All the best stores in Hamburg seem to be in or around the neighbourhood of Sternschanze, northwest of the city's downtown. This helps explain why I'd never been to any of them until now.
Slam Records has an impressive selection of rock and jazz vinyl, which is clearly the store's calling card. In the CD section there are plenty of second hand bargains to be found for surprisingly cheap. Google's description calls it "unassuming", which is accurate based on the graffiti that adorns its outside walls and the colourful yet scruffy display of records in the window. Zardoz Records is closer to a boutique shop, featuring more contemporary electronic music and a strong indie selection. It's easy to see why it's considered a "one stop" type of store according to its reviews online. But the best hidden gem in Hamburg may well be Rekord Musik. Ignore the blinding whiff of cigarette smoke by the entrance and the oddball, wizardly-looking staff/clientele. This store has one of the best selections of second hand electronic music I've ever seen. The quantity isn't huge, but almost everything in stock is a minor classic. In this genre, albums and compilations from the 90's and 00's are their specialty. The back room had an eye-opening rack of 90's dance records as well.
The musical epicentre of Hamburg these days has to be the Elbphilharmonie. It's exorbitant cost -- over 800 Million Euros -- is something of a running joke among Hamburg residents based on my last two visits to the city. Its unconventional look -- shimmering waves of glass plopped on top of a red brick warehouse -- also takes some getting used to. Entrance to the plaza level (~ 35 m) is free, and gives you a taste of what the building has to offer. Once I saw the building from close up, walked around inside, read more about the architectural concepts behind the building, it all seemed a lot more impressive then it did on my first glance two years ago from the port.
Saturday, January 25, 2020
Sunday, January 19, 2020
B-factor revisited
Eight years ago, I looked for a common thread that connected critically acclaimed albums. I felt there was were two "sweet spots" in an act's career, a window where they were most likely to hit their critical peak (unrelated, perhaps, to their creative peak). The result was the "b-factor" (admittedly a horrible name), equal to (# of years since the debut album + 1) x (# of albums).
The conclusion? Critical accolades are most likely for a debut album (b-factor=1, always) or for b-factors in the 15-35 range.
And now, eight years later? Let's extend the chart from the post eight years ago, using the #1 albums on Pitchfork's year-end critics polls as an example:
Four out of the eight albums fall squarely in the 15-35 range. Solange's situation is clearly unique, but this is the kind of scenario I was referring to when I wrote about the number of albums likely needing a higher weight that the number of years since a debut. Critical fatigue sets in after a certain number of albums, more so than the number of years that an artist has been around. The same would apply to "Black Messiah" by D'Angelo (and the Vanguard), with a (19+1) x 3 = 60 b-factor.
I wrote that megastars can skew the statistics. Take Kendrick Lamar, with three #1 albums. Which is most representative of the kind of critical peak we're trying to identify? The first one? Just the ones in the 15-35 range? All of them taken together? I'm still not sure.
So the original b-factor reasoning is holding up fairly well ... or is it? There are competing trends as well. Let's look at the Pazz and Jop #1 albums over the same twenty year period:
Dylan broke the scale with his late career resurgence, and David Bowie releasing "Blackstar" and dying in the same week is a confluence of events that might never be repeated. Megastar Kanye West had four #1 albums, thereby explaining the relatively high b-factor for "Yeezus".
I see two possible changing trends. First, between the two lists, there hasn't been a debut album at #1 since 2012. However, Pitchfork's list has three sophomore albums in the '10's, and one could argue for lumping together the debut and sophomore releases as the works of new, emerging artists. In that case, they are faring as well as ever, it seems, albeit less so over the past few years.
Second, between Mitski, Lana Del Rey, the critical acclaim for albums such as Low's "Double Negative" (b-factor=300) and Robyn's "Honey" (b-factor = 192), b-factors seem to be slowly rising because "established" artists seem to have a lengthier peak than in the past. A veteran act with more than ten years and several albums in their catalogue would become a "for fans only" enterprise, or at least that's what you'd be led to believe (as a non-fan) based on the perfunctory 6.5/10 or 7/10 reviews for their albums. Familiarity breeds contempt. But now, a true creative spike can generate more critical excitement than in the recent path, presumably because critics see more worth in reliable, consistent acts? On the other hand, more than half the #1 albums from the combined two lists were the third, fourth, or fifth albums from those artists. Right in the 15-35 wheelhouse for b-factor, in other words. It will be interesting to see if any of these are real trends in the coming years.
The conclusion? Critical accolades are most likely for a debut album (b-factor=1, always) or for b-factors in the 15-35 range.
And now, eight years later? Let's extend the chart from the post eight years ago, using the #1 albums on Pitchfork's year-end critics polls as an example:
| Year | Artist | Album | "Years" | "Albums" | b-factor |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| 2019 | Lana Del Rey | "Norman Fucking Rockwell" | 9 | 6 | 60 |
| 2018 | Mitski | "Be the Cowboy" | 6 | 5 | 35 |
| 2017 | Kendrick Lamar | "DAMN" | 6 | 4 | 28 |
| 2016 | Solange | "A Seat at the Table" | 14 | 3 | 45 |
| 2015 | Kendrick Lamar | "To Pimp a Butterfly" | 4 | 3 | 15 |
| 2014 | Run The Jewels | "Run the Jewels 2" | 1 | 2 | 4 |
| 2013 | Vampire Weekend | "Modern Vampires of the City" | 5 | 3 | 18 |
| 2012 | Kendrick Lamar | "Good Kid, M.A.A.D. City" | 1 | 2 | 4 |
| 2011 | Bon Iver | "Bon Iver" | 3 | 2 | 8 |
| 2010 | Kanye West | "My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy" | 6 | 5 | 35 |
| 2009 | Animal Collective | "Merriweather Post Pavilion" | 9 | 9 | 90 |
| 2008 | Fleet Foxes | "Fleet Foxes" | 0 | 1 | 1 |
| 2007 | Panda Bear | "Person Pitch" | 8 | 3 | 27 |
| 2006 | The Knife | "Silent Shout" | 5 | 4 | 24 |
| 2005 | Sufjan Stevens | "Illinois" | 5 | 5 | 30 |
| 2004 | Arcade Fire | "Funeral" | 0 | 1 | 1 |
| 2003 | The Rapture | "Echoes" | 0 | 1 | 1 |
| 2002 | Interpol | Turn on the Bright Lights" | 0 | 1 | 1 |
| 2001 | Microphones | "The Glow Pt. 2" | 3 | 5 | 20 |
| 2000 | Radiohead | "Kid A" | 7 | 4 | 32 |
| 1999 | The Dismemberment Plan | "Emergency and I" | 4 | 3 | 15 |
Four out of the eight albums fall squarely in the 15-35 range. Solange's situation is clearly unique, but this is the kind of scenario I was referring to when I wrote about the number of albums likely needing a higher weight that the number of years since a debut. Critical fatigue sets in after a certain number of albums, more so than the number of years that an artist has been around. The same would apply to "Black Messiah" by D'Angelo (and the Vanguard), with a (19+1) x 3 = 60 b-factor.
I wrote that megastars can skew the statistics. Take Kendrick Lamar, with three #1 albums. Which is most representative of the kind of critical peak we're trying to identify? The first one? Just the ones in the 15-35 range? All of them taken together? I'm still not sure.
So the original b-factor reasoning is holding up fairly well ... or is it? There are competing trends as well. Let's look at the Pazz and Jop #1 albums over the same twenty year period:
| Year | Artist | Album | "Years" | "Albums" | b-factor |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| 2018 | Kacey Musgraves | "Golden Hour" | 5 | 4 | 24 |
| 2017 | Kendrick Lamar | "DAMN" | 6 | 4 | 28 |
| 2016 | David Bowie | "Blackstar" | 39 | 25 | 1000 |
| 2015 | Kendrick Lamar | "To Pimp a Butterfly" | 4 | 3 | 15 |
| 2014 | D'Angelo and the Vanguard | "Black Messiah" | 19 | 3 | 60 |
| 2013 | Kanye West | "Yeezus" | 8 | 6 | 54 |
| 2012 | Frank Ocean | "Channel Orange" | 0 | 1 | 1 |
| 2011 | Tune-Yards | "Whokill" | 2 | 2 | 6 |
| 2010 | Kanye West | "My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy" | 6 | 5 | 35 |
| 2009 | Animal Collective | "Merriweather Post Pavilion" | 9 | 9 | 90 |
| 2008 | TV on the Radio | "Dear Science" | 4 | 3 | 15 |
| 2007 | LCD Soundsystem | "Sound of Silver" | 2 | 2 | 6 |
| 2006 | Bob Dylan | "Modern Times" | 44 | 32 | 1440 |
| 2005 | Kanye West | "Late Registration" | 1 | 2 | 4 |
| 2004 | Kanye West | "The College Dropout" | 0 | 1 | 1 |
| 2003 | Outkast | "Speakerboxxx/The Love Below" | 9 | 5 | 50 |
| 2002 | Wilco | "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot" | 7 | 4 | 32 |
| 2001 | Bob Dylan | "Love and Theft" | 39 | 31 | 1240 |
| 2000 | Outkast | "Stankonia" | 6 | 4 | 28 |
| 1999 | Moby | "Play" | 7 | 5 | 40 |
Dylan broke the scale with his late career resurgence, and David Bowie releasing "Blackstar" and dying in the same week is a confluence of events that might never be repeated. Megastar Kanye West had four #1 albums, thereby explaining the relatively high b-factor for "Yeezus".
I see two possible changing trends. First, between the two lists, there hasn't been a debut album at #1 since 2012. However, Pitchfork's list has three sophomore albums in the '10's, and one could argue for lumping together the debut and sophomore releases as the works of new, emerging artists. In that case, they are faring as well as ever, it seems, albeit less so over the past few years.
Second, between Mitski, Lana Del Rey, the critical acclaim for albums such as Low's "Double Negative" (b-factor=300) and Robyn's "Honey" (b-factor = 192), b-factors seem to be slowly rising because "established" artists seem to have a lengthier peak than in the past. A veteran act with more than ten years and several albums in their catalogue would become a "for fans only" enterprise, or at least that's what you'd be led to believe (as a non-fan) based on the perfunctory 6.5/10 or 7/10 reviews for their albums. Familiarity breeds contempt. But now, a true creative spike can generate more critical excitement than in the recent path, presumably because critics see more worth in reliable, consistent acts? On the other hand, more than half the #1 albums from the combined two lists were the third, fourth, or fifth albums from those artists. Right in the 15-35 wheelhouse for b-factor, in other words. It will be interesting to see if any of these are real trends in the coming years.
Sunday, December 29, 2019
The only end of the decade list that matters?
With each passing year in the '10's, I became more estranged from whatever passes for the critical albums consensus these days. In 2009, I scored 2/5 in GAPDY (and was at least mildly interested in the other three) and remained mostly within the loop of the most highly acclaimed music of 2010. By mid-decade, my top ten lists were mostly filled with electronic music oddities and various experimental projects that hardly anyone else paid attention to. A quick glance at P&J stats through 2016 (thanks again to Glenn Mcdonald) clearly shows this trend via my collapsing centricity scores. Or, consider the number of albums in the years 2010-2016 for which I was the sole voter: 1 (notably my #1 album that year), 1, 1, 4, 2, 5, 6.
Tracks lists usually contain a lot of duplication of artists that appear on the albums lists. A representative track from the most acclaimed albums is chosen, the order is jumbled up a bit to distinguish it from the albums, and you end up with a mostly redundant tracks list that doesn't tell you much that you didn't already learn from the albums list.
In putting together my 40-for-40 list, I discussed the idea of using my tracks list as a form of autobiography, where the songs don't always match with my "favourites of all time", but signify changing trends, attitudes, and relationships with music and in real life.
Billboard have taken a similar approach with their "100 Songs That Defined the Decade" list. They note that the decade can't be summed up by simple catchphrases ("The Drake Era", The Global Pop Era", "The EDM era", etc.). Instead, the decade consists of countless "mini-histories" and mini-eras, which collectively help to define the music of the '10's. Implicit in all this is the fact that decade start and end points are arbitrary markers anyway, and cultural labels are always attached after the fact. All the more reason that ten years can't be summed up with a couple of simple descriptions.
They note that "these [100 songs] aren't our picks for the best songs of the decade, or even the most popular, necessarily -- although a large number of them were widely loved, including by many of us on staff -- but rather, the songs that shaped and reflected the music of the 2010's. Not all of them defined the decade at its best, but better or worse, it's close to impossible to imagine the decade without any of them."
This is exactly how it should be. Baauer's "Harlem Shake" was an inescapable cultural meme -- and you won't find a sniff of it on any albums lists. Carly Rae Jepsen's "Call Me Maybe" was a massive #1 hit and arguably the most successful Canadian single ever. For those reasons, it belongs on a list like this, even if most of her fans insist that her later albums were far better. Whether you think her best stuff came later or not, whether you are bored sick of "Call Me Maybe" or still add it to your playlists regularly, there's no contradiction between quality and popularity/impact on this kind of tracks list. On an albums list you'd choose the best album, thereby ignoring most popular hit by far, and skip over a crucial "mini-history" of the decade.
Billboard's list covers plenty of different genres, and even if you don't listen to albums in many of those genres (which I don't), you're still likely to know some of their most popular songs. That still counts on a list like this. There are plenty of mega-hits, controversial moments, and songs with iconic videos. They even found room for Rebecca Black's "Friday", and it makes perfect sense that they did.
Each entry features a write-up with input from the producers, artists, and industry insiders responsible for the track. Some are interviews from years ago, and some are new and refreshing retrospective looks back at what made each song into what it became. It really comes off like an essential document of music history, and may be the only published "end of the decade" list I can truly relate to.
Monday, December 23, 2019
Top 10 Albums of 2019
I wasn't consumed by feelings of grief and misery in 2019, although it might seem that way while scanning over this list of albums. The past year was not a healthy one for me and many people close to me, but while it was going on, it didn't feel like more bad things were happening than in most other years. In some years time, I may look back on 2019 and eventually grasp how tough things were. In that case, these ten albums may reflect my general state of mind more than I'm currently able to admit.
Am I the only one who hears this as an album that continues the work that Philippe Cam started nearly two decades ago?
The National invited a bevy of guest vocalists to record with them, and it was a welcome change, even the results don't rank among their very best work.
The album's title might suggest a pleasant ambient metal/shoegaze hybrid. In fact, the shoegaze-y guitar blizzard is the decorative icing for the main course of brutally sludgy riffs and apocalyptic vocals. BIG|BRAVE are hammerfist, steamroller rock and aren't quite metal in a weird, intangible way, even though their music carries the intensity and heaviness of metal.
Blackgaze as a concept is a marriage made in heaven between two somewhat restrictive genres that compensate each other's weaknesses. This is easily Alcest's most intense record and arguably their most consistent despite peaking too soon (about three quarters of the way through).
The sound of 90's Bristol steadfastly refuses to go away, doesn't it?
Basinski has certainly proven his mettle at being able to memorialize history-making events through serene, loop-based ambient music. Here he turns his attention to the most challenging and profound physics experiment done in my lifetime. He not only pays tribute to LIGO's accomplishments by sampling the deep, rumbling pulses of gravity waves, but also beautifies the monotony of staring into the furthermost reaches of space, patiently waiting for something to happen.
Fennesz remains one of the few artists whose entire output is a virtual must own for me (inasmuch as I can keep track of everything he's doing). Yet somehow his albums are always growers. Much like Autechre, he works in a nearly inimitable style that's instantly identified with him, but still manages to consistently defy convention and surprise even his most hardcore fans.
The fairy tale world depicted on the album cover symbolizes Cave's method of dealing with death by seeking out the light. Instead of wallowing in grief, he searches for hope through Buddhist myths and other parables overflowing with rich imagery. Every note means something, thanks to the sparse instrumentation and glacial pace of most of the songs.
Sure, plenty of people are writing about how the year's best music should reflect the chaotic, allegedly historic times we live in. In some circles it's automatically assumed that music should be viewed through the lens of the politics of the day. I think that this generation of fans and critics have subconsciously longed for music to have the cultural cache it did in the 60's, when artists working in several musical genres would unite around the Vietnam War and other world-changing problems. I have never cared about any of that. I want my music to reflect my tastes, and whether it deals with "important" subjects is irrelevant. I don't think I'm a miserable person, although this list might make you think otherwise. No matter the interpretation (and again, perhaps only years of hindsight will lead me to the truth), this list is a reflection of me, and has nothing to do with current events -- in any country.
This list is really a party of one, because for most of the year, nothing came close to hitting me in my gut like my #1 album did.
10. PTU, Am I Who I Am, Trip
Bonkers techno that never feels obliged to play by the most basic of "rules" of the genre -- super short tracks, almost no intros/breakdowns/outros, constant mid-track mood swings between squelching beats and frizzy beatless electronic weirdness.
9. Barker, Utility, Ostgut Ton
Am I the only one who hears this as an album that continues the work that Philippe Cam started nearly two decades ago?
8. The National, I Am Easy to Find, 4AD
The National invited a bevy of guest vocalists to record with them, and it was a welcome change, even the results don't rank among their very best work.
7. BIG|BRAVE, A Gaze Among Them, Southern Lord
The album's title might suggest a pleasant ambient metal/shoegaze hybrid. In fact, the shoegaze-y guitar blizzard is the decorative icing for the main course of brutally sludgy riffs and apocalyptic vocals. BIG|BRAVE are hammerfist, steamroller rock and aren't quite metal in a weird, intangible way, even though their music carries the intensity and heaviness of metal.
6. Alcest, Spiritual Instinct, Nuclear Blast
Blackgaze as a concept is a marriage made in heaven between two somewhat restrictive genres that compensate each other's weaknesses. This is easily Alcest's most intense record and arguably their most consistent despite peaking too soon (about three quarters of the way through).
5. Amp, Entangled Time, Sound in Silence
The sound of 90's Bristol steadfastly refuses to go away, doesn't it?
4. William Basinski, On Time Out of Time, Temporary Residence Ltd
Basinski has certainly proven his mettle at being able to memorialize history-making events through serene, loop-based ambient music. Here he turns his attention to the most challenging and profound physics experiment done in my lifetime. He not only pays tribute to LIGO's accomplishments by sampling the deep, rumbling pulses of gravity waves, but also beautifies the monotony of staring into the furthermost reaches of space, patiently waiting for something to happen.
3. Fennesz, Agora, Touch
Fennesz remains one of the few artists whose entire output is a virtual must own for me (inasmuch as I can keep track of everything he's doing). Yet somehow his albums are always growers. Much like Autechre, he works in a nearly inimitable style that's instantly identified with him, but still manages to consistently defy convention and surprise even his most hardcore fans.
2. Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, Ghosteen, Ghosteen Ltd.
The fairy tale world depicted on the album cover symbolizes Cave's method of dealing with death by seeking out the light. Instead of wallowing in grief, he searches for hope through Buddhist myths and other parables overflowing with rich imagery. Every note means something, thanks to the sparse instrumentation and glacial pace of most of the songs.
1. King Midas Sound, Solitude, Cosmo Rhythmatic
"Solitude" is an almost unbearably personal glimpse into one man's loneliness. Unable to deal with the reality of a difficult breakup, he pores over pointless minutiae of their relationship all while borderline stalking his ex, walking on a knife edge between obsession and madness. The bleak, haunting music is relentless, the mood never lightens, nothing is resolved. But in some sense, the album is a reminder that these unhealthy fixations are still a form of surviving, and are better than the alternative.
Thursday, December 12, 2019
Musical memories of my father
My father was the record buyer in our family. The shelves in our family room were stocked full of 50's and 60's rock and soul records. Along with many people from his generation, The Beatles and Motown records were his favourites, but there's a good reason those records have stood the test of time. His love of classic rock ended with the 60's though. Browsing his collection, one might think that rock ended after Cream and the Woodstock soundtrack. I felt that void much later on, in high school, when I had to play catch up in getting into Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, and countless other rock staples. In fact, my lack of appreciation, and even contempt, for a lot of 70's rock well into the 21st century, is almost certainly related to the lack of exposure through the records we had at home.
But we had disco. A lot of disco. My father used to teach night classes in law at Ryerson University (then a college), and there were a number of record shops in that area in those days. He'd teach his class and grab some disco albums or 12" singles while he was in the area. When I think about my earliest musical memories, most of them involve disco. Donna Summer. Sylvester. The disco lessons my mother would teach in the basement, with my father as her demonstration partner.
The 80's came along, and my father still had his pulse on what was cool. Long after most of his friends had stopped following contemporary music, my father was inspired by a new, revolutionary way of enjoying music -- via the music video. There was no MTV in Canada, and Much Music didn't come on the air until 1984. My father stayed up late on weekends to watch shows that would air music videos, like City Limits, and his finger was glued to the record button on his VCR. I think this was his greatest achievement as a music fan. Long before streaming services and the internet, we had video on demand thanks to my father's many sleep deprived nights. He didn't blindly tape whatever they showed either, he only taped the songs he thought were good. His taste was impeccable. I had every great video of the 1980's on the tape shelf in our family room. Song by song, weekend by weekend, his diligent work added up. He taped dozens of hours of videos over a period of about six years. Other families had home videos with family picnics on them. Ours were starring Duran Duran.
When my parents split up and my father moved out, he left the records with us. Once in a while he'd ask about them. Most of them were technically his, either purchased by him or stuff he had before they were married. He never made a big point about demanding them back though, possibly because when he moved out, he wanted a clean break from things in his former life. I effectively inherited those records, because I was the only one who really kept listening to them.
I only attended one concert with my father -- the Stray Cats in 1991. He wasn't a concert goer, and he wasn't a "round up the family and buy tickets to such and such" kind of person. He didn't buy tickets to this concert either, they were freebees from the managers of the concert hall next to his office, so he took us. Many of the biggest musical acts from 2010 are still big now. But in 1991, The Stray Cats might have well have been beamed in from another planet. The music industry had completely turned over since the 80's, and even the megastars would have trouble adjusting (Prince, Madonna, Bruce, and more). The Stray Cats were awesome that night though, although it was difficult to admit it then. That was the first and last free show I ever saw there, I never bothered my dad to ask for free tickets even once.
From then until the end of his life, my father entered into my musical life only indirectly. He stopped being an active collector for all intents and purposes. But he was there when my friends and I used his apartment as a home base before and after Suede's first concert in Toronto, at the nearby Palladium on the Danforth. I have no idea what he was thinking when we returned from that concert, still buzzing and soaked in sweat, babbling about the tiniest concert details. I crashed at his apartment countless times after staying out late at a concert or club.
We were not a musical family. We didn't grow up singing or playing musical instruments, I learned those things in school when I was older. If my father thought that music was important he might have pushed us to take an active part in it, but he didn't. He probably thought we'd absorb what we loved naturally, because that's how it was when he was growing up. So my father was the biggest musical influence I had when I was a little kid. His tastes were largely my tastes until I was a teenager. Whether he intended it or not, I learned so much from him.
Thursday, November 28, 2019
2005
Earlier this month, I was binge listening some CD-R's that I burned in 2005 and early 2006. I've written about late-2003/early-2004 being a transformative time for me, the last stand for brick and mortar music stores as my main source for new music. I'm only now beginning to appreciate the significance of that 2005/2006 stretch, perhaps as an equally transformative time.
2005 was my peak year, no doubt, for keeping up with the widest variety of new music and criticism. My posting frequency during that time is a clear testament to this. I listened to about twice as many new releases as I have in a typical year, before or since. And because I moved in mid-2006, this period had a definitive end point and was extensively archived in the forms of these CD-R's.
This mini-era was preserved like no other, because with the founding of Youtube in 2005, the growth of other streaming services shortly thereafter, and data storage becoming ever cheaper, it was the end of CD-R's as a preferred medium. These twenty or so CD-R's now look like lost relics from a forgotten information age. I carefully handled them and played them as you would a valuable piece of vinyl rediscovered decades later in a hidden attic.
Besides mp3 copies of albums, I saved a trove of live recordings: lots of Animal Collective, noise artists, some techno, cool rare gems like a "Contino Sessions"-era Death In Vegas gig. There were also CD-R's of individual tracks that I presumably found via yousendit links and file sharing programs. Lots and lots of Michael Mayer and Jacques Lu Cont remixes and similarly styled club techno of the day. This era of techno came to a crashing end for me too, as I stopped buying vinyl and collecting remixes by the usual suspects, and shifted my focus to podcasts and hitting the clubs more often.
2005 was my peak year, no doubt, for keeping up with the widest variety of new music and criticism. My posting frequency during that time is a clear testament to this. I listened to about twice as many new releases as I have in a typical year, before or since. And because I moved in mid-2006, this period had a definitive end point and was extensively archived in the forms of these CD-R's.
This mini-era was preserved like no other, because with the founding of Youtube in 2005, the growth of other streaming services shortly thereafter, and data storage becoming ever cheaper, it was the end of CD-R's as a preferred medium. These twenty or so CD-R's now look like lost relics from a forgotten information age. I carefully handled them and played them as you would a valuable piece of vinyl rediscovered decades later in a hidden attic.
Besides mp3 copies of albums, I saved a trove of live recordings: lots of Animal Collective, noise artists, some techno, cool rare gems like a "Contino Sessions"-era Death In Vegas gig. There were also CD-R's of individual tracks that I presumably found via yousendit links and file sharing programs. Lots and lots of Michael Mayer and Jacques Lu Cont remixes and similarly styled club techno of the day. This era of techno came to a crashing end for me too, as I stopped buying vinyl and collecting remixes by the usual suspects, and shifted my focus to podcasts and hitting the clubs more often.
Saturday, November 02, 2019
My thoughts on Blur in 2019
Outside of a few scattered mentions, my last post focusing on Blur was over eight years ago. I can't recall how it started, but this week I fell down the rabbit hole and listened to a ton of Blur, and rewatched the "No Distance Left To Run" documentary for the first time since my initial review back in 2011.
I still stand by everything I wrote about it back then -- it's still a powerful documentary and you won't find a better summation of the band in under two hours. It's arranged like a sequence of postcards, with each one recalling a specific scene in the history of the band. There's no narrator and no linear style of storytelling (plenty of important stuff is skimmed or skipped over entirely), which is the film's greatest strength. Band histories are complex, and this one focuses on the personalities of the players, not their specific achievements, leaving the viewer to fill in the blanks (hopefully by diving deeper into their music). This is the point they want to drive home, specifically, that the reunion came about because of their need to repair their friendships. The fact that they were successful in doing so is the main reason that the reunion can work. To understand this, they had to bare their personalities for the camera, and in doing so, one sees how much they all were, and still are, polar opposites. And yet the combination works. On second viewing, I felt even more sorry for Graham, a shy soul who could have been truly happy recording and practicing in a home studio for his entire adult life, yet was swept along into the adventures of Britain's biggest 90's bands. I was sold on Alex's book, published more than a decade, and really must pick it up. Dave ... didn't say much. And Damon still comes off as a bit of an arrogant prick. However, seeing how the Blur reunion has now survived further tours and even a new album ("The Magic Whip", which I still have not heard in full), he comes off more genuine than he did in 2010 or 2011, one can no longer argue that he sees Blur as an ego-boosting vanity project.
"Parklife", the album, sounds more and more like the product of a specific time and place. It still has brilliant moments, but the whole is less than the sum of its parts. The "character" songs are more preening, and very formulaic. The self-titled album has probably aged the least of all their records. The Pavement-influenced stuff is still as sharp as it was back then, the Beck-influenced stuff not so much.
Demos: I finally heard the original "Death of a Party", which was first recorded years before its eventual release on "Blur" and was referenced in Select's well-known "Compleat Blur" articles in 1995. The lyrics and melody survived intact, but the style underwent a radical overhaul, from bouncy indie pop to the bleak, trip-hop influenced version they eventually released. The spark is clearly there and it's surprising that they sat on it for so long.
"Far Out" started as a bouncy pub rocker close to the style of "Intermission". On its own its really quite brilliant, but s a four minute extended joke on "Parklife" it would have been snowed and forgotten amongst the Britpoppy songs. As a one minute sci-fi spookfest, it's a standout.
"For Tomorrow" is a monotonic, caterwauling mess and it goes to show how important a strong vocal and arrangement can be for making a song work.
I still stand by everything I wrote about it back then -- it's still a powerful documentary and you won't find a better summation of the band in under two hours. It's arranged like a sequence of postcards, with each one recalling a specific scene in the history of the band. There's no narrator and no linear style of storytelling (plenty of important stuff is skimmed or skipped over entirely), which is the film's greatest strength. Band histories are complex, and this one focuses on the personalities of the players, not their specific achievements, leaving the viewer to fill in the blanks (hopefully by diving deeper into their music). This is the point they want to drive home, specifically, that the reunion came about because of their need to repair their friendships. The fact that they were successful in doing so is the main reason that the reunion can work. To understand this, they had to bare their personalities for the camera, and in doing so, one sees how much they all were, and still are, polar opposites. And yet the combination works. On second viewing, I felt even more sorry for Graham, a shy soul who could have been truly happy recording and practicing in a home studio for his entire adult life, yet was swept along into the adventures of Britain's biggest 90's bands. I was sold on Alex's book, published more than a decade, and really must pick it up. Dave ... didn't say much. And Damon still comes off as a bit of an arrogant prick. However, seeing how the Blur reunion has now survived further tours and even a new album ("The Magic Whip", which I still have not heard in full), he comes off more genuine than he did in 2010 or 2011, one can no longer argue that he sees Blur as an ego-boosting vanity project.
"Parklife", the album, sounds more and more like the product of a specific time and place. It still has brilliant moments, but the whole is less than the sum of its parts. The "character" songs are more preening, and very formulaic. The self-titled album has probably aged the least of all their records. The Pavement-influenced stuff is still as sharp as it was back then, the Beck-influenced stuff not so much.
Demos: I finally heard the original "Death of a Party", which was first recorded years before its eventual release on "Blur" and was referenced in Select's well-known "Compleat Blur" articles in 1995. The lyrics and melody survived intact, but the style underwent a radical overhaul, from bouncy indie pop to the bleak, trip-hop influenced version they eventually released. The spark is clearly there and it's surprising that they sat on it for so long.
"Far Out" started as a bouncy pub rocker close to the style of "Intermission". On its own its really quite brilliant, but s a four minute extended joke on "Parklife" it would have been snowed and forgotten amongst the Britpoppy songs. As a one minute sci-fi spookfest, it's a standout.
"For Tomorrow" is a monotonic, caterwauling mess and it goes to show how important a strong vocal and arrangement can be for making a song work.
Tuesday, October 29, 2019
Yazoo, "Upstairs at Eric's"
Yazoo's "Don't Go" hasn't really left the radio in the thirty seven (!) years since its initial release. What seemed radical at the time (full throated, bluesy synth pop) turned out to be an idea with some legs. Strip away the vocals, and "Upstairs at Eric's" isn't too different from Depeche Mode's "Speak and Spell", released just one year earlier. "Upstairs at Eric's" has richer basslines and cuts back on the twinkly kiddie melody lines, but it's clear that it's the work of the same songwriter.
"Speak and Spell" has long been one of my favourite DM albums. It exudes fun and positivity, it's dripping with catchy melodies, and there's rarely a time when I wouldn't feel up to listening to it. Half of DM's output is dark, sinister stuff that you have to get in a mood for, but "Just Can't Get Enough" or "Photographic" requires no preparation. My US version of the album even includes "Dreaming of Me", one of the all time great, brighten-my-days tunes. However, it must be said that besides the aforementioned gems, "Speak and Spell" also contains some of the worst dreck DM ever recorded. Out of the worst ten DM songs, probably five of them appear on their first two albums (so you can split the blame between Vince Clarke and Martin Gore equally). Today, DM are the elder statesmen of the era, one of the few UK synth-pop acts that gained popularity as the decade went on, became equally or more popular in the US, and boast a critically and popularly acclaimed catalogue of anthems. But at the time, they were a boy band, reviled by many harbingers of good taste, and not expected to have any career longevity. "Speak and Spell" is music by kids and for kids, which is what DM were at the time. Clarke was the elder statesman of the group at the time, at the ripe old age of 21.
Once you add Moyet's amazing voice to Clarke's synths, suddenly the combination becomes a bluesy, wise beyond their years, more complete package. Make no mistake, Moyet is the reason these songs can sound so great decades later. Her pleading and her pain are the consistent focus in these songs. When was a teenager, "Situation" was a hot club jam, backed by a number of notable remixes. I didn't know at the time that it was a US single only, that the duo strongly disapproved of. I can't understand their mode of thinking, because "Situation" really stands apart from anything else on "Upstairs at Eric's". It has more in common with electro and breakbeat than early 80's synth pop. It's genre-straddling, forward thinking nature is undoubtedly why it stayed relevant in clubs for the next decade.
"Speak and Spell" has long been one of my favourite DM albums. It exudes fun and positivity, it's dripping with catchy melodies, and there's rarely a time when I wouldn't feel up to listening to it. Half of DM's output is dark, sinister stuff that you have to get in a mood for, but "Just Can't Get Enough" or "Photographic" requires no preparation. My US version of the album even includes "Dreaming of Me", one of the all time great, brighten-my-days tunes. However, it must be said that besides the aforementioned gems, "Speak and Spell" also contains some of the worst dreck DM ever recorded. Out of the worst ten DM songs, probably five of them appear on their first two albums (so you can split the blame between Vince Clarke and Martin Gore equally). Today, DM are the elder statesmen of the era, one of the few UK synth-pop acts that gained popularity as the decade went on, became equally or more popular in the US, and boast a critically and popularly acclaimed catalogue of anthems. But at the time, they were a boy band, reviled by many harbingers of good taste, and not expected to have any career longevity. "Speak and Spell" is music by kids and for kids, which is what DM were at the time. Clarke was the elder statesman of the group at the time, at the ripe old age of 21.
Once you add Moyet's amazing voice to Clarke's synths, suddenly the combination becomes a bluesy, wise beyond their years, more complete package. Make no mistake, Moyet is the reason these songs can sound so great decades later. Her pleading and her pain are the consistent focus in these songs. When was a teenager, "Situation" was a hot club jam, backed by a number of notable remixes. I didn't know at the time that it was a US single only, that the duo strongly disapproved of. I can't understand their mode of thinking, because "Situation" really stands apart from anything else on "Upstairs at Eric's". It has more in common with electro and breakbeat than early 80's synth pop. It's genre-straddling, forward thinking nature is undoubtedly why it stayed relevant in clubs for the next decade.
Saturday, September 28, 2019
Springsteen on Broadway
Springsteen fans claim that he can sing in front of a stadium full of people and make everyone feel like he's singing directly and only to them. If that's not hyperbole, then how up front and personal is his Broadway show? It's a two plus hour recitation of stories from the Boss' past interspersed with many of his most famous songs, in front of a miniscule (by his standards) crowd of less than one thousand people?
There may never be another musician like him, one who can come off as hypermasculine and so much larger than life, but also personable, sensitive, and not the least bit intimidating. A show like this wouldn't work in a much larger venue. This isn't Springsteen Unplugged, it's closer to a literary recitation by a trained actor, and in many ways that's exactly what this is -- stories culled from his autobiography delivered by a performer who's spent more time on a stage over the past fifty years than just about any stage actors. He's been rehearsing for the part for his entire career! It seems corny, but how else can you describe it? Bruce nails every nuance, every furrow of his brow, every smile, every pause, knows when to be funny, when to be serious, when to milk a line, when to swear, when to wander off mike, when to raise his voice and when to lower it to a whisper, every last line is delivered for maximum power, maximum dramatic effect.
The first ninety minutes are a one man show, a retelling of stories from his youth that open a window into the person he became. Very much "A Portrait of the Artist As a Young Man", in fact. Even more so, there's a lot in common between the content here and Brett Anderson's excellent memoir, "Coal Black Mornings", that I recently wrote about. Both men even had similar types of parents -- hard working but brooding and introverted fathers, endlessly energetic, outgoing, and extroverted mothers. The fathers were stuck in difficult jobs but it was the mothers who dreamed of escape -- Springsteen's mother through her love of dancing (still not faded even years into the throes of Alzheimer's) and Anderson's mother through her eventual divorce from his father and relocation to a quieter life in the country.
Anderson admits that he subconsciously wrote songs about his relationship with father and could only admit that to himself years later. "I Don't Know How To Reach You", from the "Night Thoughts" album in 2016 was a conscious attempt to evaluate their relationship, years after his father's death. Springsteen tells a story about his father being a ghost in his life for such a long time, even while he was alive. But one day his father drove hundreds of miles to see him, unannounced, just to warn Bruce to not make the same mistakes raising his (Bruce's) kids that he (his father) did. Bruce's father was trying to make amends, but was also trying to define himself a legacy that would succeed him long after he was gone. Bruce calls it the greatest moment he ever had with his father, and it's the only moment in this show where he breaks down, wiping away tears before starting the next song.
Those first ninety minutes cover only eight songs. By the end of "Tenth Avenue Freeze Out", with it's extended middle section dedicated to (and eulogizing) the late Clarence Clemons, a shift in tone is appropriate and welcomed. The story thus far has been about a constant struggle, but once Clemons joins the band, all the pieces are in place. At that point, it becomes a story about realizing his dreams, step by step, and that's not what this show focuses on. The last hour is more of a "A Special Evening with Bruce" club-style performance, more song heavy rather than story heavy, complete with a special guest (his wife Patty), and blazing performances of "The Rising" and "Dancing in the Dark" among others.
There may never be another musician like him, one who can come off as hypermasculine and so much larger than life, but also personable, sensitive, and not the least bit intimidating. A show like this wouldn't work in a much larger venue. This isn't Springsteen Unplugged, it's closer to a literary recitation by a trained actor, and in many ways that's exactly what this is -- stories culled from his autobiography delivered by a performer who's spent more time on a stage over the past fifty years than just about any stage actors. He's been rehearsing for the part for his entire career! It seems corny, but how else can you describe it? Bruce nails every nuance, every furrow of his brow, every smile, every pause, knows when to be funny, when to be serious, when to milk a line, when to swear, when to wander off mike, when to raise his voice and when to lower it to a whisper, every last line is delivered for maximum power, maximum dramatic effect.
The first ninety minutes are a one man show, a retelling of stories from his youth that open a window into the person he became. Very much "A Portrait of the Artist As a Young Man", in fact. Even more so, there's a lot in common between the content here and Brett Anderson's excellent memoir, "Coal Black Mornings", that I recently wrote about. Both men even had similar types of parents -- hard working but brooding and introverted fathers, endlessly energetic, outgoing, and extroverted mothers. The fathers were stuck in difficult jobs but it was the mothers who dreamed of escape -- Springsteen's mother through her love of dancing (still not faded even years into the throes of Alzheimer's) and Anderson's mother through her eventual divorce from his father and relocation to a quieter life in the country.
Anderson admits that he subconsciously wrote songs about his relationship with father and could only admit that to himself years later. "I Don't Know How To Reach You", from the "Night Thoughts" album in 2016 was a conscious attempt to evaluate their relationship, years after his father's death. Springsteen tells a story about his father being a ghost in his life for such a long time, even while he was alive. But one day his father drove hundreds of miles to see him, unannounced, just to warn Bruce to not make the same mistakes raising his (Bruce's) kids that he (his father) did. Bruce's father was trying to make amends, but was also trying to define himself a legacy that would succeed him long after he was gone. Bruce calls it the greatest moment he ever had with his father, and it's the only moment in this show where he breaks down, wiping away tears before starting the next song.
Those first ninety minutes cover only eight songs. By the end of "Tenth Avenue Freeze Out", with it's extended middle section dedicated to (and eulogizing) the late Clarence Clemons, a shift in tone is appropriate and welcomed. The story thus far has been about a constant struggle, but once Clemons joins the band, all the pieces are in place. At that point, it becomes a story about realizing his dreams, step by step, and that's not what this show focuses on. The last hour is more of a "A Special Evening with Bruce" club-style performance, more song heavy rather than story heavy, complete with a special guest (his wife Patty), and blazing performances of "The Rising" and "Dancing in the Dark" among others.
Wednesday, September 25, 2019
Ric Ocasek's work with Suicide
I found out about Ric Ocasek's passing via a tweet from Weezer's Twitter account. I'd forgotten that Ocasek was a producer of some note, known for working with No Doubt, Weezer, Suicide, and many others. At that point I realized that I'd bought too far into the Suicide myth, lionizing their punk era debut album and neglecting everything they recorded afterward (everything they recorded as Suicide that is, I have a few albums that Rev and Vega worked on as solo artists).
Suicide had a career similar to that of Jesus and Mary Chain. The first album is considered the legendary, groundbreaking, extreme work of art. The later albums saw them mellowing out and settling into a comfortable career as commercial artists. Again, the myth is a difficult thing to overcome. I never thought that "Psychocandy" was the best JAMC album. The concept is the key, and everything surrounding it (the Velvets adoration, love of noise, the fifteen minute gigs) makes for a great story. It's just that the follow-up albums are far more listenable. "Darklands" was the favourite of the goths, an intense (but rarely "dark") proto-emo classic. "Automatic" is simply a great rock and roll album, and probably their most consistent. On the other hand, I never feel the urge to listen to "Psychocandy". If I want to hear the early stuff, I go for the singles or the Peel Sessions from that era.
Similar things could be said about Suicide. The first album is brilliant, but perhaps too over the top, too punishing a listen for one sitting, and too fixated on shock value. The second album gives off a true real rock and roll vibe even though its entirely electronic and most definitely lo-fi. The beats are softer, the vocals are smoothed out, more lyrical, and less shouty. Ocasek deserves his due credit. I can even imagine these songs as Cars demo recordings, with the electronic bass taking the place of a rhythm guitarist. Suicide were transformed from provocateurs to a fascinating pop/techno hybrid. In the pseudo keyboard solos on "Diamonds, Furcoat, Champagne", I hear a lot of Kraftwerk's "Computer World", even though the latter wasn't released until the next year. I hear the combination of inner city grit and brash electronic pop with which Soft Cell would find great success (but once again, not for another year following this).
"A Way of Life" is a highly underrated record that managed to keep up with then-contemporary trends while remaining true to their minimal, lo-fi roots. When you hear the opener, "Wild In Blue", it's easy to understand why Wax Trax released this album. It's jittery, proto-industrial beats and cavernous echoes fit seamlessly with the material released by Wax Trax at the time. The next track, "Surrender", is a 60's doo-wop number that Phil Spector would have been proud to produce. Somehow, Ocasek holds these different styles together, and he didn't stop there. The slashing guitars and propulsive beats on "Rain of Ruin" predates Ministry and KMFDM's signature styles from the 90's. "Dominic Christ" could have been a synth-drenched, new wave-y hit for the Cars, very much in the style of "You Might Think". "Heat Beat" is wonderfully queasy, reminiscent of mid-90's hard house in its insistent rhythm and bludgeoning intensity. It's the last thing you'd expect from a (nominally) rock producer.
Ocasek also produced their "Dream Baby Dream" single, and this is one case where I prefer the cover versions to the original -- both Neneh Cherry and Bruce Springsteen have brilliant takes on it, done in totally different styles.
Suicide had a career similar to that of Jesus and Mary Chain. The first album is considered the legendary, groundbreaking, extreme work of art. The later albums saw them mellowing out and settling into a comfortable career as commercial artists. Again, the myth is a difficult thing to overcome. I never thought that "Psychocandy" was the best JAMC album. The concept is the key, and everything surrounding it (the Velvets adoration, love of noise, the fifteen minute gigs) makes for a great story. It's just that the follow-up albums are far more listenable. "Darklands" was the favourite of the goths, an intense (but rarely "dark") proto-emo classic. "Automatic" is simply a great rock and roll album, and probably their most consistent. On the other hand, I never feel the urge to listen to "Psychocandy". If I want to hear the early stuff, I go for the singles or the Peel Sessions from that era.
Similar things could be said about Suicide. The first album is brilliant, but perhaps too over the top, too punishing a listen for one sitting, and too fixated on shock value. The second album gives off a true real rock and roll vibe even though its entirely electronic and most definitely lo-fi. The beats are softer, the vocals are smoothed out, more lyrical, and less shouty. Ocasek deserves his due credit. I can even imagine these songs as Cars demo recordings, with the electronic bass taking the place of a rhythm guitarist. Suicide were transformed from provocateurs to a fascinating pop/techno hybrid. In the pseudo keyboard solos on "Diamonds, Furcoat, Champagne", I hear a lot of Kraftwerk's "Computer World", even though the latter wasn't released until the next year. I hear the combination of inner city grit and brash electronic pop with which Soft Cell would find great success (but once again, not for another year following this).
"A Way of Life" is a highly underrated record that managed to keep up with then-contemporary trends while remaining true to their minimal, lo-fi roots. When you hear the opener, "Wild In Blue", it's easy to understand why Wax Trax released this album. It's jittery, proto-industrial beats and cavernous echoes fit seamlessly with the material released by Wax Trax at the time. The next track, "Surrender", is a 60's doo-wop number that Phil Spector would have been proud to produce. Somehow, Ocasek holds these different styles together, and he didn't stop there. The slashing guitars and propulsive beats on "Rain of Ruin" predates Ministry and KMFDM's signature styles from the 90's. "Dominic Christ" could have been a synth-drenched, new wave-y hit for the Cars, very much in the style of "You Might Think". "Heat Beat" is wonderfully queasy, reminiscent of mid-90's hard house in its insistent rhythm and bludgeoning intensity. It's the last thing you'd expect from a (nominally) rock producer.
Ocasek also produced their "Dream Baby Dream" single, and this is one case where I prefer the cover versions to the original -- both Neneh Cherry and Bruce Springsteen have brilliant takes on it, done in totally different styles.
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