Surf’s Down

The other day I sat in my kitchen on the computer with my daughter. Together on the Web we went through one of those calculators where you answer the questions and it tells you the presidential candidate with the most similar views to your own.

It was awesome to go through that process with a nine-year-old. And to have to sit there, explain the issues and ask, “do you think we should drill for oil in national parks?” and have a kid look you square in the eye like you just proposed wearing a dress to her birthday, “No!”

Kids see things clearly and in black & white. For my nine-year-old daughter global warming is real (and scary), war is bad, and people should be nice. Period.

I’ve always considered Jack Johnson as one of those rarified men up in the attic of coolness. Like the eternal bachelor McConaughey, guys’ guy Clooney and his pet pig, Andy Garcia and his 9 handicap –Jack Johnson is livin’ the dream. He played the surf house party circuit for years a relative unknown except to big wave riders like Kelly Slater before finally being persuaded to record. Now Johnson’s music rides the waves of the pop charts on nearly every continent. Jack Johnson music is like a sunset –simple, universal, and optimistic.

With McConaughey having a kid, Clooney throwing out his back, and now surf bum Johnson releasing what can only be described as a bum-out CD I’m pretty certain the world is about to end. And that seems to be precisely what was on Johnson’s mind. Sleep Through the Static starts with “All at Once” a global warming tale where Johnson pins the environmental crisis on “so many things that we got too proud of.” Along the way he provides the alibi for this rainy day disc from our favorite sunset singer, “Sometimes it feels like a heart is no place to be singing from at all.” Like the clown with the sad face, Johnson seems to acknowledge his responsibility as an artist to speak up.

Johnson hits his stride as he shifts the topic to Iraq. Again successfully wrapping a heavy message into simple verse. Johnson explains the complexity of Iraq by stating, “we went beyond where we should have gone” alongside a sing-a-long chorus “who needs keys when we’ve got clubs, who needs please when we’ve got guns, who needs peace when we’ve gone above.” Johnson paints many, many vivid images on the title track from stomping war down a shower drain for someone else to deal with to a Dodge driving, camouflage wearing, hog of the feast. The beauty of “Sleep Through the Static” is it’s a great track too. Not since Everclear have we had this toxic a message wrapped up in sweet verse. I’d pay good money to hear Johnson play this wolf in sheep’s clothing with Dubyah and Cheney in the audience oblivious and tapping their feet to the beat. It’s not that often a message song is also a sing-a-long song. “Sleep Through the Static” succeeds at both.

I have to compliment Johnson for getting his board shorts in a bunch and kicking out an album with stern warnings as well as an Obama (hope is in no short supply here)-like vision of the future. The issue I have is with the first single. Anyone who buys this album after hearing “If I had Eyes” is sure to be deeply disappointed. While Sleep Through the Static is likely an album that will improve with each listen, there isn’t another burst of Sunkist like the first single. “If I Had Eyes” is one giant tease. Not only is “If I Had Eyes” the standard sunny Johnson fare, but he appears to have actually invested in a distortion pedal taking his sound to new heights. Trouble is the rest of the record never comes close to the upbeat single.

I see a lot of parallels in Sleep Through the Static to Dr. Seuss’ little known environmental novel The Lorax. Because of subject matter and tone it’s sure to under whelm the masses, but his true fans will love him more for it.

The closest we get to the groove of “If I Had Eyes” would probably be the hum and groove of “What You Thought You Need,” a nice little ditty complete with enough fret squeaks for a shirts and skins basketball game. I love that. There are a couple other hazy summer afternoon tracks towards the end including "Losing Keys" which has an Otis Redding vibe to it. But after the first single, it's mostly rain the rest of the way.

You know it’s bad when a guy who doesn’t even own a pair of shoes besides flip-flops is furrowing his brow. With any luck Johnson is right, and hope is on the way.

You should have yourself a Vampire Weekend

When you review (or try to) one record per week, fatigue has a way of setting in. I’ll admit to staring at a new CD with the same dread with which I look at the second treadmill from the right as I step on board each morning for another monotonous sweat. It’s really pretty sad. In general music and sweating should never be boring.

That’s why it’s wonderful when once in a while you pull something completely fresh. You pull something sharp. It hits you like a menthol breeze, and instead of another 30 on the same old treadmill it feels like jumping into the pool for the first time all over again.

Vampire Weekend is that perky little record I needed to keep me going. Really good stuff I must say. Worth purchase for certain. With a name like Vampire Weekend and a single called “A-Punk” I must say I was expecting something pretty rock & roll. I was thinking Lost Boys black leather jacket. When a colleague described their sound as “Paul Simon-like,” I was immediately curious.

It’s not that often that one lyric can suffice as an entire record review, but that’s the case with Vampire Weekend’s self titled debut. On “Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa” lead singer Ezra Koenig croons, “But this feels so unnatural Peter Gabriel too.” And that’s pretty much it. The magic of Vampire Weekend is their unexpected cocktail of sound. The instruments have a very world music, African vibe going. But Koenig’s vocal is as milky white as Ferris Bueller singing in the parade. The result is an odd pairing of world music with a prep-school vocal. Could Vampire Weekend be a Paul Simon Graceland cover band, sure? But in 2008 this is a very fresh sound, and I think it’s super cool the kids are digging it on their MTV.

In short the Vampire Weekend record kicks major ass. It’s the sort of record that bums me out because I live in Minnesota and it’s still February. When I hear it I want to have people over and have this pumping through the outdoor speakers (note to self: get outdoor speakers). And the joy is there from the start. The very first bump of “Mansford Roof” takes us to Koenig’s original vocal to drums and hand drums that keep the pace.

The Vampire Weekend record does boast songs that rise to the top. “A-Punk” is the two minute party single burning up MTV. “Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa” is the closest to a Paul Simon joyride. Koenig somehow turns simple lyrics like “is your bed made? Is your sweater on?” into little packets of Nutra Sweet. The Vampire Weekend boys met up at Columbia University so it makes sense there are real smarts behind the lyrics. “Oxford Comma” is a street smart flip of the bird to the heavy starch of the class system, “who gives a fuck about an Oxford comma . . .his accent sounded fine to me.” And it’s also a great tune. “The Kids don’t stand a Chance” is the story of a hippie kid forced to set his alarm and go to work everyday. If there is a dip on the record it comes somewhere after a very hot start including instrumental juggernaut “M79” and Vampire Weekend’s own “Don’t Stand so Close to Me” tale “Campus.” The first seven tracks are superb, only on a brief section starting with “I Stand Corrected” does Vampire Weekend sound like they’re coloring inside the lines. The magic of this new band is the contrast, surprise and delight.

There aren’t many dips on Vampire Weekend. Overall their preppy world music sounds goes down like cream in your coffee. The strange contrast in sound has been described as “Upper West Side Soweto” —how great is that?! The Vampire Weekend is like the soundtrack of “The God’s must be Crazy” only instead of finding a Coke bottle it’s an Abercrombie & Fitch catalog that lands in the Kalahari Desert. The sound is part Police, part Paul Simon, and yes part Peter Gabriel – mixed with a whole lot of the rest of the world. Unnatural . . .maybe. But it sure sounds right.

What was Tony Romo Thinking?

I’m a big Carrie Underwood fan. There I said it.

For starters, Underwood has the same nose as Elvis. Check it out, it’s true. Underwood grew on me while watching American Idol a few years back when she saved us all by preventing “rock” clowns Bo and Constantine from winning. Not only was that good for rock & roll, it was great for Underwood. Like a lot of people, I fell for Underwood as I watched her struggle to be more than a stand in the same place country western singer before finally winning because she embraced being just that. From the start there has always been an easy approachability to Underwood and her music. Sure over the years they’ve fixed her hair and made her more glamorous but even today Underwood remains more Barbara Mandrell then Jessica Simpson. There’s a chambray shirt wholesome-ness to Underwood, you’d hire her to be your summer girl. It sets my mind at ease that my nine year old has Carrie Underwood on the top of the performers she would most like to see in concert.

From the moment the banjo kicks in on “Flat on the Floor” Carnival Ride is a classic country album. It’s filled with stories about love, leaving, and yes, dogs. A perfect example is the radio friendly narrative of “All-American Girl” about the dad who pined for a son before getting wrapped firmly wrapped around his new daughter’s finger.

Carnival Ride is truck tailgate music, wheelbarrow music, and watery beer music. If you’re a fan of new country icons like Tim McGraw, Keith Urban, and Kenny Chesney—you’ll like the Underwood record. I give Underwood a lot of credit on Carnival Ride as she really pushes her vocal. At times it feels like a stretch, but it’s clear she wants to let out her inner Janis. From a voice standpoint this works as Underwood is able to put up the big top vocal on songs like “Flat on the Floor.” What doesn’t’ work as well is when Underwood tries to be anything more than a sweet All-American Girl herself. On “Last Name” she does her best Gretchen Wilson impression trying to convince us she’s had too many Cuervos and woke up hitched in Vegas. The trouble is Underwood is more Barbie than Bratz so just like playing dress-up on Idol a few years back it doesn’t’ work for her. That said, “Last Name” is an extremely catchy little tune that will have you singing along and will likely be a single. It just doesn’t feel real coming from Underwood.

Underwood sounds a lot more comfortable out of the honky-tonk and out on the green grass or dusty open road. Songs like “You Won’t Find This” are big, optimistic ballads that showcase her hearty sound. “So Small” is the defining song on the album. A big breath ballad that leans spiritual, “So Small” is sure to be embraced by country radio with its universal message about time and priorities with lyrics like “when you figure out love is all that matters after all it sure makes everything else seem so small.” “Get Out of this Town,” is another great ride as Underwood is a one woman Dixie Chicks. Other songs like “I Know You Won’t” and “I Told You So” showcase Underwood’s dare I say Celine-like vocal chops but never materialize into infectious songs.

“The More Boys I Meet” is a great track that perfectly casts Underwood as Cinderella with its “close my eyes as I kiss that frog” narrative. The only thing that holds it back is the line in the chorus, “the more boys I meet the more I love my dog.” The lyric is so damn corny it makes me wince like when I see a grown adult bringing a stuffed animal on an airplane ride.

Most of us Midwesterners have a soft spot for country music. It sounds good in big trucks on flat roads. Make no mistake Carrie Underwood’s Carnival Ride is not a great country record. Michelob Golden Light isn’t a great beer either. But both will do the trick on your next sunny day in the backyard.