springsnow
MOG Meter
Posts
One reason I'm none too fond of music reviews as a general rule: Every now and then professional music reviewers seem to collide and collude against a specific musician for no obvious reason. Like, say, Tim Kinsella. Every time I read a Joan of Arc or Make Believe review, I can actually visualize some smarmy 22-year-old Pitchfork-sired music critic crouching behind Tim while another, perhaps a writer for Tiny Mix Tapes, pushes him. Then maybe they kick him in the face for complaining. The party line is that Mr. Kinsella is "pretentious", an argument which seems to imply that most other musicians aren't.
Similarly, Damon Albarn always seems to be under fire. According to the press, he's "tempermental", a "vicious drunk", a "control freak", "self-important", a "celebrity complaining about celebrity", a wannabe. 2003's one-off Democrazy, a 5,000-run 10" vinyl released on his own independent, was the proverbial whipping boy that year, more or less existing for reviewers to crack their knuckles and accuse the man of being "completely self-indulgent". [Interestingly, similar projects such as The Microphones' Little Bird Flies Into Big Black Cloud - a 300-run on a boutique label - and Fugazi's Instrument, which was basically the same thing as Democrazy only mass-produced, were roundly lauded (if they were reviewed at all, in the case of the former).] Even the reviews of The Good, the Bad, and the Queen - tied with Person Pitch as the year's best album so far, in my opinion - that praise the album tend to either express surprise at just how good it is or play down the contributions of the other members, refusing to let the reader forget for a moment that this is a "weird" album by a Complicated, Wary Former Brit-Pop Idol. Albarn's cranky, narcissistic public persona was created by music journalists and will be perpetuated by the same.
Which bums me out, because I personally think Damon Albarn is one of the better songwriters we have at the moment. Blur's 13 and The Good, the Bad, and the Queen's self-titled debut are inventive, meticulously-crafted modern classics.
"Just my thoughts, man. Just some things I was thinkin' about at the time." - Jay-Z
Well, look, I don't need to tell you that Scott Walker is the best thing since sliced bread. There are plenty of magazines and blogs and what-have-you espousing that now-popular party line these days. I will say that the man's grasp of Jacques Brel's music is awe-inspiring, and that all four of his sixties albums are well worth a listen. Scott 4 is probably the most accomplished and rewarding, but the other three are absolutely fantastic as well.
An artist whose reputation maybe does need some help: Luscious Jackson. Now, I know what you're thinking. "'Naked Eye'? 'Ladyfingers'? How is this 'good'?" Well, listen. "Ladyfingers" was the single from their last, and worst, album. They broke up after "Ladyfingers." And I'm not even gonna worry about defending "Naked Eye" - the production is flawless and it's catchy and cool as all hell. If you don't like it, you need to listen again. I will say, however, that these songs are not the sum of the band's oeuvre. In the beginning, and up through Fever In Fever Out, this band was on to something I haven't heard since. Much of their critical cred stems from their seamless integration of hip hop into a more organic flavor of funk, and that's certainly part of it, but it's more than that. It's the way Jill Cunniff and Gabby Glaser's voices ooze a sweet, dark cool, how Kate Schellenbach's machine-like drums merge seamlessly with the always-impeccably-chosen samples, how Vivian's keyboards expertly maneuver through the mix to set the mood. Hell, it's the way they named themselves after the 76ers' center from 1964-1972. The way they played the house band for little Pete's school dance in "Dance Fever" from the third season. If Grand Royal was, at one point, a tastemaking label renowned for its endless cool, it was at least 50% because of Luscious Jackson. The Beasties were goofy and pop-culture-drunk, Bis were sugar-shocked, and Cibo Matto were unabashedly postmodern (not to mention self-consciously exotic), but Luscious Jackson were above all things cool.
And another thing - they wrote "Here", a Perfect Song that survived both being on the soundtrack for Clueless and having a video featuring a bunch of footage from that movie. I've included it at the bottom of this post so you can see what I mean. I can barely even believe how good this groove is.
That's it for now. Ryan
Is there a more depressing song than Big Star's "Holocaust"? I mean, the whole of Elliott Smith's discography couldn't touch this song. Hank William's "Alone and Forsaken" isn't a patch on this song. And here's the reason why: these songs deal largely with unreal things, the rough stuff of the mind. They are man moaning meaninglessly, however beautifully they do it. These songs evoke a bad spot, a cold night, too many hours alone in your room listening to the neighbor's television spiel at full blast. "Holocaust", on the other hand, is the sound of hard-won defeat, a life without retreat that has nevertheless gone astray. Your mother's dead. Everything goes. How do you wake up? Life is almost unbearable in its cruelty.
Like I said, untouchable. This man isn't pouting about his woman or his loneliness. He's just staring into chaos, utterly hopeless. I guess that's the thing. This song is depressing because it's precisely what depression feels like. What other songs can say the same?
(That's not a rhetorical question - I'd be interested to know.)
Comments
"A Celebration Upon Completion" by the "Bright Eyes"
i guess time has a way of making everything alright it's just there is not enough of it and so we drink and we sing and we celebrate this lie and hope that it will last
makes me depressed...
The Violent Femmes have a song called "Nothing Worth Living For" that is as hopeless as the title implies. The closest the lyrics (of which there aren't many) come to explaining why is simply, "The pain is somewhere very close to me." The lyrics are sparse, the arrangement is sparse (with some very nice piano), and the production is sparse, leaving you imagining Gano sitting alone in the dark in a very big room, empty and isolated. That's the only one I can think of right now that approaches the same kind of overwhelming sadness "Holocaust" invokes.
Comments
I think maybe sometimes the reviewers are either jealous of the talent or the privilege artists get because of said talent. Or they get mad at the artist because the music they are putting out isn't what the reviewer wanted to see from their own standpoint as a fan. I stopped listening to what most reviewers said in the late eighties or early nineties, thanks to _Rolling Stone_ magazine. It also kind of inspired me to write reviews myself, cause if some of those hacks can pull it off...