Band Aid, "Do They Know It's Christmas?"

I listened to a lot of holiday music over Christmas weekend.  Binging on Spotify playlists, I found myself surprisingly moved by the Bing Crosby-style pre-RnR era songs, and pleasantly surprised by some of the modern songs by artists like Kelly Clarkson and Sia.  I still don't get the big deal about Mariah Carey's ubiquitous song, but after hitting the Christmas #1 spot on the Billboard chart for three straight years, you can't deny its place as one of the biggest and most enduring songs of its type in music history.  I can't help but notice that religious themed tracks are being phased out (I never hear the "Mary and the baby"-style caroling that I grew up with) and it's all about vaguely holiday themed love and togetherness.  Add some sleigh bells to the mix to make it crystal clear that you've recorded a holiday song and hope for regular airplay each December. 

I am not a push-button cancel culture type of person, but "Do They Know Its Christmas?" gets more disturbing to me each year.  The controversy surrounding this track (and the remakes) are not new.  The genesis of the track (well meaning pop stars record a charity song on very short notice) still makes for a wonderful story, and the repeated "feed the world" chorus can still get me choked up on occasion.  But it's gotten to the point where the smug, condescending tone of the lyrics is rapidly eroding my enjoyment of the song.  

The first verse starts innocently enough. Throw your arms around the world, spread the joy this time of year, and so on.  Then it all transforms into grim death -- literally -- and post-colonialist condescension.  The idea that Christmas should be the aspiration to save poor people from misery is absolutely soaked through with the stench of white man's burden.  As if the fact that Christmas isn't on the radar of people in a completely different part of the world -- regardless of their socio-economic condition -- is the saddest, most tragic fact imaginable and must be corrected without delay.  If the famine had been in, say, Saudi Arabia then perhaps more people would hear these lyrics for what they really are?

I have always liked the song and the Christmas season wouldn't be the same without hearing it a few times.  But I couldn't, in good conscience, oppose phasing it out of holiday playlists if a serious movement to do so arose.   

Future Sound of London, "Dead Cities"

This would be the eighth in a series of albums that I haven't heard in over twenty years, since the start of this blog in January 2020.  Except that's not exactly true in this case, because I don't think I ever heard "Dead Cities" in its entirely.  I was a fan of FSOL from "Papua New Guinea" onward, had "Lifeforms" and the Amorphous Androgynous albums in heavy rotation, but by 1996 I felt that they were following trends rather than leading them, and the trends they were following weren't the trends I was the least bit interested in.  Since I'd rather not repeat artists in this series, and seeing as I never heard the album to begin with, I'm reluctant to count this one.  On the other hand, it is a fairly notable album by a legendary act, and I just bought the beautiful limited edition that comes with a book and some amazing artwork ...

A few thoughts on this album:

"Herd Killing" utilizes the same sonic palate as "Lifeforms", clearly it's the same band that recorded that dreamy ambient/modern classical (two of the adjectives applied to "Lifeforms" at the time) album, except that the dreaded 1996 big beat sounds are seeping in.

"Her Fact Forms in Summertime".  This is more like it, a proto-Burial epic in miniature, featuring rainy nights stepping through flooded gutters in an urban hellscape crossed with chopped up b-boy street music.

"We Have Explosives".  The single owes an obvious debt to what the Chemical Brothers were doing at the time, but also shows glimpses of the rhythmic noise that would become popular in completely different circles in a few years time.  

"Everyone in the World Is Doing Something Without Me" radiates a starry eyed ambience with ethereal layered voices, but also carries the overwhelmingly horrifying feeling that everything is falling apart.  That's a combination of sounds and emotions that you almost never hear, but somehow they pulled it off.    

"Quagmire" is true to its name, a chaotic, messy soup of skittering beats, jazz samples, and futuristic noises, jazz samples.  That track bleeds into "In a State of Permanent Abyss" (the best title on the album IMO), which is an early 70's Kraftwerk-ian throwback of twinkling, bubbling synths.  This kicks off the more abstract second half of the album.    

"Yage" shines through as a centerpiece track, with a long ambient intro and outro bookending a kitchen sink collage of quaking bass, warped sitar-like drone, wall of sound dub effects, and face-smashing beats.   

Overall, "Dead Cities" sounds a lot better now than it probably did when it was first released.  Far removed from the fleeting trends that firmly date this album to the late 90's, there's an adventurous mixture of sounds to sink one's teeth into.  There are also a few forward thinking moments, showing that FSOL still had innovative trump cards up their sleeves.  

The Buchmann-Mehta School of Music Symphony Orchestra Conducted by Maestro Lahav Shani

This was the first post-COVID major performance for this orchestra, and everyone involved was thrilled and relieved to return to some semblance of normal performance practice.  This season opening performance presented a varied program featuring strong soloists, full of hits and very few misses.

The first piece, Tchaikovsky's "Rococo Variations" featuring cellist Jan Bogdan, featured some tentative playing by the orchestra, although this soloist's playing couldn't be faulted.  The next piece, Ibert's Flute Concerto featuring Avishai Srugo, demanded more playing from the orchestra, and they were up to the task.  Sometimes a dull accompanying part during a concerto makes for a complacent orchestra.  I loved this flute concerto, it is a modern piece (composed in 1934) full of vibrant, unconventional melodies and strained notes that stretch the range of the instrument in eye-opening ways.

After the break, soprano Yaara Atias performed two arias, the first (Mozart's "Se il padre perdei") was simply fine, but the second (Donizetti's "Il faut partir") was superlative and elicited strong reactions from the audience.  Finally, the full orchestra took the stage for Debussy's "La Mer", which was excellent and superbly conducted by Lahav Shani.  His somewhat underplayed Mahler 1 actually built my anticipation for this performance even more.  The things I didn't like about his Mahler (deliberate tempo and pacing, milking the slower, atmospheric parts) are perfect for "La Mer", and it didn't dissappoint.   

Opening of the Israel Philharmonic's 85th Anniversary Festivities

The IPO came up with a genius marketing plot to offer a first rate concert for the bargain price of 85 NIS as part of their 85th anniversary celebrations.  The absurdly low price guaranteed a packed house and an eclectic crowd.  On this night, the Bronfman Auditorium may have been the hippest spot to be seen in the city.    

I took immediately to "Prayer For String Orchestra", feeling the music's drawn out, solemn passages in my bones.  The composer of the work, Tzvi Avni, walked on stage for a bow at the conclusion of the piece in a very touching moment.  The next piece, Alphons Diepenbrock's "Im grossen Schweigen" (with Matthias Goerne performing the baritone solo), didn't connect with me in the same way, the lyrics cry out against to the loneliness of nature, but the music leaves me with little of that intended desperation or passion.     

Gustav Mahler's "Symphony No. 1" was beautifully played and elegantly conducted by Lahav Shani, but I found it underplayed in many key moments.  The third movement should alternate between a funereal lullaby and a folksy, slightly absurdist dance, but Shani played it as a rather straightforward slow movement.  I felt the symphony nearly ground to a halt around this point, although he did manage to pull things back together nicely for the second half of the fourth movement, leading to a suitably spectacular finale.  

Bernard Haitink RIP, and is classical music worthless?

When I was first encountering recorded classical music in the 1980's (mainly on cassette tape!), Haitink and von Karajan were the default conductors, their names were on practically anything.  Both enjoyed long and exceedingly prolific careers, and indeed made it a point to record just about everything of note in the standard repertoire, often multiple times.  Recently, I was shocked to discover that he was still actively conducting at age 90, his skills very much intact.    

Just yesterday I was listening to Haitink's recording of Shostakovich's 15th Symphony, coupled with the song cycle "From Jewish Folk Poetry".  In this instance, the "B-side" outshines the main event, Haitink had a sympathetic ear for Jewish themes, his acclaimed recording of Shostakovich's 13th Symphony providing another example.  Haitink reportedly claimed he got his breaks in the music industry only because of better talents being lost to the Holocaust.  That's a debt that can never be repaid, but I'd like to think that he had a mission to fulfill by recording historically fascinating compositions such as these.  "From Jewish Folk Poetry" is equal parts solemn lament and joyous celebration of life, Haitink was equally adept at conducting both styles.  

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Dave Hurwitz's latest rant, titled "How the industry made classical music worthless", goes to show that the music industry's follies transcend genres and span multiple generations of fans.  I agree that classical record companies made a ludicrous mistake by abandoning the prospects of mass marketing in the early 1950's, when every other major genre realized there were mountains of money to be made by selling records.  I wouldn't say that the music is worthless these days, but the reasons for the CD's decline is no different for classical music than for the other genres I've been writing about all these years.  Fans feel swindled by the record companies for paying inflated CD prices from the inception of the medium through the early 2000's.  Once CD burning technologies became installed in nearly every computer, and fans realized that their formerly exalted discs cost pennies to produce (but were routinely sold for upwards of $15-20), an entire generation of paying music fans were lost forever to filesharing and later streaming services.  

As noted by Hurwitz, multiple repackagings have exhausted even the most hardcore fans and diluted the market with inferior products -- this is certainly true for pop and rock as well.  Essentially the entire middle of the market has been hollowed out, leaving only the most dedicated fans willing to shell out money for special conversation pieces (180 gram vinyl re-releases with expanded artwork, Record Store Day exclusives, etc) and those who are happy to dabble in paid or free streaming services and have no use for a physical product.  

One could argue that Haitink and Karajan contributed to this by oversaturating the market and ruining things for future generations, but I personally would not (and not just out of respect for Haitink's recent passing).  Karajan supposedly sold hundreds of millions of records and is still a notable name more than thirty years after his death, he was unquestionably doing something right.   

The war against genres is over

I used to hate genre labels.  Privately, I wanted to hatch a master plan to eliminate them completely.  These labels are supposed to divide music into convenient, easily digestible categories, thereby directing the interested listener to what he or she wants to hear, for example, in helping you browse through large inventory in a music store.  However, my chief complaint was that genres actually misdirect people.  Cross pollination across genres had made simple categorization impossible and attempting to shoehorn everyone into a single genre was doing their art a disservice.  Fans had illogical and stupid negative associations with particular genres ("nobody listens to techno!" or  "I like everything except rap and country") that prevented listeners from exploring new types of music. The only solution, I thought, was to alphabetize everything and let the listeners work out what they wanted, free from the genre labels.  This would make the job of journalists and record store employees a bit harder, but would force them to earn their pay by describing the music more colourfully and making informed recommendations by drawing on their (alleged) wealth of experience.  

Twenty years later, and of course the world has changed.  Streaming radio based on algorithms, beginning with Pandora, were able to tailor their broadcasts to the personal taste of the listener.  Genre boundaries came crashing down as the program would collate the music you actually liked and remarkably got better at the task the more you listened.  These days, Google and Youtube recommendations are so advanced, they know my tastes better than I do a lot of the time.  Autoplay meets my approval far more often than not.  As we all know, brick and mortar stores have mostly faded away.  Apps can direct you to great music far better than any craggy record store clerk ever could.

My private war is now moot.  Lately, I enjoy comparing Spotify and Apple Music playlists. Spotify has more tantalizing moods and eclectic playlist ideas than I know what to do with.  A "shoegaze classics" playlist contains many of the usual suspects (but not always their most obvious tracks) but also a broad selection of lesser known bands.  It's a playlist far more steeped in deep cuts and I'm likely to get a few new (new to me) band recommendations each time I listen.  On the other hand, Apple's comparable playlist has a more straightforward selection of bands and songs, and seems to aim at linking fans of different groups rather than curating the best shoegaze songs.  For instance, The Cure's "Plainsong" isn't shoegaze in the least, but I don't know a single fan of the music who doesn't like The Cure, so it's a fair choice.  But Oasis' "Don't Look Back In Anger"?  That's a major algorithm fail.

Neither approach is intrinsically better.  Sometimes you prefer the hits, sometimes the more obscure stuff.  It's all good!   I approve of our computer overlords, etc. 

Beethoven's "Unfinished 10th Symphony"

The upcoming premiere of Beethoven's 10th symphony has been making headlines this week, I first learned about it through this feature at The Conversation.  

The article confuses more than it reveals.  It reads like a 1500 word pat on the back for doing something that is poorly defined and poorly described.  The main purpose of the article is to build anticipation for whatever this symphony turns out to be.  

In short, a team of AI researchers and musical consultants took some rough sketches of unfinished Beethoven compositions and attempted to shape them into a completed symphony.  Getting a computer to perform this task requires data, the more the better.  But the sketches contain barely any useful information in this regard, by definition they are incomplete and hardly representative of a completed Beethoven work.  Obviously the team had to rely on Beethoven's completed works to get a true sense of the composer's style.  In that case, what is being "completed" here?  This isn't the first time that computer scientists have trained computers to create music in the style of a famous composer.  If this project had been presented as a reinvention/reincarnation of Beethoven via computer, it would be fine.  But claiming to have completed an unfinished symphony has more sizzle.  

The phrase "Beethoven's creative process" or something to that affect appears six times in the piece, but I never had any inkling of what it is supposed to mean.  Did they teach the computer to throw temper tantums and yell at its programmers?  Is there really a linear, programmable way of extrapolating a piecemeal unfinished product into a polished, performable work?  The descriptions provided in the article are vague.  Usually AI uses the finished products as the inputs for the algorithm.    

Dave Hurwitz made a number of good points in his recent video rant on this article. First, he notes that the sketches they used weren't necessarily written for a symphony.  They were just that, sketches that could have developed into anything.  Assuming they were the basis for a new symphony is an unprovable assumption that is essential to the viability of the entire AI project.  Second, the AI team had to attempt to reproduce Beethoven's orchestration -- how exactly can you try to orchestrate like a deaf person?  Late in his life, were Beethoven's orchestration choices a byproduct of his genius, or inexcusable mistakes on account of his deafness?  There's no way to know.  Trying to sort this out via algorithm is not much more than a shot in the dark.  

The three minute advance clip of the symphony certainly sounds like Beethoven, a bit too much like Beethoven in fact.  It comes across like a variation on the 5th symphony with a dash of the 8th symphony's lighter moments.  There isn't one iota of the fury and pugnacity that appeared in the first movement of the 9th symphony, for instance.  I find it difficult to believe, based on Beethoven's progressions in his later symphonies, that he would have attempted to go retro for his much anticipated 10th.      

Charlie Watts RIP

 The Rolling Stones' drummer was arguably the biggest paradox in rock.  He was a core member of inarguably the most successful (financially speaking) rock band of all time, even though he didn't particularly care for rock and roll.  In interviews, if you could manage to get him to speak about anything at length, it was most likely jazz.  The artistic and canonical worth of the Stones' music wasn't something he'd brag about.  Is there another musician who approached his level of success who cared so little about his musical "legacy"?  The guy just loved drumming, did a masterful job holding down the rhythm section for the Stones, but his passion was whatever jazz ensemble he was leading on the side between tours for Mick and Keith.

The Stones were known for debauchery, it was even used as a marketing counterpoint to the more clean cut Beatles in the early and mid-60's.  But Watts was as straight as an arrow, never fooled around on the road, stayed married to the same woman for nearly his entire tenure with the Stones.  He had some problems with drugs in the 80's but was otherwise above all the rest of the Stones-related gossip.  

Watts' work for the Stones was solid and unspectacular, but as a jazz aficionado you always got the feeling that he was "dumbing it down" to fit the relatively simple rhythms and fills of rock. His drumming looked powerful but never muscular.  With a nonplussed look on his face from the beginning to the end of their concerts, he made drumming for the Stones look smooth, classy, and effortless.

There have been many deaths in the Stones' circle over the years and the juggernaut always finds a way to continue.  They were already planning to tour without Watts even when he out sick.  I'm sure they'll be just as successful without Watts for as long as they plan on continuing.  But his loss will be felt deep.      

EMF, "Schubert Dip"

If you were a Britophile living in North America in the 90's, the story was a familiar one.   Once they'd had some success in the UK, the debate surrounding your new favourite band was always "will they break through in America"?  A couple of years later, when they were on their third album and fourth European tour, the debate parameters almost invariably shifted.  Stateside success was now considered a longshot at best, and the debate question became defeatist -- "why can't they break through in America"?  

When it came down to it, nobody had the answers to these questions.  Manchester bands were all the rage in the late 80's and early 90's, but outside of select college and alternative stations, their music wasn't heard on North American radio.  A few years later, Britpop reached its peak but the music didn't translate for American audiences.  Eventually, Oasis did sell four million copies of "What's the Story Morning Glory" in the US and Blur sold more than 600K of their self titled album.  Oasis were presented as a Beatles retread (hardly a product of the 90's) and Blur mainly sold grunge back to the country of its creation (nothing British about it at all).  The stuff that broke big was rarely what you would have expected or predicted.  

There were some fallow years for British indie music between those two mini-eras.  Jesus Jones were considered hopelessly uncool and not worth hyping in Britain.  But in the US?  "Right Here Right Now" was a major smash, the definitive fall of communism anthem, and reached #2 on the Billboard 100 (kept out of the top spot by Bryan Adams' never-ending run with "(Everything I Do) I Do It For You").  In contrast, it didn't come close to the top 10 in Britain or any European country.  Their album "Doubt" also went platinum in Canada and the US.  

Even more inexplicable was the success of EMF.  The uncoolest copycats to emerge from Madchesters' ashes released "Unbelievable" and somehow ended up with a #1 single on the Billboard 100 in July 1991.  The song was a worldwide hit, reaching the top ten in many European countries, but only reached #1 in the US.  A little bit of context: this was pre-Nirvana when most people under the age of 20 had little clue about "alternative" music, let alone alternative/dance/baggy groups from the UK.  However, C&C Music Factory's "Gonna Make You Sweat (Everybody Dance Now)" went to #1 that year too, surprising many by crossing over from underground dance clubs to the pop charts.  Londonbeat's "I've Been Thinking About You" also hit the top spot that year, as did PM Dawn's "Set Adrift on Memory Bliss".  So pop/house crossovers had a good year on the Billboard 100 in 1991.  Still, who could have possibly guessed that a band of miscreants from the Forest of Dean (where??) would soundtrack the American summer with a number one hit sandwiched between the biggest career successes of Paula Abdul and Bryan Adams?

I haven't heard the album "Schubert Dip" since around 1993, around the time that Britpop took off.  Even when it was released, it felt like an album very much of its time.  By 1993, EMF were practically a relic from ancient times.  But it's been nearly thirty years and the band have reunited three times, so the music remains somewhat timeless at least for some people.  

"Children", the opener, fits that description in spades.  Featuring the oft-used Madchester shuffle beat, acid-y squelches, and a shouty, energetic chorus, it's hard to conceptualize a more 1991-sounding song than this.  But it remains a chest-thumping triumph, and probably should have been an anthem.   "Long Summer Days" and "When You're Mine" are perfectly passable album track fodder that keep the energy level simmering along nicely.  

Then things take a turn towards the ridiculous with what was supposed to be a love song, "Travelling Not Running".  The laid back vibe actually ressembles the polished dance pop that New Order would overuse on "Republic" two years later.  The effortless, acerbic charm that characterizes even the worst New Order songs is nowhere to be found though, the song has no reason to exist other than to show a more serious, sensitive side to the band.  The lyrics are sub-sub-Sumner-ian at best.  The chorus begins: "I could have been, anything for you/I could have been old/I could have been blue."  Read all the lyrics for yourself, nearly every line is a howler.   The next track, "I Believe", is a Madchester paint-by-numbers song that fills out the first side of the album and nothing more.

The next two seconds of music you'll hear are a giant wake-up call -- the half-shouted, half-moaned "OHH", clanging cowbell, gurgling bass, and squealing guitar are the intro to their deservedly huge hit single.  Four ideas that could have clashed horribly but somehow fit perfectly.  The "Paid In Full" beat, the awkward rap, the Andrew Dice Clay samples, the false endings -- all could have come off as silly cliches, but never do.  "Unbelievable" is the sound of a naive band piling all their best ideas into one song and hitting a home run with their eyes closed. 

"Girl Of An Age" is the downtempo teen angst-y track that "Travelling Not Running" tried to be.  You won't find anything profound in EMF's lyrics, but this is a uncomplicated near-ballad that is an effective comedown after "Unbelievable"'s euphoria.  The rest of the album, "Admit It", "Lies", and "Longtime" are mostly padding.  You could call "Schubert Dip" the proverbial great EP stretched out into an album.  EMF obviously knew what kind of band they wanted to be with this album, but they clearly didn't have enough great songs to actually fill an album.

So overall, "Schubert Dip" in 2021 was exactly what I expected -- a perfectly listenable and completely of its time album.  Their ambition still shines through nearly thirty years later, even if the execution couldn't come close to match. Before 90's music became dour, before emo, before grunge, EMF were all about dancing and fun and you still enjoy that in quick doses even today.    

"Rocketman", dir. Dexter Fletcher (2019)

 My earliest memories of Elton John are from the era of "I Guess That's Why They Call It the Blues" and "I'm Still Standing", that is, the MTV-ready, suburbia-approved, flamboyance-lite version of Elton.  To this day, Elton prancing on the beach in Cannes in the video for "I'm Still Standing" is my default likeness of him, and the juxtaposition between that Elton and the mythical chameleon-like creature who became a megastar in the 70's has informed my opinion of him ever since.  Incidentally, the same is true for David Bowie, who made a similar about face around the same time.   

It thus turns out that my memories begin where "Rocketman" ends, with Taron Egerton digitally inserted into the "I'm Still Standing" video in place of Elton.  It's the exact point when every VH1 "Behind The Music" episode ends, with the return to prominence to conclude the artist's redemption arc.  I can understand why they chose this plot structure for the movie, because who doesn't root for a happy ending?  

As a piece of art, however, there's very little substance here.  Most of the characters are caricatures of record producers, managers, even Elton's wife Renate comes across like a naive simpleton during the few minutes she's on screen.  The plot proceeds in bullet point form, providing only the barest of relevant details designed to set up the intro to the next song.  Dialogue and the relationships between characters are minor interludes while we wait for the music to start up again.  Perhaps, with the success of totally vacuous movie musicals like "Mamma Mia", that's what people really want.

The interactions between Egerton and Jamie Bell as Bernie Taupin are the exceptions, the rare moments when two real human beings were navigating through a set of complex emotions on screen.  There's a scene when somebody praises Elton by effusing about how much the songs speak to them, essentially saying "I feel like I really know you".  Elton more than anyone knew that he was the vessel for Taupin's words.  For a person who spent most of his life to that point searching for his identity, dressing up daily in a land of make believe love and celebrity that revolved around him, that was a bitter pill to swallow.  

The best scene in the movie, and the only one truly approaching high art, is the "Rocket Man" episode, where Elton tries to drown himself in his LA pool.  He's snatched from the pool bottom, loaded into an ambulance, and in one fell swoop (accompanied by dancing paramedics) thrust onto the stage in Dodger stadium wearing a sequin covered baseball uniform.  Those five minutes perfectly encapsulated the illogical excesses of the time.

A better movie about Elton would have focused on a single year of his life in the mid-70's, a blow by blow examination of the madness that could have taken its cues from "Almost Famous" rather than "Behind the Music".  

Jane Bordeaux, live at Shoham Arts Centre (26/06)

 This was my first post-pandemic concert and it was in a most unlikely place -- a cultural centre in the small city of Shoham.  Surprisingly, the Tel Aviv alt-country hipster vibe translated well to the more upscale suburban population of this town.  And it couldn't have been easy for the band -- with the mask mandate back in place over the weekend, they were faced with a wall of expressionless, masked clones with which to engage with.

Jane Bordeaux are a charming, professional bunch, but I actually find their Americana-drenched songs about heartbreak and whiskey fairly unconvincing.  They're at their best when they delve into sleepy dreampop, more akin to early Beach House.  I'm sure most of their fans (and even perhaps the band themselves) would strongly disagree.  Nevertheless, their perfectly paced 75-minute set was filled with highs and ended with a sweet singalong to the Beatles' "All You Need Is Love".  Tough to find a better band to ease out of a pandemic with -- slowly, gracefully, and without much fanfare.  

Flaming Lips, "The Time Has Come to Shoot You Down ... What a Sound"

Like most fans who grew up adoring the Stone Roses' debut album, I was prepared to hate this track-by-track 2013 remake by Flaming Lips and a motley crew of guest collaborators.  But instead I found it a charming, even mildly ambitious take on the original album.   All hints of the swagger and arrogance of the Roses have disappeared, buried under layers of bleepy electronica and blissed out dream pop.  That could be viewed as a positive depending on your views of the Roses.  Arrogance can be easily construed as a negative, even in the context of rock and roll.  I prefer to frame it as belief.  Bands that emerge fully formed on their debut albums exude a tangible belief in the concept and vision for the band, despite their reluctance (or even failure) to conform to the norms of their time.  The Velvet Underground had it on their debut album, Joy Division had it, Guns N Roses had it.  Anyway, all of that is missing on the Flaming Lips versions.  But the melodies, if anything, shine through even stronger, and the sound palate is far wider. 

It's the Flaming Lips, so of course there are silly, unnecessary excesses.  "Waterfall" doesn't need to switch moods and vocalists midway through, shifting from pretty bedroom pop into screechy noise.  "She Bangs The Drums" is progressing just fine before devolving into an embarrassing space movie electronic squelch-fest.  On the other hand, "Bye Bye Badman" was the throwaway track on the Roses album, but FL transform it into an echo-laden, shimmering, sun-drenched anthem.  "Sugar Spun Sister" unexpectedly turns into a minor epic thanks to a gorgeous ambient shoegaze intro leading into a wonderfully hazy mess that's straight out of "Lovelee Sweet Darlene"-era MBV.  "Shoot You Down", one of the weaker tracks on the original album, turns into a storming 80's synth pop.  Beneath the huge gated drums sound and the twinkly looping synths, you can almost believe it was meant to be a love song.  

Romantic Revolution - Bruckner Unlimited

 I was intrigued by this album after hearing excerpts on a Spotify playlist ("Classical meets electronica -- classical pieces reworked by contemporary electronic musicians).  The collection is the results of a remix contest promoted by the Deutsches Symphonie Orchester Berlin.  Henrik Schwarz was a patron of the competition and served on the judging committee.  The entrants were given the task of remixing a DSO recording of the fourth movement of Bruckner's Fourth Symphony ("Romantic"), and the results form an eclectic collection of styles ranging from fuzzy ambient to downtempo lounge beats.   Despite the pedigree and the uniqueness of the enterprize, I couldn't find a single review on the internet (at least not in English)! so here are some of my thoughts:

S/QU/NC/R's "Maessig bewegt" is a more than deserving winning entry, very reminiscent of Fennesz's work.  It falls somewhere between Fennesz's own Mahler remix experiments -- classical maximalism meets blissed out ambient serenity -- and his sublimely twisted "Plays" EP.   However, the second prize entry, Lambert Windges' "Something Went Wrong" is fairly straightforward downtempo coctail bar fare.  In third place, Aibos' "SONEL" is delightfully adventurous.  It starts with Murcof-like expansiveness -- lonely piano, stark atmospherics and dry beats -- before morphing into a funky jazz trio type thing punctuated by slabs of string orchestra-like noise.  

Rounding out the compilation, VennDiagram's "Moments de Lucidite Consciente" is more bleepy downtempo music but with some interesting atmospherics in the form of ghost-in-the-machine strings lurking throughout.  Artic Joy's "Revolution of Chaos" features breakbeats and a multitude of processed orchestra samples.  Pizzicatto strings and chilling, shuddering bass are the most prominent.  But it's the first track on here that sounds very much like a remix of the original material rather than a completely reimagined piece.  Next, V. B. Kuehl's "One Step Away" is straightforward and simple, a mid-90's Red Snapper homage driven by a noodly guitar loop and a flurry of samples.  

Quadra Pong 2.0's "Goodbye to Romance" is a unexpected change of pace, a beautifully sad work filled with nearly unintelligible whispers and lonely-sounding vibraphone.  It's the shortest work on the album but really comes across like a long, sentimental goodbye. 

The album then takes a 180-degree turn, as Frieder Dziobek and Patrick Eckert bury the source material deep within a sunny club-ready tech-house track, followed by another sharp turn back to icy, near-isolationist downtempo electronica.  Haraamo's "Symphony #4" isn't for everybody, but for me is a standout track on this collection and should have landed one of the top three prizes. 

Inspiral Carpets, "Cool as **** EP"

If ESPN can milk "30 for 30" well past their 30th anniversary, then I can run my series of 20 records I haven't heard in 20 years (since starting the blog in January 2000) well past year 21.  We will get to 20 eventually, I promise.  This will be the sixth in the series, and I have the next six records already lined up, waiting to be heard for the first time (with near certainty) since the 1990's ...

Out of the Madchester Big Three, Inspiral Carpets are, and were, by far the least famous.  The Stone Roses had the best peak musically, Happy Mondays had the best notoriety and were uncannily in the right place at the right time to capitalize on their limited talent (in no small part thanks to their label, which did all they could to promote the myth).  Inspiral Carpets had a longer peak than either of them (and a better peak than the Mondays) but could never quite transcend their reputation as a somewhat geeky number three in the Manchester hierarchy.    

I wore my "Cool as F***" shirt (without the asterisks) a good luck charm in tests and exams for years.  So this EP has a unique sentimental value that no other record in this series can match thus far.  

The record itself is a US-only release that compiled a few of their early singles and was released as a sort of lead-in to their debut album "Life".  

The Carpets' formula is on display from the opening notes of "Joe" -- blasts of shiny organ over shuddering bass and syncopated beats.  There's a clear nod to the Fall (and perhaps even the Mondays) in its minimalist bluster and shouty-lite vocals, but without the grit and upheaval that you get from the best of the Fall.  More creative, catchier melodies would come with the "Life"-era singles.  

"Find Out Why" is silly and awkward but nails the chorus in a way that "Joe" can't touch.  "So Far" has barely a glint of a decent melody and comes as every bit of the blatantly tossed-off B-side that it was.  "Out of Time" mostly exists in order to be an easily shoutable chorus in live shows, but as a two minute slice of bouncy pop, it certainly accomplishes its intended goal. 

The EP ends with the 16-minute "Plane Crash", which starts as an homage to "Bob Dylan's 115th Dream" before launching into an extended organ jam punctuated by churning guitar-based noises and other airy sound effects.  "What Goes On" it's not.  Singer "Tom Hingley" declares, on record, that "it's only been ten minutes" toward the end of the middle jamming portion, suggesting that they were going long purely for the sake of doing it.  A couple of years later, they'd get it right with "Further Away", a 14-minute monster with nary a wasted note.  But "Plane Crash" is certainly not the tense epic that I remember it being.  

How about that t-shirt though?  It supposedly sold better than any of their albums? 

Jim Steinman RIP

I just heard about Steinman's passing this past weekend.  I wrote about "Bat Out of Hell II" recently and since then, I have been feeling sentimental about Steinman's contributions to music.  I knew about many of his non-Meatloaf compositions for some time but it was only a year or two ago that I stumbled upon the knowledge that he co-wrote and produced some of Sisters of Mercy's biggest hits ("This Corrosion", "More", "Dominion").  It makes perfect sense once you know, at which point you can't unhear Steinman's influence in future listens.  And it figures that Steinman would be the best person to bring out the OTT hilarity in goth rock.  

Which was the more impressive achievement, BOOH I or BOOH II?  The first album was famously rejected by every major record label but went on to become one of the biggest selling albums ever.  It's hard to understand why no label thought it would be marketable, considering that the 70's was a decade full of overproduced histrionic rock excess.  The 90's gets repped (by rock fans) as the decade of grunge and alternative rock, but the truth is more complex.  In the early 90's, Bryan Adams, Tom Petty, Aerosmith, and Eric Clapton hit their commercial peak.  Each was highly recognizable thanks to heavy rotation on MTV and some memorable videos.  So there was plenty of space for rock "veterans" even as the landscape was shifting.  However, each of them were active during the 80's and continued their success into the 90's. By 1993, Meatloaf was a burnout and a nobody who made a completely improbable comeback to the upper strata of the industry.  Even more improbable was how BOOH was promoted as a Big Event Album despite Meatloaf not being relevant for over a decade.  "I'd Do Anything For Love" hit the airwaves/MTV and its astonishing success seemed almost preordained.  That speaks to Steinman's continued clout in the industry, the value in the BOOH name, and of course, the unexpected quality of the album.  The music was a black sheep completely out of place and out of sync with everything else happening at the time.  There was no indication that this type of music would make a comeback -- and in fact, it didn't.  Steinman-inspired rock wasn't a returning fad, BOOH II was in a bubble of its own success.  It was influenced by nothing except itself and inspired no copycats. It appeared out of nothing and then vanished into the ether.  BOOH I is the better album, but BOOH II's triumph ran contrary to all sense and logic of the time, and still stands as the more impressive overall achievement.   

Vienna Philharmonic Symphony Edition, Volume 2

There is a bottomless pit of boxsets devoted to a single conductor, and rightly so.  It's a shame that there aren't more that focus on orchestras.  On iTunes I could only find this set and a couple of similar sets for the Berlin Philharmonic (broken into different time periods).  Admittedly, those are the first two you'd expect to be given the box set treatment.  I'm sure there are others -- I've seen Israel Philharmonic sets in brick and mortar stores -- but there should be more. 

The Vienna box presents a brief survey of a composers work, usually featuring multiple conductors. It makes perfect sense to feature the VPO like this, since they are the rare orchestra that has eschewed having permanent principal conductors throughout most of their long history.  In other words, they're used to having their signature sound molded by a sequence of guest conductors.  Although the first, larger volume seemed to attract more attention when it was released, the second volume is much more my style, based around Romantic and early 20th century composers.

I received a crash course in Bruckner from this box, which was actually a big selling point for me.  Bruckner essentially wrote the same symphony nine times, with progressively longer run times, while rarely straying from strictly imposed forms for each movement.  That's a criticism for some, but an ethos for Bruckner superfans.   Abbado's Bruckner 1 is taut and energetic.  His Bruckner 4 is strong too, but Bruckner 5 felt too safe, too benign.  von Karajan takes over for the 7th and 8th, two oft-cited reference recordings.   The 8th, which was one of his final concerts, is simply spectacular.  Giulini's Bruckner 9 is certainly passable, but failed to bring out anything truly inspiring from the piece.

von Karajan conducts Tchaikovsky's 4th, 5th, and 6th, which are all wonderful but special mention must go to the devastatingly powerful 6th.

Next comes Dvorak.  I was unfamiliar with Myung-Whun Chung, but he did fantastic work on Dvorak's 6th and 7th symphonies.  Both are punchy, exciting, and strike the perfect emotional tone of the work.  Lorin Maazel's 8th and 9th were big disappointments though, particularly the 9th, which was simply dull and underplayed throughout.  The dynamics were simply absent, the entire piece felt devoid of feeling and inspiration.       

I had read reviews about this recording of Mahler 2 by Abbado, which universally criticized it as dull and slow-moving.  Those reviews were completely correct.  The first movement comes off well, but the rest plods along.  All the tension in the music evaporates during each quiet part in the finale, and the final minutes were horribly recorded and overcompressed.  Bernstein's Mahler 5 is deserving of its reputation as one of the finest ever recordings of that symphony.  My favourite thing on this box set might be Pierre Boulez's simply breathtaking Mahler 6.  The whole symphony is great, but the finale in particular is seat-of-your-pants excitement and suspense.  Just the perfect combination of orchestra and a conductor with the right temperment for the source material.  Bernstein's live Mahler 8 is certainly fun, with the conductor audibly banging on the podium and barely keeping the tiger under control.  Abbado's Mahler 9 is a mixed bag.  The opening movement gets the emphasis wrong for my tastes.  The chaotic parts should be the interludes that interrupt the blissfully quieter portions, but Abbado does the opposite.  However, the third movement is scorching, and the final Adagio is suitably devastating without a doubt.

Bernstein's four Sibelius symphonies are far from his best work with that composer.  All were recorded in Bernstein's 80's slow tempo period.  These tempos almost completely kill the 1st and 5th symphonies, both are exciting in parts but the longer running lengths simply drained my patience while listening to them.  That approach is much more successful on the short, single movement 7th symphony.  I have a soft spot for this Sibelius 2 recording, which I first discovered via videos on Youtube.  It's also far too slow, and drags significantly for the first two movements but the melodramatic tempos are exploited to their fullest on the powerful two final movements.  

Bernstein closes out the box conducting Shostakovich's 6th and 9th, which are passable but nothing special.

All in all, what's to complain about?  Each recording was previously released, so many VPO fans will have heard the best stuff already.  But for someone looking to grow their collection, you get 24 discs worth of music (more if you buy the full symphony edition set) including a few all time great recordings, and generally notable work from beginning to end.        

Nathan Salsburg, "Landwerk"

While reading the profile of Salsburg in Toi , I wondered how many readers knew or understood the Caretaker reference.  Is it a number in the single digits? 

Naturally, I was intrigued.  "An Empty Bliss Beyond This World" is all about looping its source material precisely so, distorting the sound just enough to induce feelings of nostalgia and unease in equal parts.  It's deceptively simple, and yet copyists are nowhere to be found for the most part.  Kirby noted in interviews that the Caretaker "formula" was a lot tougher than it seemed, and almost dared others to copy him.  "Landwerk" is more about using short samples from old records as a springboard to improvisation.  The noise and static is there, but Salsburg's guitar playing emerges as the star of the piece.  As a parallel approach to the Caretaker, it's entrancing music, albeit somewhat anodyne.

Salsburg's comments about cultural appropriation were revealing about the cultural climate we currently live in.  Somehow it's OK for him to curate the Lomax collection for the past twenty years, but using the records as source material for his own recordings is problematic?  He probably understands those records more than anyone alive, he's the last person who should be concerned about accusations of exploitation.  The 20's klezmer recordings are surely all kinds of wonderful and it would be unfortunate if non-Jews felt uncomfortable turning to them for inspiration.  

A bad week for Beethoven's 7th

Teodor Currentzis released a preview of his recording of Beethoven's 7th Symphony.  It's the final movement and the full recording will be released next month.  Like many people, I wasn't a fan of Currentzis' now notorious version of Beethoven's 5th Symphony.  He claims to have uncovered some kind of hidden truth in Beethoven that others have ignored for nearly two centuries, placing himself on a pedestal as the genuine keeper of the flame.  He presents himself as a lone soul trying to preserve Beethoven, when it's kind of obvious to everyone that he wants his Beethoven to sound different from everyone else's just for the sake of being different.  Nevertheless, there was something compelling about his version of the 5th.  Its pugilistic fervor and bludgeoning, monotonous consistency made for a passable hulk smash version of the work, even though, as many have noted, it had very little connection to what Beethoven wanted it to sound like.  His 7th goes of the rails in the opposite direction, coming off as a jaunty pantomime, a teeny bopper roller rink version of a piece that should continuously ramp up the tension toward the finish.  Currentzis obviously likes his role as the maverick outside, and why not -- every musical genre has a place for novelty cover versions.      

And yet, it wasn't the worst version of Beethoven's 7th that I heard this week.  That honour goes to Gustavo Dudamel and the LA Philharmonic, who actually performed this piece at an empty Hollywood Bowl a few months ago, although I only heard it for the first time now.  I want to like Dudamel.  He's passionate about music, smashes the European mold of the stuffy concert conductor, and has an undeniable star quality.  He's a rock star and he's perfect for LA.  When he's good, he's brilliant but when he's bad he can churn out the absolute worst interpretations in the standard repertoire, and this Beethoven's 7th falls squarely into the latter category.  There is no middle ground with this guy.  

The reduced orchestra is badly out of sync in parts -- in particular, the timpani player is playing from another planet -- but perhaps that's to be expected when the players have to sit so far apart and behind screens and masks.  In one sense, you can't blame the conductor for the hand he was dealt by the pandemic, but on the other hand you can because he's the sole member of the orchestra who hears the music from the vantage point of the audience.  It's his job to make those key adjustments to timing and dynamics because what the players hear is influenced by those sitting nearest to them, he's the one tasked with making sure the orchestra is playing together.  

But Dudamel's main problem as a conductor is that he's clueless when it comes to changes in tempo.  If a piece is uniformly slow or has subtle adiabatic changes, he can be brilliant.  His performance of "Bolero" with the Vienna Philharmonic comes to mind, that clip is a youtube staple.  He's good with fast, energetic music too, he understands how to keep the piece moving and the enthusiasm high.  But transitioning from the slow opening few minutes of the first movement of Beethoven's 7th into the vivace section?  At around the five minute mark, the piece slows to a crawl, which is a Dudamel staple.  Whenever a piece goes pianissimo, his tempo drags and the music simply dies. Then he cranks the tempo abruptly in a jarring transition.  Yes, it's supposed to be an sudden shift but the conductor has to control the flow of the music, the two sections aren't supposed to sound as if they were stapled together from two different works.  From that point, the movement could still be saved if he could keep it the tempo rolling.  But yet again, the piece sags only for Dudamel to crank the engine again leading to the unison where the entire orchestra repeats the theme.  In the space of about a minute there were a flurry of unnecessary tempo shifts, I'm feeling seasick, and the first movement is barely half over.  

I could continue picking apart the performance in this way, but these are the kinds of mistakes Dudamel makes all the time, they're hardly specific to Beethoven.  In most instances, he can be counted on to nail the big finish of whatever work he's conducting, leaving a positive final impression and leaving the audience satisfied.  This is one of those times when he couldn't finish strong, as the fourth movement lurches toward the finish, no thanks to a number of sloppy asynchronous moments, and I was practically begging it to be over five minutes before it finally did end.              

Daft Punk are no more

 Add me to the long list of people who are skeptical that it's a true breakup, rather than one of:

1) a plot to reunite and/or make money on a comeback tour whenever big concert tours are possible again

2) a convenient "out" for business/tax reasons

3) a way to do pursue separate projects for a while without people pestering them about when the next Daft Punk record is coming out

It's been eight years since their last album, that's effectively the same as a long breakup, regardless of whether they "reunite".  They've remained relevant through collaborations and production work (most notably The Weeknd) but could continue without the Daft Punk name.  Portishead haven't released an album in thirteen years, sure they've toured and released a track here and there, but if they had in fact broken up and not told anyone, would we know?

Assuming this is the end for Daft Punk, they leave an astonishing legacy for an "electronic" band.  Each of their four albums was a mini-revolution of sorts.  "Homework" was perfectly timed for the 90's electronica boom and made them MTV stars.  "Discovery" was the dancepop smash that gave them a lifetime membership to almost any club or wedding DJ's playlists.  "Human After All" spawned the famous pyramid and a legendary tour that arguably launched the EDM craze. And "RAM" was the crossover megahit that ensured them radio play forever.  

By winning the Grammy for Album of the Year with their final studio album, they join Simon and Garfunkel as the only acts to accomplish that surprising feat.  Of course I'm discounting soundtracks/compilations, contemporary artists (e.g. I'm sure Billie Eilish will make another album), and Lauryn Hill (she won the Grammy with her first and only album to date, but she's never really gone away and a solo artist can't disband, so ...).  

  

Gilbert Kaplan and Mahler 2

This month, I learned about this remarkable story via a scathing profile in the NYT that was originally published in 2008.  Kaplan was a wealthy magazine publisher who lived out a dream to conduct Mahler's Second Symphony.  He lived out that dream about 75 times spread over three decades, despite not having any formal music training.  The NYT paints him as a talentless impostor that musicians hated working for, who lived out his spoiled rich guy dreams by having the right friends in the right places.

On the other hand, a BBC report from the 80's depicts Kaplan in a completely different light.  Here, he comes off as a patron of the arts who spent a small fortune to buy Mahler's original score, learn it by heart, and become a world leading authority on the symphony.  He later published the score, and seeing it as a near historical document, supported further scholarship on the subject.  Before his first time picking up a baton in front of an audience, he trained with a professional conductor for eight hours a day for months at a time.  His route to becoming a conductor was anything but typical, but nobody could say he hadn't put in some time to learn the craft and pay some dues.  

One could chalk up the BBC report to "LOL 80's" -- what characterizes the Me Decade more than showing sympathy on TV to rich yuppies?  It still isn't clear exactly how Kaplan broke into the conducting business.  Nobody will seem to admit that money/donations were the main factor, but it's hard to imagine that they weren't.  A guy who already has everything buys himself an orchestra for a night to fulfill a dream?   That could get play only in the 80's.  So yes, without the connections afforded to rich New Yorkers, none of this happens.  

Some rich guys consider owning a sports team as a vanity project and couldn't care less about winning. Kaplan wasn't that kind of person.  Conducting Mahler truly was his dream and he approached it seriously and with the best of intentions.  As a conductor, he was enthusiastic and probably quite a bit ego-driven.  Most conductors are.  He didn't have the charisma or technique to do the job well, but he could do it competently.  Whatever innate talent he lacked was partially compensated by his mastery of the score and his absolute sense of purpose as a conductor -- he never conducted any other piece, nor did he have any interest in doing so. His conducting was mathematical and had no real interpretive vision.  His performances could never touch that of a professional conductor who can speak the orchestra's language and use them to translate the sounds in his head to the stage.  

Outsider Music and Outsider musicians have always populated the fringes of pop music.  Usually they're disadvantaged people without the financial means to compete with well funded mainstream artists.  That wouldn't describe Kaplan.    And yet there's no denying that it's a remarkable story.  Kaplan conducted world famous orchestras all over the world.  It's impossible to imagine this happening today.  Ironically, cronyism in classical music isn't like it was a generation ago.  Orchestras are more of a meritocracy than ever before.  The best people, male or female, stand a good chance of being hired via a rigorous process.  It's not about knowing someone who knows the conductor.  How many contemporary pop music stars got their start by posting videos to Youtube?  Where are the classical Youtube stars?  Fluke conducting careers like Kaplan's are impossible to envision these days.  Maybe that makes classical music a bit less interesting.  That made the NYT's cynicism a bit disappointing, even if it was totally predictable.         

 

Paying for digital music

 A little over three years ago, I wondered if I had bought my last CD.  I knew the likelihood was small, but more importantly, the roadmap was there.  Shopping excursions were becoming ever more infrequent, and could eventually stop, at which point I would hear new music exclusively via streaming services or blogs.  

Since writing that post, I have bought enough CD's to confidently declare that the format's demise vis a vis my spending habits was exaggerated.  My purchasing frequency did drop, but purchasing variety reached a twenty year peak.  With a mix of new, used, and bargain discs, and an increased breadth of genres (including classical, a genre I hadn't bought in significant numbers since the mid-90's), the end seemed nowhere in sight.  

And yet, I've been down this road before, where a peak turned out to be a last hurrah, bringing on a sea change in my purchasing/downloading/listening habits. 

I participated in the first wave of Napster, binged regularly on music through Kazaa and Soulseek, and had never paid to download music.  Until now.  It only took twenty years, but I finally paid to download music through iTunes.  What was the history making purchase?  Osmo Vanska's Complete Sibelius Symphonies with the Lahti Symphony Orchestra. When it comes to the frozen Finnish winter interpretation of Sibelius' music, Vanska can't be topped.  It's a classic cycle that came at a great price.  And given the difficulty in buying non-bargain bin classical music on CD, it seems that iTunes and other music services give me the best opportunity to hear the exact performances I want.  

My Roland DJ505 came with a three month subscription to BPM Supreme, a record pool site offering tracks and tools for DJ's across numerous genres.  I browsed through it, downloaded some solid tracks, but decided it wasn't really for me.  But then I found myself discovering more and more great music through the site.  I also became accustomed to the convenience of searching for tracks on a whim and catching up on years of great dance music that I hadn't been exposed to because for years, I have been listening via albums and podcasts, rather than individual artist EPs or single tracks/remixes. Of course I have known about Beatport and similar sites for ages, but didn't have the proper motivation to spend money there.  With two small kids at home, my mixing has been stalled, so I might just cancel my BPM Supreme membership and re-sub later when I'm ready to devote more time to it.  

This may be how the CD will finally die out in my collection.  The randomness of CD shops will be replaced by digital services offering niche versions of songs in the genres that I'm currently interested in.  

Phil Spector is dead

Spector was a brilliant record producer, perhaps the best ever. His influence is immeasurable.  He was also a spectacular failure as a human being -- and that was before he murdered Lana Clarkson.  

For me personally, Spector indirectly inspired me to start writing about music.  I had thoughts about comparing his productions with the dense, layered guitar music I loved in the 90's.  I picked up a pen (literally, there were no blogs at the time) and the rest is history.   

Rather than size up his complicated legacy (which I've already looked at in other posts over the years), I think I'll shine a light upon CNN's horrible excuse for an obit.  

Starting with the headline: "Grammy-winning producer and convicted murderer Phil Spector dies."  His Grammy win was inconsequential to his career, Phil Spector was not famous for winning Grammys.  It's a small footnote in any proper bio.

"Spector, who was originally from Bronx, New York, produced recordings by stars including The Beatles, Ike and Tina Turner, Cher and the Ramones".  When George Martin died in 2016, did the obits read "he produced records by Elton John, Neil Sedaka, and Gerry and the Pacemakers"?  

"Creator of a production style that became known as the "Wall of Sound," the influential producer formed the Teddy Bears and recorded the group's only hit, "To Know Him is to Love Him," while he was still in high school."  These are two unrelated factoids linked in the same sentence, not to mention that the implied timeline is reversed.  

"Spector's approach to record production -- the layering of instrumental tracks and percussion that underpinned a string of hits on his Philles label -- was a major influence on popular music in the 1960s."  This is easily the most benign and meaningless description of the Wall of Sound ever written.  There is nothing of substance in this obit, not even the slightest attempt to produce an informative piece of writing, it is clickbait, content for the sake of having content, and nothing more.