This has been coming for some time. There were enough quotes from the band to suggest the Kings of Leon’s stadium-sized fame had left them staring at the crowd and seeing people they never intended to invite to the party. “Use Somebody” changed everything. Suddenly the band who was used to being big in the UK (and maybe KU) – was rockin’ the BK, DQ, and Circle K. “Use Somebody” was one of those once in a career infectious rock gems that simply wouldn’t wear out. Bands have been built off tracks like this (see The Fray, Matchbox 20, even Journey). But after giving their new record, Come Around Sundown, a few spins it seems the boys from Tennessee have charted a different course. Dare I say they’ve stopped believin’?
That’s not to say they’ve made an unpopular record on purpose. It’s just that Come Around Sundown lacks the pop shimmer of its predecessor Only by The Night. If you’re looking for your next “Fans,” “Sex on Fire,” or “Use Somebody” – you won’t find it here. In fact the closest KOL gets to an accessible pop track is the first single “Radioactive.” The sing-along chorus, “it’s in the water, it’s where you came from” is further evidence that KOL’s intent was to return to their roots for their fifth studio album.
A buddy of mine suggested what Come Around Sundown was lacking was production value. Turns out the album was produced by KOL’s trusted team of Angelo Petraglia and Jacquire King. But to give it a listen you’d almost think the boys produced it themselves. It has that feel to it. While it’s clear they know their sound, the record is missing the fit and finish to make it jump off the shelves. And perhaps that’s by design.
Some will say stadium-sized success has changed KOL. Yes they’ve launched their own fashion label and demanded private bathrooms on the summer festival circuit. And Come Around Sundown was recorded in New York not Nashville, and you can tell. But at their core the Kings of Leon still make musket music. There’s always going to be a civil war vibe about the three preacher’s sons and a cousin from Tennessee. For this reason the standout track on Come Around Sundown is hands down “Back Down South.” That’s not to say it will be the biggest hit because “Back Down South” is just country enough to lose some people. “Back Down South” is rock & roll with a gun rack and a dip in its lip. It’s a single with its spurs on, and the sort of song that college kids and city workers can agree on. Think Allman Brothers, Skynyrd, even “Fishin’ in the Dark.” It’s a song built for the wide-open road. If you had to buy just one track, spend your dollar here.
The difference with Come Around Sundown is there is a lot more filler here. The record basically falls off a cliff on tracks 8 through 12. The last track “Pickup Truck” provides the only kickstand to keep the back half of the album from collapsing completely. If you’re sitting in your car trying to play your favorites off Come Around Sundown for a friend you’ll probably find yourself hitting the single “Radioactive,” “Back Down South” and maybe “Mary” and “Pickup Truck.” Three or four tracks in total. Come Around Sundown is a fine record for core fans or just let play in the background; it’s just not a string of hits. It’s a grower, and it comes at you in waves. It’s a bit like a Pearl Jam record, another band that never set its sights on winning the popularity contest.
“Mary” is another fun one and the closest to living up to the press release which proclaimed Come Around Sundown as “yet another bold and expansive statement.” On “Mary” we find the Followills putting on letter sweaters and heading into the malt shop. Caleb’s signature drawl is laid on a ‘50s style track that Dion would have loved. The boys sing about the disco and Cameron even busts out a Chuck Berry style guitar solo. It’s a surprising twist on the record and would make a hell of a music video with the southern boys crashing the sock hop. I’m not sure it stands the test of time because Caleb’s voice is a bit too scruffy for the soda fountain. But I’m glad they tried it. Brave.
More than half of Come Around Sundown tends to blend together. It sounds good, and it sounds like Kings of Leon (something many of us have decided are the same thing). But very few of the tracks jump off the record and introduce themselves to you. There are a lot of face-in-the-crowd songs here. They’re fine but forgettable. If one track had to speak for this group and rises up from the bunch it would be track three “Pyro.” It’s a beauty. Trust me and invest here. Keep hitting this one and you’ll find yourself singing along. And at about the 3-minute mark where the brothers deconstruct the track into simpler sections it simmers to a slow cooked perfection. When Caleb screams “Can you feel it” over and over – you’ll find yourself giving a knowing nod and saying “yes indeed.”
Yes there are moments of magic on Come Around Sundown like the intro of “The Face” where Caleb moans of a long distance relationship, “If you give up New York, I’ll give you Tennessee” before rhyming “the only place to be.” And if there is a central narrative to Come Around Sundown, that’s it. The band is at a point in its career and fame that where they’re going (New York) is in direct conflict with where they’re from (Tennessee). These themes exist all over the record including ironically placing track “The End” first on the record.
The trouble with Come Around Sundown is it never really commits to New York or Tennessee – and where does that leave you – somewhere in Maryland? I think a lot of us actually wish the boys went all the ways back into the woods like on the first couple records. While they don’t do that here, they certainly aren’t shaving every day. Some of it’s by design and some of it just appears to be not as well crafted taking a step back toward the level of Because of the Times. Come Around Sundown feels like one of those in between records bands kick out when they’ve been spending a ton of time on the road and buying their own hype a bit. And there are misfires. “Pony Up” picks up where “I Want You” left off on the last record. Clearly the guys love that canteen boogie sound because they keep coming back to it, but unfortunately it just doesn’t translate. On “No Money” Caleb continues to play out his Aladdin fantasy of being the dirty, broke, street kid who falls in love with the princess. On the back half of the record he seems to be struggling to settle down, tame the rooster, and grow up while still being the “one who gives them all a whirl.” Unfortunately the music feels just as conflicted.
But it doesn’t really matter now does it? I smile when I say the Kings of Leon are, yes, out of the woods. At this stage it’s no longer necessary for us to grade each of their albums pass or fail. All the band really needs to do is put two or three killer songs into their set list as they continue their ascension as a band. And with “Back Down South” and “Radioactive” they’ve probably achieved this goal. Everyone in the band has greatly improved on their instruments with Jared and Nathan forming a rhythm section to be envied, Cameron becoming a mini-me of the Edge, and Caleb’s voice becoming one of the most recognizable in modern rock.
So while Come Around Sundown may leave some listeners stuck somewhere between Manhattan and Nashville, it also provides insight to where Kings of Leon are at this stage of their career. Clearly Kings of Leon were more comfortable in the “here’s the church, and here’s the steeple” stage early in their career than they have been during the “open the door and see all the people” phase brought on by the runaway hit “Use Somebody.”
On “The Face” Caleb urges us over and over again to simply “ride out the wave.” That’s what KOL are doing on this record, and that’s what their real fans will do with them. Come Around Sundown does come at you in waves, and true fans will find this record is a grower and will likely get stronger once you’ve seen the new songs played live. So the only message I’d have for the guys for the next album is to stick out the hitchhiker thumb, grab a Sharpie and make a NASHVILLE OR BUST sign, and “come home” for an entire record. Both “Back Down South” and “Radioactive” show this is where the band’s real magic is.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
80. The Perfect Score for Living Hard.
This week George Steinbrenner died at the ripe old age of 80. This reminded me of an exercise I went through a few years back. As grim as it sounds, at one point I gave a bit of thought to how long I’d like to live. At one point even turning it into a math problem of sorts.
At the time I concluded that I wanted the ideal balance of living hard and living long. I don’t want to turn in the car at the Hertz counter of life and have the gas topped off and nary a dent. I also don’t want to run out of gas on the side of the road. Rather I’d like to coast in on fumes with CDs on the seats and beef jerky on the breath.
Now it’s difficult to find an entire country or tribe who as a group lives hard. The best example I could find was the Rat Pack. In Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr., Peter Lawford, and Joey Bishop we had 5 guys who lettered in living hard. Guys who drank, ate, smoked, and wore colored sport coats. Guys who put salt on their food before they tasted it. Guys who slapped your face a bit too hard when they said hello and goodbye. Guys who chased women. Guys who called a spade a spade. Guys who handed out nicknames and hundreds to everyone they passed by. Guys who soaked up beauty, music, and humor.
So I looked it up. How long did each member of the Rat Pack live?
Frank lived to 82.
Dean lived to 78
Sammy lived to be 64
Peter Lawford lived to be 61
Joey Bishop lived to be 89
Divided by 5 that equals 74.8. But I was mostly focused on Dean and Frank and 80 is right between them. So that was it. If you live the right way, you should only live to be about 80. Maybe a touch less.
And I’m OK with that, because I think that’s the right amount. The human body is a pretty amazing vessel being able to endure what we put it through. If you live to 80 you’re getting 20-25 years of the golden grandparent time, yet it’s still short enough to leave them wanting more.
In a lot of the reports on Steinbrenner’s death they refer to his “animal spirit,” one reporter calling him equal parts boor and buccaneer. I’d take that as a compliment. I once had a psychic tell me that I shouldn’t let go of my “leopard side of life.” She was referring to the realization that we’re only on this earth for a short time and we should devour it. We should live hard.
Before I studied abroad in Australia my junior year of college I’ll never forget an older student (who had just returned from Australia) stumbling up to me at a party drunk and with wild eyes. He grabbed me by the shirt and said simply, “Do Everything.”
The difference with people like Steinbrenner and the Rat Pack is they took that “Do Everything” approach to their entire life not just a Saturday or a semester abroad. They lived hard. And while they may have only made it to about 80, their obituaries aren’t about regular guys named Frank and George – rather they’re about larger-than-life characters named The Chairman and The Boss. Rest in Peace.
At the time I concluded that I wanted the ideal balance of living hard and living long. I don’t want to turn in the car at the Hertz counter of life and have the gas topped off and nary a dent. I also don’t want to run out of gas on the side of the road. Rather I’d like to coast in on fumes with CDs on the seats and beef jerky on the breath.
Now it’s difficult to find an entire country or tribe who as a group lives hard. The best example I could find was the Rat Pack. In Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr., Peter Lawford, and Joey Bishop we had 5 guys who lettered in living hard. Guys who drank, ate, smoked, and wore colored sport coats. Guys who put salt on their food before they tasted it. Guys who slapped your face a bit too hard when they said hello and goodbye. Guys who chased women. Guys who called a spade a spade. Guys who handed out nicknames and hundreds to everyone they passed by. Guys who soaked up beauty, music, and humor.
So I looked it up. How long did each member of the Rat Pack live?
Frank lived to 82.
Dean lived to 78
Sammy lived to be 64
Peter Lawford lived to be 61
Joey Bishop lived to be 89
Divided by 5 that equals 74.8. But I was mostly focused on Dean and Frank and 80 is right between them. So that was it. If you live the right way, you should only live to be about 80. Maybe a touch less.
And I’m OK with that, because I think that’s the right amount. The human body is a pretty amazing vessel being able to endure what we put it through. If you live to 80 you’re getting 20-25 years of the golden grandparent time, yet it’s still short enough to leave them wanting more.
In a lot of the reports on Steinbrenner’s death they refer to his “animal spirit,” one reporter calling him equal parts boor and buccaneer. I’d take that as a compliment. I once had a psychic tell me that I shouldn’t let go of my “leopard side of life.” She was referring to the realization that we’re only on this earth for a short time and we should devour it. We should live hard.
Before I studied abroad in Australia my junior year of college I’ll never forget an older student (who had just returned from Australia) stumbling up to me at a party drunk and with wild eyes. He grabbed me by the shirt and said simply, “Do Everything.”
The difference with people like Steinbrenner and the Rat Pack is they took that “Do Everything” approach to their entire life not just a Saturday or a semester abroad. They lived hard. And while they may have only made it to about 80, their obituaries aren’t about regular guys named Frank and George – rather they’re about larger-than-life characters named The Chairman and The Boss. Rest in Peace.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Soda Fountain of Youth
I’m 35. I live in White Bear and work in downtown Minneapolis. One of the highlights of my day is going out of the office to grab some lunch. My wife has had trouble grasping the importance of “eating out” for lunch. And I’ll confess that a few of the brown bags she’s packed me may still be sitting in our office refrigerator waiting for the quarterly purge from the cleaning crew. Eating lunch out of the office is almost like “recess” for grown ups. It’s amazing how a brisk walk around the skyways or sidewalks (especially when the Thursday Farmers’ Market is in season) can reset your day out of the doldrums.
When I do treat myself to grown up recess, one Minneapolis lunch place I love is Ginelli’s for some good old fashioned styrofoam plate and plastic utensils pizza. On a recent trip to Ginelli’s I was surprised to find a little wisdom at of all places, the soda fountain. Before you suggest the aspartame has gone to my head, consider that it’s possible to accurately describe the stage of life you’re in based on your approach at the soda fountain.
Take me for example. That’s right the same 35 year old who has to rationalize eating lunch out or risk the risk the adult detention consequence of the brown bag. What phase of life am I in? That’s easy. I’m in the fill the cup mostly full with Diet Coke before splashing a little regular Coke or Cherry Coke on top years. This mix allows me to feel like I’m drinking pop without actually drinking pop. What does that say about me? Well clearly I’m in the “it’s not about me” phase of life. OK sure, I’ll allow myself a little splash of the real thing on top, but mostly I’m focused on holding it all together. That’s what happens when you have an eight year old and a twelve year old both in sports. We’re the parents who actually buy those oversized calendars where each day has its own square big enough to fit a regular sized calendar in it. And once we fill in all of the kids activities the only blank squares left each year are December 24 and 25 – unless God forbid someone at the new rink in Vadnais comes up with a Santa’s Slapshot Tournament. And we are not alone. In general it’s safe to call age 30 to about age 50 the 7/8ths Diet cola with 1/8th splash of the real thing so you feel like you’re living years. The 1/8th splash might come in the form on an annual guys trip, date night, or letting loose at your summer party. Any way it comes enjoy it, it’s all you’re getting.
Compare that to ages 0 to 29 when the approach at the soda fountain is to take a cup and fill it with a little bit of everything. The kids call this drink a “suicide,” but I think it’s far more optimistic time of your life. There was a great headline in a recent airline advertisement which asked a simple but haunting question, “When was the last time you did something for the first time?” That question is a beautiful reminder of our formative years growing up when the oversized calendar squares are all about you, and every experience is a new experience. Your job is to drink up life and keep pressing levers. Sample, mix, burp and repeat. If adults are set in their ways and see the world in black and white – anyone under 30 is growing up way to fast if they don’t see the world through Technicolor glasses.
While the suicide days of my youth have passed, don’t feel sorry for me. I still have one soda fountain stage to look forward to. Look in anyone’s refridgerator over the age of 50 (or certainly 60) and you’ll likely find whole milk and not a drop of diet soda. That’s because when we become empty nesters and our kids go to college it’s time to get a bit selfish again and rediscover ourselves at the soda fountain. Our later years are about replacing experimentation with experience. After 50 years you should have been paying enough attention to know what you like. And you reach a point in your life where it makes more sense to count blessings than calories. It’s time to once again fill the glass with Coke Classic and crushed ice, not compromise.
I read a great quote from Jack Nicholson that captured the honesty of the golden years, “With my sunglasses on I'm Jack Nicholson. Without them, I'm fat and 60.” I love that. From age 50 on it’s no longer about cutting corners or holding your breath. You know what you like, you know the trade offs and you make decisions accordingly. And there’s something cool in the confidence that can only come from age and experience. I remember asking my grandmother once why she drank whole milk when the whole world was switching to 2% or skim. She didn’t stutter, “Whole milk is better, and it’s what I like” she said.
So the next time you find yourself searching in vein for the fountain of youth, remember you can learn more from the soda fountain. Namely sometimes it’s about you, and sometimes it’s not. But either way life is all about pushing new levers and filling your cup. And if we’re lucky, free refills.
When I do treat myself to grown up recess, one Minneapolis lunch place I love is Ginelli’s for some good old fashioned styrofoam plate and plastic utensils pizza. On a recent trip to Ginelli’s I was surprised to find a little wisdom at of all places, the soda fountain. Before you suggest the aspartame has gone to my head, consider that it’s possible to accurately describe the stage of life you’re in based on your approach at the soda fountain.
Take me for example. That’s right the same 35 year old who has to rationalize eating lunch out or risk the risk the adult detention consequence of the brown bag. What phase of life am I in? That’s easy. I’m in the fill the cup mostly full with Diet Coke before splashing a little regular Coke or Cherry Coke on top years. This mix allows me to feel like I’m drinking pop without actually drinking pop. What does that say about me? Well clearly I’m in the “it’s not about me” phase of life. OK sure, I’ll allow myself a little splash of the real thing on top, but mostly I’m focused on holding it all together. That’s what happens when you have an eight year old and a twelve year old both in sports. We’re the parents who actually buy those oversized calendars where each day has its own square big enough to fit a regular sized calendar in it. And once we fill in all of the kids activities the only blank squares left each year are December 24 and 25 – unless God forbid someone at the new rink in Vadnais comes up with a Santa’s Slapshot Tournament. And we are not alone. In general it’s safe to call age 30 to about age 50 the 7/8ths Diet cola with 1/8th splash of the real thing so you feel like you’re living years. The 1/8th splash might come in the form on an annual guys trip, date night, or letting loose at your summer party. Any way it comes enjoy it, it’s all you’re getting.
Compare that to ages 0 to 29 when the approach at the soda fountain is to take a cup and fill it with a little bit of everything. The kids call this drink a “suicide,” but I think it’s far more optimistic time of your life. There was a great headline in a recent airline advertisement which asked a simple but haunting question, “When was the last time you did something for the first time?” That question is a beautiful reminder of our formative years growing up when the oversized calendar squares are all about you, and every experience is a new experience. Your job is to drink up life and keep pressing levers. Sample, mix, burp and repeat. If adults are set in their ways and see the world in black and white – anyone under 30 is growing up way to fast if they don’t see the world through Technicolor glasses.
While the suicide days of my youth have passed, don’t feel sorry for me. I still have one soda fountain stage to look forward to. Look in anyone’s refridgerator over the age of 50 (or certainly 60) and you’ll likely find whole milk and not a drop of diet soda. That’s because when we become empty nesters and our kids go to college it’s time to get a bit selfish again and rediscover ourselves at the soda fountain. Our later years are about replacing experimentation with experience. After 50 years you should have been paying enough attention to know what you like. And you reach a point in your life where it makes more sense to count blessings than calories. It’s time to once again fill the glass with Coke Classic and crushed ice, not compromise.
I read a great quote from Jack Nicholson that captured the honesty of the golden years, “With my sunglasses on I'm Jack Nicholson. Without them, I'm fat and 60.” I love that. From age 50 on it’s no longer about cutting corners or holding your breath. You know what you like, you know the trade offs and you make decisions accordingly. And there’s something cool in the confidence that can only come from age and experience. I remember asking my grandmother once why she drank whole milk when the whole world was switching to 2% or skim. She didn’t stutter, “Whole milk is better, and it’s what I like” she said.
So the next time you find yourself searching in vein for the fountain of youth, remember you can learn more from the soda fountain. Namely sometimes it’s about you, and sometimes it’s not. But either way life is all about pushing new levers and filling your cup. And if we’re lucky, free refills.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
“40 Dogs” Set to Expand the Church of Bob
We’ve all heard the story about how a glass of red wine a day helps you live longer. Personally, I’m convinced the same is true about live music.
I’m certain a scientific study that took a group of people and exposed them to one live music event each month would prove that group would live longer than those who had not experienced as much live music over the same time period.
That’s part of the reason I make it a point to see at least one live show per month. This discipline has kept my rock & roll incisors sharp and allowed me to see firsthand the pageantry of everyone from Michael Jackson to Tim McGraw. I’m such a live music veteran now that I proudly wear the totally uncool neon earplugs. Go ahead and laugh, but next time you’re at First Avenue check the tall roadie dude covered in ink carrying away the empties – and you’ll see he’s wearing them too.
Over the years I’ve assembled a sacred group, which I refer to as my Live Top 5. It’s a group I can count on one hand who for various reasons have been enshrined in my personal live music hall of fame.
Most of the names you would expect.
The Boss is there because no one, absolutely no one works harder than Bruce Springsteen. The older he gets, the more he upholds the ethos of one of his tracks, “Prove it all Night.” Going to see Bruce Springsteen live is a bit masochistic, like signing up for a session with the personal trainer you heard was “psycho” to at the health club. Because make no mistake you (and the rest of his aging audience) will give up before Bruce does.
Prince makes the Live Top 5 and not just because he’s from Minnesota and can do the splits on top of a piano in heels. No Prince makes the list because of his medley style playlist when he’s in concert. When you see a Prince show it’s like he’s done a scientific study of the high points of every one of his songs and he’s put it all in a blender to serve you up only the best bits. It’s like he’s run a concert optimizer, and you’ll never come down.
Of course the Irish lads make the list. While U2 can be inconsistent live depending on how ready they were to tour or how many clove cigarettes Bono is smoking, when they’re on their game it’s something to witness. Bono isn’t my favorite singer in the world, but he is my favorite front man – and there’s a difference. And to see a U2 show is to understand the importance of that distinction. Edge’s wind chime guitars and Bono’s ideas are stadium sized indeed.
If anyone is ready to take U2’s live torch as they slowly move past the exit, it’s probably three punks from Oakland. If you haven’t seen Green Day live yet, you need to before they get knocked back down to size. Green Day’s current rock opera phrase has this trio transforming from the snot and bloody lip of their punk roots to the pyrotechnics and stadium spectacle of big time rock & roll. No one is having more fun out on tour right now, whether they’re mocking the King of Pop or starting their sets with a drunk guy in a pink bunny suit--Green Day are indeed in their prime.
But there is one surprising name that rounds out my Live Top 5. And that name is Bob Schneider, a singer songwriter from Austin, Texas.
The live music experience with Bob is difficult to describe. There are certain performers that when you see them it’s almost spiritual, like going to music church. Martin Sexton has that, Springsteen, etc. I remember the first time I went to a Bob show and saw the huge line snaking around the Fine Line Music Café in Minneapolis, I knew there was real credibility to Bob’s live reputation.
To put it in a sentence, the biggest compliment I can give Bob Schneider and perhaps the most accurate description of his live experience are the 6 words my wife said when I took her to see her first Bob show this summer at the Double Door in Chicago:
“This is weird. I like it” she said.
That about sums it up. The son of an opera singer who used to entertain at his parent parties, Bob has basically been marinating in Austin’s melting pot of a music scene for decades. Over this time Bob has morphed into a real version of someone Matt McConaughey would play in a movie. He’s a larger than life sloppy rock god that can put together a live show that’s equal parts Copacabana, G Love’s special sauce, romantic comedy, with a pirate’s eye patch tossed in for good measure.
Bob’s genre bending live spectacle is the stuff of legend. Like the city of Austin itself, Bob is indeed weird, but good. For a taste check this live link from YouTube:
Saxon Pub
This clip gives you a glimpse of the genuine love between artist and audience Bob evokes. Personally I think the first comment from KillMeNow1990 below the clip nails it, “Quite simply, the coolest fucker on Earth. And I would assume the universe.”
So if I’m carving Bob Schneider’s comic book hero jaw line into my live music Mt. Rushmore alongside The Boss, Bono, and Billy Joe – one has to wonder why most of you you’ve never heard of the man.
And that’s a good question, besides a cup of coffee of success more directly linked to Bob dating actress Sandra Bullock then his live music prowess, he does remain relatively under the radar. And while Bob followers range from 35-year old women to University of Texas co-eds, and David Wooderson wannabes – mainstream success has yet to arrive.
All of that may be about to change with the release of Bob’s latest studio album, Lovely Creatures.
Lovely Creatures is a different album for Bob fans. It’s a romantic record composed of ten pretty songs and two greatest hits. The closest thing from Bob’s back catalogue to resemble this record is probably “Flowerparts” linked here:
Flowerparts
Yes Bob has tucked in his shirt for this album. The result is a handsome little record, and one giant song.
“40 Dogs (Like Romeo and Juliet)” is the song that just might get Bob on a few more Live Top 5 lists. It’s also everything you should love about Bob rolled into four minutes and thirteen seconds of undeniable soft rock. To give it a listen and get a glimpse of a more recent live experience from Bob click here:
40 Dogs
And there it is. “40 Dogs” is a track romantic enough to bring to mind a young John Cusack. A song you, your buddy, your wife, and mom can agree on. And of course the brilliant lyric, including the following:
Come out tonight, come out with me baby
We’ll throw the careful into the crazy
Turn the sky black into a sky blue
Turn a closed shade into a Hoo Hoo!
At its core “40 Dogs” is pure Bob. From the sloppy combination of Shakespeare and malt liquor, to the naughtiness, and the grit. But it’s also a thing of beauty. If Bob’s intent was, as it seems to write and record a lovely record, then “40 Dogs” has emerged the super model track of the bunch. “40 Dogs” has all the excitement of the perfumed air at the beginning of a relationship; locking eyes at a bar, and the high cheekbones and ample lips only a songwriter of Bob’s pedigree could possibly deliver. “40 Dogs” is the song that should get more people to visit the church of Bob.
There are other gems on Lovely Creatures from the tortured soul of “Changing my Mind” with Patty Griffin which proves art loves heartbreak. “Changing my Mind” is an exceedingly sad song that still feels good to listen to. “Bicycle vs. Car” is a gorgeous gawker slowdown of a ballad as we pan across the lopsided collision of head vs. heart.
Lovely Creatures also includes two tracks that have been fan favorites at Bob’s live shows for years in “Bombonanza” and “Tarantula.” A musician marinated in the Austin, Texas music scene like Bob is bound to become the musical equivalent of a rink or gym rat. To reach tracks like “Tarantula” and “Bombonanza” requires the experience and flavor of a dirty barbecue grill. That’s been Austin’s gift to Bob, and he’s returned the favor to us with songs like these two live escapades. While less than four minutes here trust that both are much meatier in person. When Bob does “Bombonanza” it’s “Copacabana” only you’ve swapped Barry Manilow for Don Draper. And “Tarantula” features another ridiculous yet perfect Dr. Schneider sing-a-long chorus in “There she goes! There in the moonlight! Under the stars! Tarantula!”
As a whole Lovely Creatures offers a more tapered and romantic sound than Schneider fans may be used to hearing. But even though Bob may have added a spoonful of sugar on his latest record, the live favorites “Bombonanza” and “Tarantula” finally delivered to a studio record and the first kiss boom of “40 Dogs” should result in a few new faces at the church of Schneider on Sunday. And to that I say, “Amen.”
I’m certain a scientific study that took a group of people and exposed them to one live music event each month would prove that group would live longer than those who had not experienced as much live music over the same time period.
That’s part of the reason I make it a point to see at least one live show per month. This discipline has kept my rock & roll incisors sharp and allowed me to see firsthand the pageantry of everyone from Michael Jackson to Tim McGraw. I’m such a live music veteran now that I proudly wear the totally uncool neon earplugs. Go ahead and laugh, but next time you’re at First Avenue check the tall roadie dude covered in ink carrying away the empties – and you’ll see he’s wearing them too.
Over the years I’ve assembled a sacred group, which I refer to as my Live Top 5. It’s a group I can count on one hand who for various reasons have been enshrined in my personal live music hall of fame.
Most of the names you would expect.
The Boss is there because no one, absolutely no one works harder than Bruce Springsteen. The older he gets, the more he upholds the ethos of one of his tracks, “Prove it all Night.” Going to see Bruce Springsteen live is a bit masochistic, like signing up for a session with the personal trainer you heard was “psycho” to at the health club. Because make no mistake you (and the rest of his aging audience) will give up before Bruce does.
Prince makes the Live Top 5 and not just because he’s from Minnesota and can do the splits on top of a piano in heels. No Prince makes the list because of his medley style playlist when he’s in concert. When you see a Prince show it’s like he’s done a scientific study of the high points of every one of his songs and he’s put it all in a blender to serve you up only the best bits. It’s like he’s run a concert optimizer, and you’ll never come down.
Of course the Irish lads make the list. While U2 can be inconsistent live depending on how ready they were to tour or how many clove cigarettes Bono is smoking, when they’re on their game it’s something to witness. Bono isn’t my favorite singer in the world, but he is my favorite front man – and there’s a difference. And to see a U2 show is to understand the importance of that distinction. Edge’s wind chime guitars and Bono’s ideas are stadium sized indeed.
If anyone is ready to take U2’s live torch as they slowly move past the exit, it’s probably three punks from Oakland. If you haven’t seen Green Day live yet, you need to before they get knocked back down to size. Green Day’s current rock opera phrase has this trio transforming from the snot and bloody lip of their punk roots to the pyrotechnics and stadium spectacle of big time rock & roll. No one is having more fun out on tour right now, whether they’re mocking the King of Pop or starting their sets with a drunk guy in a pink bunny suit--Green Day are indeed in their prime.
But there is one surprising name that rounds out my Live Top 5. And that name is Bob Schneider, a singer songwriter from Austin, Texas.
The live music experience with Bob is difficult to describe. There are certain performers that when you see them it’s almost spiritual, like going to music church. Martin Sexton has that, Springsteen, etc. I remember the first time I went to a Bob show and saw the huge line snaking around the Fine Line Music Café in Minneapolis, I knew there was real credibility to Bob’s live reputation.
To put it in a sentence, the biggest compliment I can give Bob Schneider and perhaps the most accurate description of his live experience are the 6 words my wife said when I took her to see her first Bob show this summer at the Double Door in Chicago:
“This is weird. I like it” she said.
That about sums it up. The son of an opera singer who used to entertain at his parent parties, Bob has basically been marinating in Austin’s melting pot of a music scene for decades. Over this time Bob has morphed into a real version of someone Matt McConaughey would play in a movie. He’s a larger than life sloppy rock god that can put together a live show that’s equal parts Copacabana, G Love’s special sauce, romantic comedy, with a pirate’s eye patch tossed in for good measure.
Bob’s genre bending live spectacle is the stuff of legend. Like the city of Austin itself, Bob is indeed weird, but good. For a taste check this live link from YouTube:
Saxon Pub
This clip gives you a glimpse of the genuine love between artist and audience Bob evokes. Personally I think the first comment from KillMeNow1990 below the clip nails it, “Quite simply, the coolest fucker on Earth. And I would assume the universe.”
So if I’m carving Bob Schneider’s comic book hero jaw line into my live music Mt. Rushmore alongside The Boss, Bono, and Billy Joe – one has to wonder why most of you you’ve never heard of the man.
And that’s a good question, besides a cup of coffee of success more directly linked to Bob dating actress Sandra Bullock then his live music prowess, he does remain relatively under the radar. And while Bob followers range from 35-year old women to University of Texas co-eds, and David Wooderson wannabes – mainstream success has yet to arrive.
All of that may be about to change with the release of Bob’s latest studio album, Lovely Creatures.
Lovely Creatures is a different album for Bob fans. It’s a romantic record composed of ten pretty songs and two greatest hits. The closest thing from Bob’s back catalogue to resemble this record is probably “Flowerparts” linked here:
Flowerparts
Yes Bob has tucked in his shirt for this album. The result is a handsome little record, and one giant song.
“40 Dogs (Like Romeo and Juliet)” is the song that just might get Bob on a few more Live Top 5 lists. It’s also everything you should love about Bob rolled into four minutes and thirteen seconds of undeniable soft rock. To give it a listen and get a glimpse of a more recent live experience from Bob click here:
40 Dogs
And there it is. “40 Dogs” is a track romantic enough to bring to mind a young John Cusack. A song you, your buddy, your wife, and mom can agree on. And of course the brilliant lyric, including the following:
Come out tonight, come out with me baby
We’ll throw the careful into the crazy
Turn the sky black into a sky blue
Turn a closed shade into a Hoo Hoo!
At its core “40 Dogs” is pure Bob. From the sloppy combination of Shakespeare and malt liquor, to the naughtiness, and the grit. But it’s also a thing of beauty. If Bob’s intent was, as it seems to write and record a lovely record, then “40 Dogs” has emerged the super model track of the bunch. “40 Dogs” has all the excitement of the perfumed air at the beginning of a relationship; locking eyes at a bar, and the high cheekbones and ample lips only a songwriter of Bob’s pedigree could possibly deliver. “40 Dogs” is the song that should get more people to visit the church of Bob.
There are other gems on Lovely Creatures from the tortured soul of “Changing my Mind” with Patty Griffin which proves art loves heartbreak. “Changing my Mind” is an exceedingly sad song that still feels good to listen to. “Bicycle vs. Car” is a gorgeous gawker slowdown of a ballad as we pan across the lopsided collision of head vs. heart.
Lovely Creatures also includes two tracks that have been fan favorites at Bob’s live shows for years in “Bombonanza” and “Tarantula.” A musician marinated in the Austin, Texas music scene like Bob is bound to become the musical equivalent of a rink or gym rat. To reach tracks like “Tarantula” and “Bombonanza” requires the experience and flavor of a dirty barbecue grill. That’s been Austin’s gift to Bob, and he’s returned the favor to us with songs like these two live escapades. While less than four minutes here trust that both are much meatier in person. When Bob does “Bombonanza” it’s “Copacabana” only you’ve swapped Barry Manilow for Don Draper. And “Tarantula” features another ridiculous yet perfect Dr. Schneider sing-a-long chorus in “There she goes! There in the moonlight! Under the stars! Tarantula!”
As a whole Lovely Creatures offers a more tapered and romantic sound than Schneider fans may be used to hearing. But even though Bob may have added a spoonful of sugar on his latest record, the live favorites “Bombonanza” and “Tarantula” finally delivered to a studio record and the first kiss boom of “40 Dogs” should result in a few new faces at the church of Schneider on Sunday. And to that I say, “Amen.”
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Green Day earn the yellow jersey
It finally happened. We have a new leader in the clubhouse. Green Day has stripped the yellow jersey off the Followill brothers delivering the best album of 2009 with 21st Century Breakdown. The yellow jersey earns you a lot of things not the least of which is pole position in the Wrangler’s six CD changer’s slot one. Not only is 21st Century Breakdown stronger then the guys 2004 rock opera, American Idiot, I believe it’s the record of the year for the following three reasons:
LONG LIVE THE ALBUM
Often my 8 year old will put on his shorts or shirt backwards. When I correct him and tell him his clothes are on backwards he usually just looks at me as if to say, “who cares? If it doesn’t bother me, what does it matter?” My static answer to his indifference is usually something about how the clothes are made to be worn a certain way and that’s why they put the tag in back, etc.
When I loaded 21st Century Breakdown into my computer and put it onto my Shuffle, I somehow put the songs in reverse order for my playlist. 21st Century Breakdown is just the sort of album where once you know the material having the songs backwards will drive you crazy and for that, I’m thankful. In a lot of ways I think digital music has allowed too many young people to begin looking at music the same way my son looks at his shorts and shirts. If the songs work for them in any order what difference does it make? Thankfully Billie Joe Armstrong and the gang still understand that the music makers put things in a certain order because they’re meant to be listened to that way. For this reason, 21st Century Breakdown should only be judged as an album. Of the few thousand people I’ve told to buy the new record, my marching orders have consistently been to listen to the entire thing (18 tracks, 1.1 hours) six times straight through before passing judgment. I challenge anyone to do that and not think Green Day have truly found higher ground as a band. The way the songs fade into each other is seamless, and the rock opera effect means most of the tracks are more sections than they are songs. In other words if you don’t like a song, wait 15 seconds and you just might. 21st Century Breakdown is true proof that Billie Joe is a world-class conductor with both the pen and the baton. Long live the album!
CREATIVE RANGE
For Green Day fans where 21st Century Breakdown separates itself from American Idiot is the band’s newfound range. Wow. Consider the following:
On track 7 “Last Night on Earth“ the band sounds like the Beach Boys slinging Sunkist.
Track 8 “East Jesus Nowhere” has all the steel-toed stomp of Marilyn Manson at his finest, and just as much ballistic blasphemy.
Track 9 “Peacemaker” sounds like Dick Dale on a long board or something Tarantino would have been listening to when he was still renting videos.
Track 14 “Horseshoes and Handgrenades” starts with the lyric “I’m not fuckin’ around!” and means it for the entire 3:14 all the way to the “G-L-O-R-I-A” shoutout to Van. This song will be the cause of some leatherneck running into his locker before practice and a few speeding tickets.
Track 15 “The Static Age” sounds like the Go-Gos if they were a punk band. This is the one for the convertibles and movie soundtracks this summer. Cue the music video in your head; this bubble gum punk will have even the bumpiest faces believing they can get the girl.
And through all this they still manage to dispense some undeniable Green Day in the three song arch between Track 3 and 5 with “Know Your Enemy,” “Viva La Gloria!” and “Before the Lobotomy.” These songs are filled with the machine gun guitars and cartoon violence we’ve come to expect from the boys as they hit their prime as a band. And for the record any chance to scream “Whisky shots and cheap cigarettes!” at the top of your lungs is a good thing in my book.
If that wasn’t enough, Green Day reinvent the rock ballad once again with Track 16 “21 Guns.” This thing is some damn infectious you won’t be able to get it out of your head. And you won’t want to. Should be a big song for them this summer.
THE AMBITION OF THE ARTIST
I love that somewhere in Oakland Billie Joe Armstrong still sits down and writes an album about Christian and Gloria. I love that he divides the record into three distinct acts. I love that he starts with the stories. I love that the band is working with an experimental theater group to bring parts of American Idiot and 21st Century Breakdown to the stage. It’s all about the art with these guys, and in a world increasingly filled with suits and science we could all use a little more art.
So please go out and pick up the new Green Day, listen to it six times, and thank me later. You’ll be surprised how good it feels to listen to an album that still understands why the tag goes in the back. I’ve dressed Green Day up in yellow for the three reasons above, but whether you have them in front of your pack or not, rest assured you’ll enjoy the raucous ride that is 21st Century Breakdown.
LONG LIVE THE ALBUM
Often my 8 year old will put on his shorts or shirt backwards. When I correct him and tell him his clothes are on backwards he usually just looks at me as if to say, “who cares? If it doesn’t bother me, what does it matter?” My static answer to his indifference is usually something about how the clothes are made to be worn a certain way and that’s why they put the tag in back, etc.
When I loaded 21st Century Breakdown into my computer and put it onto my Shuffle, I somehow put the songs in reverse order for my playlist. 21st Century Breakdown is just the sort of album where once you know the material having the songs backwards will drive you crazy and for that, I’m thankful. In a lot of ways I think digital music has allowed too many young people to begin looking at music the same way my son looks at his shorts and shirts. If the songs work for them in any order what difference does it make? Thankfully Billie Joe Armstrong and the gang still understand that the music makers put things in a certain order because they’re meant to be listened to that way. For this reason, 21st Century Breakdown should only be judged as an album. Of the few thousand people I’ve told to buy the new record, my marching orders have consistently been to listen to the entire thing (18 tracks, 1.1 hours) six times straight through before passing judgment. I challenge anyone to do that and not think Green Day have truly found higher ground as a band. The way the songs fade into each other is seamless, and the rock opera effect means most of the tracks are more sections than they are songs. In other words if you don’t like a song, wait 15 seconds and you just might. 21st Century Breakdown is true proof that Billie Joe is a world-class conductor with both the pen and the baton. Long live the album!
CREATIVE RANGE
For Green Day fans where 21st Century Breakdown separates itself from American Idiot is the band’s newfound range. Wow. Consider the following:
On track 7 “Last Night on Earth“ the band sounds like the Beach Boys slinging Sunkist.
Track 8 “East Jesus Nowhere” has all the steel-toed stomp of Marilyn Manson at his finest, and just as much ballistic blasphemy.
Track 9 “Peacemaker” sounds like Dick Dale on a long board or something Tarantino would have been listening to when he was still renting videos.
Track 14 “Horseshoes and Handgrenades” starts with the lyric “I’m not fuckin’ around!” and means it for the entire 3:14 all the way to the “G-L-O-R-I-A” shoutout to Van. This song will be the cause of some leatherneck running into his locker before practice and a few speeding tickets.
Track 15 “The Static Age” sounds like the Go-Gos if they were a punk band. This is the one for the convertibles and movie soundtracks this summer. Cue the music video in your head; this bubble gum punk will have even the bumpiest faces believing they can get the girl.
And through all this they still manage to dispense some undeniable Green Day in the three song arch between Track 3 and 5 with “Know Your Enemy,” “Viva La Gloria!” and “Before the Lobotomy.” These songs are filled with the machine gun guitars and cartoon violence we’ve come to expect from the boys as they hit their prime as a band. And for the record any chance to scream “Whisky shots and cheap cigarettes!” at the top of your lungs is a good thing in my book.
If that wasn’t enough, Green Day reinvent the rock ballad once again with Track 16 “21 Guns.” This thing is some damn infectious you won’t be able to get it out of your head. And you won’t want to. Should be a big song for them this summer.
THE AMBITION OF THE ARTIST
I love that somewhere in Oakland Billie Joe Armstrong still sits down and writes an album about Christian and Gloria. I love that he divides the record into three distinct acts. I love that he starts with the stories. I love that the band is working with an experimental theater group to bring parts of American Idiot and 21st Century Breakdown to the stage. It’s all about the art with these guys, and in a world increasingly filled with suits and science we could all use a little more art.
So please go out and pick up the new Green Day, listen to it six times, and thank me later. You’ll be surprised how good it feels to listen to an album that still understands why the tag goes in the back. I’ve dressed Green Day up in yellow for the three reasons above, but whether you have them in front of your pack or not, rest assured you’ll enjoy the raucous ride that is 21st Century Breakdown.
Friday, March 27, 2009
You Never Forget Your First
I had a great parenting moment the other day. My 7-year old son came frantically running down the stairs of our home and said five words I’ll not soon forget, “Dad, I like a song!” he exclaimed.
The best part of it was that for my son this was probably the first time he had ever experienced this. Sure he’d tolerated music riding around in my Jeep, maybe even liked some of it. But he had never found the music for himself; those songs had never been his own. And I loved the way he said it. “Dad, I like a song” was shouted with the same coming-of-age surprise of “Dad, I found a chest hair!” It was if he had never been surer about anything in his whole life.
I wasn’t about to let this moment pass me by. Determined to reinforce the behavior I sprinted upstairs to see what song he was listening to. I fully expected to hear some bubble gum pop or Auto-Tune hip-hop song to be playing; I was surprised to find the clock radio tuned to our local mullet rock station 93X. After giving my son a proud glance, I turned my attention to trying desperately to decipher enough of the lyrics to punch them into Google. A few seconds into this excellent track I had a revelation, “Holy crap, this is Eddie Vedder. And it’s new.” For the record, the revelation that the first song your son likes is Pearl Jam is just about as awesome as him bringing a beautiful girl home on a date.
Damn near hyperventilating I worked the lyrics (something about brothers and sisters) into Google and scoped the 93X site for their current play list. After a false start looking for the song which I learned was called “Brother” on the Pearl Jam rarities disc Lost Dogs, I learned the version of the song I was actually looking for (with lyrics) would be included on the Ten anniversary reissue, Pearl Jam Ten (Legacy Edition), out this week.
In some ways Pearl Jam Ten was also my first. Besides maybe Achtung Baby (out around the same time), Pearl Jam’s Ten was my first polarizing music experience. I vividly remember sitting in the backseat of cars in high school listening to Ten not knowing whether I should make fun of it or love it. A few of my buddies spent the summer at a church camp and I still remember them coming home with the same reaction. There was no doubt about it. Ten was different. You couldn’t ignore the sound. Unfortunately this classic album was at least partially to blame for all the coeds wearing flannel shirts and jeans my entire four years of college. But with a sound like this it might be worth the trade.
The Ten reissue comes in several flavors. The one I purchased had two discs. One is simply a remastered version of the original Ten, the second disc Ten Redux features a Brendan O’Brien remixed version of the record as well as six previously unreleased new tracks, including my son’s new favorite song “Brother.”
Overall I must say it was a treat to listen to the majesty of Ten once again and be reminded of Jameson shots in the dorms and driving to Tower Records in Boston for midnight album releases. To this day one of the coolest live music experiences I’ve had was when Pearl Jam used to open shows in complete darkness playing “Release.”
I’m not sure what to make of the Brendan O’Brien remixes, they end up feeling more remastered than remixed. It’s not until some extra backing vocals appear on “Jeremy” that we even see his hand. Sure he takes the butter knife blunt guitar grunge and gives it a little steak knife shimmer, but it’s damn subtle. It’s almost as if O’Brien was too scared to mess with a masterpiece. Which is a shame because everyone is going to get the original album as part of the dual disc set anyway. I really wish O’Brien would have thrown caution to the wind and had some fun messin’ with the record. Personally I’d love to hear what Ten would sound like in the vinyl bin at Rebel Rebel records completely remixed and ready for the Soho Grand lobby. It seems O’Brien felt more comfortable messing with the lesser known tracks as hits like “Alive” and Even Flow” remain relatively unchanged. He does tuck in the flannel and add some gloss on tracks like “Once” and “Garden.” But not enough to make a meaningful difference.
As for the new stuff, I must agree with my son that “Brother” is splendid. It just feels good to have some new Pearl Jam in the world, and “Brother” is vintage stuff from the band. Over the course of four minutes it prominently features circular guitar riffs and shredding solos that would sound great to amp up any pregame hockey skate, and it includes a syrupy Heart of Darkness sequence in the middle where Vedder slows it down only to restart it all up again a few moments later.
If I had to pick the voice to be in my personal super group it would be Ed Vedder. Note: he’s constantly referred to as Ed (not Eddie) Vedder in the liner notes and for some reason typing that just feels fantastic. It’s like calling Robert DeNiro “Bobby.” Vedder is carved into my musical Mt. Rushmore in large part due to slow down sequences like this one in “Brother.” He’s the master at providing that Martin Sheen in the hotel sense of total abandon. Part of it is his voice is big enough to throttle down like that and not lose your attention, and part of it is the big space emotion and imagination his voice immediately coveys. It’s the same reason he was the perfect choice to do the Into the Wild soundtrack. If anyone can put rock & roll back in the loincloth, it’s Ed Vedder because no voice sounds better under the expanse of the stars. The last song on Ten, “Release” manages to bridle this spirit horse for an entire nine minutes as like Jim Morrison with a surfboard, Vedder stares at you cross eyed and says, “I’ll ride the wave where it takes me!” somehow still convincing you to paddle out behind him.
“Just a Girl” desperately wants to be “Why Go,” but sadly stays on the leash. “Breath and a Scream” starts out sounding like a studio track, but very quickly gets raw with some drums.Vedder sings, “I suggest you step out on your porch and run away my son see it all, see the world” his voice cracking with passion. In some ways “Breath and a Scream” is three acts delivered across six minutes from studio, to tribal, and finishing with a wicked Mike McCready guitar solo at the end.
“State of Love and Trust” is a riff masquerading as a song, but the chops from McCready and Stone Gossard are so good it almost leaves you not caring. I’m sure “State of Love and Trust” sounds great played live with the steam coming off the crowd.
“2,000 Mile Blues” is just that, a bluesy little romp that ultimately doesn’t have the strength to defend itself against the distortion peddles leave it sounding more like noise than music. “Evil Little Goat” is more goofy stuff from the grab bag as the title might suggest. I’m guessing it’s somehow linked into the Chicago Cubs and the curse.
Truth is “Brother” is the best of the new bunch and the only thing worthy of being included in on Ten if they were to add a track to this famous album. The rest are mostly just scraps from the table and there’s not much to the remixes either. But I can honestly say it was worth the purchase for the memories and more importantly for my son to say I love you back to music for the first time. Thanks Ed Vedder for reminding me how easy it is for the sound of one big voice to remind you how big the world is out there. Now go see it.
The best part of it was that for my son this was probably the first time he had ever experienced this. Sure he’d tolerated music riding around in my Jeep, maybe even liked some of it. But he had never found the music for himself; those songs had never been his own. And I loved the way he said it. “Dad, I like a song” was shouted with the same coming-of-age surprise of “Dad, I found a chest hair!” It was if he had never been surer about anything in his whole life.
I wasn’t about to let this moment pass me by. Determined to reinforce the behavior I sprinted upstairs to see what song he was listening to. I fully expected to hear some bubble gum pop or Auto-Tune hip-hop song to be playing; I was surprised to find the clock radio tuned to our local mullet rock station 93X. After giving my son a proud glance, I turned my attention to trying desperately to decipher enough of the lyrics to punch them into Google. A few seconds into this excellent track I had a revelation, “Holy crap, this is Eddie Vedder. And it’s new.” For the record, the revelation that the first song your son likes is Pearl Jam is just about as awesome as him bringing a beautiful girl home on a date.
Damn near hyperventilating I worked the lyrics (something about brothers and sisters) into Google and scoped the 93X site for their current play list. After a false start looking for the song which I learned was called “Brother” on the Pearl Jam rarities disc Lost Dogs, I learned the version of the song I was actually looking for (with lyrics) would be included on the Ten anniversary reissue, Pearl Jam Ten (Legacy Edition), out this week.
In some ways Pearl Jam Ten was also my first. Besides maybe Achtung Baby (out around the same time), Pearl Jam’s Ten was my first polarizing music experience. I vividly remember sitting in the backseat of cars in high school listening to Ten not knowing whether I should make fun of it or love it. A few of my buddies spent the summer at a church camp and I still remember them coming home with the same reaction. There was no doubt about it. Ten was different. You couldn’t ignore the sound. Unfortunately this classic album was at least partially to blame for all the coeds wearing flannel shirts and jeans my entire four years of college. But with a sound like this it might be worth the trade.
The Ten reissue comes in several flavors. The one I purchased had two discs. One is simply a remastered version of the original Ten, the second disc Ten Redux features a Brendan O’Brien remixed version of the record as well as six previously unreleased new tracks, including my son’s new favorite song “Brother.”
Overall I must say it was a treat to listen to the majesty of Ten once again and be reminded of Jameson shots in the dorms and driving to Tower Records in Boston for midnight album releases. To this day one of the coolest live music experiences I’ve had was when Pearl Jam used to open shows in complete darkness playing “Release.”
I’m not sure what to make of the Brendan O’Brien remixes, they end up feeling more remastered than remixed. It’s not until some extra backing vocals appear on “Jeremy” that we even see his hand. Sure he takes the butter knife blunt guitar grunge and gives it a little steak knife shimmer, but it’s damn subtle. It’s almost as if O’Brien was too scared to mess with a masterpiece. Which is a shame because everyone is going to get the original album as part of the dual disc set anyway. I really wish O’Brien would have thrown caution to the wind and had some fun messin’ with the record. Personally I’d love to hear what Ten would sound like in the vinyl bin at Rebel Rebel records completely remixed and ready for the Soho Grand lobby. It seems O’Brien felt more comfortable messing with the lesser known tracks as hits like “Alive” and Even Flow” remain relatively unchanged. He does tuck in the flannel and add some gloss on tracks like “Once” and “Garden.” But not enough to make a meaningful difference.
As for the new stuff, I must agree with my son that “Brother” is splendid. It just feels good to have some new Pearl Jam in the world, and “Brother” is vintage stuff from the band. Over the course of four minutes it prominently features circular guitar riffs and shredding solos that would sound great to amp up any pregame hockey skate, and it includes a syrupy Heart of Darkness sequence in the middle where Vedder slows it down only to restart it all up again a few moments later.
If I had to pick the voice to be in my personal super group it would be Ed Vedder. Note: he’s constantly referred to as Ed (not Eddie) Vedder in the liner notes and for some reason typing that just feels fantastic. It’s like calling Robert DeNiro “Bobby.” Vedder is carved into my musical Mt. Rushmore in large part due to slow down sequences like this one in “Brother.” He’s the master at providing that Martin Sheen in the hotel sense of total abandon. Part of it is his voice is big enough to throttle down like that and not lose your attention, and part of it is the big space emotion and imagination his voice immediately coveys. It’s the same reason he was the perfect choice to do the Into the Wild soundtrack. If anyone can put rock & roll back in the loincloth, it’s Ed Vedder because no voice sounds better under the expanse of the stars. The last song on Ten, “Release” manages to bridle this spirit horse for an entire nine minutes as like Jim Morrison with a surfboard, Vedder stares at you cross eyed and says, “I’ll ride the wave where it takes me!” somehow still convincing you to paddle out behind him.
“Just a Girl” desperately wants to be “Why Go,” but sadly stays on the leash. “Breath and a Scream” starts out sounding like a studio track, but very quickly gets raw with some drums.Vedder sings, “I suggest you step out on your porch and run away my son see it all, see the world” his voice cracking with passion. In some ways “Breath and a Scream” is three acts delivered across six minutes from studio, to tribal, and finishing with a wicked Mike McCready guitar solo at the end.
“State of Love and Trust” is a riff masquerading as a song, but the chops from McCready and Stone Gossard are so good it almost leaves you not caring. I’m sure “State of Love and Trust” sounds great played live with the steam coming off the crowd.
“2,000 Mile Blues” is just that, a bluesy little romp that ultimately doesn’t have the strength to defend itself against the distortion peddles leave it sounding more like noise than music. “Evil Little Goat” is more goofy stuff from the grab bag as the title might suggest. I’m guessing it’s somehow linked into the Chicago Cubs and the curse.
Truth is “Brother” is the best of the new bunch and the only thing worthy of being included in on Ten if they were to add a track to this famous album. The rest are mostly just scraps from the table and there’s not much to the remixes either. But I can honestly say it was worth the purchase for the memories and more importantly for my son to say I love you back to music for the first time. Thanks Ed Vedder for reminding me how easy it is for the sound of one big voice to remind you how big the world is out there. Now go see it.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Kings of Leon Stagger to Greatness
If Jack White is The Rockfather, Kings of Leon are the first family of American rock. The latest record, Only By The Night, from the three southern brothers and a cousin is yet another sign rock & roll is alive and well in the United States.
Only By The Night starts with the haunting “Closer.” With no shortage of effects “Closer” is more Close Encounters and sounds like a pitch-black night with a prison spotlight panning over the ground. While far from a gem, “Closer” builds anticipation and is a serviceable table setter for the few of us who still listen to whole albums.
By song two it’s on. “Crawl” brings the fuzz guitars Wolfmother style while maintaining a sled dog pace by layering a cleaner guitar riff right over the top. It should be noted that “Crawl” was rumored to be the first single and video off the album before being eventually being replaced by “Sex on Fire.”
That’s what I love about Kings of Leon. They’re proper rock stars. The behavior, the egos, the chemicals. Rolling with the song title “Sex on Fire” as your first single is going to significantly limit your radio options. But that’s Kings of Leon, they don’t try to fix it. Just listen to how “Sex on Fire” ends with that last hard guitar jab. It’s the studio equivalent of throwing the mic down at the end of your set only without the feedback.
When the band appeared on Saturday Night Live this past weekend, they chose to play the single “Sex on Fire” and glossy ballad “Use Somebody.” I suspect “Use Somebody” will be a hot button song for Kings of Leon fans. While this power ballad still has some of the band’s signature rough edges including increasing the tempo midway through – it’s a long way from the Tennessee woods and whiskey where many of their core fans want Kings of Leon to stay. “Use Somebody” is Black Crows meets Bryan Adams. And I for one hope it pops for them as this is a band that needs to be as big as they sound.
If pressed to describe the Kings of Leon’s signature sound I’d call it jean shorts and wine rock. Like “Ragoo” off Because of the Times, “Manhattan” nails this rambling, open toed sound of rock & roll stuffed into a picnic basket. Really great stuff, and at the moment a sound only coming out of this band.
If there is a dip on Only By the Night it occurs with the four songs directly after “Manhattan.” I suspect this section of the record will grow on me and become more important in the days ahead but it doesn’t pop right away. There are nuggets here too though from the street fighter spirit of “Notion” to the soda pop swank of “I Want You” which wouldn’t sound out of place alongside Lucille washing the car in Cool Hand Luke.
Only By The Night’s second act begins with song ten “Be Somebody.” It’s another power ballad, but not quite as tucked in as “Use Somebody.” The similar song titles reminds me of the early ‘90s when seemingly every Pearl Jam track was called “Nothing Man,” “Better Man,” etc. The two songs are similar but the drums and epic sound of “Be Somebody” make it the one you’ll remember.
The big knock on Because of the Times, and likely Only By The Night is going to be that the music is too crisp and produced. People will be looking for the Larry, Daryl, and Daryl grit of the band’s first couple albums. To these people I proudly introduce the last track on the record and also the song that solidifies Only By The Night as a great album . . .it’s called ”Cold Desert.”
“Cold Desert” is a staggering ballad that would sound best with a bottle of bourbon under the wide-open sky. It’s sprit horse Indian reservation stuff, the musical equivalent of Martin Sheen in his hotel room in Apocalypse Now. It’s the song Kid Rock can only dream of one day making. If lyrics like “Jesus don’t love me” don’t get to you, this YouTube behind the scenes look at the making of “Cold Desert” certainly will:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EhBdPEaNj-g
In summary, I for one hope Only By The Night places Kings of Leon one step closer to stadiums. This music is too important not to be heard by more people. I hope the boys put a fist through the wall and get out of their critical, UK based niche and get more acclaim here in the States.
Which remind me, all the great music is coming out of Blackbird Studios in Nashville right now. Is there someway we can get homeland security protecting that place? I want barricades. I want an on-going red level warning. I’m willing to be frisked to and give up civil liberties. Anything to help Mr. White and the extended Followil family put their music into the world.
Only By The Night starts with the haunting “Closer.” With no shortage of effects “Closer” is more Close Encounters and sounds like a pitch-black night with a prison spotlight panning over the ground. While far from a gem, “Closer” builds anticipation and is a serviceable table setter for the few of us who still listen to whole albums.
By song two it’s on. “Crawl” brings the fuzz guitars Wolfmother style while maintaining a sled dog pace by layering a cleaner guitar riff right over the top. It should be noted that “Crawl” was rumored to be the first single and video off the album before being eventually being replaced by “Sex on Fire.”
That’s what I love about Kings of Leon. They’re proper rock stars. The behavior, the egos, the chemicals. Rolling with the song title “Sex on Fire” as your first single is going to significantly limit your radio options. But that’s Kings of Leon, they don’t try to fix it. Just listen to how “Sex on Fire” ends with that last hard guitar jab. It’s the studio equivalent of throwing the mic down at the end of your set only without the feedback.
When the band appeared on Saturday Night Live this past weekend, they chose to play the single “Sex on Fire” and glossy ballad “Use Somebody.” I suspect “Use Somebody” will be a hot button song for Kings of Leon fans. While this power ballad still has some of the band’s signature rough edges including increasing the tempo midway through – it’s a long way from the Tennessee woods and whiskey where many of their core fans want Kings of Leon to stay. “Use Somebody” is Black Crows meets Bryan Adams. And I for one hope it pops for them as this is a band that needs to be as big as they sound.
If pressed to describe the Kings of Leon’s signature sound I’d call it jean shorts and wine rock. Like “Ragoo” off Because of the Times, “Manhattan” nails this rambling, open toed sound of rock & roll stuffed into a picnic basket. Really great stuff, and at the moment a sound only coming out of this band.
If there is a dip on Only By the Night it occurs with the four songs directly after “Manhattan.” I suspect this section of the record will grow on me and become more important in the days ahead but it doesn’t pop right away. There are nuggets here too though from the street fighter spirit of “Notion” to the soda pop swank of “I Want You” which wouldn’t sound out of place alongside Lucille washing the car in Cool Hand Luke.
Only By The Night’s second act begins with song ten “Be Somebody.” It’s another power ballad, but not quite as tucked in as “Use Somebody.” The similar song titles reminds me of the early ‘90s when seemingly every Pearl Jam track was called “Nothing Man,” “Better Man,” etc. The two songs are similar but the drums and epic sound of “Be Somebody” make it the one you’ll remember.
The big knock on Because of the Times, and likely Only By The Night is going to be that the music is too crisp and produced. People will be looking for the Larry, Daryl, and Daryl grit of the band’s first couple albums. To these people I proudly introduce the last track on the record and also the song that solidifies Only By The Night as a great album . . .it’s called ”Cold Desert.”
“Cold Desert” is a staggering ballad that would sound best with a bottle of bourbon under the wide-open sky. It’s sprit horse Indian reservation stuff, the musical equivalent of Martin Sheen in his hotel room in Apocalypse Now. It’s the song Kid Rock can only dream of one day making. If lyrics like “Jesus don’t love me” don’t get to you, this YouTube behind the scenes look at the making of “Cold Desert” certainly will:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EhBdPEaNj-g
In summary, I for one hope Only By The Night places Kings of Leon one step closer to stadiums. This music is too important not to be heard by more people. I hope the boys put a fist through the wall and get out of their critical, UK based niche and get more acclaim here in the States.
Which remind me, all the great music is coming out of Blackbird Studios in Nashville right now. Is there someway we can get homeland security protecting that place? I want barricades. I want an on-going red level warning. I’m willing to be frisked to and give up civil liberties. Anything to help Mr. White and the extended Followil family put their music into the world.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Save your Sunkist, Joe Purdy Has the Beach Blues.
Every now and then a voice will just grab you. I remember it with Tracy Chapman and “Fast Car,” and Joe Purdy is the same way. At risk of ruining it I must mention the first time I heard the man was on Grey’s Anatomy. Purdy’s vocal jumped off the screen. His sound is in the genre of Chapman, Ben Harper, Amos Lee, and Jack Johnson. Purdy delivers Otis Redding dock music right sized for the iPod world.
But unlike Jack Johnson’s sun soaked good vibrations, Purdy’s brand of water music is moodier. “Skinny Dippin’ girl” sounds like swimming at night. Whereas Johnson uses the water to catch a wave, Purdy seems to use it to wash himself off.
Purdy’s voice evokes heaviness, a sadness. For some this will be a welcome thing like watching a sad movie, as they’ll enjoy cutting to the core with Purdy. For others it will grow tiring especially as most of the songs tend to sound similar when dominated by such a distinct vocal.
Julie Blue is a record from 2006 and according to the liner notes was recorded raw in one week at a lake home. The album is filled with frayed edges in the form of audible breaths; fret slides, and waves crashing against the shore.
At his best Purdy snaps off a song like “Far Away Blues.” The sand is still in your toes, but it’s a heavy track. There is a simple brilliance here. The lyrics are spare and the song lasts just over two minutes, but it’s really a wonderful little long distance love song. A surf sonnet of sorts.
On “Whiskey & Fish” Purdy takes things up a notch rocking his guitar hard and bringing a smile to his beach blues. The pace is fantastic and the arch top guitar and mandolin create a tapestry of sound with as much life as a cabin full of people.
In some ways Julie Blue reminds me a lot of the Into the Wild Soundtrack. It’s music inspired by something. In this case it’s a singer’s trip to Board Island in upstate New York. In Vedder’s case it was Sean Penn’s film. It’s difficult to judge either as an album when they’re really closer to works of art. In Purdy’s case I feel like I’ve found his journal. I feel like I should be walking around a museum looking at black and white photos when I listen to Julie Blue. There is a story here and it’s a heavy one. Joe Purdy wants to tell us something. I’m not sure he gets it all out here, but it sure if fun listening to him try.
For those that haven’t heard it, “I Love the Rain the Most” is far and away the standout track on the record. Purdy delivers simple magic with lyrics like “I like the rain the most when it stops.” As we listen to him plead, “no more rain today” Purdy has an almost Marley-like ability to create timeless music around simple structures. In the case of “I Love the Rain the Most” he tells the story of summer coming to an end with a white cap vocal alongside some sun shower guitar picking.
That’s the blessing and the curse of Joe Purdy. His music is intoxicating, but like any good depressant carries with it a sadness. Julie Blue is the sort of soundtrack you’d put on an iMovie slideshow of your kids because it would sound great and has the melancholy of growing up.
I was already familiar with “Wash Away,” “Far Away Blues,” and “ I Love the Rain the Most” prior to picking up the CD. Beyond those TV drama tracks I can’t say I discovered much else here. Of the new bits my favorites would be “Whisky & Fish,” “Skinny Dippin Girl” and “Abbie’s Song.” The bar hall bustle of “Whisky and Fish” with lyrics like “They fed me fish and whisky and I went to sleep again” would rank best of the rest.
But unlike Jack Johnson’s sun soaked good vibrations, Purdy’s brand of water music is moodier. “Skinny Dippin’ girl” sounds like swimming at night. Whereas Johnson uses the water to catch a wave, Purdy seems to use it to wash himself off.
Purdy’s voice evokes heaviness, a sadness. For some this will be a welcome thing like watching a sad movie, as they’ll enjoy cutting to the core with Purdy. For others it will grow tiring especially as most of the songs tend to sound similar when dominated by such a distinct vocal.
Julie Blue is a record from 2006 and according to the liner notes was recorded raw in one week at a lake home. The album is filled with frayed edges in the form of audible breaths; fret slides, and waves crashing against the shore.
At his best Purdy snaps off a song like “Far Away Blues.” The sand is still in your toes, but it’s a heavy track. There is a simple brilliance here. The lyrics are spare and the song lasts just over two minutes, but it’s really a wonderful little long distance love song. A surf sonnet of sorts.
On “Whiskey & Fish” Purdy takes things up a notch rocking his guitar hard and bringing a smile to his beach blues. The pace is fantastic and the arch top guitar and mandolin create a tapestry of sound with as much life as a cabin full of people.
In some ways Julie Blue reminds me a lot of the Into the Wild Soundtrack. It’s music inspired by something. In this case it’s a singer’s trip to Board Island in upstate New York. In Vedder’s case it was Sean Penn’s film. It’s difficult to judge either as an album when they’re really closer to works of art. In Purdy’s case I feel like I’ve found his journal. I feel like I should be walking around a museum looking at black and white photos when I listen to Julie Blue. There is a story here and it’s a heavy one. Joe Purdy wants to tell us something. I’m not sure he gets it all out here, but it sure if fun listening to him try.
For those that haven’t heard it, “I Love the Rain the Most” is far and away the standout track on the record. Purdy delivers simple magic with lyrics like “I like the rain the most when it stops.” As we listen to him plead, “no more rain today” Purdy has an almost Marley-like ability to create timeless music around simple structures. In the case of “I Love the Rain the Most” he tells the story of summer coming to an end with a white cap vocal alongside some sun shower guitar picking.
That’s the blessing and the curse of Joe Purdy. His music is intoxicating, but like any good depressant carries with it a sadness. Julie Blue is the sort of soundtrack you’d put on an iMovie slideshow of your kids because it would sound great and has the melancholy of growing up.
I was already familiar with “Wash Away,” “Far Away Blues,” and “ I Love the Rain the Most” prior to picking up the CD. Beyond those TV drama tracks I can’t say I discovered much else here. Of the new bits my favorites would be “Whisky & Fish,” “Skinny Dippin Girl” and “Abbie’s Song.” The bar hall bustle of “Whisky and Fish” with lyrics like “They fed me fish and whisky and I went to sleep again” would rank best of the rest.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Now Batting for the Rochester Red Wings Mason Jennings!
Mason Jennings is one of these guys who seem to have been on the verge of breaking big for around a decade. Jennings has been a fixture on the local scene in Minneapolis and has put out 7 proper records since 1997. A lyric from the opening track on his new record “I’ve been lovin’ you forever but I never knew your name” could just as easily describe his career. Recently Jack Johnson took Jennings under his long board and signed him to Brushfire Records. Like Johnson, Jennings was also born in Hawaii and I’m sure fans of Jack have taken Mason in as their own.
In the Ever is a nice little folk record. Trouble is only two tracks really rise to the occasion here resulting in an another uneven offering from journeyman Jennings. Opener “Never Knew Your Name” is bar hall meets Alice in Wonderland. While it has elements of sing-a-long, it’s just dark enough to make you want to sleep with the lights on.
Jennings is like the over thirty career minor leaguer having a nice season. While impressive, it’s also a bit sad because you know he missed his chance. Clearly Jennings has the talent, I’m just afraid the train has already left the station.
Tracks at the start of In the Ever have a haunted rocking chair feel to them. The music has a folksy front porch vibe to it but something is off kilter. Jennings voice will appeal to Jack Johnson fans, as he’s capable of sounding exactly like him. The difference is Johnson sounds like a sunset, and Jennings sounds like a BxW photo . . .of a crime scene. There’s more sadness and darkness to Jennings’ overall vibe.
There’s something very Vaudeville and experimental about this disc from Jennings. It’s as if he’s at peace and he’s finally doing it the way he wants to. Jennings has the sound of a free man, someone who is no longer trying to appease someone or get somewhere. And there’s something admirable about that. There are moments on In the Ever where that spirit turns into nice music. “I Love You and Buddha Too” is both hysterical and fun to listen to.
Jennings finally turns up the lights and gets out of his shell on “Fighter Girl.” He sounds like Jack Johnson’s cooler, older brother on this one. The voice is deeper and ready for the campfire especially the “yeah yeah yeah a yeah” chorus. “Fighter Girl” is barefoot white t-shirt rock that will put a smile on your face and one of the standout tracks on the record.
Jennings mixes in some folksy, borderline silly live tracks like “Your New Man” where he sings about cookies and getting too drunk at the Christmas party. You can tell by the audience enthusiasm that Jennings the showman is truly adored. He seems to be cut from the cloth of the old folk singers as he’s comfortable with the harmonica, commanding a room, and doling out anecdotes as songs. Yes Jennings is quite at home singing about god, rivers, and cities he might never have been to. It all sounds very natural. There’s a little Zen here and I can see the fit with Johnson.
The only mixes signal is a track like “Going Back to New Orleans” where Jennings seems to want to make a political statement, trouble is the message is lost in two minutes that are more mumble than music.
Like a true folk rock, songs like “How Deep Is That River” paint an amazing picture with lyrics like “God saw that man was just a little too rough so he gave him a heart and filled it with love.” Trouble is most here won’t have you tapping your foot.
The best of In the Ever are the power couple of “Fighter Girl” and “Soldier Boy.” “Soldier Boy” would sound fantastic on HBO’s miniseries Generation Kill this summer with lyrics like, “I was born on the railroad tracks with the weight of the world on my back.” “Soldier Boy” is sure to have the bodies bobbing at the summer festivals with its “bang a bang” chorus. This is another one to pay attention to.
So two more nice hits for Jennings on In the Ever, but I’m afraid it’s still not enough to take him to the big leagues.
In the Ever is a nice little folk record. Trouble is only two tracks really rise to the occasion here resulting in an another uneven offering from journeyman Jennings. Opener “Never Knew Your Name” is bar hall meets Alice in Wonderland. While it has elements of sing-a-long, it’s just dark enough to make you want to sleep with the lights on.
Jennings is like the over thirty career minor leaguer having a nice season. While impressive, it’s also a bit sad because you know he missed his chance. Clearly Jennings has the talent, I’m just afraid the train has already left the station.
Tracks at the start of In the Ever have a haunted rocking chair feel to them. The music has a folksy front porch vibe to it but something is off kilter. Jennings voice will appeal to Jack Johnson fans, as he’s capable of sounding exactly like him. The difference is Johnson sounds like a sunset, and Jennings sounds like a BxW photo . . .of a crime scene. There’s more sadness and darkness to Jennings’ overall vibe.
There’s something very Vaudeville and experimental about this disc from Jennings. It’s as if he’s at peace and he’s finally doing it the way he wants to. Jennings has the sound of a free man, someone who is no longer trying to appease someone or get somewhere. And there’s something admirable about that. There are moments on In the Ever where that spirit turns into nice music. “I Love You and Buddha Too” is both hysterical and fun to listen to.
Jennings finally turns up the lights and gets out of his shell on “Fighter Girl.” He sounds like Jack Johnson’s cooler, older brother on this one. The voice is deeper and ready for the campfire especially the “yeah yeah yeah a yeah” chorus. “Fighter Girl” is barefoot white t-shirt rock that will put a smile on your face and one of the standout tracks on the record.
Jennings mixes in some folksy, borderline silly live tracks like “Your New Man” where he sings about cookies and getting too drunk at the Christmas party. You can tell by the audience enthusiasm that Jennings the showman is truly adored. He seems to be cut from the cloth of the old folk singers as he’s comfortable with the harmonica, commanding a room, and doling out anecdotes as songs. Yes Jennings is quite at home singing about god, rivers, and cities he might never have been to. It all sounds very natural. There’s a little Zen here and I can see the fit with Johnson.
The only mixes signal is a track like “Going Back to New Orleans” where Jennings seems to want to make a political statement, trouble is the message is lost in two minutes that are more mumble than music.
Like a true folk rock, songs like “How Deep Is That River” paint an amazing picture with lyrics like “God saw that man was just a little too rough so he gave him a heart and filled it with love.” Trouble is most here won’t have you tapping your foot.
The best of In the Ever are the power couple of “Fighter Girl” and “Soldier Boy.” “Soldier Boy” would sound fantastic on HBO’s miniseries Generation Kill this summer with lyrics like, “I was born on the railroad tracks with the weight of the world on my back.” “Soldier Boy” is sure to have the bodies bobbing at the summer festivals with its “bang a bang” chorus. This is another one to pay attention to.
So two more nice hits for Jennings on In the Ever, but I’m afraid it’s still not enough to take him to the big leagues.
Looking For a Little Magic? Pull Frightened Rabbit Out Of A Hat
Every now and then you run into a little batch of songs that are truly unbreakable. The Fray did this for us last year, and as much as I hate to admit it I’m fairly certain I will never ever get sick of “Stop & Stare” from One Republic despite the fact that it’s playing every time I walk through the lobby at work.
“The Modern Leper” is track one on the Midnight Organ Fight record from Frightened Rabbit. Simply put it truly explodes off the page. “The Modern Leper” is pure magic. It gets you to lean in from the start with the awkward and picturesque lyric, “cripple walks amongst you, all you tired human beings. He’s got all the things a cripple has not working arms and legs.” Lead singer Scott Hutchison sounds like Adam Duritz if no one broke his heart. “The Modern Leper” is a steady crescendo working towards the heights of a cinematic swell by the one-minute mark. If you make compilation CDs for your friends, look no further as this should be your first track on the annual music mix. The prairie guitar strum combined with grinding of the gears will have you out of your seat by the time they hit the “is that you in front of me” bridge, white capping their way through lyrics like “you must be a masochist.” But the real beauty of “The Modern Leper” is you can keep winding it up because this song will pop off for you time and time again like Old Faithful. Wow. The full-bodied sound of “The Modern Leper” is not to be appreciated by everyone, but will be truly savored by the music lover.
And it doesn’t stop there. “I Feel Better” features a great up-tempo intro. “I Feel Better” puts the throttle down and keeps chugging ahead with gusto. Frightened Rabbit remind me a bit of the band James in their heyday, as every song seems to have oversized ambition and heart. But like James there is a sense these guys won’t be discovered. From the way the album jacket looks to the complex dark beer rock they fill their second record with, I’m not sure MTV or radio would know what to make of Frightened Rabbit as they are truly neither hide or hare.
The long Os of Hutchison’s vocal made me wonder where Frightened Rabbit hail from, turns out they’re Scottish. British without the attitude I suppose. Songs like “Good Arms Vs. Bad Arms” don’t show much save for a little guitar flex from Hutchison towards the end as if he just wants us to know he can.
It’s not until “Old Old Fashioned” that we get another track worthy of being set next to “The Modern Leper.” On “Old Old Fashioned” Frightened Rabbit channel Snow Patrol with a bit more country bend. The message is a good one as Hutchison encourages his lover to turn off the television because they never talk asking her to kick it old school, “If I get old old fashioned, would you get old fashioned with me?” A nice combination of message and music coming together right here.
Frightened Rabbit remind me a lot of the spring of 2004. I was living in England with my family and every time I turned on Virgin radio it seemed they were opening another fresh can of crisp guitar rock. Snow Patrol and Keane were burning up the airwaves back then, and Frightened Rabbit appear to be on their front foot like those bands from nearly five years ago.
“The Twist” sounds like the single, but for my money it’s trying a bit too hard. Unlike the rest of the record that has a nice head on it, “The Twist” is a bit too art directed and contained. I tend to prefer the passion from earlier on. Frightened Rabbit sound best when they’re slightly off the rails.
Even on a one-minute instrumental like “Bright Pink Bookmark,” Frightened Rabbit show they’re more than capable of creating anticipation for what is to come. The squeaks of the orchestra here sound like a band stretching out their hamstrings before a long run.
Hutchison really has a great vocal and the occasional haunting lyric. Mixed with the big guitars Frightened Rabbit are a force to be reckoning with. You can see what the band is capable of in glimpses on songs like “My Backwards Walk” that don’t go all the way but seem to indicate creative range.
The last of the gems on their second record is “Keep Yourself Warm” with its spoken like a sailor lyrics, “It takes more than fucking someone you don’t know to keep warm.” “Keep Yourself Warm” is a torrid encounter between two medicated individuals. But the sloppy mess here sounds good enough to call her the next morning. “Keep Yourself Warm” builds all the way to Bellagio fountain blasts towards the end and the memorable shout-out, “see in the dark.”
The strength of Frightened Rabbit is that nearly ever track is completely listenable. But it’s songs like “The Modern Leper,” “Old Old Fashioned,” and “Keep Yourself Warm” that truly demonstrate the boys from Scotland have a few tricks up their sleeve.
“The Modern Leper” is track one on the Midnight Organ Fight record from Frightened Rabbit. Simply put it truly explodes off the page. “The Modern Leper” is pure magic. It gets you to lean in from the start with the awkward and picturesque lyric, “cripple walks amongst you, all you tired human beings. He’s got all the things a cripple has not working arms and legs.” Lead singer Scott Hutchison sounds like Adam Duritz if no one broke his heart. “The Modern Leper” is a steady crescendo working towards the heights of a cinematic swell by the one-minute mark. If you make compilation CDs for your friends, look no further as this should be your first track on the annual music mix. The prairie guitar strum combined with grinding of the gears will have you out of your seat by the time they hit the “is that you in front of me” bridge, white capping their way through lyrics like “you must be a masochist.” But the real beauty of “The Modern Leper” is you can keep winding it up because this song will pop off for you time and time again like Old Faithful. Wow. The full-bodied sound of “The Modern Leper” is not to be appreciated by everyone, but will be truly savored by the music lover.
And it doesn’t stop there. “I Feel Better” features a great up-tempo intro. “I Feel Better” puts the throttle down and keeps chugging ahead with gusto. Frightened Rabbit remind me a bit of the band James in their heyday, as every song seems to have oversized ambition and heart. But like James there is a sense these guys won’t be discovered. From the way the album jacket looks to the complex dark beer rock they fill their second record with, I’m not sure MTV or radio would know what to make of Frightened Rabbit as they are truly neither hide or hare.
The long Os of Hutchison’s vocal made me wonder where Frightened Rabbit hail from, turns out they’re Scottish. British without the attitude I suppose. Songs like “Good Arms Vs. Bad Arms” don’t show much save for a little guitar flex from Hutchison towards the end as if he just wants us to know he can.
It’s not until “Old Old Fashioned” that we get another track worthy of being set next to “The Modern Leper.” On “Old Old Fashioned” Frightened Rabbit channel Snow Patrol with a bit more country bend. The message is a good one as Hutchison encourages his lover to turn off the television because they never talk asking her to kick it old school, “If I get old old fashioned, would you get old fashioned with me?” A nice combination of message and music coming together right here.
Frightened Rabbit remind me a lot of the spring of 2004. I was living in England with my family and every time I turned on Virgin radio it seemed they were opening another fresh can of crisp guitar rock. Snow Patrol and Keane were burning up the airwaves back then, and Frightened Rabbit appear to be on their front foot like those bands from nearly five years ago.
“The Twist” sounds like the single, but for my money it’s trying a bit too hard. Unlike the rest of the record that has a nice head on it, “The Twist” is a bit too art directed and contained. I tend to prefer the passion from earlier on. Frightened Rabbit sound best when they’re slightly off the rails.
Even on a one-minute instrumental like “Bright Pink Bookmark,” Frightened Rabbit show they’re more than capable of creating anticipation for what is to come. The squeaks of the orchestra here sound like a band stretching out their hamstrings before a long run.
Hutchison really has a great vocal and the occasional haunting lyric. Mixed with the big guitars Frightened Rabbit are a force to be reckoning with. You can see what the band is capable of in glimpses on songs like “My Backwards Walk” that don’t go all the way but seem to indicate creative range.
The last of the gems on their second record is “Keep Yourself Warm” with its spoken like a sailor lyrics, “It takes more than fucking someone you don’t know to keep warm.” “Keep Yourself Warm” is a torrid encounter between two medicated individuals. But the sloppy mess here sounds good enough to call her the next morning. “Keep Yourself Warm” builds all the way to Bellagio fountain blasts towards the end and the memorable shout-out, “see in the dark.”
The strength of Frightened Rabbit is that nearly ever track is completely listenable. But it’s songs like “The Modern Leper,” “Old Old Fashioned,” and “Keep Yourself Warm” that truly demonstrate the boys from Scotland have a few tricks up their sleeve.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Anyone know the Spanish word for “TORTURE?”
Let the record show I had high hopes for Manu Chao. The sticker on the outside of the CD read, “Manu Chao is the ringmaster of a multicultural, cross-generational, genre-busting circus that can whip tens of thousands of people into a frenzy even if they don’t speak the same language.”
Holy shit. After reading that I half expected to put the CD in and hear some sort of pied piper. And to immediately be overtaken by an irresistible sound only to wake up on a beach in a crowd of 250,000 wearing a glow stick around my neck. Sadly, I found nothing of the sort.
At first blush I was surprised how central guitar was to the sound of La Radiolina. This had me quite pleased initially as the idea of strong, rhythm guitar with some magnificent sounds and Spanish vocal could have been interesting.
The main problem with Manu Chao’s La Radiolina is you go in expecting this exotic cocktail, and you leave with beer in a plastic cup. And the only standout track on the entire disc is “Besoin De La Lune.”
Maybe I need to go back and listen to his previous work to understand the glowing praise on the sticker, and the recommendation from my good pal (lets call her Carol). Because after listening to La Radiolina a few times through it may just be the worst of the 52 discs I’ve reviewed this year.
I’ll admit when you first press the play button there is a curiosity. A heavy pickin’ guitar starts off the country rumble “13 Dias” which sounds like The Dukes of Hazzard, on Telemundo.
The first few tracks were interesting with real guitar complete with a little Brad Paisley bend to it. Despite the language barrier, I could tell Manu Chao had something to say. On “Tristeza Maleza” he takes on George Bush, while “Politik Kills” is a reggae romp through the issues. Chao seemed to have his own brand of United Nations pop.
But La Radiolina quickly turns to gonzo noise.
Lot of the songs here contain the same basic elements of a fast plucking guitar, layered voices and ambient noises in the background.
“Mondoreves” is standard Spanish fare before bringing in the horns on “El Hoyo” along with police sirens and effects.
I’m convinced if you were to listen to La Radiolina long enough it would result in a multiple personality disorder. Nearly every song on the record prominently features the sound of rolling tongues, people screaming, laughing, video game effects and babies crying in the background. Good times!
Even when a glimpse of piano soothes you strange effects, buzzing sounds and the like, interrupt it. Towards the end Chao does deliver a couplet of sanity with “La Vida Tombola” and “Mala Fama.” But most of La Radiolina is water torture.
“Panik Panik” is a cluttered song in a hurry to get nowhere featuring sirens. “Sone Otro Mundo” can’t even make it one minute and nineteen seconds without space invaders.
As a whole La Radiolina is very redundant. There are only a couple sounds here and they’re pasted together in different ways across twenty-one tracks of varying length.
So I’ve deduced that the same person who authored the CD sticker for La Radiolina does the PR for Kim Jong-Il. (The "Great Leader" routinely shoots three or four holes-in-one per round, the government-controlled media reported.)
“Besoin De La Lune” may be the only thing on here that isn’t a complete Frankenstein. Seems like this track was the original chassis, trouble is Chao stretches it into an album of scrap metal.
Holy shit. After reading that I half expected to put the CD in and hear some sort of pied piper. And to immediately be overtaken by an irresistible sound only to wake up on a beach in a crowd of 250,000 wearing a glow stick around my neck. Sadly, I found nothing of the sort.
At first blush I was surprised how central guitar was to the sound of La Radiolina. This had me quite pleased initially as the idea of strong, rhythm guitar with some magnificent sounds and Spanish vocal could have been interesting.
The main problem with Manu Chao’s La Radiolina is you go in expecting this exotic cocktail, and you leave with beer in a plastic cup. And the only standout track on the entire disc is “Besoin De La Lune.”
Maybe I need to go back and listen to his previous work to understand the glowing praise on the sticker, and the recommendation from my good pal (lets call her Carol). Because after listening to La Radiolina a few times through it may just be the worst of the 52 discs I’ve reviewed this year.
I’ll admit when you first press the play button there is a curiosity. A heavy pickin’ guitar starts off the country rumble “13 Dias” which sounds like The Dukes of Hazzard, on Telemundo.
The first few tracks were interesting with real guitar complete with a little Brad Paisley bend to it. Despite the language barrier, I could tell Manu Chao had something to say. On “Tristeza Maleza” he takes on George Bush, while “Politik Kills” is a reggae romp through the issues. Chao seemed to have his own brand of United Nations pop.
But La Radiolina quickly turns to gonzo noise.
Lot of the songs here contain the same basic elements of a fast plucking guitar, layered voices and ambient noises in the background.
“Mondoreves” is standard Spanish fare before bringing in the horns on “El Hoyo” along with police sirens and effects.
I’m convinced if you were to listen to La Radiolina long enough it would result in a multiple personality disorder. Nearly every song on the record prominently features the sound of rolling tongues, people screaming, laughing, video game effects and babies crying in the background. Good times!
Even when a glimpse of piano soothes you strange effects, buzzing sounds and the like, interrupt it. Towards the end Chao does deliver a couplet of sanity with “La Vida Tombola” and “Mala Fama.” But most of La Radiolina is water torture.
“Panik Panik” is a cluttered song in a hurry to get nowhere featuring sirens. “Sone Otro Mundo” can’t even make it one minute and nineteen seconds without space invaders.
As a whole La Radiolina is very redundant. There are only a couple sounds here and they’re pasted together in different ways across twenty-one tracks of varying length.
So I’ve deduced that the same person who authored the CD sticker for La Radiolina does the PR for Kim Jong-Il. (The "Great Leader" routinely shoots three or four holes-in-one per round, the government-controlled media reported.)
“Besoin De La Lune” may be the only thing on here that isn’t a complete Frankenstein. Seems like this track was the original chassis, trouble is Chao stretches it into an album of scrap metal.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Clive Davis Must be Pissed.
Clive Davis is a smart gent. If he thinks something is going to blow up, he’s usually right. A few years back Mr. Davis proclaimed a young unknown, Gavin DeGraw, the next big thing in music. It was said that DeGraw had the cross generational appeal to write big bonfire songs in the vein of Billy Joel.
To his credit, DeGraw’s ambitious first record Chariot, featuring both a studio and a stripped (acoustic) version, was loaded with promise not to mention a bouquet of great tracks.
Fast-forward to DeGraw’s self titled second record where we find him smack dab in the middle of a sophomore slump. Which is a real shame because I tend to agree with Davis that DeGraw is capable of crafting the part-the-sea-chorus and songs big enough for both you and your mom to sit under. But if his second record is any indication it appears DeGraw is content leaving these duties to Rob Thomas and John Mayer.
DeGraw’s second record begins with the first single “In Love With a Girl.” The track starts with some warpath guitar reminiscent of early Tim McGraw (when he still had the mustache). It’s an all right song, it sounds like a single, but it’s not special in any way. That same sentence could describe “Cheated on Me,” “I Have You to Thank,” and a handful of other songs on the record. That’s because most of Gavin DeGraw is comprised of slightly above average bland pop.
And that’s the real problem here. Only once, yes once does DeGraw provide a glimpse of what made him a white-hot prospect in the first place. Only once does DeGraw sound like the phenom that could make music infectious enough to make a 34-year old dad consider buying a short brim army hat.
Yes “Next to Me (Wait a Minute Sister” is the only song on DeGraw’s record you need pay full attention to, and it’s a dandy. “Next to Me (Wait a Minute Sister)” is such syrupy pop you won’t stop singing in the car even if someone catches you in the act. That’s right, you’ll finish—it’s that good. With the wind chime guitar and the up-tempo vocal, “Next to Me (Wait a Minute Sister)” will sound great on your next burned compilation CD.
After “Next to Me (Wait a Minute Sister)” there are a couple tracks that come close. “Young Love” flirts with it, if only for a moment. “Young Love” will get your attention with crisp guitar and compelling storytelling lyrics about “young lovers taking the hill. One plants a flag while the other is killed.” We hear the tale of “Young Love” told by narrators drinking their wine and reflecting. It’s this distance that prevents “Young Love” from going all the way. On “Young Love” DeGraw sounds like he’s playing the part of war photographer instead of joining the battle himself leaving the song a couple muskets short of the passion it needs.
“She Holds a Key” is the second best track on the record; it’s a nice churchy love song complete with backing vocals. This slow to build ballad will grow on you and is a rare example of a song where DeGraw sounds completely at ease. On “She Holds a Key” DeGraw sings like a weight has been taken off his shoulders. He sings like the young man Clive Davis discovered.
Other than that the only track worth mentioning is “We Belong Together,” which like almost anything DeGraw sings sounds like you could have already heard it on the radio. “We Belong Together” should light up state fair band shells this summer especially the stripped down one minute ending. DeGraw is more than capable of ripping a “tell me are you a Christian child? I am tonight!” It’s a shame most of his second record is buried in the production and only provides one irresistible track in “Next to Me (Wait a Minute Sister)” and a glimmer of hope in “She Holds a Key.”
To his credit, DeGraw’s ambitious first record Chariot, featuring both a studio and a stripped (acoustic) version, was loaded with promise not to mention a bouquet of great tracks.
Fast-forward to DeGraw’s self titled second record where we find him smack dab in the middle of a sophomore slump. Which is a real shame because I tend to agree with Davis that DeGraw is capable of crafting the part-the-sea-chorus and songs big enough for both you and your mom to sit under. But if his second record is any indication it appears DeGraw is content leaving these duties to Rob Thomas and John Mayer.
DeGraw’s second record begins with the first single “In Love With a Girl.” The track starts with some warpath guitar reminiscent of early Tim McGraw (when he still had the mustache). It’s an all right song, it sounds like a single, but it’s not special in any way. That same sentence could describe “Cheated on Me,” “I Have You to Thank,” and a handful of other songs on the record. That’s because most of Gavin DeGraw is comprised of slightly above average bland pop.
And that’s the real problem here. Only once, yes once does DeGraw provide a glimpse of what made him a white-hot prospect in the first place. Only once does DeGraw sound like the phenom that could make music infectious enough to make a 34-year old dad consider buying a short brim army hat.
Yes “Next to Me (Wait a Minute Sister” is the only song on DeGraw’s record you need pay full attention to, and it’s a dandy. “Next to Me (Wait a Minute Sister)” is such syrupy pop you won’t stop singing in the car even if someone catches you in the act. That’s right, you’ll finish—it’s that good. With the wind chime guitar and the up-tempo vocal, “Next to Me (Wait a Minute Sister)” will sound great on your next burned compilation CD.
After “Next to Me (Wait a Minute Sister)” there are a couple tracks that come close. “Young Love” flirts with it, if only for a moment. “Young Love” will get your attention with crisp guitar and compelling storytelling lyrics about “young lovers taking the hill. One plants a flag while the other is killed.” We hear the tale of “Young Love” told by narrators drinking their wine and reflecting. It’s this distance that prevents “Young Love” from going all the way. On “Young Love” DeGraw sounds like he’s playing the part of war photographer instead of joining the battle himself leaving the song a couple muskets short of the passion it needs.
“She Holds a Key” is the second best track on the record; it’s a nice churchy love song complete with backing vocals. This slow to build ballad will grow on you and is a rare example of a song where DeGraw sounds completely at ease. On “She Holds a Key” DeGraw sings like a weight has been taken off his shoulders. He sings like the young man Clive Davis discovered.
Other than that the only track worth mentioning is “We Belong Together,” which like almost anything DeGraw sings sounds like you could have already heard it on the radio. “We Belong Together” should light up state fair band shells this summer especially the stripped down one minute ending. DeGraw is more than capable of ripping a “tell me are you a Christian child? I am tonight!” It’s a shame most of his second record is buried in the production and only provides one irresistible track in “Next to Me (Wait a Minute Sister)” and a glimmer of hope in “She Holds a Key.”
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Can Counting Crows Party Like It’s 1994? Not on Saturday Night.
It’s easy to get your head around a 1970s or 1980s theme party, but a 1990s theme party is a bit weird. What would you wear? A zipper shirt? Rock the Clooney Caesar? Add some cranberry to your Zima?
Arguably you could go dressed as Adam Duritz. The Counting Crows lead singer was so 1990s I think he actually slept his way through the entire cast of Friends (not sure about Ross). How awesome is that?
Those of us who did some college or at least some growing up in the 1990s have a soft spot for the Sideshow Bob cartoon that is Adam Duritz. We feel this bond mostly because of a tight little record called August and Everything After. That record was a fixture for me in my mini fridge dormitory years. August and Everything After spawned hits like “Mr. Jones” and “Rain King” but what we all really loved were the unreleased gems like “Anna Begins.” That was the real honey. Not to mention Duritz remains one of the better writers in rock & roll.
If you’ve thought about buying Saturday Nights & Sunday Mornings you’re probably trying to recapture the moody rock that sold 7 million copies of their debut disc. You’re probably looking for the next “Anna Begins,” and you’re probably hoping to hear Duritz turn a phrase.
So do they deliver? That’s a tricky question. Duritz sings about a “blanket of starlight” in “Washington Square,” a lyric that could just as easily sum up the Counting Crows sound when they’re at their moody best. With its harmonica and piano twinkle “Washington Square” best delivers the lonely feeling we love about the Counting Crows.
Trouble is for at least half of the new record the Counting Crows seem preoccupied with becoming some sort of dreadlocked version of the Foo Fighters. While not a complete Frankenstein, starting with “1492” much of the front half of Saturday Nights & Sunday Mornings is just too loud, too rock, and too roadhouse. It’s a lot of noise, and a more classic rock sound that leaves you missing the melancholy you expect from the Crows.
This contrast in tone appears to be all by design as the album title Saturday Nights & Sunday Mornings appears to explain the two sides to this latest offering from the Counting Crows. The toothier first 6 songs are for going out, and the last 8 songs put the raindrops back on the evening window.
Of the harder stuff “Hanging Tree” is the best rock & roll single. Guitarist David Bryson takes it up a notch as this one is harder than your standard Counting Crows but maintains the medley we expect from Duritz. If the first single “You Can’t Count on Me” caught your attention, you’ll like this one even better.
“Cowboys” is the fork in the road. It’s a journey that starts on E Street building towards a vintage Counting Crows refrain of “come on! come on!” But a funny thing happens about a minute in. Duritz brings the words, “this is a list of what I should have been but I’m not, this is a list of the things I should have seen but I’m not seeing” —and presto back comes the rainy day twinkle. “Cowboys” turns the corner to Sunday morning and hints of the atmospheric soft rock that worked in the first place.
“Washington Square” is probably the closest thing to a song that could have been on August and Everything After. And lets face it, that’s what we’re all looking for. Lines like “Sold my piano, couldn’t come with me” allow Duritz to paint a picture like only he can. “Washington Square” will put the glow stars back on your dorm room ceiling.
The Sunday Morning side of the record has a few nice ones. “Le Ballet D’Or” is an indulgent Duritz showpiece that sounds like something he would have done if he went solo. It’s a cool little western ballad and sounds a bit like the Young Guns II soundtrack would have if Duritz did it instead of Jon Bon Jovi. There’s more like this here, and the words are there too. Simple lyrics like “time is a number that rests on a wall” make for a much more cinematic back half. Not to mention Duritz repeatedly gives shout outs to both Dublin and Berkeley, which is never wrong.
“When I Dream of Michelangelo” is a big satellite ballad and “Anyone But You” rubs into Snow Patrol. The best offerings from Saturday Nights & Sunday Mornings sound like outtakes from August & Everything After.
I used to fall asleep to August and Everything After. And it’s the Sunday Morning side of the disc that feels more natural for the band.
Arguably you could go dressed as Adam Duritz. The Counting Crows lead singer was so 1990s I think he actually slept his way through the entire cast of Friends (not sure about Ross). How awesome is that?
Those of us who did some college or at least some growing up in the 1990s have a soft spot for the Sideshow Bob cartoon that is Adam Duritz. We feel this bond mostly because of a tight little record called August and Everything After. That record was a fixture for me in my mini fridge dormitory years. August and Everything After spawned hits like “Mr. Jones” and “Rain King” but what we all really loved were the unreleased gems like “Anna Begins.” That was the real honey. Not to mention Duritz remains one of the better writers in rock & roll.
If you’ve thought about buying Saturday Nights & Sunday Mornings you’re probably trying to recapture the moody rock that sold 7 million copies of their debut disc. You’re probably looking for the next “Anna Begins,” and you’re probably hoping to hear Duritz turn a phrase.
So do they deliver? That’s a tricky question. Duritz sings about a “blanket of starlight” in “Washington Square,” a lyric that could just as easily sum up the Counting Crows sound when they’re at their moody best. With its harmonica and piano twinkle “Washington Square” best delivers the lonely feeling we love about the Counting Crows.
Trouble is for at least half of the new record the Counting Crows seem preoccupied with becoming some sort of dreadlocked version of the Foo Fighters. While not a complete Frankenstein, starting with “1492” much of the front half of Saturday Nights & Sunday Mornings is just too loud, too rock, and too roadhouse. It’s a lot of noise, and a more classic rock sound that leaves you missing the melancholy you expect from the Crows.
This contrast in tone appears to be all by design as the album title Saturday Nights & Sunday Mornings appears to explain the two sides to this latest offering from the Counting Crows. The toothier first 6 songs are for going out, and the last 8 songs put the raindrops back on the evening window.
Of the harder stuff “Hanging Tree” is the best rock & roll single. Guitarist David Bryson takes it up a notch as this one is harder than your standard Counting Crows but maintains the medley we expect from Duritz. If the first single “You Can’t Count on Me” caught your attention, you’ll like this one even better.
“Cowboys” is the fork in the road. It’s a journey that starts on E Street building towards a vintage Counting Crows refrain of “come on! come on!” But a funny thing happens about a minute in. Duritz brings the words, “this is a list of what I should have been but I’m not, this is a list of the things I should have seen but I’m not seeing” —and presto back comes the rainy day twinkle. “Cowboys” turns the corner to Sunday morning and hints of the atmospheric soft rock that worked in the first place.
“Washington Square” is probably the closest thing to a song that could have been on August and Everything After. And lets face it, that’s what we’re all looking for. Lines like “Sold my piano, couldn’t come with me” allow Duritz to paint a picture like only he can. “Washington Square” will put the glow stars back on your dorm room ceiling.
The Sunday Morning side of the record has a few nice ones. “Le Ballet D’Or” is an indulgent Duritz showpiece that sounds like something he would have done if he went solo. It’s a cool little western ballad and sounds a bit like the Young Guns II soundtrack would have if Duritz did it instead of Jon Bon Jovi. There’s more like this here, and the words are there too. Simple lyrics like “time is a number that rests on a wall” make for a much more cinematic back half. Not to mention Duritz repeatedly gives shout outs to both Dublin and Berkeley, which is never wrong.
“When I Dream of Michelangelo” is a big satellite ballad and “Anyone But You” rubs into Snow Patrol. The best offerings from Saturday Nights & Sunday Mornings sound like outtakes from August & Everything After.
I used to fall asleep to August and Everything After. And it’s the Sunday Morning side of the disc that feels more natural for the band.
Red Light Knights Play Followill The Leader
I love the Kings of Leon. I love Caleb Followill’s sick hound vocal. I love the road-trip guitar. I love their Shiner Bock roots rock. I love that they misbehave and seem to relish being rock stars. Alongside the Rockfather Mr. White, the Kings of Leon inhabit my musical Mt. Rushmore. Their last record Because of the Times has been in my Jeep’s 6-disc changer for the balance of the year.
I’ve been accused of having a one-track mind; it’s always been this way. When I collected baseball cards I very quickly worked my way up to over 900 Rickey Henderson cards. When I had a crush on Kim Cattrall in the movie Mannequin I actually went to the public library and looked at articles about her on the microfiche machine. How creepy is that?
With Carlos Gomez fast becoming the new Rickey Henderson for the Twins, and Cattrall on the red carpet as Sex in the City hits the big screen it seemed an apropos time to share my latest discovery as a result of having a one-track mind.
It’s hard to dig too deep into the Kings of Leon. The brothers from Tennessee only have 3 albums, and they don’t toss a lot of scraps to the fan base to keep you interested. Even their website will go through big stretches of inactivity. But a few months ago I did manage to find a thread on a Kings of Leon discussion board about a Followill cousin who also had a band—Red Light Knights.
ALAS! A ROGUE COUSIN! For a major Kings of Leon fan this was huge, huge news.
At the time all I could find was a very shoddy Red Light Knight’s MySpace page with a few tracks and a description of their sound as “slappin dicks on cabinets.” But recently when I looked again the Red Light Knights’ self-titled debut popped up on iTunes. Best I can tell the band (from Bethany, OK) has yet to press a physical album, so much to my chagrin I did the download.
In a nutshell, if you like Kings of Leon you’ll like Red Light Knights. And if you love Kings of Leon (like me), you’ll like Red Light Knights.
Red Light Knights do little to expand the genre. Lead singer Tyson Followill is a dead ringer for first cousin Caleb Followill’s howl. The plodding guitar is there as well courtesy of Bee Jay. But the Red Light Knights lack the melodic appeal of Kings of Leon. Nothing here is stadium ready like say “Ragoo” or “Fans.” A song like “Razor” is eerily reminiscent of “Molly’s Chambers” but the hook won’t get stuck in your mouth.
The closest Red Light Knights get to their own open air single is “3 Way Highway.” This one builds slowly to a nice swirling chorus and would be the song I would play if trying to convince you to give the Red Light Knights a chance. “3 Way Highway” sounds like a Kings of Leon rarity you stole from a movie soundtrack or B-side import single. At their best the Kings of Leon have a healthy does of “the woods” in their sound, and this gem sounds like the song you’d want playing as you pulled a choice girl away from the parking lot keg party to someplace dark. It’s very rock & roll and Tyson Followill works the vocal like the heavy bag grinding through as the track ebbs and flows. Really good stuff here.
While only eight tracks, the Red Light Knights debut has already started to grow on me. “But Maybe for Me” has more get-up and melody than most, and some off the leash guitar work towards the end. I find myself filling in the off “tee oh tee oh” chant vocal on “When the Crazy Attacks” and I can only imagine the more aggressive “Pearl” would kill live. Even the song titles like “Rodeo Clown” and “Show Girl” remind of Kings of Leon, and in the case of “Show Girl,” the familiar groove is there too.
The entire Red Light Knights record will sound great driving around with hair in your eyes and sunflower seeds in your cheek, but it mostly sounds good because it reminds you of Kings of Leon not because of anything Red Light Knights have added.
Unlike the emo and singer-songwriter genres, Kings of Leon’s brand of southern rock is far from a crowded affair. There’s ample room for another band that sounds like them—in the case of the Red Light Knights precisely like them. In a weird way it makes sense that blood runs thick on this distinct sound. For Kings of Leon fans, Red Light Knights will be a genetic match for a cupboard you’re still trying to fill.
I’ve been accused of having a one-track mind; it’s always been this way. When I collected baseball cards I very quickly worked my way up to over 900 Rickey Henderson cards. When I had a crush on Kim Cattrall in the movie Mannequin I actually went to the public library and looked at articles about her on the microfiche machine. How creepy is that?
With Carlos Gomez fast becoming the new Rickey Henderson for the Twins, and Cattrall on the red carpet as Sex in the City hits the big screen it seemed an apropos time to share my latest discovery as a result of having a one-track mind.
It’s hard to dig too deep into the Kings of Leon. The brothers from Tennessee only have 3 albums, and they don’t toss a lot of scraps to the fan base to keep you interested. Even their website will go through big stretches of inactivity. But a few months ago I did manage to find a thread on a Kings of Leon discussion board about a Followill cousin who also had a band—Red Light Knights.
ALAS! A ROGUE COUSIN! For a major Kings of Leon fan this was huge, huge news.
At the time all I could find was a very shoddy Red Light Knight’s MySpace page with a few tracks and a description of their sound as “slappin dicks on cabinets.” But recently when I looked again the Red Light Knights’ self-titled debut popped up on iTunes. Best I can tell the band (from Bethany, OK) has yet to press a physical album, so much to my chagrin I did the download.
In a nutshell, if you like Kings of Leon you’ll like Red Light Knights. And if you love Kings of Leon (like me), you’ll like Red Light Knights.
Red Light Knights do little to expand the genre. Lead singer Tyson Followill is a dead ringer for first cousin Caleb Followill’s howl. The plodding guitar is there as well courtesy of Bee Jay. But the Red Light Knights lack the melodic appeal of Kings of Leon. Nothing here is stadium ready like say “Ragoo” or “Fans.” A song like “Razor” is eerily reminiscent of “Molly’s Chambers” but the hook won’t get stuck in your mouth.
The closest Red Light Knights get to their own open air single is “3 Way Highway.” This one builds slowly to a nice swirling chorus and would be the song I would play if trying to convince you to give the Red Light Knights a chance. “3 Way Highway” sounds like a Kings of Leon rarity you stole from a movie soundtrack or B-side import single. At their best the Kings of Leon have a healthy does of “the woods” in their sound, and this gem sounds like the song you’d want playing as you pulled a choice girl away from the parking lot keg party to someplace dark. It’s very rock & roll and Tyson Followill works the vocal like the heavy bag grinding through as the track ebbs and flows. Really good stuff here.
While only eight tracks, the Red Light Knights debut has already started to grow on me. “But Maybe for Me” has more get-up and melody than most, and some off the leash guitar work towards the end. I find myself filling in the off “tee oh tee oh” chant vocal on “When the Crazy Attacks” and I can only imagine the more aggressive “Pearl” would kill live. Even the song titles like “Rodeo Clown” and “Show Girl” remind of Kings of Leon, and in the case of “Show Girl,” the familiar groove is there too.
The entire Red Light Knights record will sound great driving around with hair in your eyes and sunflower seeds in your cheek, but it mostly sounds good because it reminds you of Kings of Leon not because of anything Red Light Knights have added.
Unlike the emo and singer-songwriter genres, Kings of Leon’s brand of southern rock is far from a crowded affair. There’s ample room for another band that sounds like them—in the case of the Red Light Knights precisely like them. In a weird way it makes sense that blood runs thick on this distinct sound. For Kings of Leon fans, Red Light Knights will be a genetic match for a cupboard you’re still trying to fill.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
All Hail the Rockfather!
There can be only one.
Jack White is the Rockfather. Yes, capital letters are necessary. The Rockfather is the one living person most responsible with moving the genre forward. So go ahead and print the 8x10, hang it in your garage, and salute it every time you walk by because Jack White is the most important living person to rock & roll.
What does that mean? It means you need to pay attention to everything he does including side action like The Raconteurs? Why? Because Jack White with The Raconteurs is like Kobe Bryant playing hoops in Europe—it doesn’t matter what 4 guys you stick with him, they’re always a threat to win the game and you need to watch because something special just might happen.
Consolers of the Lonely starts with the familiar spaghetti western rock that White has been favoring with the Stripes. Track one “Consoler of the Lonely” is like a shootout between Brendan Benson and White. Benson plays the straight Wyatt Earp role, allowing White to stagger in around the one fifteen minute mark slinging his drill bit guitar, manic vocal, as if to say “I’m your Huckleberry” Doc Holiday style. You don’t get to hear many showdown songs and “Consoler of the Lonely” is a great starter as the pace shifts between characters while allowing White to eventually win the draw with a sick solo towards the end.
“Salute Your Solution” starts with a massive riff that would be at home on everything from classic rock to ESPN’s Ultimate Highlight. White keeps speaking in tongues holding his hands in the air as if to say, “I can’t help myself.” “Salute your Solution” sounds like an Icky Thump outtake and is sure to excite Stripes fans as they lean into what is fast becoming the signature guitar sound of this decade.
I don’t mean to short shift Benson. Cleary White spends time with him because he too is a bona fide freak with tremendous vocal range capable of sounding like everyone from Robert Plant to Bono to Freddy Mercury. Benson even puts together a rock piano solo on “You Don’t Understand Me.” But I can’t help but wonder if White is speaking to Benson (and the rest of rock & roll for that matter) when he taunts on “Top Yourself” asking, “How you gonna top yourself when there is nobody else? How you gonna do it by yourself because I’m not going to be here to help you?” It’s as if White is acknowledging The Raconteurs experiment might soon dry up as he has bigger fish to fry. What’s clear on Consolers of the Lonely is the songs that place White front and center are where the good stuff happens.
What’s great about The Racanteurs record is there is so much in here. It’s clear this side project is all about liberation and the result is most tracks contain a little glimmer of something special. It’s things like the steamy Almond-Brother-from-another-Mother guitar riff towards the end of “Old Enough,” the trash talk of “Top Yourself,” the breakneck pace of “Five on the Five,” and the new distortion pedal of “Attention” that make The Raconteurs a must buy every time they kick something out. Said another way it’s perfectly fine to eat stuff out of the trash as long as it’s Jack White’s garbage your digging in.
Overall there aren’t a ton of singles or mix tape worthy songs on Consolers of the Lonely. “Consoler of the Lonely” might be the best track just for its swinging saloon door drama. The standout tracks on Consolers of the Lonely sound like the less memorable songs on Icky Thump (a high bar by the way). But Jack White is to rock & roll right now as Tiger Woods is to golf. Until someone steps up to push him, we can only hope he challenges himself making extracurriculars like The Raconteurs worth purchase just to see where The Rockfather plans to take us next.
Jack White is the Rockfather. Yes, capital letters are necessary. The Rockfather is the one living person most responsible with moving the genre forward. So go ahead and print the 8x10, hang it in your garage, and salute it every time you walk by because Jack White is the most important living person to rock & roll.
What does that mean? It means you need to pay attention to everything he does including side action like The Raconteurs? Why? Because Jack White with The Raconteurs is like Kobe Bryant playing hoops in Europe—it doesn’t matter what 4 guys you stick with him, they’re always a threat to win the game and you need to watch because something special just might happen.
Consolers of the Lonely starts with the familiar spaghetti western rock that White has been favoring with the Stripes. Track one “Consoler of the Lonely” is like a shootout between Brendan Benson and White. Benson plays the straight Wyatt Earp role, allowing White to stagger in around the one fifteen minute mark slinging his drill bit guitar, manic vocal, as if to say “I’m your Huckleberry” Doc Holiday style. You don’t get to hear many showdown songs and “Consoler of the Lonely” is a great starter as the pace shifts between characters while allowing White to eventually win the draw with a sick solo towards the end.
“Salute Your Solution” starts with a massive riff that would be at home on everything from classic rock to ESPN’s Ultimate Highlight. White keeps speaking in tongues holding his hands in the air as if to say, “I can’t help myself.” “Salute your Solution” sounds like an Icky Thump outtake and is sure to excite Stripes fans as they lean into what is fast becoming the signature guitar sound of this decade.
I don’t mean to short shift Benson. Cleary White spends time with him because he too is a bona fide freak with tremendous vocal range capable of sounding like everyone from Robert Plant to Bono to Freddy Mercury. Benson even puts together a rock piano solo on “You Don’t Understand Me.” But I can’t help but wonder if White is speaking to Benson (and the rest of rock & roll for that matter) when he taunts on “Top Yourself” asking, “How you gonna top yourself when there is nobody else? How you gonna do it by yourself because I’m not going to be here to help you?” It’s as if White is acknowledging The Raconteurs experiment might soon dry up as he has bigger fish to fry. What’s clear on Consolers of the Lonely is the songs that place White front and center are where the good stuff happens.
What’s great about The Racanteurs record is there is so much in here. It’s clear this side project is all about liberation and the result is most tracks contain a little glimmer of something special. It’s things like the steamy Almond-Brother-from-another-Mother guitar riff towards the end of “Old Enough,” the trash talk of “Top Yourself,” the breakneck pace of “Five on the Five,” and the new distortion pedal of “Attention” that make The Raconteurs a must buy every time they kick something out. Said another way it’s perfectly fine to eat stuff out of the trash as long as it’s Jack White’s garbage your digging in.
Overall there aren’t a ton of singles or mix tape worthy songs on Consolers of the Lonely. “Consoler of the Lonely” might be the best track just for its swinging saloon door drama. The standout tracks on Consolers of the Lonely sound like the less memorable songs on Icky Thump (a high bar by the way). But Jack White is to rock & roll right now as Tiger Woods is to golf. Until someone steps up to push him, we can only hope he challenges himself making extracurriculars like The Raconteurs worth purchase just to see where The Rockfather plans to take us next.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Music for the Junoverse
There is a lyric from the Kings of Leon track “Day Old Blues” that goes:
girls are gonna love the way i toss my hair
boys are gonna hate the way i seem
Funny, I used to think it was “boys are gonna hate the way I sing.” Which would have made sense given lead singer Caleb Followill’s dog howl of a voice.
People fall in love with voices. I’m attracted to big, interesting, voices with sharp edges and a distinct sound. All of my favorites vocalists would be easily identifiable if given the “We are the World” cameo. My attraction to the odd voice is the reason I love Caleb’s hair and his voice, it’s the reason I’m attracted to the creaky country of Gary Allan and the optimism of Jenny Lewis. And now I’m in love with the hula-hoop rockabilly of Thao & The Get Down Stay Down.
I was first introduced to Thao & The Get Down Stay Down when a guy here at the agency had them come do a brief live set over the lunch hour. Before I even walked over to see them I made a comment to a guy sitting next to me that the music had started. I could hear this intoxicating voice, but my co-worker gave me a knowing glance and said, “I know, I can’t stand the sound of this guy’s voice either.” Turns out Thao was a woman. Specifically she’s the lead vocalist of Thao & The Get Down Stay Down an alternative folk rock band from San Francisco.
Lead vocalist Thao Nguyen has a real indie sound. It’s like Edie Brickell in cowboy boots with spurs. There’s just enough twang on top of a haunting Mazzy Star, almost Cranberries like vocal.
Typically when you’re drinking beers and you end up buying the band’s CD, it doesn’t hold up the next day. If anything it’s a painful reminder you had too much to drink—the music lovers’ equivalent of having to go back to the bar and pick up your credit card.
But there was no walk of shame with Thao & The Get Down Stay Down. If anything, it got better. Their record We Brave Bee Stings And All is the sort of music you play loud from your computer and someone will ask you what it is either because they want to buy it, or they want you to turn it off.
And I guess that’s a compliment. Thao & The Get Down Stay Down is not for everyone, but the people it is for won’t like it, they’ll love it. Even the album title We Brave Bee Stings And All sounds like it’s been ripped off the marquee of an exclusive art house cinema. When we first hear Thao on “Beat (Health, Life, and Fire)” it’s clear she likes the drama. Nearly every song on We Brave Bee Stings and All is a series of peaks and valleys.
“Bag of Hammers” is the single and it starts detox with just Thao’s haunting voice before letting drummer Willis Thompson play hero and groove us the rest of the way. Although I must say this particular song is even fuller live. But I suspect these guys are a soundtrack or TV appearance away from bigger production values that bring even more of their live girth to disc. “Bag of Hammers” in particular is recorded a bit quiet on the record which is a shame because it really does want to make you shout. That one needs to be played at eleven.
It’s really the combination that’s special. As a band Thao & The Get Down Stay Down is truly the sum of their parts. The Get Down Stay Down with their banjos, horns, organs and beat of the drums have a sound that makes you want to just jump in the car and drive. And then you add that voice and presto a weird family taking a road trip turns into Little Miss Sunshine. Thao makes it whole.
Playing since age 12, Thao also seems to be a talent with the lyrics. She does a lot of rhyming, and has simple lines like “love large enough to want to shrink” and “it was brave to play, an honor to lose” that will sneak up on you.
I can’t say anything bad about We Brave Bee Stings and All. I truly love this little record. This doesn’t happen very often, I’m smitten for a band. Even the filler music on We Brave Bee Stings And All is way fresh. It sounds like music you’d want playing when you walk into your room in one of those hotels that is nice enough to have music playing when you walk into the rooms.
So if you fancy your music tastes to be eclectic, if you’ve ever owned the soundtrack to a Tarrantino film, if you listen to the indie radio station in town, if you like the music in the Apple commercials, do yourself a favor and pick this one up. I know you people, and I know you will like it. And please buy the whole damn album. I won’t even give you a choice song to sample because when it comes to Thao & The Get Down Stay Down I want you to bump into the whole thing, it’s that good.
girls are gonna love the way i toss my hair
boys are gonna hate the way i seem
Funny, I used to think it was “boys are gonna hate the way I sing.” Which would have made sense given lead singer Caleb Followill’s dog howl of a voice.
People fall in love with voices. I’m attracted to big, interesting, voices with sharp edges and a distinct sound. All of my favorites vocalists would be easily identifiable if given the “We are the World” cameo. My attraction to the odd voice is the reason I love Caleb’s hair and his voice, it’s the reason I’m attracted to the creaky country of Gary Allan and the optimism of Jenny Lewis. And now I’m in love with the hula-hoop rockabilly of Thao & The Get Down Stay Down.
I was first introduced to Thao & The Get Down Stay Down when a guy here at the agency had them come do a brief live set over the lunch hour. Before I even walked over to see them I made a comment to a guy sitting next to me that the music had started. I could hear this intoxicating voice, but my co-worker gave me a knowing glance and said, “I know, I can’t stand the sound of this guy’s voice either.” Turns out Thao was a woman. Specifically she’s the lead vocalist of Thao & The Get Down Stay Down an alternative folk rock band from San Francisco.
Lead vocalist Thao Nguyen has a real indie sound. It’s like Edie Brickell in cowboy boots with spurs. There’s just enough twang on top of a haunting Mazzy Star, almost Cranberries like vocal.
Typically when you’re drinking beers and you end up buying the band’s CD, it doesn’t hold up the next day. If anything it’s a painful reminder you had too much to drink—the music lovers’ equivalent of having to go back to the bar and pick up your credit card.
But there was no walk of shame with Thao & The Get Down Stay Down. If anything, it got better. Their record We Brave Bee Stings And All is the sort of music you play loud from your computer and someone will ask you what it is either because they want to buy it, or they want you to turn it off.
And I guess that’s a compliment. Thao & The Get Down Stay Down is not for everyone, but the people it is for won’t like it, they’ll love it. Even the album title We Brave Bee Stings And All sounds like it’s been ripped off the marquee of an exclusive art house cinema. When we first hear Thao on “Beat (Health, Life, and Fire)” it’s clear she likes the drama. Nearly every song on We Brave Bee Stings and All is a series of peaks and valleys.
“Bag of Hammers” is the single and it starts detox with just Thao’s haunting voice before letting drummer Willis Thompson play hero and groove us the rest of the way. Although I must say this particular song is even fuller live. But I suspect these guys are a soundtrack or TV appearance away from bigger production values that bring even more of their live girth to disc. “Bag of Hammers” in particular is recorded a bit quiet on the record which is a shame because it really does want to make you shout. That one needs to be played at eleven.
It’s really the combination that’s special. As a band Thao & The Get Down Stay Down is truly the sum of their parts. The Get Down Stay Down with their banjos, horns, organs and beat of the drums have a sound that makes you want to just jump in the car and drive. And then you add that voice and presto a weird family taking a road trip turns into Little Miss Sunshine. Thao makes it whole.
Playing since age 12, Thao also seems to be a talent with the lyrics. She does a lot of rhyming, and has simple lines like “love large enough to want to shrink” and “it was brave to play, an honor to lose” that will sneak up on you.
I can’t say anything bad about We Brave Bee Stings and All. I truly love this little record. This doesn’t happen very often, I’m smitten for a band. Even the filler music on We Brave Bee Stings And All is way fresh. It sounds like music you’d want playing when you walk into your room in one of those hotels that is nice enough to have music playing when you walk into the rooms.
So if you fancy your music tastes to be eclectic, if you’ve ever owned the soundtrack to a Tarrantino film, if you listen to the indie radio station in town, if you like the music in the Apple commercials, do yourself a favor and pick this one up. I know you people, and I know you will like it. And please buy the whole damn album. I won’t even give you a choice song to sample because when it comes to Thao & The Get Down Stay Down I want you to bump into the whole thing, it’s that good.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
You Had Me At New 'N' Sounds Like AC/DC
I’m a sucker for bands like Airbourne. About every 18 months I hear or read about some band making music that sounds a lot like AC/DC. These words are not to be taken lightly, so nine times out of ten the combination of “new band” and “sounds like AC/DC” will place me at the cash register holding out a twenty.
I’ve trotted the globe searching for the next AC/DC. First it was The Darkness from England, then The Hellacopters from Sweden—to name a few. While the bands were usually hit or miss it still seems worth it to punch the music passport for any new band capable of winding up the fuzz guitars and making open-road rock for another generation. And occasionally you are rewarded for the journey when you bring back something really special like The White Stripes or Wolfmother.
A recent issue of Rolling Stone magazine referenced AC/DC in a review of Australian rock band Airbourne’s new album Runnin’ Wild. The picture in the magazine showed the boys looking very rock & roll, I think they may have had a bottle of Jack in their hands. The Runnin’ Wild album cover had the rock font going on and the album featured Beavis song titles like “Cheap Wine & Cheaper Women” and “Hellfire.” Now if I could just locate the album. Still an import I was forced to make only my second (and first since week 1) virtual music purchase using iTunes since the start of the blog.
The ominous storm cloud brewing on the opening track “Stand Up for Rock ‘N’ Roll” instantly calls to mind “Thunderstruck.” Lead vocalist Joel O’Keeffe has the perfect scream for Velcro high top, black t-shirt rock. Reminiscent of Brian Johnson for certain, O’Keeffe actually sounds more like a mix of fellow Aussie Jimmy Barnes and Tom Keifer from Cinderella. Airbourne delivers the sort of music Frank the Tank would play as he works on his car in the driveway.
The risk with bands like Airbourne is in some cases the album cover, the song titles; even the lyric choices are just a bit much. It’s almost as if the band is playing dress up. The issue I have with a lot of bands like this (see The Darkness) is they tend to do their rock “with a wink.” There is a hint that it’s not serious. And ladies and gentleman rock & roll is a lot of things, but it’s not a joke.
It’s always tough to judge a band’s intentions and the Web makes authenticity more difficult, but if I sense the band is delivering the goods “with a wink,” I’m out.
Sorry for the speech, now I feel like the protective mother in law asking every suitor, “and what are your intentions?” As a whole Runnin’ Wild does deliver, when O’Keeffe yells “Stand up for Rock “N” Roll!” at the end of the opener he’ll have you runnin’ to the attic for your jean jacket. On a side note how rock & roll is it to write the word “and” as simply “’N’” —any punctuation started by G ‘N’ R has to be good, maybe I should change my name to Joh’N’. More awesome.
At a recent Minnesota Wild hockey game the PA was blasting title track “Runnin’ Wild” to great effect during a stoppage. Probably the closest thing to a single, “Runnin Wild” sounds like a vintage Cinderella track only with more motor.
“Too much, Too Young, Too Fast” is like one long Jagermeister toast to the best Behind the Music episodes ever put together for VH1. It’s an honest this-is-all-wrong acknowledgment and the music is an unapologetic “drink it up while it lasts, tear it up so fill my glass” ride.
“Fat City” tries to recreate “Who Made Who” but never quite gets there despite some handy ax work from David Roads (has to be a fake name right?). “Blackjack” finds O’Keeffe reading the AC/DC dictionary out loud shouting, “kill!” “thrill!” alongside a waterfall riff from Roads that Angus Young could appreciate.
“What’s Eatin’ You” is a top track with a cleaner guitar edge. Lyrics like “one in the hand and two in the bush!” take us towards liftoff as O’Keeffe explains, “What’s eatin’ you is eatin me!” It’s an Obama message of togetherness only O’Keeffe is running for president of Hair Nation.
If you’re looking for the second coming of AC/DC, more often than not you’ll be disappointed. Airbourne is about the same. It smells and tastes like the stuff you love, but struggles to break off the chain. So instead of being the music of your summer, Airbourne will probably end up on ESPN Ultimate Highlight and X Games montages as well as your kids’ video games.
That said the quartet of “Runnin’ Wild,” “Stand Up For Rock ‘N’ Roll,” “Too Much, Too Young, Too Fast” and “What’s Eatin’ You” will sound great at a sports stadium or driveway near you. Overall Runnin’ Wild is a good time, and that can’t be bad no matter their intentions.
I’ve trotted the globe searching for the next AC/DC. First it was The Darkness from England, then The Hellacopters from Sweden—to name a few. While the bands were usually hit or miss it still seems worth it to punch the music passport for any new band capable of winding up the fuzz guitars and making open-road rock for another generation. And occasionally you are rewarded for the journey when you bring back something really special like The White Stripes or Wolfmother.
A recent issue of Rolling Stone magazine referenced AC/DC in a review of Australian rock band Airbourne’s new album Runnin’ Wild. The picture in the magazine showed the boys looking very rock & roll, I think they may have had a bottle of Jack in their hands. The Runnin’ Wild album cover had the rock font going on and the album featured Beavis song titles like “Cheap Wine & Cheaper Women” and “Hellfire.” Now if I could just locate the album. Still an import I was forced to make only my second (and first since week 1) virtual music purchase using iTunes since the start of the blog.
The ominous storm cloud brewing on the opening track “Stand Up for Rock ‘N’ Roll” instantly calls to mind “Thunderstruck.” Lead vocalist Joel O’Keeffe has the perfect scream for Velcro high top, black t-shirt rock. Reminiscent of Brian Johnson for certain, O’Keeffe actually sounds more like a mix of fellow Aussie Jimmy Barnes and Tom Keifer from Cinderella. Airbourne delivers the sort of music Frank the Tank would play as he works on his car in the driveway.
The risk with bands like Airbourne is in some cases the album cover, the song titles; even the lyric choices are just a bit much. It’s almost as if the band is playing dress up. The issue I have with a lot of bands like this (see The Darkness) is they tend to do their rock “with a wink.” There is a hint that it’s not serious. And ladies and gentleman rock & roll is a lot of things, but it’s not a joke.
It’s always tough to judge a band’s intentions and the Web makes authenticity more difficult, but if I sense the band is delivering the goods “with a wink,” I’m out.
Sorry for the speech, now I feel like the protective mother in law asking every suitor, “and what are your intentions?” As a whole Runnin’ Wild does deliver, when O’Keeffe yells “Stand up for Rock “N” Roll!” at the end of the opener he’ll have you runnin’ to the attic for your jean jacket. On a side note how rock & roll is it to write the word “and” as simply “’N’” —any punctuation started by G ‘N’ R has to be good, maybe I should change my name to Joh’N’. More awesome.
At a recent Minnesota Wild hockey game the PA was blasting title track “Runnin’ Wild” to great effect during a stoppage. Probably the closest thing to a single, “Runnin Wild” sounds like a vintage Cinderella track only with more motor.
“Too much, Too Young, Too Fast” is like one long Jagermeister toast to the best Behind the Music episodes ever put together for VH1. It’s an honest this-is-all-wrong acknowledgment and the music is an unapologetic “drink it up while it lasts, tear it up so fill my glass” ride.
“Fat City” tries to recreate “Who Made Who” but never quite gets there despite some handy ax work from David Roads (has to be a fake name right?). “Blackjack” finds O’Keeffe reading the AC/DC dictionary out loud shouting, “kill!” “thrill!” alongside a waterfall riff from Roads that Angus Young could appreciate.
“What’s Eatin’ You” is a top track with a cleaner guitar edge. Lyrics like “one in the hand and two in the bush!” take us towards liftoff as O’Keeffe explains, “What’s eatin’ you is eatin me!” It’s an Obama message of togetherness only O’Keeffe is running for president of Hair Nation.
If you’re looking for the second coming of AC/DC, more often than not you’ll be disappointed. Airbourne is about the same. It smells and tastes like the stuff you love, but struggles to break off the chain. So instead of being the music of your summer, Airbourne will probably end up on ESPN Ultimate Highlight and X Games montages as well as your kids’ video games.
That said the quartet of “Runnin’ Wild,” “Stand Up For Rock ‘N’ Roll,” “Too Much, Too Young, Too Fast” and “What’s Eatin’ You” will sound great at a sports stadium or driveway near you. Overall Runnin’ Wild is a good time, and that can’t be bad no matter their intentions.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Editors Should Have Left Lead Singer on Cutting Room Floor
An End Has A Start by Editors is a tough album to review. On one hand, the chassis of the music is superb. Guitarist Chris Urbanowicz and drummer Ed Lay have put together a tapestry of epic sound. The problem is singer Tom Smith’s Goth-voice makes the end result sound like the Phantom of the Opera, or worse James Lipton from Inside the Actor’s Studio singing on top of an old U2 sound.
Is there something here, sure there is. The first three tracks “Smokers Outside the Hospital,” “An End Has a Start,” and notably “The Weight of the World” get the record off to a hot start. The disappointment comes because Editors are a nice band despite the lead singer not because of the lead singer. If you put a different front man on this much sound you would turn an indie into an outie real quick. Said another way: with a different singer, a lot more people would already be familiar with Editors.
With Smith in place the glass ceiling for Editors are key tracks like “The Weight of the World” and “The Racing Rats.” At their best Editors have a nice rock vibe that can rub against everything from The Killers to Simple Minds “Don’t You Forget About Me.” And I suppose that’s the highest compliment I can give to Editors. A song like “The Weight of the World” has a non-chalant sense of drama to it. “The Weight of the World” takes its time getting there, and the result is as cool as John Bender in the backseat of the bus and easily the highlight of the record.
The trouble I have with vocalists like Smith (see Paul Banks from Interpol as well) is they seem to be trying way too hard to sing in a voice that’s not their natural pitch. It’s all just too self aware for me. The result is the music ends up having a Frankenstein effect to it. It’s still a good sound, but you know the whole time you’re listening to it that it could have been great. And that’s a real shame.
Tom Smith does provide rhythm guitar, and nice lyrics like “in the end all you can hope for is the love you felt to equal the pain you’ve gone through” on tracks like “Bones.” Smith is clearly capable of taking the band to a certain altitude as Editors have already experienced commercial and critical acclaim. A song like “The Racing Rats” feels natural for the band and is good up-tempo indie rock in the spirit of “Monster” by The Automatic. But to hear the wind chime of the guitar and the pulse of the drums it just seems like Editors have another gear, and one they won’t likely see with Smith at the helm.
The problem I have with the Goth-voice Smith seems to favor is it puts a turtle neck on your rock & roll band. It clowns out the music to a certain degree. Can it work sometimes in a quirky way, sure Brandon Flowers managed to convert the turtleneck into a bolo tie pulling it off with a wink on Sam’s Town. In many ways I think Smith is probably enamored by The Killers. The fact that both Editors and Killers had a track titled “Bones,” and The Killers record came out a year earlier makes me think this fixation may have become a distraction. Smith’s vocal will be a governor for Editors moving forward not allowing them to reach top speed as a band.
There’s good stuff on An End Has a Start, specifically “The Weight of the World” is a true original. The music is high art, but with Smith at the microphone it’s hard for me to listen to because I feel like someone just added a cleft palette to the Mona Lisa. The music is rich and familiar, but the vocal is surprisingly out of place.
Is there something here, sure there is. The first three tracks “Smokers Outside the Hospital,” “An End Has a Start,” and notably “The Weight of the World” get the record off to a hot start. The disappointment comes because Editors are a nice band despite the lead singer not because of the lead singer. If you put a different front man on this much sound you would turn an indie into an outie real quick. Said another way: with a different singer, a lot more people would already be familiar with Editors.
With Smith in place the glass ceiling for Editors are key tracks like “The Weight of the World” and “The Racing Rats.” At their best Editors have a nice rock vibe that can rub against everything from The Killers to Simple Minds “Don’t You Forget About Me.” And I suppose that’s the highest compliment I can give to Editors. A song like “The Weight of the World” has a non-chalant sense of drama to it. “The Weight of the World” takes its time getting there, and the result is as cool as John Bender in the backseat of the bus and easily the highlight of the record.
The trouble I have with vocalists like Smith (see Paul Banks from Interpol as well) is they seem to be trying way too hard to sing in a voice that’s not their natural pitch. It’s all just too self aware for me. The result is the music ends up having a Frankenstein effect to it. It’s still a good sound, but you know the whole time you’re listening to it that it could have been great. And that’s a real shame.
Tom Smith does provide rhythm guitar, and nice lyrics like “in the end all you can hope for is the love you felt to equal the pain you’ve gone through” on tracks like “Bones.” Smith is clearly capable of taking the band to a certain altitude as Editors have already experienced commercial and critical acclaim. A song like “The Racing Rats” feels natural for the band and is good up-tempo indie rock in the spirit of “Monster” by The Automatic. But to hear the wind chime of the guitar and the pulse of the drums it just seems like Editors have another gear, and one they won’t likely see with Smith at the helm.
The problem I have with the Goth-voice Smith seems to favor is it puts a turtle neck on your rock & roll band. It clowns out the music to a certain degree. Can it work sometimes in a quirky way, sure Brandon Flowers managed to convert the turtleneck into a bolo tie pulling it off with a wink on Sam’s Town. In many ways I think Smith is probably enamored by The Killers. The fact that both Editors and Killers had a track titled “Bones,” and The Killers record came out a year earlier makes me think this fixation may have become a distraction. Smith’s vocal will be a governor for Editors moving forward not allowing them to reach top speed as a band.
There’s good stuff on An End Has a Start, specifically “The Weight of the World” is a true original. The music is high art, but with Smith at the microphone it’s hard for me to listen to because I feel like someone just added a cleft palette to the Mona Lisa. The music is rich and familiar, but the vocal is surprisingly out of place.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Music for TV Dramas and Men Who Use Product
Matt Nathanson has been banging around for a while. Tastemakers Aware Records had him pegged to be a star a couple times over. Well, Nathanson finally put it all together on his latest record Some Mad Hope.
If you like Dave Matthews, the Fray, Goo Goo Dolls, Matt Kearney, Train and the like—odds are you’ll dig Matt Nathanson. To quote one of his own lyrics, Nathanson’s specialty is “cheap radio songs.” His pedicure pop would have fit perfectly playing in the background of the prom episode of Grey’s Anatomy. The music has a touch of cheese, but it feels good. Some Mad Hope would sound great next to slow motion montages shot in the rain, or as the credits roll when you stand up to leave the theater. And I love that type of music.
Almost every track on Some Mad Hope is radio friendly. The opener “Car Crash” gets us started with Nathanson’s cotton vocal and a nice wavy guitar pulling it forward. “Come on Get Higher” is the signature song on the record. Nathanson takes a Dave Matthews (“Crash”) riff and replaces some of the melancholy with hope. It’s a killer track. Like a great single, “Come on Get Higher” will sound familiar the first time you hear it. Not only does Nathanson have the vocal of a platinum recording artist in the making, he even shows some lyrical prowess with simple prose like “I taste the sparks on your tongue.”
The hits just keep coming on Some Mad Hope. “Heartbreak World” and “Gone” are ballads an Enchanted soundtrack away from making it into your living room. To listen to Some Mad Hope just makes you shake your head as to why this kid hasn’t been properly discovered. The music has monster crossover appeal and Nathanson’s lyric is head and shoulders above the screamo voice presently dominating the marketplace. “All We Are” finishes the album on an epic note, and will get the neck hairs up one more time.
“Wedding Dress” is one of those songs the first time you hear it will make you cringe a bit. It’s more on the Goo Goo Dolls side of the spectrum. We’ve gone from using hair product to maybe frosting your hair as Nathanson sings “in your wedding dress to have and to hold.” It’s all a bit too Hallmark, but the pop is irresistible. Before you know it you’ll be singing along to this one too. Bad wedding Powerpoints are being scored to this one as we speak.
Make no mistake Matt Nathanson is nothing new. He makes “cheap radio songs,” but sometimes that’s all you need. Sometimes that hits the spot. Sometimes that even stands up and separates from the crowd (see Hootie and the Blowfish 1994). The closest Nathanson gets to showing his original side is the stripped down ballad “Bulletproof Weeks.” Leaning on his voice and great lyrics, “Bulletproof Weeks” is an unplugged gem. On “Sooner Surrender” he attempts to shake Jeff Buckley from the grave and comes close. Clearly Nathanson is a vocal talent waiting to be discovered.
There is the rare on Some Mad Hope like the overly up-tempo “To the Beat of Our Noisy Hearts, “ but as a whole it’s a superb record. On “Bulletproof Weeks” Nathanson asks the question, “what happened to feeling cheap radio songs?” Hearing Some Mad Hope makes me beg the same question. Pick this one up; it will sound great as you put together the slow motion sequences of your own life.
If you like Dave Matthews, the Fray, Goo Goo Dolls, Matt Kearney, Train and the like—odds are you’ll dig Matt Nathanson. To quote one of his own lyrics, Nathanson’s specialty is “cheap radio songs.” His pedicure pop would have fit perfectly playing in the background of the prom episode of Grey’s Anatomy. The music has a touch of cheese, but it feels good. Some Mad Hope would sound great next to slow motion montages shot in the rain, or as the credits roll when you stand up to leave the theater. And I love that type of music.
Almost every track on Some Mad Hope is radio friendly. The opener “Car Crash” gets us started with Nathanson’s cotton vocal and a nice wavy guitar pulling it forward. “Come on Get Higher” is the signature song on the record. Nathanson takes a Dave Matthews (“Crash”) riff and replaces some of the melancholy with hope. It’s a killer track. Like a great single, “Come on Get Higher” will sound familiar the first time you hear it. Not only does Nathanson have the vocal of a platinum recording artist in the making, he even shows some lyrical prowess with simple prose like “I taste the sparks on your tongue.”
The hits just keep coming on Some Mad Hope. “Heartbreak World” and “Gone” are ballads an Enchanted soundtrack away from making it into your living room. To listen to Some Mad Hope just makes you shake your head as to why this kid hasn’t been properly discovered. The music has monster crossover appeal and Nathanson’s lyric is head and shoulders above the screamo voice presently dominating the marketplace. “All We Are” finishes the album on an epic note, and will get the neck hairs up one more time.
“Wedding Dress” is one of those songs the first time you hear it will make you cringe a bit. It’s more on the Goo Goo Dolls side of the spectrum. We’ve gone from using hair product to maybe frosting your hair as Nathanson sings “in your wedding dress to have and to hold.” It’s all a bit too Hallmark, but the pop is irresistible. Before you know it you’ll be singing along to this one too. Bad wedding Powerpoints are being scored to this one as we speak.
Make no mistake Matt Nathanson is nothing new. He makes “cheap radio songs,” but sometimes that’s all you need. Sometimes that hits the spot. Sometimes that even stands up and separates from the crowd (see Hootie and the Blowfish 1994). The closest Nathanson gets to showing his original side is the stripped down ballad “Bulletproof Weeks.” Leaning on his voice and great lyrics, “Bulletproof Weeks” is an unplugged gem. On “Sooner Surrender” he attempts to shake Jeff Buckley from the grave and comes close. Clearly Nathanson is a vocal talent waiting to be discovered.
There is the rare on Some Mad Hope like the overly up-tempo “To the Beat of Our Noisy Hearts, “ but as a whole it’s a superb record. On “Bulletproof Weeks” Nathanson asks the question, “what happened to feeling cheap radio songs?” Hearing Some Mad Hope makes me beg the same question. Pick this one up; it will sound great as you put together the slow motion sequences of your own life.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Yo tengo catorce anos. Juanes es bien. Adios.
While working in Europe, my family and I spent a few days in Barcelona on Las Ramblas. I remember even in a tourist trap like Las Ramblas just how spacious and laid back the overall vibe was. I also remember opening the hotel windows and playing an Alejandro Sanz CD on the hotel CD player. It sounded perfect.
While in Europe I had projects in both the Netherlands and Spain. In the Netherlands they speak Flemish, a language about as attractive as a farmer’s blow. Flemish sounds like one long series of people trying to hack the snot out of their chests. It’s likely the contrast between the two languages solidified my love of Spanish.
I’ve always had a thing for Spanish language, especially when it comes to music. Spanish just sounds better as it rolls off the tongue. When Spanish is sung, the letters are rounded off. There’s a reason they call it a romance language. Throughout middle school, high school, and college I managed to log about 14 years of intermediate Spanish. This allowed me to master important basics like, “Yo tengo catorce anos ( I am 14 years old).” As well as personal favorite “tu chupas (you suck, or more precisely, and way better, you are sucking).” Even my karaoke song is Spanish. Throughout the years, I’ve brutalized “La Bamba” a variety of ways but always get bonus points for the bi-lingual effort.
I’ve remained intrigued by Spanish language. One day I’ll get my act together and pick up one of those audio book series and learn “la lengua” in my Jeep on the long commute from White Bear. Specific to popular music I’ve always been intrigued by the Spanish “sensation” of the moment. There always seems to be some massive Spanish language performer you hear about who sells billions of records and is rumored to have played concerts to hundreds of thousands. The latest hype is around Juanes. His album La Vida . . .Es Un Ratico showed up on a lot of year-end lists. Juanes even presented at the Grammys looking like Colin Farrell’s bizarre Spanish brother.
The challenge with reviewing a Spanish language album is setting aside the lyrics. While I may know “fuerte” is strong, “amor” is love and “corazon” is “heart” I’m unable to grasp the overall story.
So I’m left to review how the music feels. If music is the universal language there will always be songs that just crossover based on how they grab you. I’ve had this happen before. I used to run the Thames in London listening to David Bisbal’s “Ave Maria” and it doesn’t get any more solid than Alejandro Sanz’s “No Es Lo Mismo.”
The cross over song here is clearly “Hoy Me Voy” as Juanes pours out his heart, and takes us on a bilingual magic carpet ride. I played this one in the Jeep for my nine-year-old daughter the other day, and she loved it. Even without the benefit of story, Juanes gets his twinkle on, bangs the drums, and mixes Santana with Pop Rocks. Awesome. This one will kill at the margarita party.
That’s what I love about the power of music to cut through. Songs like “Hoy Me Voy” are closer to a classical song. The music just feels right. Everything is in the right place. You know what you want to happen next, and then it does.
Another song sure to find a spot in your corazon is the upbeat opener “No Creo En El Jamas” featuring a tidal wave of a chorus even Celine would envy. That’s how to start a record.
Spanish music has a way of getting cheesy in a hurry with the Casio keyboard effects and the drum machines, but Juanes goes to great lengths to avoid this focusing on musicianship and some nice ax work on guitar. It’s clear Juanes wants to be taken seriously. There is a craft to La Vida. . .Es Un Ratico as songs like “Me Enamora” feature significant guitar chop. Juanes clearly has some jam, and the guitar riffs have an Eddie Money/Journey like nostalgia to them. The record has a real live sound to it.
There are more catchy choruses and some nice ballads here as well, but the grab you by the short hair on the back of the head despite the language barrier is clearly “Hoy Me Voy.”
Do I suggest you buy Juanes latest CD? Maybe not, as it’s a lot of work to sort music without benefit of the words. But if you’re a true music fan I absolutely suggest picking up a single or two from a different country and just letting the music punch your passport. It’s no different than trying ethnic foods or watching a foreign film. For starters, “Hoy Me Voy” won’t disappoint.
While in Europe I had projects in both the Netherlands and Spain. In the Netherlands they speak Flemish, a language about as attractive as a farmer’s blow. Flemish sounds like one long series of people trying to hack the snot out of their chests. It’s likely the contrast between the two languages solidified my love of Spanish.
I’ve always had a thing for Spanish language, especially when it comes to music. Spanish just sounds better as it rolls off the tongue. When Spanish is sung, the letters are rounded off. There’s a reason they call it a romance language. Throughout middle school, high school, and college I managed to log about 14 years of intermediate Spanish. This allowed me to master important basics like, “Yo tengo catorce anos ( I am 14 years old).” As well as personal favorite “tu chupas (you suck, or more precisely, and way better, you are sucking).” Even my karaoke song is Spanish. Throughout the years, I’ve brutalized “La Bamba” a variety of ways but always get bonus points for the bi-lingual effort.
I’ve remained intrigued by Spanish language. One day I’ll get my act together and pick up one of those audio book series and learn “la lengua” in my Jeep on the long commute from White Bear. Specific to popular music I’ve always been intrigued by the Spanish “sensation” of the moment. There always seems to be some massive Spanish language performer you hear about who sells billions of records and is rumored to have played concerts to hundreds of thousands. The latest hype is around Juanes. His album La Vida . . .Es Un Ratico showed up on a lot of year-end lists. Juanes even presented at the Grammys looking like Colin Farrell’s bizarre Spanish brother.
The challenge with reviewing a Spanish language album is setting aside the lyrics. While I may know “fuerte” is strong, “amor” is love and “corazon” is “heart” I’m unable to grasp the overall story.
So I’m left to review how the music feels. If music is the universal language there will always be songs that just crossover based on how they grab you. I’ve had this happen before. I used to run the Thames in London listening to David Bisbal’s “Ave Maria” and it doesn’t get any more solid than Alejandro Sanz’s “No Es Lo Mismo.”
The cross over song here is clearly “Hoy Me Voy” as Juanes pours out his heart, and takes us on a bilingual magic carpet ride. I played this one in the Jeep for my nine-year-old daughter the other day, and she loved it. Even without the benefit of story, Juanes gets his twinkle on, bangs the drums, and mixes Santana with Pop Rocks. Awesome. This one will kill at the margarita party.
That’s what I love about the power of music to cut through. Songs like “Hoy Me Voy” are closer to a classical song. The music just feels right. Everything is in the right place. You know what you want to happen next, and then it does.
Another song sure to find a spot in your corazon is the upbeat opener “No Creo En El Jamas” featuring a tidal wave of a chorus even Celine would envy. That’s how to start a record.
Spanish music has a way of getting cheesy in a hurry with the Casio keyboard effects and the drum machines, but Juanes goes to great lengths to avoid this focusing on musicianship and some nice ax work on guitar. It’s clear Juanes wants to be taken seriously. There is a craft to La Vida. . .Es Un Ratico as songs like “Me Enamora” feature significant guitar chop. Juanes clearly has some jam, and the guitar riffs have an Eddie Money/Journey like nostalgia to them. The record has a real live sound to it.
There are more catchy choruses and some nice ballads here as well, but the grab you by the short hair on the back of the head despite the language barrier is clearly “Hoy Me Voy.”
Do I suggest you buy Juanes latest CD? Maybe not, as it’s a lot of work to sort music without benefit of the words. But if you’re a true music fan I absolutely suggest picking up a single or two from a different country and just letting the music punch your passport. It’s no different than trying ethnic foods or watching a foreign film. For starters, “Hoy Me Voy” won’t disappoint.
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