http://blogcritics.org/ A sinister cabal of superior bloggers on music, books, film, popular culture, politics, and technology - updated continuously. en Copyright 2005-2007 by the authors Thu, 17 Mar 2005 00:21:43 EST http://backend.userland.com/rss Blogcritics.org custom software http://blogcritics.org/ Phillip WinnSunday, August 26, 2007, marks the switch of all Blogcritics.org article feeds from full-content to short-content. This is the result of several converging factors, and is unfortunately a permanent decision (as permanent as any decision can be on the web, that is). We are aware of all of the reasons that this is a Bad Idea, and we are aware that some of you will be quite upset about having to click on something to read the free content, and we're sorry. Unfortunately, despite great effort, full-content feeds are not currently economically viable. Two other factors are involved: full-content feeds have resulted in an unprecedented level of content theft, with BC content appearing on many websites, usually spam sites, without attribution or permission. This duplicate content causes a cascading set of problems, not the least of which is that search engines generally aren't favorable to duplicate content, and don't always guess correctly. Finally, our RSS advertising partner is strongly in favor of short-content feeds. We hope that you'll continue to subscribe to BC via RSS, and when an article grabs your eye, it's only a click away, still free on the BC website. Thank you for your understanding. Administration0@blogcritics.org Sun, 26 Aug 2007 12:00:00 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/03/17/002143.php Caryn RoseI fell in love with Heartless Bastards' vocalist Erika Wennerstrom's voice on the Junior Kimbrough tribute (Sunday Nights - The Songs of Junior Kimbrough). I was absolutely floored and immediately went to find out more about this band.I am pleased to report that Heartless Bastards' debut album, Stairs and Elevators, sounds nothing like they do on the Kimbrough tribute. But you know what? It's a million times better. It's the first album from a new band in a long time that made me stop what I was doing and LISTEN to it, the first album I was blown away over, the first album that I had to take the time and get to know it. I loaded it on my iPod and during the first few days, time and time again, a song from this record would come up in the random shuffle and I'd have to stop what I was doing to check the display on the iPod - "What IS this? Man, it's good." Oh. Stairs and Elevators. Should've figured.You're going to struggle to figure out who Wennerstrom's voice reminds you of - I know I did. I went through everything I could think of - Ann Wilson? Annie Golden? Lucinda? It was driving me insane until I hit the third track, "New Resolution". Maybe it was the fact that the intro bass line seems to be a boy howdy tribute borrowed from "Blitzkreig Bop," but this was the song that the penny fell into place:She's a female Joey Ramone.Honestly, that's the best description I could give you, and I only want to try so hard to explain it to you because her voice is so unique and tremendous, a soulful, vulnerable warble, a heartfelt croon. And it only gets stronger with the next song, "My Maker." Realize that I consider this to be like one of the greatest compliments I could give anyone, because it's not just that she's channeling Joey (I'm entirely certain it's not intentional, but I could be wrong) Wennerstrom's own brand of emotion and grace is permeates the entire record, every corner, every note. It has soul, it has guts, it SAYS something. She's not whining or pleading, there's a calm grace and power. This isn't much of a surprise, coming from someone whose web site statement reads: "My name is Erika Wennerstrom. I'm 27 years old and from Dayton, Ohio. I've wanted to be a songwriter and performer since I was born....I just want to keep on moving and do my best not to look back."The music. It's another three piece, but so complete, robust, satisfying. It's not minimal as much as essential. Erika on guitar, Mike Lampling on Bass and Kevin Vaughn, and it's bigger than it should be. This rhythm section is both fluid AND solid, I mean, like Entwistle-Moon solid; listen carefully to the drum fills rolling behind "My Maker" if you don't believe me, and "The Will" and "Pass and Fail" could be Isle of Wight-era Who.The songs don't fit into any neat little category, they rock, there's retro (without being such a carbon copy you wonder why they even bother). I could totally expect to have walked into CBGB in 1985 and seen this band onstage, but they don't sound dated. In fact, quite the contrary: they sound fresh, original, inspired. You could even dance to them (okay, that drunk couple who think they can dance really well, but can't, will get up in front of this band and dance to something like "Pass and Fail" for sure).If for some reason you didn't plunk down the cash to buy the Kimbrough tribute (and why not? It has two songs by the new Stooges!) "Done Got Old" is on here too, and sounds even better in context with the band's music book-ending it. It reveals itself to be the standout track that it absolutely is. "Piano Song" is the only track to have, well, a piano, and this is thrilling. I wish there were more. It's just Wennerstrom and the keyboard and here you can actually hear every detail of that vodka-soaked, world-wise instrument. "Lazy" wraps it all up, crystallizes it, the voice, the crunge-worthy guitar, the stop-and-start precision of the rhythm section, in my minds' eye I see the drummer twirling his sticks above his head with a Moon-ish grin on his face. It also wouldn't have been out of place on Paranoid (and owes perhaps just a little to it). Stairs and Elevators will be on my top ten of 2005, hands down. Hell, It already is. Music26848@blogcritics.org Thu, 17 Mar 2005 00:21:43 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/03/10/010240.php Caryn RoseThis is some freaky shit. It's like Syd Barrett if he didn't go insane and start climbing trees, it's early Pink Floyd if they didn't suck. It sounds like someone found these guys somewhere in South Dakota, because these songs sound like South Dakota - open and clean and clear.They do NOT sound like they were written in Brooklyn. It almost breaks my heart in a way to find out that they were, although I imagine that being confined in a small Brooklyn apartment for days on end might result in the same kind of mind-altering qualities as a life in South Dakota would.I am not entirely sure I am ready to buy into the entire aesthetic of Akron/Family, and knowing that there were three albums' worth of material ready to release is a little frightening, in a way. I can see this being a record that both Thurston Moore and Steve Earle could like, I could see them on a bill with, say, Magnolia Electric Co., but I could also see them with something loud and rocking.I am not much for psychedelia, however. I just have not done that many drugs or gone that insane, yet, and there is just a little bit of it here. Just a little.Michael Gira (x-Swans), who signed Akron/Family to his Young God Records imprint, compares them to "an eerie and twisted version of the Band" and I hate him because he is right. Akron/Family is indeed very American music. That outsider quality comes through. Still, the Band are supposed to be the quintessential American band. I tend to give that title to the MC5 or the Stooges, but then again I am talking loud raw and primitive.This is the kind of thing where I scratch my head and wonder where all these people who bemoan "there is no good music any more" get off saying it. This isn't trendy Williamsburg hipster crap that's going to be so flavor of the month in 15 minutes. There is art and musicianship and actual songcraft at work here, a sense of timelessness pervades the entire album. Maybe three albums isn't such a scary idea after all.I don't know that I'm down with the cult-like trappings of the long beards and alternate culture concepts (all of that smacks too much of, say, Unibomber). It puzzles me that one would come to Brooklyn to do that instead of, say, Idaho, and all of that noise seems perhaps just the teensiest bit pretentious. But I still dig these songs, and the music, and the compositions, and am willing to overlook everything else as a result.This is a record that holds up upon repeated listens, with incredibly lush layers and arrangements on some (and while I salute alternate instrumentation, I didn't need to know that the drumming in "Rainforest" is all four members of the band simultaneously beating on their chests. Sometimes, a little mystery is a good thing), while others are kept deliberately minimal.The eight-minute "Italy" is a sonic journey, while "I'll Be On The Water" (another standout) is more sparse, stripped-down, vocals to the forefront, simple and folky, evergreen. There's sound effect compositions that wouldn't be out of place on a Brian Eno album, and then some other songs with an aching quality that remind me of Elliot Smith ("Shoes" as an example).Every song is different, there are too many influences to count and they are all scrambled up, torn apart, and then put together again in the most unexpected ways. Akron/Family isn't so much alt.country as its own country.A final note: Akron/Family will be backing Michael Gira on his forthcoming tour supporting his Angels of Light release (and also opening for him as well). Find out more about Akron/Family at the Young God Records Web site. Music26512@blogcritics.org Thu, 10 Mar 2005 01:02:40 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/03/10/001126.php Caryn RoseIndie rock of the country-ish persuasion has been blessed lately with these women of tremendous, distinctive voice - Neko Case, Tift Merritt, Jesse Sykes, and Melissa Swingle, formerly of Bloodshot's Trailer Bride. I mention this because Swingle is now fronting a new project, The Moaners, on that new vanguard for record labels, Yep Roc (not since Sub Pop or Dischord have I been willing to pick up anything on a label just because everything they put out has been so consistently non-sucky).So you have a voice given to you by the angels, that's an instrument in and of itself, and what do you do? Because your instrument is itself so distinctive that it's impossible for it to not take front and center of any musical project - not only impossible, but pointless for it to be any other way. Swingle's voice was the key attraction in Trailer Bride, at least for me, its Nico-on-'ludes (yeah, that image scares me too), other-worldly quality guiding you through Trailer Bride's Flannery-O'connor-meets-Starweather-and-Fugate, bleak black (how much more black could it be? none, none more black) lyrics.So now Swingle's put together the Moaners, along with Laura King (late of Grand National) on drums (and please don't think "White Stripes," it's not like Jack white has any kind of patent on a band with only two people in it). The duo thing is hard to pull off and almost no one does it well, or makes it sound interesting. But Swingle has that voice and you could build an empire around it, you really could. In fact, the lack of adornment is kind of like wearing one gorgeous piece of jewelry with a simple black dress: you don't need anything else. Their debut release, Dark Snack, proves this theory.Surprisingly (and delightfully), the Moaners rock. Not as hard as you'd like them to (my disappointment is that they don't rock harder than they do here, it's almost too tuneful in some spots, if you can say that for a duo on drums, samples, loops and a down-tuned guitar). You want this record to shred your eardrums and it comes oh so very very very close... but you come away unscathed. And sad, almost, that they didn't rip you to pieces. It will be interesting to see how the live version of the Moaners manifests itself, if the amps go to 11 (I have now reached the rock writer union limit of no more than two "Spinal Tap" references per review, don't worry, this is it, I promise) or if they maintain this lower-key groove as presented on the album. The songs are short and to the point - most numbers near the 3 minute mark - and again, are downright poppy for what they're made of. There's even some Cobain-esque guitar feedback and tones throughout that, surprisingly, works. Standout tracks include "Heart Attack," "Oh Christy," and the instrumental "Chasing the Moon" that closes the album (and which deserves an orchestra in the background, I swear). Dark Snack is crunchy, it's solid, and ultimately, it's as satisfying as the Hostess cupcake that adorns the cd label. Music26511@blogcritics.org Thu, 10 Mar 2005 00:11:26 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/03/09/235415.php Caryn RoseAfter about the half-dozenth unsolicited gush/recommendation to check out Kasabian's self-titled debut CD, I felt I had no choice. I even saved the debut listen for a day spent in the car so I could devote some serious listening time to the album. In fact, I was so sure this record was going to be a slam dunk that I didn't bring any other music with me. I expected some kind of Radiohead-ish except harder rocking, UK band, with thoughtful lyrics or some kind of quirk. As I crossed the George Washington Bridge, heading west, I slid the CD into the player and eagerly anticipated the first notes. The last thing I expected was to get this bland, unimpressive collection of guitar-synth mélange. I kept hoping, praying, waiting for it to get better, that it would grow on me with the next listen. But after one and a half listens, I began to feel like that guy who drove from Iowa to Chicago listening to nothing but "Dancing Queen" by ABBA. I finally resorted to switching between news radio and KROCK right about the time I hit Morristown, NJ, and when stopping for gas, I emptied out both the center console and the glove box in the car in the hope that there was something else I could listen to. (I found a live Emmylou Harris CD. It was a gift of the gods.) To be honest, I was willing to chalk up my complete and utter distaste to age or a lack of context. After all, none of the influences Kasabian carefully photocopies are new for me. But then again, I loved Oasis (the band most compared to Kasabian) and absolutely adore Jet (funny that the two of them are touring, but then again, not), but can't freaking stand the likes of Franz Ferdinand (band #2 they are most compared to) and the Bravery.I saw the latter group play at the SPIN Magazine Christmas party and after two songs, commented to someone that I didn't like them back in 1985. (They looked at me somewhat puzzled and asked, "I didn't think they'd been around that long?") But I've chatted with some friends across the pond in the UK, whose vitriol against Kasabian is even harsher than mine.Yes, absolutely, all rock and roll is derivative, and according to Keith Richards, derives from the same Chuck Berry chord. I don't argue this thesis or disagree with it whatsoever. That said, the art in rock and roll is what the band or musician adds to the old-time family recipe handed down from generation to generation. If you just channel A Flock of Seagulls back at me, I'm going to be just as bored as I was the first time around. Listening to this album is like playing "Spot the Influences"; it would be one thing if it was just one riff or one song, but it's everything, everywhere.Although I have a soft spot for the Stone Roses (and once made a serious detour to Paris just to see them play live), the rest of the Manchester music scene did nothing for me except make me exceedingly depressed, and I didn't take enough drugs for the Happy Mondays to make any sense to me. So the fact that this era is Kasabian's big musical influence probably doesn't help me like them just one bit.I need more guitars, not less or at least synthesizers that rock, somehow. I have a bias in that department.There are brief moments of hope - the intro to "Club Foot," for example, has about 12 seconds where you're fearing that your speakers are going to blow out, before it degenerates to something sounding not much different than that KLF song from the 90s. The whole album, in fact, is filled with amazing hooks that are subjugated to inferior melodies or abandonded in favor of something likely regarded as experimental and therefore superior.The songs on Kasabian are absolutely competently performed, and the songs are, on the face of it, well-written, and while I can always forgive derivation, there's no fire, passion or spark here, and I don't buy the whole rebel image that the band are trying (perhaps a little too hard) to put on in interviews and press releases.I know this band is the current Great White Hope and my hopes for this record were also rather large, but no matter how many times I try to give it another chance, Kasabian was so very much not what I expected. It is doesn't add anything to the culture. Music26510@blogcritics.org Wed, 9 Mar 2005 23:54:15 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/02/14/020135.php Caryn RoseCreating the definitive collection of anything is an impossible task; creating an album that's supposed to be the definitive representation of the New York punk scene is almost setting yourself up for the firing squad. There have been plenty of previous attempts, to be sure (hell, even Marty Thau's 2x5 was supposed to be a 'definitive' compilation of the New York scene at the time, and, in hindsight, actually was). The worst offender in the series has to be the dreadful "Live From CBGB's" album, the first release on Hilly Krystal's CBGB Records - which contained none of the bands that anyone was actually going to see, or created a buzz.So it is with great amazement that I inform you that New York Rocks: Original Punk Classics of the 70's (released on Koch Records, even if the title sounds like a K-Tel release) is, actually, pretty damn representative. If you sat me down and said, "Quick, who should be on the definitive NYC punk compilation?" I would likely rattle off as follows: "Ramones, Patti Smith, Television, Dictators, Heartbreakers, Blondie, Richard Hell," and - I'll be damned! All of the above appear on the record. The inclusion of the Velvet Underground is only fitting; even if they predated the scene by a good 8-10 years, without Lou Reed, many of the people in the aforementioned bands would never have gotten any further than lip syncing in front of the mirrors in their bedrooms. (However, if they were going to include the Velvets, it makes the absence of the New York Dolls that much more glaring. Probably due to legal issues, but it does seem like a large gaping chasm, especially given that Johnny Thunders is represented twice, both with the Heartbreakers and solo.) There was no attempt to classify the compilation as being CBGB-oriented vs. Max's-oriented (the Velvets never played CB's, after all), so they don't have that excuse. Suicide has become one of those bands that everyone now claims that they loved or were a definitive influence, and I couldn't argue with the presence of Wayne County. While most people tend to write him off, or sideline him as a novelty act, it's not so much the artist that's important here rather than the song: his/her anthem to the scene, "Max's Kansas City". It's not the greatest song ever, it's basically a campy, rhyming recitation of names of bands, over a riff borrowed from Lou Reed's hand-me-downs. Considering that the only place that song exists is on an out of print vinyl LP I have in storage, it's almost worth owning this collection just to have that song on CD - even as dated and corny as the song might seem now, when I was a kid in Connecticut, and reading copies of Rock Scene was the closest I could get to hanging out at Max's, this song was magic. The Dead Boys also belong on here, no question, even if they did come from Cleveland, they definitely made their mark downtown.So now we come to the "why are they on here" contenders, Mink DeVille and the Mumps. The press release tries to sell their presence as deliberate: "The New York scene was always about a lot more than just the Ramones and the Velvets [well, doh, since the Velvets, again, as previously mentioned, predated said scene by almost a decade], and this collection demonstrates that with its mixture of classics and hard-to-find gems by the Dictators and the Mumps..." Okay, maybe it's just personal frame of reference, but I'd hardly toss the Dictators in the "hard-to-find" category. And, out of all the bands listed, only the Dictators were on the stage at Little Steven's Underground Garage festival last summer, so I'm not quite seeing how they landed in the "obscure" bin. However, having said that, even though Willy DeVille never quite lived up to the hype and the promise, "Let Me Dream If I Want To" was (is, still, even) a damn good song that I would have forgotten about if it wasn't for this compilation.So we've established that, in this case, at least the label got the bands right (2 out of 14, we'll give them a pass). The real test is the songs. Even on Rhino's great city/scene-themed punk compilations, they'd have the right bands, but the bands in question wouldn't license them anything worth listening to. So while (for example) the Boston collection in that series is great, the New York and LA compilations left a lot to be desired. However, in this case, Koch knocked it out of the park. The tracklisting is impeccable. I might have chosen a different Patti Smith song, but then again I'm a freak. Everything else is a home run: "Blitzkrieg Bop," "See No Evil," "Can't Put Your Arms Around A Memory," "Sonic Reducer," "Blank Generation" - it's all here.So if you don't have these songs, if you're too young to remember, if you don't know where to start, or if you're old enough that you have all of this on vinyl already and never wanted to try to gather the essential songs in a digital format, this collection is damn solid for a single CD release, and lives up to its billing. After all, it's not claiming to be definitive, just "celebrating the golden years" (Christ, I feel OLD now) "of the New York punk scene," and that it succeeds at, in spades. Music25484@blogcritics.org Mon, 14 Feb 2005 02:01:35 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/02/06/012105.php Caryn RoseImagine if aliens had captured the Rolling Stones and locked them in a time capsule right around the time they started hanging out in Morocco, but before Brian Jones took a nosedive into drug-induced oblivion. Imagine that he won the battle of egos and he ran the Stones, not Mick. The result might well resemble the Brian Jonestown Massacre, whose most recent release, Tepid Peppermint Wonderland, is a fabulously glittering representation of their particular brand of sonic time-warped psychedelia.Tepid Peppermint Wonderland is a two-disc, 38-song collection of songs that attempts to summarize thus far the prodigious, prolific career of the Brian Jonestown Massacre. Consisting of material spanning 1995 to 2004, it's labelled a "retrospective" quite deliberately, because it is one of the rare collections that actually successfully summarizes the band's career into a digestible portion. With the exception of a 1998 album (Strung Out In Heaven, released on TVT), Tepid Peppermint Wonderland is great bang for your buck if you don't own any of the BJM albums, or if you own a few and want to fill in the rest of the holes in your collection. In fact, it might even do the job too well; because there are 9 albums as well as two EP's and other collections of random music to be had in total. Unless you're obsessed or a completist, this collection hands you more than enough BJM to keep you sated for quiet some time. The collection is organized sonically rather than chronologically, which makes for a more coherent listening experience, but kind of tells the story out of order as a result. Originally I suspected the hand of BJM icon Anton Newcombe in this, but he's gone on the record as saying that his participation in this project was limited to granting permission, nothing more. (Of course, knowing Newcombe, that could either be the straight truth or a distortion of same.) The compilation includes a book with brief comments from band members on each track. Particular highlights are the trio of songs recorded live on WFMU (one of which, "Swallowtail," is otherwise unreleased). It would have been a far more interesting experience if the band had been actively involved in the selection of songs, because while TPM is absolutely a solid representation of the band's career, we don't know if the songs selected have particular (or any) meaning to the band (or at least to the members who remain; it will probably surprise no one that the cast of characters does change often). While the BJM are reasonably well-known in indie rock circles on the West Coast, and have an avid but underground following elsewhere, they have gained a great deal of exposure recently due to the documentary "Dig!" released in 2004 to much acclaim. While Newcombe hates the fact that their band keeps being mentioned in the same breath as the film (and has since gone on record disavowing it), the label releasing this compliation is (rightly, I believe, since their job is to sell records) pushing the film as part of their promotion for the record. Opinions are widely split on the movie and the band. Personally, I believe that rock and roll can and should be fabulous and outrageous, and that those performing it are allowed to be impossible and mercurial if they so choose. I don't need to "like" a musician to enjoy their music (as Ryan Adams once put it, "I'm not asking you to be my roommate.") Living in the Pacific Northwest for 9 years, I didn't need a documentary to tell me that people think that some people think Anton Newcombe might be a little bit of an asshole; people in the scene would declare it to be fact weekly. To which I would reply, amazed, well, what did you think, that he would be Joan Baez or something? (And even Joan went through her own prima donna moments back in the day.) The BJM motto is, after all, "Keep Music Evil."I've always preferred the live Brian Jonestown Massacre experience to anything they've done on record, but Tepid Peppermint Wonderland is certainly essential if you're even vaguely interested in this band. Music25169@blogcritics.org Sun, 6 Feb 2005 01:21:05 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/02/04/120529.php Caryn RoseI became a die-hard Who fan at the age of 15. Did I say die-hard? More like obsessed, obsessive, consumed, in love with a rock band the way you can probably only be when you are discovering the world and your place in it for the first time.Mike Watt and d.boon (of the late, great Minutemen) were also die-hard Who fans from a young age, and had a friendship that was cemented, solidified through their shared love of and for music. d.boon died in an automobile accident in 1985, and Watt (he's just Watt) has continued fighting the good fight and continued making great music.Petra Haden Sings: The Who Sell Out is the brainwave of Mike Watt, and was inspired by his friendship with d.boon and their shared Who obsession. Watt suggested the idea to Haden, who is a friend and colleague, and she took on the challenge. The result is what will definitely be one of the most remarkable albums of the year.While obsessive fans of any band can sometimes be somewhat rigid and defensive of the music they love, Who fans are probably some of the worst offenders. To many of them, there is no other music worth listening to, and no one, repeat, no one, can touch the Who's music. As an example, for a better part of the 90s a large majority of Who fans were up in arms over Eddie Vedder "daring" to perform the Who's music and sing Pete Townshend's songs - somehow, overlooking that he had been invited by Pete himself.So Petra Haden is one brave woman, taking on the recreation of an entire Who album, solo. She doesn't even have brand recognition working in her favor. If she got one thing, the tiniest, most miniscule thing wrong with this record, she would be skewered alive. But there is not one thing out of place on this record, and this is notable because there is no instrumentation whatsoever on the album. That's right, the entire record is performed completely a capella.Petra Haden Sings: The Who Sell Out is absolutely a cover album in the classic sense. Haden tracked every single note, every thundering Entwistle bass note, every rollicking Keith Moon drum roll, every Townshendian crescendo, every classic Daltrey vocal warble. But the difference here, and what makes this album so remarkable, is that every vocal track, every sound effect, every instrument, is created using Haden's voice and only her voice, multi-tracked. This record is nothing less than jaw-dropping brilliant. It's astounding. It's a truly remarkable, joyful musical performance, while also being the most original idea for a cover album, ever. That said, part of the album's brilliance is that the interpretation is blindingly original, but at the same time, not so inaccessible that it won't speak to a larger audience.As Watt relates in the liner notes, Haden wasn't particularly familiar with the album, or with early Who. This is important, because it means that it wasn't her all-time favorite record and lifetime dream to cover it. She has no emotional attachment to the songs - which you would think would make it lifeless and dull, or at least lacking energy. But Petra Haden Sings: The Who Sell Out is anything but that. Instead, there is this pervasive pure ebullience and joy that saturates the record. There is a freshness and a spirit to the performance, because she hadn't heard the record her entire life, it was all new to her.Now, if you're familiar at all with The Who Sell Out, you know it's a pop art masterpiece, and one of its hallmarks are the radio jingles that appear in between songs, connective tissue if you will, trying to simulate what it was like listening to Radio Caroline or any of the other legendary pirate radio stations stationed off-shore in the 60s and vital to the British music scene. So it's not enough already that she's singing "I Can See For Miles" and "Armenia City In The Sky" and "Mary Anne With The Shakey Hands," Hayden includes every jingle - Rotosound strings, Heinz baked beans, Track Records. It's all here.Every single song is fascinating, but the most overwhelming performances have to be "I Can See For Miles" (that droning Townshend chord-solo is there, too), "Armenia City In The Sky," and "Sunrise" - the latter perfectly suited to Haden's voice. And the top of the list is "Rael," Townshend's first attempt at rock opera - the "mini-opera," as it was referred to, with its intricate instrumentation, captured down to the last note and inflection. The experience of listening to this record is beyond unique, especially if you are a fan and know the songs inside and out. (Watt alludes to this in the liner notes: "We knew that record inside and out and Petra caught that spirit, big time.") You discover that you know every single inflection and every tiny insignificant sonic detail, and find yourself singing along in your head to the various tracks."Our Love Was, Is" has an angelic counterpoint I don't think I ever consciously noticed before. Or the bass line in "I Can See For Miles" takes on a new dimension when it is sung and not strummed, not to mention the compositional components you never really heard separately from the rest. It feels like you are listening to the music upside-down, or in another language - you know it, but you suddenly don't. The rug of "familiar" is pulled out from underneath you, and if you are lucky, it is like hearing and experiencing this album for the very first time all over again, except with the benefit of years of musical experience behind you. You have context and can appreciate it more than you did the first time you bought Sell Out (most likely that dreadful double-album reissue with the ugly American cover.).Oh, and the cover of the CD - of course, the cover - it's an exact tribute to the original UK pop art masterpiece, which featured each member of the Who in an advertisement for the products "advertised" on the album. Of course, Hayden duplicates them to exacting perfection. I just hope the experience wasn't so exact that Haden caught pneumonia from sitting in the tub of baked beans - which is what happened to Roger Daltrey during the original Sell Out album cover shoot. (Remember what I said earlier about obsessed and obsessive.)Finally, if you need an imprimatur in order to validate the record for you, here's a quote from Chairman Townshend himself: "I love it. It is exquisite." No argument here. Music25105@blogcritics.org Fri, 4 Feb 2005 12:05:29 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/02/03/022656.php Caryn RoseThe cover of the Postal Service's newest single, "We Have Become Silhouettes" (from 2003's collaboration,Give Up) is a lovely snowy urban street scene (that suspiciously looks like the Seattle neighborhood that Sub Pop Records' office is located in, but that could be coincidence).The song's lyrics cheerfully relate being snowed in, with groceries and provisions, and maybe it's a case of subliminal suggestion on all sides, but the music feels like a snowy day, what it's like to wake up in the middle of the night and hear the kind of quiet that can only be caused by a blanket of snow, that feeling of "No school tomorrow!" that you probably get even as an adult. The whirling synth notes at the end of the song sound like wind-swept snowflakes cascading down the street, around your ankles as you walk down the sidewalk. Instead of a February release, it should have been a Christmas single, because that's how it feels.The Postal Service is a long-distance side project between Ben Gibbard (of Death Cab For Cutie) and producer Jimmy Tamborello. By "long distance" they mean that the two of them collaborated by sending music back and forth between Washington and California, each adding new elements until the record was completed.The single also includes "Be Still My Heart" (featuring Jenny Lewis from Rilo Kiley), a Styrofoam remix of "Nothing Better," and if you dig the remix thing, Matthew Dear remixed the title track (as "Matthew Dear's Not Scared Mix"). Thank god for Sub Pop, keeping singles cool and alive. Record company trivia time: Give Up is the second best-selling Sub Pop release (guess what the first one is? Can you? Begins with a N... yeah, that's right. Bleach by Nirvana.) Music25053@blogcritics.org Thu, 3 Feb 2005 02:26:56 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/01/26/003251.php Caryn RoseIt is rare these days that I get a record that makes me stop in my tracks, that I play endlessly, put away, and then when I pick it up again, it's still as good as I remember it. One of two new releases from Bright Eyes, I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning, is a record like that. The record opens with what feels like a stream-of-consciousness story reminiscent of Patti Smith, the energy and the breathlessness catching you up in it:"So there was this woman, and she was on an airplane, and she was flying to meet her fiance, zooming high above the largest ocean on planet earth..."You don't know where Conor Oberst is going, exactly, with this story, but it - and he - he draws you into the record, into the song, into the journey that is I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning. The rollicking tune that follows doesn't seem to fit, it seems incongruous, but the lyrics betray that:"While my mother waters plants My father loads his guns He says death will give us back to god Just like this setting sun is returned to this lonesome ocean..."The images of earth and parents and god and religion (if you count guns as religion, which in the midwest they might be, and to some people everywhere, they are) are pervasive on this record.Following Conor Oberst's career is not a passive spectator sport, if you blink, you will miss it, he will release an album and then immediately come up with new songs that he feels are better but you can only hear them live. Gone are the days of the enraptured audience there to watch him stare at the ground and bleed tales of woe and sadness on his guitar strings. Growing up in public is never easy to do, but Oberst is the first artist in a long time who seems to have accomplished it without embarrassing himself. It seems condescending to characterize his journey as an artist thus, but when someone started recording when they were 14, and now they are 24, it would be ignorant not to consider that viewpoint.I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning is a huge record. It grows and expands and is absolutely his finest work yet, coming from an artist who's well aware that he is continuing to grow and evolve. (In a recent interview, when asked what he would like people who weren't familiar with his work to know about it, his response was, "If they don't like this one, maybe they should wait until the next one.") There is a lushness, a richness, a depth to the songs and the stories.As a storyteller, Oberst's range has broadened. He will hate yet another review that talks about his recent move to New York City, but there are hundreds of artists who have been deeply affected by Manhattan's grace; it's impossible to escape it if it truly touches you, and it can inform your work without overshadowing it, which it clearly does here. "Lua" is a prime example of this, talking about waving at taxis and having them turn their lights off, timeless themes of walking through the city, the city at night, subways, and then the incongruous "what seemed to simple in the moonlight" - even in the city, the moon can shine, but only someone not from here would think to look for it and use it as a touchstone.Much of Oberst's material lately has been informed by politics, and "Old Soul Song" is at the centerpiece here. It's a modern protest song in that it doesn't try to speak for everyone, it speaks to one person's individual experience, they are part of a group but it is their individual story that speaks out."Traveling Song" feels ancient and the lyrics speak of intention to write a song in that tradition. And even though Oberst invokes cell phones and other touches of modernity, he manages to have written something melodically and emotionally timeless.On the subject of timelessness, it's impossible to review this record without mentioning the contributions of the great Emmy Lou Harris. That said, many reviewers seem to disproportionately focus on her presence on the record. She is there and the voice is beautiful as always, but it is not a centerpiece or a component on which the songs depend. Her presence enhances the music, there is no doubt, but it is not some kind of fulcrum that gives the album weight or worth."Landlocked Song" was originally called "One Foot In Front of the Other," and appeared on a compilation about a year ago. Oberst has a habit of renaming songs, borrowing verses, reshaping until he gets the words into an order of his liking. It's almost as though he's saying, "Um, hey, I think I found a better way to do this, can you hang on and let me try this out?" It's an egoless, self-effacing approach to art, it's unapologetic, and it is his words and his music and he should be able to do this, it's just that no one does, in this climate everyone has everything perfect the first time. No iteration or evolution allowed, if someone does catch an artist recycling words or themes it's as though they've caught them doing something wrong.No artist likes comparisons, especially not ones that seem outlandish, but when describing this record after the first few listens, I said to a friend, "No, it's really good. It's, like, Dylan good." By that I didn't mean to equate him with Dylan or measure him against his talent, but rather to express that Oberst has incontrovertibly become an artist to be reckoned with, someone you can follow through his career. Maybe you will like what he has to say at a given moment or maybe you won't, but another moment will be along if you don't and maybe that one will speak to you, but that they will keep growing and creating and experimenting, and trying again and again and again. Music24718@blogcritics.org Wed, 26 Jan 2005 00:32:51 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/01/19/232011.php Caryn RoseThe new Fat Possum Records release, Sunday Night - The Songs of Junior Kimbrough, manages to shatter the assumptions that white boys can't play the blues and that all tribute albums suck. Here, both of those theories delightfully fall flat on their faces.Tribute albums usually start from a heartfelt expression but end up being poorly executed, mostly because of over-enthusiasm, legal entanglements, or a combination of the two. So, in most cases, you end up with a tentative collection of obscure songs that won't entice any listener to dig further, performed by a line-up of bands that have enough trouble selling their own records.Somehow, the Fat Possum team managed to avoid all the classic tribute record pitfalls with Sunday Night.... The late north Mississippi bluesman "Junior" Kimbrough, who died in 1998, isn't as well known as he should be. He didn't record his first album until 1992, when Fat Possum signed him. Junior also owned a juke joint, and every Sunday night - well, you get the idea. (The shack on the cover is, in fact, said actual juke joint.)The blues, real blues music, should beguile you, seduce you, entice you, scare you just a little. It can either make a hole in your heart or fill the one that's there. It should make you want to dance or just close your eyes and listen. Amazingly, every track on this record will do one or more of those things to you.With the people who championed Junior Kimbrough at the helm, it's no wonder that Sunday Night... is a stunning success. The thing that might get your attention is the inclusion of the first two songs, featuring new recordings by the reunited Iggy and the Stooges. And it well should, because those two numbers most of all personify the aforementioned qualities of the blues and then some. However, to focus on those two tracks alone does the rest of the album a terrible disservice.To get it out of the way, the Stooges perform two very different covers of "You Better Run" that sound like they were recorded 30 years ago, or at least in a world in which the Stooges hadn't broken up. Iggy invited Junior Kimbrough to open for him on his 1996 tour (Of course, when I saw him on that tour, I got the Demolition Doll Rods instead).The Stooges were urban bluesmen, so it's no surprise that Iggy performs "You Better Run" like he owns it. It's dark, it's loud, it's disturbing and it inspires the kind of fear you have driving down a dark country road in an old car and hoping you don't break down.Some people might cry nepotism when they look at the track list, with Fat Possum label mates Heartless Bastards, The Black Keys, Thee Shams, and Entrance, but it's a label with a blues orientation, dammit, and Dan Auerbach of the Black Keys taught himself to play guitar by listening to Junior's records.Plus, it means that you are forced to listen to the Heartless Bastards, and if you don't think that Erika Wennerstrom's voice on "Done Got Old" sounds like a midnight wind screaming through the Mississippi delta, if it doesn't conjure 3 a.m. with a lonesome train whistle in the distance, you don't have much of a heart or an imagination.Thee Shams' version of "Release Me" sounds like it was recorded at the Crawdaddy Club. And Guy Blakeslee, AKA Entrance, teams up with the great Cat Power for an ethereal rendition of "Do The Romp." The album would be decidedly poorer without the contribution of these Fat Possum label mates.It's not a surprise that the Fiery Furnaces are one of the highlights of the compilation but the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion's number isn't as incendiary as one would anticipate. It's worth noting that their version of "Meet Me In The City" features the late Elliott Smith on acoustic guitar.Mark Lanegan's whiskey-smoked voice competes with Iggy's in terms of putting the fear into you; he's never sounded better, and "All Night Long" is one of the record's true standouts.Heck, this record makes me like Pete Yorn. Pete Yorn! Or at least relate to the respect presented in his cover of "I Feel Good Again," one of Kimbrough's few acoustic numbers.This is true, even if Yorn's version is familiar from a record called "Live In New Jersey". Every time I hear the record and get to this track, I stop and think, "God, this is good, who does this again?"That's the surest sign of a tribute album's success ever. The record suceeds precisely because the songs on Sunday Night - The Songs of Junior Kimbrough are each nothing less than heartfelt interpretations that bring you inside Junior's Place, make you want to know more, to hear more, and draw you closer to a sound that inspired, well, everyone worth listening to. Music24445@blogcritics.org Wed, 19 Jan 2005 23:20:11 EST