to “Gomper,” and “On With the Show” takes everything bad about the British music hall sound and condenses it into one track. In a truly impressive feat, “Sing This All Together (See What Happens),” not to be confused with the barely superior “Sing This All Together” that starts the album, manages to be both devoid of melody and any interesting ideas. Kudos, Mr. Jagger and Mr. Richards.

The record buying public was not impressed with TSMR, and the album tanked upon release (mind you, these are the same consumers that made Herman’s Hermits unconscionably popular, so let’s not give them too much credit for their taste). The next year, Brian was fired from the band and eventually died, while Keith found his inner bluesman and Mick started singing about rape, murder, riots in France, and heroin. The Stones reel off their finest albums, and all is right with the world…until Goat’s Head Soup. Then things get bad again. Like “Emotional Rescue” bad. Or “Harlem Shuffle” bad. Or…

In the beginning...

Welcome to the Compact Disc Preservation Society. The plan is to eventually review every album in my CD collection (numbering around 700). I use the term "review" loosely, because I may use a CD as jumping off point for ruminations on music, popular culture, or Foucault's Panopticon. I expect to post a few times a week, unless the public shames me into posting more frequently, or demands that I give up this exercise in narcissism and musical wankery.