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 Tue, 13 Sep 2005 03:44:13 EDT 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/2005/09/13/034413.php Josh FoustA while ago, conservative columnist (and classical music critic) Jay Nordlinger decried pop music as an unqualified evil. I responded by musing about whether he had heard "pop" acts like Icelandic legends Sigur Rós, for all the artistry they put into their music surely disqualifies them from the label "trash."And indeed it is pop music. Any band who is signed to Geffen Records is pop, at least in the most general sense of the term. They have the resources available to reach a huge audience, compared to their previous label. But Sigur Rós has never been the traditional pop group.For one, their first album, Von (initially released only in Iceland), was a dark and adventurous sprawl of sonic experimentation. They followed up two years later in 1999 with the string-laden Ágætis Byrjun, which built on the success of Von and added sweeping strings, tighter arrangements, and a mournful, epic mood to their 10-minute compositions. Three years would pass until in late 2002 they released the pretentiously-titled ( ), which continued the same sound of Ágætis Byrjun, only with pseudo-art packaging, like a complete lack of track titles.In all, it was an impressive resumé for a band with only three albums to its name. But by the time ( ) came around, a lot of critics were wondering whether Sigur Rós could progress any further. It was their first major-label release in the Unitedf States (on MCA), yet it represented no major growth--really, just a tightening of sound, and a deliberate attempt to break it up into two parts (a-side and b-side?) with a 30-second silence at the tail end of "Untitled 4."Que another three year wait and a worldwide, sold-out tour.Sigur Rós has once again hit these hallowed shores with a new album, Takk. "Thanks" in Icelandic, Takk is not at all what it should have been. It grows the Sigur Rós sound in all the right ways, it tightens most of the songs into reasonable pop-album lengths (in a seeming first, the majority of the tracks are under 8 minutes), and the band is much more direct in "getting to the point."A good example is "Sæglópur." A mere two minutes into the song, the delicate, plinking piano and various chimes and clicks and pretty falsetto squeaking suddenly explode into the expected wailing noise of a Sigur Rós climax. As the piano begins genuinely banging, the full brunt of the song hits you in the face for the next three minutes. Then a calm down, a new movement, as that familiar languid wind down finally runs its course. Total elapsed time: 7:38. Two albums before, it would have been over 11:00. This is an unqualified improvement.That's not to say Sigur Rós didn't stick to their normal song writing. They do, and nothing on here could possibly be mistaken for any other band, not even Múm. And they're still good at taking their time--after the standard intro song, "Glósóli," roughly translated as "sunshine," begins its slow plod. For a good three minutes, it trudges its way forward, with an insistent beat and that building, soaring guitar wail that underpins most of their songs keeps things familiar. Around four minutes in, it gets faster, and singer Jon Thor Birgisson begins to develop more intensity. After only 30 seconds of a "tease" buildup, it explodes, with a gorgeous guitar wail climbing and then falling the scale, stutter-stepping its way into an exhilarating finish.In fact, from this one track, it is obvious something has changed. No longer can their sound be called "funeral-like," "brooding," plodding," or even necessarily "moody." It's too bright. Imagine laying out on the hood of your car on a mountain top and watching the stars--you'll get the basic idea of "Hoppípolla." Now imagine gazing down at a lake in that amber, sideways light of a late evening--you'll understand "Sé Lest." The entire album screams triumph, happiness, and gratitude. The best example of how truly they have changed is right there, in "Sé Lest," when, 6:30 into the song, it suddenly breaks into a horn-driven waltz, complete with playful drums. It is so out of place, yet so playful and charming, that the bewilderment any Sigur Rós fan would feel is completely overwhelmed by the lullaby (or perhaps kid movie soundtrack) feel to the whole thing.The darker tracks, too, maintain that persistent optimism. "Gong," the most obviously rhythm-driven of album, still has some niggling optimism buried underneath Birgisson's falsetto croon. The gentle, grinding halt of "Andvari" is the same way--like a flower wilting, there is an exquisite beauty to the drag it produces, one that results, ultimately, in hope. Try listening to this and not feel like soaring--just try it. You cannot.Takk is one of the very few ways major labels get it right. Music like this deserves a wide audience, for its sheer audacity, skill, and penetrating beauty. And Nordlinger, he should be ashamed, the silly snob, to write off all pop music the way he did. It was obviously spoken (written) in ignorance. I hope he can give some of this the chance it so very much deserves. Music36066@blogcritics.org Tue, 13 Sep 2005 03:44:13 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/09/11/170542.php Josh FoustA friend of mine told me he hated Plans "because it didn't sound like Postal Service." I had to laugh--this was akin to saying you don't like the latest Blur album because it doesn't sound like Gorillaz--but I felt it was indicative of something larger. Are bands ruined by success? There are some that are just plain successful, and thrive that way; but the smaller ones, the ones who spent years toiling in Indie Purgatory, can they handle success? Or will they just be swallowed up by their own hype?Indeed, there are some amusing similarities between Plans and Coldplay's X&Y. For each, their new album was meant to rocket them to superstar status. Coldplay was riding the success of "Clocks" being everywhere and in every award show, and Death Cab for Cutie was riding the success of being tapped for multiple episodes of the OC. I hated X&Y--and I took a lot of flack for it--but Coldplay more or less puttered out, remaking "Clocks" eleven times over and occasionally varying the minute mark where the other instruments joined in. Death Cab doesn't fall for the same trap; while they are certainly referencing their earlier work, and while they are certainly remaining within the mold they have contructed for themselves, Plans is not by any means a flat album.Its dynamism shine through from the very first track. "Marching Bands of Manhattan" follows up on an old DCFC tradition: a leisurely, slow build, no chorus or refrain, and tender, beautiful, heart breaking lyrics. It also seems to fit in Gibbard's tradition of using major American cities as foibles for broken relationships--"405," off We Have the Facts and We're Voting Yes and "The District Sleeps Alone Tonight" off Postal Service reference LA and DC, respectively. "Sorrow drips into your heart/Through a pinhole...But while you debate/Half empty or half full/It slowly rises/Your love is gonna drown." Over the course of four minutes, the drums keep rolling, the kick keeps insistently kicking, and the guitar gently meanders around the various notes of Gibbard's melody. When the distortion hits, it almost climaxes, and just as it hints at winding down, all you're left with is a single piano key. Brilliant.The first third of Plans follows this general trend. While X&Y was permeated with a sameness that blurred the distinction between tracks (I'll never forget my best friend remarking, "when did it become track 4? I thought we were on 1!"), Plans has no such issue. These first three tracks harken back to Something About Airplanes, only this time they have a budget. "Soul Meets Body," their big single, is beset by some confusing experimentation (I don't know why they fuzzed out the textures and had Gibbard step up his falsetto for wailing the title), but has a killer video to keep it interesting. It remains catchy and fun, though, which is nice.Here's another weird similarity between X&Y and Plans: they're both essentially all ballads. Yet, while Coldplay fuzzes out and falls asleep in the middle of track 1, Death Cab manages to vary textures and tempo and styles and remain musically interesting. "Different Names for the Same Thing" is perhaps the most instrumental, yet successful, track on Plans. Starting off with a lonely piano, it eventually fades out, only to include a fun beat backed up by a playful bass line. In a way, it resembles the title track off Transatlanticism, yet it is not at all the same thing. To follow it with the soft, acoustic, "I Will Follow You into the Dark," the centerpiece of this entire album, is brilliant sequencing. It is precisely this contrast that Death Cab plays with, this interplay between hard and fast and soft and sweet, that makes Plans so damned interesting. "Crooked Teeth" is the most conventional sounding with the standard indie/emo guitar strum and a (gasp!) actual chorus, but it's still classic Death Cab--driving, full of interesting twists of phrase ("kids strung out on homemade speed" is my favorite), and ultimately good-hearted.There is a surprising amount of musical reference, too. While Gibbard seems to be doing his best U2 impersonation on "Your Heart is an Empty Room," he doesn't fall into the same self-righteous trap that Bono has of late. It never feels like it takes off, though, which, while it worked on "Marching Bands of Manhattan," doesn't work as well here. It's like it's waiting for a climax that never comes. "Someday You Will Be Loved," with its key, attempt at boppiness, and song title, feels like it's trying to reference Maroon 5, though again, Gibbard and Walla are careful not to fall into the screeching whine of "She Will Be Loved."Plans tries dearly to end well. "Brothers on a Hotel Bed" is an absolutely touching, heart-rending song about growing old and dying. "And I have learned that even landlocked lovers yearn for the sea, like navy men/Cause now we say goodnight from our own separate sides/Like brothers on a hotel bed." It is absolutely beautiful, and would have been a wonderful way to close out an emotional, matured, accomplished album...... But instead, they chose to tack on a shallow remake of "Stability" from the Stability EP. It's just not that great, and it a surprisingly sour note on which to end an album.Don't let that distract you from the merit of Plans. There are some valleys, and a few uninteresting songs along the way. But for a major-label debut, for the album that's meant to advance Death Cab from indie gods to mainstream names, it's quite excellent. You could chalk up some of their mistakes to trying-to-reach-a-bigger-audience syndrome. But the mellow tone, the english-major introspection, all speak to a band desperately clinging onto their roots while they're shot out of the RIAA fame cannon. It's quite wonderful to experience what a budget can do, and equally wonderful to see that a budget must not necessarily destroy a talented group that finally worked its way out of obscurity. Death Cab is a band that deserves wider recognition, even if it brings in the annoying pre-teen screamers. Music35958@blogcritics.org Sun, 11 Sep 2005 17:05:42 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/09/08/021854.php Josh FoustThe previous Minus the Bear album, Highly Refined Pirates, was a total mixed bag--true, it had wonderful, complex instrumentation; killer, original song titles ("I Lost All My Money at the Cock Fights"); and a good ear for power-pop choruses. But it was also beset by a desire to be more complex than was due; the simple choruses had no business being attached to the glimmers of complex brilliance the band was laying down. This stilted nature lead me to write them off as "meh, Indie" (and mind you, I love indie music).Don't let the same be said this time around. From the very first moment "The Game Needed Me" starts stuttering its way out of the speakers, it is obivous that some changes have been made. For one, they're pulling their best Pedro the Lion impression. For another, they have developed some much-needed pop sensibilities along the way. It almost sounds like there isn't any need to prove themselves, they're just free to make music."Memphis and 53rd" (the outrageous song titles are gone this time) continues the trend, settling into a Sublime-styled back beat overlayed with the standard Minus the Bear plucking. Then the chorus hits. As the guitars strum furiously, singer Jake Snider croons along on top, for once not dragging down or braking a song. It is buttery smooth. At the exact right time, he steps up an octave, and lets the song swell into a dramatic, climactic, finisher."Drill" brings things back down a bit. That wonderful instinct for the four minute song has vanished, as has the ease of the first two tracks. The old Minus the Bear tradition of stutter beats and autistic finger plucking come back to play. The chorus drops into the standard power-chord mid-tempo strum. Then a bridge riff, which is really just Snider yanking his hand back and forth along the neck of his guitar. Then the open, reverb-heavy bridge, that stretches away into nothingness. Yawn.And there it stays, stuck back in comfortable Minus the Bear territory. "The Fix" starts like Q and Not U, but drags the moment Snider starts singing. "This is the difference between/Living and not living." Who cares? The guitar solo is nice and all, but it comes across like filler--were there just not enough lyrics? "Pachuca Sunrise" starts with promise--a pretty riff, and some endearing, wistful ruminations about a lost love. The patented Minus the Bear tempo change kicks the entire song in the teeth, however, and no matter what they do, they just cannot recover the sweetness from the first few lines. They seem to realize this, too, and the best they can do is throw some derivative guitar solo on for a bridge, and end with lots of echo.Lord. This is supposed to be one of the more promising indie bands out there. Goodness knows they certainly have the talent for it. But it feels like they just get lost too often in their own cleverness, and are never able to break free from the mentality music majors have, that everything must be complex and awe-inspiring, that they must prove their talent through shredding riffs and too-complex structures for pop songs. They are not bad musicians, though Snider could use some voice lessons. No, they just have no sense of what makes a good song, or a good album.This is not bad by any stretch of the imagination. But it's not brilliant. There are times of interest, and even some good songs thrown in for good measure. But it is not the magnum opus of indie music it was meant to be. It works for Minus the Bear fans, it really does. But for everyone else, there is just not enough meat to keep them going. Music35711@blogcritics.org Thu, 8 Sep 2005 02:18:54 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/06/07/021822.php Josh FoustColdplay have some pretty big shoes to fill, namely their own. Their last album, the sophmoric A Rush of Blood to the Head, was a tour-de-force of dynamism and soaring anthems—in every way, a growth from their debut. In fact, it was so good it was completely overplayed, which lead to my eventual falling out with the group. They were just too big, in too many places, on too many soundtracks, and in too many retail outlets for me to continue to like them. Thus, it was with baited breath that I awaited their next album, hoping that they'd continue to grow and I'd get to hear something new. What a waste of time.X&Y is meant to be Coldplay's next big step, their final ticket from packed clubs to crowded arenas. As such, Chris Martin made sure every song has a soaring chorus, and big major-key swells, ironic twists of phrase, and of course Martin's now-trademark falsetto.Of course, we got such things from Keane last year. Despite its similar homogeneity, Hopes and Fears was more assured, the production more humble, and the overall effort a lot more interesting than X&Y. The market for piano-drive Brit Pop is fairly saturated, and Coldplay is just dripping into a full bucket.Coldplay, though has name recognition. While it has taken months for Keane to make a splash, Coldplay are virtually assured a massive welcome from the eager music public—the near-orgasmic panting tracks like "Clocks" or "The Scientist" received from teenaged girls and college boys desperate for something that wasn't Fiddy Cent or Linkin Park was simply over the top (again, why Coldplay fell out of favor with me). That name recognition, along with the reams of free press they've received from CNN, Slate, MTV, VH1, Fox News, E!, and other "news" outlets guarantees that everyone knows the album is coming out, and that guarantees millions in sales.Which is too bad, because there really isn't much here. Much like the Linkin Park conundrum, Coldplay can't escape a good thing. It sounds as if one good arena pop song was written, then sped up or slowed down 12 times and released as an album. When playing it for some friends, one commented, "Oh, this is the fourth track? When did the first one end?" All of the songs are uniformly pleasant, uniformly bland, and uniformly boring. The huge swell in "Square One," for example, mirrors almost exactly the huge swell in "Politik," and I have a hard time telling the two apart.This is a huge loss, because it appears as if they might actually have something interesting to say. Their first two albums made up for the occaisonal ennuie with some lyrical aptitude. The first track ends with Martin crooning, "Is there anybody out there who / Is lost and hurt and lonely too / Are they bleeding all your colours into one / And if you come undone ." Well. Nevermind.It's possible for such a bland start to be redeemed by good songs elsewhere, but it just isn't. "What If" is full of similar major-key soar, laden with high-school sentimentality worthy of a Gwen Stefani solo project. Ditto "White Shadows," though it does us the service of adding a tiny bit of distortion to Jonny Buckland's Edge impersonation. There are some admittedly enjoyable parts, like the bridge to "Fix You" (a horrendous ode to co-dependency if I ever heard one), or the mild thrash of "Twisted Logic." Yet the amount of generic filler one must wade through ("X&Y," "The Speed of Sound") to find these fun parts is way too much for a band, even a band like Coldplay, to ask. Considering the amount their website brags about how it took 18 months of "marathon work," you'd think there would be something to show. Instead, we are given another U2 impersonator, only less political (Martin reserves that for his off-stage work with Gweneth Paltrow). It is U2 only without any soul, any spirituality.In short, it's a microcosm of the mainstream music business today. Well produced, pleasant sounding pap, all calories and no nutrition. It's difficult to tell the songs apart, difficult to tell the sounds apart from other Brit bands like Keane and U2, and difficult to escape the smothering mass of sameness that permeates all 12 tracks. It makes sense that suddenly bands like Arcade Fire and Rilo Kiley, groups who would normally be consigned to Indie Purgatory by the gatekeepers of the music industry, have become so popular—they offer an escape from the crap the major groups are putting out. Can you tell the difference between Weezer's recent work and the Blue Album? How about U2? Linkin Part? Hell, Britney Spears? They all sound the same, with no growth, no change, no evolution, no excitement.X&Y is what's wrong with the music industry. It will make boatloads of money, because it is Coldplay and that is a money name. But it is not worth the $17. Not by a long shot. Borrow it if you must, but do not waste your money. Music30652@blogcritics.org Tue, 7 Jun 2005 02:18:22 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/05/11/140921.php Josh FoustMetamorphoses are only sometimes good. Starting off as quirky geek rockers, Nada Surf spent the late nineties in a kind of limbo, never really popular enough to warrant MTV airtime, and never edgy enough to capture the true heart of the Indie scene. Instead, they were relegated to sad, one hit wonder status, and after four years even their fans had given up on anything more happening.y the time Let Go hit the stores in late 2002, the entire scene was ready for a shake up. While Wilco was revitalizing the entire Americana genre, Nada Surf had set themselves to reinventing power pop. And reinvent they did.The first thing to remember when listening to this album is what it's not. It's not an ironic, aren't-I-the-dickens congolmerate of self-referential barbs at modern life. It's not an angry, bitter, or sarcastic album. It's not anything that would identify it as being in the same mileu as the sad, recent crop of "rockers" like Yellow Card.Rather, this is earnest. It's sincere, honest, heartfelt, sunny, and sad. There are touches of acoustic sensitivity, mid-tempo rocking, charm, and introspection."Blizzard of '77? starts off with a layered acoustic guitar strum. Snowfall and tripping on acid bring about memories of missing love and life. "But in the middle of the night i worry/It's blurry even without light/I miss you more than I knew," Matthew Caws croons, as the guitars slowly fade away into nothing. The same strumming, only now augmented with electric distortion, begins "Happy Kid." "I'm just a happy kid/Stuck with the heart of a sad punk/Drowning in my id/Always searching like it's on junk." This is the one attempt at irony Nada Surf make, and it's fairly successful. Despite that, it's wildly out of character."Inside of Love" is next. Ethereal, meandering, and exquisitely beautiful, it tells the sad story of nihilistic youth culture, the boredom with modern romance, and the emptiness it brings. "Making out with people/I hardly know or like/I can't believe what I do/Late at night/I wanna know what it's like/On the inside of love," Caws sings, bringing us into that world with his plaintive, searching voice. The guitars rise into an augmented chord, and, just as hope begins to well, drop back down to where they came from. The song follows this pattern thoughout, rising with energy for the chorus, then dropping back into normalcy for the verse. It follows the roller coaster of a normal romance cycle, both in lyrics and music. "Of course i'll be alright," he says, "I just had a bad night." Gorgeous.The swirling mess of "Fruit Fly" follows. Calling it a mess makes it sound bad; it's not. In fact, this is one of the strongest tracks on here. It starts with a solid mid-90's acoustic guitar riff (that wouldn't sound too out of place coming from Blind Melon), as Caws sings about rotting food and the pestilence that accompanies it. After telling those annoying fruit flies that they "got nowhere to go," the song explodes into a processed, driving, upbeat riff. Caws then takes on the persona of a fruit fly, trying to find his way out of a house. "What can you do but go on?/Oh no you make your own mistakes/I cannot bring them back to you/Oh no you make your own mistakes/I cannot measure up to you." It's absolutely captivating, hearing his voice catch and soar right along with the exuberant instruments."Blond on Blond" comes next, a lullaby-like tribute to Bob Dylan. Actually it is a lullaby, as the chorus reminds us, again and again. Kind of a snoozer, though it is relaxing. Right when you're feeling almost lulled to sleep, the Foo Fighters-lite "Hi-Speed Soul" starts up. "You talk to the ceiling every day," Caws sings over the swelling arpeggios, "The speakers are shaking/Why do i hear you okay?/They're playing soul at the wrong speed/It sounds right now/What are you doing to me?" The song continues in much the same way, a skeptical rejection of living and loving life.There are some other good songs that don't deserve their own paragraphs or full entries. One is "The Way You Wear Your Head," another great driving song, again like a lite version of a poppier Foo Fighters song. "Neither Heaven Nor Space" is another mellow, relaxing song about wonderment and beauty. "Là Pour Ça" is a great love song, entirely in French. "Je suis la pour ca" (I am there for that), Caws tells us, while complaining about cheating lovers. It's almost lazy, and very Pink Floyd."Paper Boats" ends this roller coaster of an album. Starting with a gentle electric guitar, Caws whispers, "Ssame damn planet every time I look." He's "gearing up for a meltdown," but it's over nothing. The brilliant part is the dialogue: "what's wrong?/Nothing/Are you sure nothing's wrong?/Yeah/But you're sad about something/Yeah/So tell me what/I don't know/I can't tell you/All i am is a body floating down-wind." I defy anyone to say they've never felt that way, just morose and sad, but for no reason in particular. You feel like your life is building for somthing, rapidly compressing for some climax, but it may never come. "And as we pass by each other/Our heads all full of bother/We can't look, we can't stop/We can't think, we can't stop/Because we're stuck in our own paths/And itis the way it always lasts/But I need something more from you."Yes. We all do, actually. Go acquire this album pronto. Music29366@blogcritics.org Wed, 11 May 2005 14:09:21 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/02/20/230253.php Josh FoustTo call this 'Christian Music' seems a bit trite. True, Sufjan Stevens is a Christian, and the majority of his songs are about his faith, but I wouldn't call this 'Christian Music.' That label carries far too much baggage (I'm thinking of unfortunate groups like Pax "like 311, only Jesus-centric!" 2:17), and it immediately inclines far too many to write off any music under its rubric. That being said, this is one of the most brilliant Christian musicians I have ever heard.Sufjan Stevens (SOOF-yan STEE-vans) has made a career out of being an eccentric. He got his start collaborating with the Danielson Famile, a crazed, brilliant Christian family who would break people's minds and musical boundaries with their experimentation. The fact that such amazing craziness could even get released on a Christian label initially spoke very highly of the industry. It has, alas, slid downhill since the late 90's—though the last good Christian label, Tooth And Nail, still carries some innovative gems (Joy Electric, Mae, mewithoutyou, Starflyer 59), it has lost a lot of its initial indie spunk. Like most labels, as it gained recognition for quality acts and increasing album sales, its focus shifted onto demographically targeted album releases. The few super-creative bands left—Joy Electric and Starflyer 59, each headed by a Martin brother—are around still because they were original cuts on the label and still sell out shows.Luckily, Sufjan signed onto Asthmatic Kitty, a gloriously small label devoted to the gloriously small town of Holland, Michigan. It makes sense: the release that gained Stevens widespread notoreity was Greetings from Michigan: the Great Lakes State. That album was a moving, epic work of love to his home state, warts-and-all. In theory, that was part one of a 50-album project, in which Stevens records an entire album about each state in the U.S. I'm not sure how he'll get an entire album out of a state like Wyoming or Delaware, but that will be his job. Is it pretentious? Sure, but it's brilliant—Sufjan recorded Michigan himself, and played over 20 instruments during its production. Doing that immediately put him on the map for many serious musicians, who were eager to see what he'd do next.Along came Seven Swans. In a way, it is the opposite of the Michigan album—where he once was jubilant, Stevens is brooding; where he once was in love with people, Stevens is in love with God. Seven Swans is a quiet, intimate work, wholly concerned with Stevens' relationship with God. We're all lucky he didn't fall into the standard Christian Musician trap of emotional over-wroughtness. Rather, Stevens at his most passionate is when he is more or less directly quoting Scripture: the word of God brings him out of his stupor, not any base temporal experiences.This is unquestionably a good thing: the antics of Christian artists—the alter calls at Christian rock shows, the complete break in flow of the concert to describe the lead singer's path out of the darkness, the "let's rock it Jesus style" pathos, all serve to elevate Christian subculture above satire. It is melodramatic self-parody. Stevens ignores all the trappings of standard Christian music, and instead, like his mentor Daniel Smith (the mastermind behind the insane Danielson Famile), he moves into unorthodox musical territory while keeping his message recognizable to any Christian. It's a treat.Seven Swans opens with a plodding, questioning guitar/banjo pluck. "If I am alive this time next year/Will I have arrived in time to share?" Stevens' voice is delicate, questing for whatever his message happens to be. As the piano joins in with the counter point, the darkness of this song begins to take shape—within moments, you hear strange, slightly off-key female vocals ("da da dadada da"). It's the Danielson sisters, and they add a strange, alien quality to the song. "All the Trees of the Fields Will Clap Their Hands," he tells us, referencing Jesus' declaration that if Man will not praise him, the rocks will. As you get lost in the hypnotic chorus, "I am joining all my thoughts to You," a cymbal is brushed. Suddenly the song is hopeful, playing with the spare kick and snare, combining all the disparate elements into this wonderful mélange that left me smiling.It's a pattern Stevens repeats in various forms on the rest of Seven Swans. He takes chord progressions, riffs, or melodies of an intermediate complexity, and combines them together, layering them through carefully sequenced introductions, until the final mixture is complex, challenging, and enrapturing. "I can see a lot of life in you," Stevens whispers, as he cuts out all the clanking acoustic instruments to play a music-box. The strumming will pick up, things build again, and as a single instrument hits a major key the entire tenor of the song changes into exuberance and happiness.The emotional manipulation of this pattern is difficult to overstate, but I love it. As the instruments swell in "In the Devil's Territory," or as the chorus slowly builds with the wailing electric guitar in "Sister," the enormity of Stevens' accomplishment becomes clear. This is a rare talent, one who doesn't feel the need (like Meatloaf in "I'd Do Anything for Love) to show off with 8,000 instruments clamoring for attention. It takes enormous skill to make stripped acoustic compositions sound interesting, and this is done with such panache I'm left speechless. "A Good Man Is Hard to Find" is a reference to the Flannery O'Connor book of the same name. Just as she could take Christian concepts and demonstrate their universality, so Stevens does as he explores her story from the view of the Misfit. A stilting, minor strum starts the downcast mood, and only deepens as the dark story progresses. That elusive drum makes a return, as does the Casio keyboard and girls from before. As always in this little universe, it is all vaguely off-setting, creating discomfort in part because of the deep, weighty lyrics, but also because the music is so damn complex."Seven Swans" and "The Transfiguration" continue this trend. The two are linked, offering different sides of the same coin (God). Both are epic songs, carrying the listener through movements, highs and lows, softness and jarring loudness, judgement and redemption. "Seven Swans" carries the fear-inspiring message, "I saw a sign in the sky/Seven horns, seven horns, seven horns/I heard a voice in my mind/I am Lord I am Lord I am Lord." It goes on to relate the common biblical theme "you cannot run or hide from God," a call to all of mankind to standup and be responsible for its choices. Of course, the music here, which is dramatic and ethereal, gives everything an extra punch."The Transfiguration" is a straightforward rendition of Christ's last appearance before the eleven disciples as he ascends into heaven. It is a wonderfully hopeful note on which to end the record, and the easiest in which to see his Christianity on display. It is also his most honest, demonstrating the passion he has for his faith as much as his passion for his music. The slow build is briliant as well—tickling the ears with the elaborate rhythm on the banjo, and sudden interjecting of a deep base line, the cheesy keyboard "violin," the subtle drumming. "Have no fear!" he shouts. "We are near!"I certainly hope so. Brilliance like this cannot be ignored. Music25765@blogcritics.org Sun, 20 Feb 2005 23:02:53 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/01/30/184818.php Josh FoustIt's always a good idea to keep a healthy selection of shoe-gazer pop lying around. It's great mood music, often good for zoned-out highway driving, and always appropriate as background music for doing work.Lush grew up in the British shoe-gazer scene of the early 1990's, though they were overshadowed by their peers (My Bloody Valentine, Ride, the Boo Radleys). By the time they had done their time touring Lollapalooza and working the U.K. underground scene, Lush had an extensive cult following, and was showing a lot of promise.Their second album, Split, was released to rather mixed reviews, despite being their strongest album. Vaguely cinematic (drawing conceptual comparisons with Hooverphonic), this is all about the dark secrets of romance. In short, Miki Berenyi sings about nothing new, but her angelic voice, especially when layered over heavily distorted guitars crunching minor chords, grabs you and won't let you go. The production is excellent as well, seamlessly blending songs and maintaining thematic cohesion while remaining deliciously lo-fi.Split begins with the ethereal "Light From a Dead Star," transitioning orchestral tune-ups into delicately twanged electric guitars. "He lives his life in a world/Full of women and he takes/What he wants from their love/And he throws the rest away," Miki croons over the gentle sway. Lyrically, it's not anything new or unexpected, though it's very well composed - every song lyric could stand on its own as poetry, though not always the best. "Light..." continues its swell throughout it's 3+ minutes, until it slowly degenerates back into the aimless strings of the beginning. It's absolutely pristine.The album lolls along, through catchy pop hooks and generally miserable, introspective lyrics. The next shiner of a song is "Hypocrite," all about the jilted ego of a girl facing her man. The instruments are loud, blaring, fuzzy, insistent. "You hypocrite/Don't talk to me cause you're not fit to know me/So don't pretend you understand/Cause you coulda never been my friend," she yells, as the guitars bleed sound. It's angry, it's girl power before the Spice Girls ruined it. "I guess I'll say that you betrayed him," Miki sneers out of the side of her mouth, "I'm such a hypocrite." It's refreshing to remember the angst of 1994, and how "in" it was before Kurt Kobain made it so damnably popular."Lovelife" immediately follows. A long story of emotional reconciliation, it flows and lilts through infatuation, ending in tepidness. The "doo-doo-wah's" and playful riffs evoke summertime, the weightless feeling of falling into love. The lyrics are typically obsessive, tracing the course of feeling and wonderment that accompanies the boyfriend. It somehow manages to be a bit creepy, too, as Miki wails about suffocation and sunshine, breezes and poison. It's excellent.Right after is the lengthy wrist-slasher, "Desire Lines." It's standard mid-90's depression, though the production here is absolutely amazing. The lyrics are missable, and the first two minutes serve only as a good warm up to the bridge. At that two minute mark, the standard chorus riff starts up, but then it keeps going. It swells, varies itself a bit, then explodes. The vibe is vaguely Egyptian, and as the fuzz increases, the volume matches. It's easy to imagine twirling in a marijuana-induced stupor, staring at neon posters glowing in blacklight, stomping feet to the metronome-like drum beats. It calms down a bit, goes back into the verse, and then begins a slow fade on the chorus riff again (in form, almost like "Fake Plastic Trees" from The Bends)."Lit Up" is sugary, dreamy pop. That's not to say it's bad; rather that it doesn't exactly fit the rest of the songs here. However, that's almost not to say that it doesn't sound like it doesn't belong; Mike Hedges, the producer, put this together masterfully. "One day things won't seem the same way, I know," is the message; hope and wonder and perseverence rule the day."Starlust" changes tack in a most jarring way: with almost no album delay from the pretty and inoffensive twirls of "Lit Up", it rails in with driving distortion on a cool, insistent riff. Much more confusing than the previous tracks, yet almost much more accessible, Miki eventually reveals her love of voyeurism. Worthwhile more for the guitars than the lyrics.Split closes with a gorgeous song, one that needs to be played anytime one is feeling melancholy. Mixing acoustic and electronic guitars (a big change from everything else here), "When I Die" tells us of Miki's path along the road of mourning. A friend (lover?) has died, and she can't come to grips with it. Things were not perfect, she's angry, but she can't tell anyone - this is a secret anger, a hidden consternation. It's not worthwhile to extract snippets of Miki's lyrics - you really must hear this to understand (oddly, one of her themes). "Why are we sitting here in oursleves?" she asks plaintively, as she shakes her head sadly.Overall, this album covers the entire gamut of emotional pain, from love to wonder to crush to crushed to anger to pain to wistfulness. "Curse the English Day/For what it forces us to say/Banish all the pain," she says. "I'll see you again." Yes, she will. Music24903@blogcritics.org Sun, 30 Jan 2005 18:48:18 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2004/12/20/014854.php Josh FoustI don't know about anyone else, but I think 2004 was a bad bad year for music. Looking through all the "new" music I got this year, over 80% of what I consider good came out in 2003. Regardless, there were some decent releases, and a few gems. So without further ado, in no particular order:A Ghost Is Born, Wilco. This is certainly not their best album, and it is especially weak when compared to their previous work, but Ghost was most definitely one of the year's best albums. Starting slowly, and relying less on hooks (but more on a soul), this is a complicated, sparse listen. The guitar solo during the bridge of "At Least That's What You Said" is absolutely brilliant, as is the long crawl of "Spiders," and the intense country store chic of "Theologians." Futures, Jimmy Eat World. Again, not the best work JEW has released, but there are some sonic masterpieces to be found. In particular the landscape of "Polaris," the nah-nahs of "Night Drive," and the amazing nostalgia of "The World You Know," all remind us that JEW are the masters of end-of-the-party music. It certainly doesn't rock as hard as Clarity or Bleed American, but especially with the bonus disc of demos, Futures is worth getting. Antics, Interpol. It would have been impossible to surpass, much less even match, the brilliance of Interpol's debut CD. Nevertheless, the intrepid NYC quartet tried, and they only kind of got it. Starting with a cheap imitation of Afghan Whigs, they go back to their gloomy homage to Joy Division, but only manage to hit about half their intended rock targets. Look for "Evil," "Take You On a Cruise," and "C'Mere" if you want to keep your faith in this group alive. Medulla, Bjork. Haunting, beautiful, and alien. It's difficult to describe Bjork's howler-monkey style of singing, but no one could ever dispute her sheer genius, originality, or skill. There are almost no instruments on this album; every sound, every beat, every background wail is the product of a human voice. It's basically a big "F-You" to her shrill critics, and I love her for it. Franz Ferdinand, Franz Ferdinand. They jumped on Interpol's mellow garage rock bandwagon, and steered it away from the post-punk of the late 80's towards more exciting territory. Another stunning group of musicians from the Glasglow music scene (joining their hyper-creative brethren Belle & Sebastian and Mogwai), Franz Ferdinand rock the house like it was just thrown into Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory with many hits of LSD. Their singles have been great, but it's the rest of the album that truly shines—these are brilliant rockers, and it's obvious to anyone who simply hears the first track, "Jacqueline." Good News for People Who Love Bad News, Modest Mouse. A radical departure from their established sound and style, Good News is much more easily digestible and accessible than Mouse's earlier work. The songs are immediately catchy, and the sentiments simple and existential (in keeping with recent pop philosophy). Though certainly not as daring as their older work, Good News is a good time, and still better than most of the crap we got handed this year on the music shelves. The Grey Album, DJ Danger Mouse. Remixing The Black Album is common enough to have its own construction kit, but DJ Danger Mouse took things a step further—he took chunks of the Beatles' White Album, cut them into pieces, and gently laid Jay-Z's vocals on top. The result is excellent, and bizarre (such as hearing "Julia" turned into Timbaland-esque syncopation for "Dirt Off Your Shoulder," or stitching "What More Can I Say" over "While My Guitar Gently Weeps"). It is also very illegal (the Beatles' samples were unlicensed), and Danger Mouse was served with a cease-and-desist order, and prevented from selling the CD. It spawned a massive online protest called Grey Tuesday, in which hundreds of websites hosted the album for download. Elysium, The Velvet Teen. The first effort by the Velvet Teen was tortured, wailing, and way too long for its mood. Elysium doesn't suffer from that last bit, since it's only seven tracks, but its scope has expanded way beyond anything Judah Nagler and team have done before. Though they have abandoned their almost-peppy guitar-driven sound, the newly piano-driven, string-laden landscapes they lovingly craft spell out disaster and despair like nothing else I've ever heard. If nothing else, this is worth purchasing for the thirteen-minute long epic "Chimera Obscurant," though the entire album sparkles with a mordant brilliance that's difficult to capture in words. Wanderlust, Laura Burhenn. Ms. Burhenn is an independent musician living in Washington, D.C. I posted a review of her CD that I wrote back in May. I think I said it well then: "Laura Burhenn is a perfect example of how independent musicians will eventually save the record industry from itself, from the downward spiral of over-marketed throwaway acts and slutty teenagers pandering to lecherous old men. She breaks all the molds of the young, beautiful, aspiring singer, and does so in a way that surpasses many established female songstresses." Yeah, so give this a try.I'm sure there are others, like U2's latest, but it just came out and I haven't had a chance to listen to it yet. It's compelling, and it's a good bet it'll be one of 2004's best, but it came out so late in the year I would hesitate before considering it a true part of 2004. Regardless, these nine albums give me hope that even in off years, the music industry can produce meaningful listens, though if you pay attention you'll see that most are either on indie labels or recent acquisitions from indie labels.That should be telling you something about where the industry is going. Regardless, buy these albums with your Christmas money, and you'll be all right. Music23452@blogcritics.org Mon, 20 Dec 2004 01:48:54 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2004/12/15/144415.php Josh FoustLaura Burhenn's Wanderlust is not available through Amazon, and may be purchased through CD Baby.What's not to love about a local, independent musician? I met Laura at my best friends' wedding reception, where she was very helpful in vandalizing the car, and wound up being a fun partner with whom to sing "I Believe in a Thing Called Love" by The Darkness. I actually didn't know she was an independent musician living in the D.C. until she mentioned that she would be at an upcomming benefit show. I responded that I review CD's, and she handed me a copy of her CD with the warning to "be gentle."She needn't have worried.It's rare for me to be satisfied with an entire CD on a first listen. Some notable exceptions include Interpol, Death Cab for Cutie, and The Appleseed Cast. Stylistically, Ms. Burhenn is not related to any of these bands. Not even a bit. Yet, I found myself instantly grooving along to her gentle soft pop.Laura is a student of Fiona Apple. Luckily, she is merely a student and not an imitator--the music scene is not ready for another brash, sultry-voiced vixen spinning jazzy tales of love and loss. Her voice is where this is most evident, and on a superficial level Laura's voice is Apple-ish (I've waited a long time for a reason to say "apple-ish"). Luckily for her, she doesn't fall into the over-wrought trap Fiona did. Even when at her most expressive, Laura's voice barely rises above speaking level (Fiona was famous for belting her voice away, which ruined many of her live shows).There is another superficial resemblence to Fiona Apple as well: Laura is not only her own songwriter, but she also plays the piano and (in a step above and beyond Fiona's many contributions to the genre) self-produced her entire album. Some more Fiona comparisons? I think not--this is definitely the work of a highly creative individual, and to pigeonhole Laura into such a relatively small space would be a grave injustice.Laura avoids the traps Fiona fell into: she's not obsessed with her own precociousness, she doesn't turn her diary into mealy-mouthed screeds against men, she doesn't mouth off and make herself into a self-parody. How can a young woman in her 20's write music with such authority, such wisdom, such learned panache? I will probably never know, but it's magical to hear.For starters, this should not be listened to in the car. Wanderlust is not driving, it is not upbeat, it is not energizing. Rather, this album was custom-made for late night, for times when friends are hanging out, or for rainy days spent in bed with the headphones turned up high. All of this is a good thing, too--sonic restraint is a trait that is too often ignored by most artists todays (Norah Jones is an obvious exception). Being comfortable with quiet is a bit of subtlety lost on many young musicians. I have much more respect for musicians (singers, especially) who can remain dynamic, interesting, and tonal while in a near whisper (Bjork is one of my favorite examples of this). Laura exemplifies it as well, and her smooth croon is a welcome foundation for the rest of her songs.The overall tone of the album is beautiful. It's soft, swirling, and sparkling. Often, a sense of magic pervades, and Laura's stunning voice is absolutely magical to hear play with the melodies she crafts. Often hypnotic, always captivating, the kind of vibe Laura lays down is a real treat.Some song highlights? Not really. One bad thing about such a well-done, consistent album is that no songs truly stand out. There are a few that serve as excellent introductions, such as "Memory" or "White Noise." But, I don't hear a single hit anywhere. Nothing has that immediate punch, that irrepressible hook that will get the 13-year olds screaming with delight when it's played at the school dance.Thank God. Hit-making is too much a concern today, and the profit model of many record labels demands that hits be made and aggressively marketed. Laura has a huge advantage in existing on her own label; namely, that she not only controls the distribution of her own work (translation: she gets a much larger portion of album sales than a typical artist), but also has the freedom to make exactly the music she wants, instead of what the business may demand.This is such a good thing. The two-minute of build up of "Just For The Night" is exquisite, and people with the patience to hear it all will understand why ignoring the money potential of a big hit can pay off big time. And that voice, that voice that keeps melting into buttery-smooth croons and soaring choruses, that voice is absolutely phenominal.So, this is worth it. Laura Burhenn is a perfect example of how independent musicians will eventually save the record industry from itself, from the downward spiral of over-marketed throwaway acts and slutty teenagers pandering to lecherous old men. She breaks all the molds of the young, beautiful, aspiring singer, and does so in a way that surpasses many established female songstresses.In short, this ia a remarkable diamond in the rough of the D.C.'s indie music scene. And I'm glad for it. Music23295@blogcritics.org Wed, 15 Dec 2004 14:44:15 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2004/12/13/224054.php Josh FoustI first heard Jim Guthrie in a Starbucks, on one of their "Modern Grind" mixes. His track, "Trouble," was a strange mix of electronica and folk music. I had looked for him for a while, but couldn't find anything despite repeated Google searches. Finally, a buddy of mine gave me his latest CD, Now, More Than Ever over Thanksgiving. It was well worth the wait.In a nutshell: Jim Guthrie owns Three Gut Records, a small independent label from Toronto, Canada. They've had some really good growth the past years, enough to attact the good folks at Hear Music. Guthrie himself has released three albums, all very low-key, with only his latest making the intrepid trip across the border to music stores here.Now, More Than Ever is the first album Guthrie has recorded with other musicians, and the result is shiver-inducing (that's a good thing, mind you). He has focused less on the electronic underpinnings of his other music (though at some live shows he still relies on his reprogrammed Sony Playstation for backup instrumentation) and shifted to a more acoustic feel. The result, though laden with strings, manages to be not just tasteful, but electric. There are echoes of the Beatles, Stereolab, Belle & Sebastian, even Damien Rice being thrown about, and it is wondrous to experience."Problems With Solutions" is the pensive opener. A playful cello is underneath the plucked acoustic guitar, and hand claps help keep the beat. "When I'm drinking and had a few/Lord only knows what I said to you/In a smoky bar downtown/People swirling all around." He's firmly in the standard singer-songwriter mold here, playing at people watching and somehow trying to make a larger socioeconomic point. "The longer the hesitation/The smaller the celebration/A guide to our salvation/A problem with solutions." The cello here is jumping around a major chord, making the guitar somehow sad, despite the theoretically peppy sound. Suddenly, an entire string section cuts in, going dischordant and minor, souring the entire feel of the song. With a start, everything reverts back to the sound of the first verse, with bongos rising in the mix."All Gone" is a subtle send-up to Stereolab. The general feel of the song is straight off "Miss Modular" (from Dots and Loops), though Guthrie replaced the moog with a thick string section. The first time I heard this, with the whispering backgrounds echoing key phrases and the strings shimmering all around, I totally missed the dry wit Guthrie placed throughout the song. "The forest needs a fire/Like the fire needs a tree." I'm not sure if it was intentional or not, but that is a surprisingly deep statement, when you think about it. These sorts of comparisons continue as the song progresses, making less and less sense, but the backing strings keep pace, alternatively swelling, fluttering, or calming as the tone shifts. The combination of near-inanity and subtle mood strings is intense.There are other sonic masterpieces here, like "So Small" with its captivating piano and guitar strum, and the disjointed strumming of "Now, More Than Ever." Elsewhere, strings take over a prime harmonic role, as in "Time Is A Force."Guthrie keeps on dropping almost-hidden jokes into his songs. In "Save It," after a quiet play of piano and string-screech, you hear an angry tale of paranoia. "I can see the future but only when I blink... I can see past thoughts that people didn't think." It's very dark, almost overpowering in its weight. After three minutes of this, an insistent riff on the strings starts up, and the entire feel of the song changes. Now it is time to escape. "I had a life affirming talk/With the garbage man today/He said, "Believe in me"/And took the trash away/Oh, how do you do it?" For whatever reason, that makes me smile, even when I read it without the strangely East European strings in the background. It's his most Belle & Sebastian moment, and like most B&S songs, is simultaneously charming and disconcerting.For the most part, though, the record is a downer. In fact, it's damned hard to listen to it all the way through without feeling a touch depressed. Think if a lighter version of Out of the Fierce Parade, with the angst of a grown-up instead of a fifteen-year old. Also, Guthrie, unlike Nagler on that album, doesn't whine.However, once this down mood is established, we are treated to a pleasant surprise—an upbeat, ukulele-driven love song in 2.5 minutes. It's cute, catchy, and complimented by a lazy surf guitar. Guthrie again hits us with his dry humor: "There is still one catch to all of this/Do you exist?"Jim Guthrie certainly does. Now, More Than Ever should exist, too, in your CD collections. Music23232@blogcritics.org Mon, 13 Dec 2004 22:40:54 EST