"The Fragile" didn't come close to meeting expectations, but the tour was a hit and so was the eventual DVD. Nobody bothered to listen to all 893 hours of that double album, but overall, the CD was still something of an event (expect essays in approximately 20 years that hail it as a misjudged masterpiece, the alterna-generation's very own "Tusk"). But one year later, it feels as though "With Teeth" didn't even happen. This tends to happen when you insist on spending five years between album releases throughout your entire career. Sure, the long wait builds anticipation and turns the eventual release into a big event, but the shtick gets old after fifteen years and the law of diminishing returns rots into the picture. You can only make so many grand comebacks and expect people to keep caring.
But no matter what he does, Trent Reznor always finds a way to make his music sound great while doing it. He's our very own Eric Clapton, sort of. Everything he touches (outside of the Marilyn Manson crunch-rock portion of his career) sounds fantastic, filled with layers of moody chords, sizzling distortion, and hummable melodies. It all sounds so big, so cavernous, so meant to be played on gigantic speakers. "With Teeth" is an underrated record that could have been a classic if Reznor hadn't tried to ruin significant parts of it with underproduced crap like "Only". I can only assume that he felt like dabbling in blues and wanted to make the most of Dave Grohl's drumming talents. But the best tracks on this record, most notably the pulsating, mind-numbing "Beside You In Time" easily rank high among his back catalogue.
Admittedly, that may be damning Reznor with faint praise -- I haven't even felt the need to listen to "The Downward Spiral" (sans the indispensible "Closer") in years.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Songs in heavy rotation ...
Sometimes the brilliance of certain songs doesn't hit for you months, or even years. Everybody is familiar with this concept, right? Here are some songs that fit the bill for me, all of them are currently in heavy rotation on my iPod:
Broken Social Scene, "Ibi Dreams of Pavement (A Better Day)". "You Forgot It in People", as great as it is, feels like a time share, where each member's former (or current) band gets their proper allowance of recording tape. The songs could have carried subtitles straight out of "Friends", i.e. "KC Accidental (The One That Sounds like Do Make Say Think)", "Anthems for a Seventeen Year Old Girl (The One That Sounds Twee, like the Cranberries Back When They Were Good)", and "Shampoo Suicide (The One That Is Supposed to Sound Like Reggae, but not Rocking in that Zeppelin-y Way)".
Finally, here is a song that justifies the need to have five guitarists among the twelve people onstage from seven different bands. It truly sounds like all those bands mashed into one song, with guitars wailing like vacuum cleaners over what passes for the tune, a vocal that demands for you to shout along with it, and just when you think they can't throw any more madness into a five minute track, along comes a horn-driven ending that kicks everything up a level (the ending could use another two minutes, one of the only weaknesses of the song). The loudest and best thing they've ever done, possibly. Too bad most of the album that followed it was indulgent, overly long, similarly overproduced junk (note: this is probably the reason that it took me so long to come around to this song -- I couldn't bear to sit through the entire album).
Michael Jackson, "Billie Jean". One of my all-time growers -- I didn't start liking it until I dunno, the late 90's? What was I thinking? All the child molesting allegations in the world can't dampen this song's funky sheen. Even the notion of Michael being slapped with a paternity suit in 1983 can't make this the least bit laughable (although I suppose the sex is implied, not confirmed, in the song's lyrics).
Bangles, "Manic Monday". For those who don't remember the 80's, Prince was essentially Pharrell + Radiohead + Christina Aguilera. He needed an airline hangar to contain his critical acclaim, he could rock, he could funk, and he could raunch. He played, wrote, and performed on big hits for several other artists, all of which owed a large part of their success to him. I heard "Sexy MF" a couple of weeks ago for the first time in ages, and while thinking about how easily its lyrics could be incorporated into contemporary hip-hop (why haven't the Ying Yang Twins covered this yet?), I realized that I'd forgotten that Prince, when he wanted to, could write 60's-style girl group songs with the best of them. Of course, this being Prince, there has to a line about getting busy ("He tells me in his bedroom voice / C'mon honey, let's go make some noise) but otherwise this is bittersweet pop at its finest.
Bardo Pond, "From the Sky". Most often, one isn't in the mood to sit through a 31-minute song. That's what kept me at arm's length from the final track on the "Cypher Documents" compilation, but the song absolutely crushes, like the vocal-less middle section of "Destroying Angel" stretched out for another half hour.
Broken Social Scene, "Ibi Dreams of Pavement (A Better Day)". "You Forgot It in People", as great as it is, feels like a time share, where each member's former (or current) band gets their proper allowance of recording tape. The songs could have carried subtitles straight out of "Friends", i.e. "KC Accidental (The One That Sounds like Do Make Say Think)", "Anthems for a Seventeen Year Old Girl (The One That Sounds Twee, like the Cranberries Back When They Were Good)", and "Shampoo Suicide (The One That Is Supposed to Sound Like Reggae, but not Rocking in that Zeppelin-y Way)".
Finally, here is a song that justifies the need to have five guitarists among the twelve people onstage from seven different bands. It truly sounds like all those bands mashed into one song, with guitars wailing like vacuum cleaners over what passes for the tune, a vocal that demands for you to shout along with it, and just when you think they can't throw any more madness into a five minute track, along comes a horn-driven ending that kicks everything up a level (the ending could use another two minutes, one of the only weaknesses of the song). The loudest and best thing they've ever done, possibly. Too bad most of the album that followed it was indulgent, overly long, similarly overproduced junk (note: this is probably the reason that it took me so long to come around to this song -- I couldn't bear to sit through the entire album).
Michael Jackson, "Billie Jean". One of my all-time growers -- I didn't start liking it until I dunno, the late 90's? What was I thinking? All the child molesting allegations in the world can't dampen this song's funky sheen. Even the notion of Michael being slapped with a paternity suit in 1983 can't make this the least bit laughable (although I suppose the sex is implied, not confirmed, in the song's lyrics).
Bangles, "Manic Monday". For those who don't remember the 80's, Prince was essentially Pharrell + Radiohead + Christina Aguilera. He needed an airline hangar to contain his critical acclaim, he could rock, he could funk, and he could raunch. He played, wrote, and performed on big hits for several other artists, all of which owed a large part of their success to him. I heard "Sexy MF" a couple of weeks ago for the first time in ages, and while thinking about how easily its lyrics could be incorporated into contemporary hip-hop (why haven't the Ying Yang Twins covered this yet?), I realized that I'd forgotten that Prince, when he wanted to, could write 60's-style girl group songs with the best of them. Of course, this being Prince, there has to a line about getting busy ("He tells me in his bedroom voice / C'mon honey, let's go make some noise) but otherwise this is bittersweet pop at its finest.
Bardo Pond, "From the Sky". Most often, one isn't in the mood to sit through a 31-minute song. That's what kept me at arm's length from the final track on the "Cypher Documents" compilation, but the song absolutely crushes, like the vocal-less middle section of "Destroying Angel" stretched out for another half hour.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Lisa Germano, "In the Maybe World"
Her 1993 album "Happiness" starts with more than a minute of shredding, echoing guitar noise that could have been lifted straight off a Cocteau Twins record. Well, the album *was* released on 4AD so maybe it was all part of her plan to make herself feel at home on the label. Fifteen years into her solo career, those hazy, otherworldly qualities can still occasionally appear in Germano's music. But it's not much more than window dressing on the devastating, heartbreaking feeling one gets from listening to "Too Much Space" on her newest record. Neo-shoegazing = window dressing? Yes, it's just that damn sad.
In the morning without a sound
And the stirring of dreams around
then you wake up -- he wasn't there again
Of course, it's the slight pause before the word "again" that strikes the final, unrecoverable blow.
On the way home you feel it there
cuz your heart needs to be somewhere
but you wake up to too much space again
There's an even subtler pause before the world "somewhere", but I'm sure it's mainly my imagination (wishful thinking, perhaps).
Drugstore's Isobel Monteiro makes a strong case for the sexiest female voice in contemporary music, but Drugstore haven't made a record in five years so I'm tempted to hand over the title to Lisa Germano. There are a lot of similarities between the two -- the soft, husky whisper and the way they seem to purr instead of sing when they're performing at their best. With their penchant for semi-acoustic ballads/lullabies, they're even similar as songwriters. But even though either one of them could convincingly sing the other's entire ouevre, the overall tone of these switcheroo works would be strikingly different. That is, these two singers might be similar, but they are far from interchangeable. Pixie-like Monteiro is the naughty sex kitten, the girl whose voice you lust over but whose heart you can tolerate breaking. Sure, you might feel bad about it eventually, like if you heard "All the Things A Girl Should Have" a few years later. You would trick yourself into thinking that she was a sweetheart all along, but then you'd hear the vindictive "I Know I Could" and quit feeling sorry for her altogether. One minute she's moaning your name and the next minute she's that crazy bitch who made a voodoo doll of your likeness and plans to put it on her album cover. Who needs her? But Lisa is the starry-eyed quiet girl next door, the person you want singing you to sleep every night.
"Happiness" is a schizophrenic record. Half of it is caught in this weird suspension between early-90's teenaged alt-rock and late-90's adult-oriented wannabe alt-rock. Semisonic and Matchbox Tw20enty would have been thrilled to have some of these songs on their first hit records ("Energy" or "Anyone's Victim"?). The other half consists of charred, fragile beauty, epitomized by the gorgeous closer "The Darkest Night of All"). But "Geek the Girl", released the following year, feels like an overreaching stab at fitting in with post-grunge, post-"Loser" slackerdom. Despite some fantastic songs ("Cancer of Everything"), only in 1994 could a song try to pass off "Oh no, I'm not too cool" as a credible chorus. In 1996, she inched close to her forte with the gentle "Excerpts From a Love Circus" and with 2003's aptly named "Lullaby For Liquid Pig" she perfected her "lullabies for adults" formula (bedtime stories about alcohol, loneliness and depression). She continues to exploit this formula in fine fashion with this year's "In the Maybe World", and I'm selfishly hoping that she never stops being miserable (or sounding like it on record).
In the morning without a sound
And the stirring of dreams around
then you wake up -- he wasn't there again
Of course, it's the slight pause before the word "again" that strikes the final, unrecoverable blow.
On the way home you feel it there
cuz your heart needs to be somewhere
but you wake up to too much space again
There's an even subtler pause before the world "somewhere", but I'm sure it's mainly my imagination (wishful thinking, perhaps).
Drugstore's Isobel Monteiro makes a strong case for the sexiest female voice in contemporary music, but Drugstore haven't made a record in five years so I'm tempted to hand over the title to Lisa Germano. There are a lot of similarities between the two -- the soft, husky whisper and the way they seem to purr instead of sing when they're performing at their best. With their penchant for semi-acoustic ballads/lullabies, they're even similar as songwriters. But even though either one of them could convincingly sing the other's entire ouevre, the overall tone of these switcheroo works would be strikingly different. That is, these two singers might be similar, but they are far from interchangeable. Pixie-like Monteiro is the naughty sex kitten, the girl whose voice you lust over but whose heart you can tolerate breaking. Sure, you might feel bad about it eventually, like if you heard "All the Things A Girl Should Have" a few years later. You would trick yourself into thinking that she was a sweetheart all along, but then you'd hear the vindictive "I Know I Could" and quit feeling sorry for her altogether. One minute she's moaning your name and the next minute she's that crazy bitch who made a voodoo doll of your likeness and plans to put it on her album cover. Who needs her? But Lisa is the starry-eyed quiet girl next door, the person you want singing you to sleep every night.
"Happiness" is a schizophrenic record. Half of it is caught in this weird suspension between early-90's teenaged alt-rock and late-90's adult-oriented wannabe alt-rock. Semisonic and Matchbox Tw20enty would have been thrilled to have some of these songs on their first hit records ("Energy" or "Anyone's Victim"?). The other half consists of charred, fragile beauty, epitomized by the gorgeous closer "The Darkest Night of All"). But "Geek the Girl", released the following year, feels like an overreaching stab at fitting in with post-grunge, post-"Loser" slackerdom. Despite some fantastic songs ("Cancer of Everything"), only in 1994 could a song try to pass off "Oh no, I'm not too cool" as a credible chorus. In 1996, she inched close to her forte with the gentle "Excerpts From a Love Circus" and with 2003's aptly named "Lullaby For Liquid Pig" she perfected her "lullabies for adults" formula (bedtime stories about alcohol, loneliness and depression). She continues to exploit this formula in fine fashion with this year's "In the Maybe World", and I'm selfishly hoping that she never stops being miserable (or sounding like it on record).
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Goodnight
Following a somewhat uncomfortable and fairly disturbing sleep, I woke up, flipped on the TV, and saw a man with a 70's porn star moustache tucking a giant crow puppet into bed. He was singing the Beatles "Goodnight" in Hebrew (the orchestral backing music was quite faithful to the original) while the video faded in and out from a very lo-tech marionettes-in-front-of-a-blue-screen display of stiff little angels coasting through the stars. The whole thing was simultaneously worse and better than any scene from "The Wall" -- better because it held my attention more acutely than anything from that movie, and worse because this was supposed to be a children's show.
My brain instantly melted but I've been having a pretty good day ever since.
My brain instantly melted but I've been having a pretty good day ever since.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
I've told myself so many times before. But this time I think I mean it for sure. We have reached a full stop. Nothing's gonna save us ...
... from the big drop."
[full lyrics here]
What they meant was: Israel feels that it's been more than tolerant of Hezbollah's growing power and influence in Lebanon, not to mention their formidable military capabilities; and in this light the current confrontation was inevitable.
Reached our natural conclusion
Outlived the illusion
I hate being in these situations
That call for diplomatic relations
That is, Israel feels that the illusion of peace (in the abscence of a large-scale conflict like the one we're seeing now) along its northern border has been shattered, but that the need to keep up appearances in the international community are preventing her from conducting the current military campaign in the manner that she would most prefer.
f I only knew the answer
Or I thought we had a chance
Or I could stop this
I would stop this thing from spreading like a cancer
If Depeche Mode had the magic formula for peace in the Middle East, they might have spoken up and tried to prevent the events of the past few weeks, but alas, the Israel-Hezbollah confrontation was likely inevitable.
What can I say? (I dont want to play) anymore
What can I say? Im heading for the door
I cant stand this emotional violence
Leave in silence
Therefore, citing a need to remove themselves from the drama and retain a neutral perspective on the conflict, Depeche Mode had to cancel their wildly anticipated first ever concert in Israel.
Understandably, Depeche Mode's Israeli fan club is extremely upset. The world has been robbed of the oppurtunity to see tens of thousands of Jews singing "Personal Jesus" and "John the Revelator" in the Holy Land. Damn you Hezbollah! Why, Ehud, why?
This story has spread around quite a bit, from the NME to Jewish blogs to the evening news on Israel's channel 1. Well, this story happened to break on the day of the most pronounced lull (from both militaries) since the conflict began, so it was a slow news day.
I guess we'll never know the true reason why the show was cancelled ... officially, it was safety concerns cited by the tour crew, and I can't blame a group of unionized workers for not wanting to set up lights and video screens in a possible war zone. OTOH, that explanation would provide a perfect cover for the band's own apprehensions in playing the show at the current time. Remember, it doesn't matter who wins the actual war in real life, it's the propaganda war that really counts.
[full lyrics here]
What they meant was: Israel feels that it's been more than tolerant of Hezbollah's growing power and influence in Lebanon, not to mention their formidable military capabilities; and in this light the current confrontation was inevitable.
Reached our natural conclusion
Outlived the illusion
I hate being in these situations
That call for diplomatic relations
That is, Israel feels that the illusion of peace (in the abscence of a large-scale conflict like the one we're seeing now) along its northern border has been shattered, but that the need to keep up appearances in the international community are preventing her from conducting the current military campaign in the manner that she would most prefer.
f I only knew the answer
Or I thought we had a chance
Or I could stop this
I would stop this thing from spreading like a cancer
If Depeche Mode had the magic formula for peace in the Middle East, they might have spoken up and tried to prevent the events of the past few weeks, but alas, the Israel-Hezbollah confrontation was likely inevitable.
What can I say? (I dont want to play) anymore
What can I say? Im heading for the door
I cant stand this emotional violence
Leave in silence
Therefore, citing a need to remove themselves from the drama and retain a neutral perspective on the conflict, Depeche Mode had to cancel their wildly anticipated first ever concert in Israel.
Understandably, Depeche Mode's Israeli fan club is extremely upset. The world has been robbed of the oppurtunity to see tens of thousands of Jews singing "Personal Jesus" and "John the Revelator" in the Holy Land. Damn you Hezbollah! Why, Ehud, why?
This story has spread around quite a bit, from the NME to Jewish blogs to the evening news on Israel's channel 1. Well, this story happened to break on the day of the most pronounced lull (from both militaries) since the conflict began, so it was a slow news day.
I guess we'll never know the true reason why the show was cancelled ... officially, it was safety concerns cited by the tour crew, and I can't blame a group of unionized workers for not wanting to set up lights and video screens in a possible war zone. OTOH, that explanation would provide a perfect cover for the band's own apprehensions in playing the show at the current time. Remember, it doesn't matter who wins the actual war in real life, it's the propaganda war that really counts.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Johnny Cash, "American Recordings V"
It's probably not realistic to talk about this album without acknowledging one's obvious bias toward the recording, that is, it's impossible not to know that the songs were assembled long after Cash's death. With that in mind ... there something plastic, overly polished, and fake about some of these songs. Cash's "American Recordings" series are known for their no-frills, rootsy, back-to-basics approach. The first album was little more than one man and his guitar. Subsequent albums gave greater prominence to extra guitars and piano but the overall feel remained very stripped-down and basic.
In short, Cash's voice doesn't sound up to the task throughout the record. His voice (and health) progressively and precipitously worsened over the last ten years of his life, which might have added poignancy to the song and video for "Hurt" but gradually depleted the quality of his recordings in an overall sense. Here, his weak, gravelly voice is coated over clean, chiming guitar picking, which practically advertises the fact that he wasn't in the same room (or, uh, planet) when the music was being recorded. A voice that weak doesn't feel credible leading such a polished-sounding band, and the juxtaposition of the two is very out-of-step with most of Cash's back catalogue. "Back on the Chain Gang" is a more classic sound for Cash, as his voice recedes into the mix, in short, it sounds like raw and unprocessed Cash. "On the 309" is a great rustic country song in the vein of "Tennessee Stud" (AR1) or "Country Trash" (AR3) but it's badly in need of a singer that doesn't sound exhausted on every verse. Ditto "Rose of My Heart", which is a pretty tune nearly ruined by Cash running out of breath at the end of nearly every line.
On "Four Strong Winds", his voice protrudes over and above the recording. It sticks out too much, possibly because they protooled him up to make a low quality recording (or vocal performance) sound better. It just doesn't sound like him. Similarly, I have to mention "If You Could Read My Mind", partly because I think it's one of the most beautiful songs ever written, partly because Cash's AR cover songs are probably the most well known recordings in the AR series (Hurt, One). Cash prided himself on learning these songs until they became his own -- indistinguishable from a Cash original if you had never heard the source recording. Again, the voice is too high in the mix, coming across like overly digitalized Cash. Over intricately picked acoustic guitar (very Lightfoot, but very un-Cash), the song proceeds at a slow, crawling pace, as if Cash is too weak and out of breath to keep up and needs the song slowed down for him.
Still, there is a fragile beauty in the weakness and vulnerability of Cash's voice, making "American Recordings V" a pleasant (but not the least bit arresting) listen. But unfortunately, it really and truly sounds like the end.
In short, Cash's voice doesn't sound up to the task throughout the record. His voice (and health) progressively and precipitously worsened over the last ten years of his life, which might have added poignancy to the song and video for "Hurt" but gradually depleted the quality of his recordings in an overall sense. Here, his weak, gravelly voice is coated over clean, chiming guitar picking, which practically advertises the fact that he wasn't in the same room (or, uh, planet) when the music was being recorded. A voice that weak doesn't feel credible leading such a polished-sounding band, and the juxtaposition of the two is very out-of-step with most of Cash's back catalogue. "Back on the Chain Gang" is a more classic sound for Cash, as his voice recedes into the mix, in short, it sounds like raw and unprocessed Cash. "On the 309" is a great rustic country song in the vein of "Tennessee Stud" (AR1) or "Country Trash" (AR3) but it's badly in need of a singer that doesn't sound exhausted on every verse. Ditto "Rose of My Heart", which is a pretty tune nearly ruined by Cash running out of breath at the end of nearly every line.
On "Four Strong Winds", his voice protrudes over and above the recording. It sticks out too much, possibly because they protooled him up to make a low quality recording (or vocal performance) sound better. It just doesn't sound like him. Similarly, I have to mention "If You Could Read My Mind", partly because I think it's one of the most beautiful songs ever written, partly because Cash's AR cover songs are probably the most well known recordings in the AR series (Hurt, One). Cash prided himself on learning these songs until they became his own -- indistinguishable from a Cash original if you had never heard the source recording. Again, the voice is too high in the mix, coming across like overly digitalized Cash. Over intricately picked acoustic guitar (very Lightfoot, but very un-Cash), the song proceeds at a slow, crawling pace, as if Cash is too weak and out of breath to keep up and needs the song slowed down for him.
Still, there is a fragile beauty in the weakness and vulnerability of Cash's voice, making "American Recordings V" a pleasant (but not the least bit arresting) listen. But unfortunately, it really and truly sounds like the end.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Lost
Two weeks ago my hard drive died and everything on it was lost. Let's just say that my annual Blue Screen Of Death was a bit overdue and that I should have been better prepared for this (read: in possession of a backup hard drive). My most important, irreplaceable work-related files were backed up elsewhere, but about 9 GB of mp3's were irretrievably lost.
I wasn't particularly bothered by this (I was thankful for my complete care warranty though), mainly because -- to my numbed surprise -- I could barely remember what music had been on there. I knew I had over 1 GB of albums from 2006, but I couldn't immediately recall which ones I had beyond my four or five favourites, and felt very little need to recover most of them. Storage space is so cheap that I usually don't bother deleting anything unless I actively dislike it. Once the new Flaming Lips album was on my hard drive it was a non-decision to keep it there, but now that's it's gone, I'm not in the slightest rush to get it back because I didn't particularly care for it to begin with. There were several dozen unclassified tracks floating about, but damned if I can remember more than 10-15 of them (note to self: reacquire "Ms New Booty").
Can anyone possibly justify keeping over 1 GB of live Animal Collective mp3's on their hard drive (on top of the 600 or so MB already burned elsewhere)? How many live versions of "The Purple Bottle" does one person need? (OK, scratch that, you can never have too many versions of "The Purple Bottle")
So now, my computer runs like new thanks to the Windows reinstallation. In parallel with my mp3 replacement strategy, I'm in no hurry to reinstall every last thing because my computer's memory and hard drive were bogged down with a bunch of programs that I probably don't need at this very moment. I bought a backup HD (but not a DVD burner to back THAT up ... a mathematical induction problem awaits me), discovered that many of those Furtwaengler and William Basinski tracks were a lot easier to find again than expected, and replaced the essentials (Bardo Fucking Pond) with some new blood (Lisa Germano ... oh man, more on this another time). In all, I trimmed the digital fat and my computer is likely better off because of it -- I would almost recommend that everyone should have their HD wiped out at least once in their lives!
But it all made me wonder what other inessentials I'm saving. If half of my current CD collection suddenly evaporated, would I be that upset about it (besides the hammer to the head feeling of calculating how much I paid for all those discs)? I could go for years without hearing large parts of my collection simply because there's so much to wade through. What would I really miss? The strange thing is, I think I would miss a great deal of it, in part because I think a music collection is no different from a book or painting collection. It's as strong as its whole, and each CD fills a small but unique niche. People don't read every book on their shelves every year, or even every ten years, but it's nice to know that certain books are there when you need them. Sometimes you don't need them and it's enough for you to know that they're a playing their part in this tiny bit of your life's overall work. And the best part of all -- reappreciating and reevaluating music after neglecting it for years is a fantastic feeling.
I wasn't particularly bothered by this (I was thankful for my complete care warranty though), mainly because -- to my numbed surprise -- I could barely remember what music had been on there. I knew I had over 1 GB of albums from 2006, but I couldn't immediately recall which ones I had beyond my four or five favourites, and felt very little need to recover most of them. Storage space is so cheap that I usually don't bother deleting anything unless I actively dislike it. Once the new Flaming Lips album was on my hard drive it was a non-decision to keep it there, but now that's it's gone, I'm not in the slightest rush to get it back because I didn't particularly care for it to begin with. There were several dozen unclassified tracks floating about, but damned if I can remember more than 10-15 of them (note to self: reacquire "Ms New Booty").
Can anyone possibly justify keeping over 1 GB of live Animal Collective mp3's on their hard drive (on top of the 600 or so MB already burned elsewhere)? How many live versions of "The Purple Bottle" does one person need? (OK, scratch that, you can never have too many versions of "The Purple Bottle")
So now, my computer runs like new thanks to the Windows reinstallation. In parallel with my mp3 replacement strategy, I'm in no hurry to reinstall every last thing because my computer's memory and hard drive were bogged down with a bunch of programs that I probably don't need at this very moment. I bought a backup HD (but not a DVD burner to back THAT up ... a mathematical induction problem awaits me), discovered that many of those Furtwaengler and William Basinski tracks were a lot easier to find again than expected, and replaced the essentials (Bardo Fucking Pond) with some new blood (Lisa Germano ... oh man, more on this another time). In all, I trimmed the digital fat and my computer is likely better off because of it -- I would almost recommend that everyone should have their HD wiped out at least once in their lives!
But it all made me wonder what other inessentials I'm saving. If half of my current CD collection suddenly evaporated, would I be that upset about it (besides the hammer to the head feeling of calculating how much I paid for all those discs)? I could go for years without hearing large parts of my collection simply because there's so much to wade through. What would I really miss? The strange thing is, I think I would miss a great deal of it, in part because I think a music collection is no different from a book or painting collection. It's as strong as its whole, and each CD fills a small but unique niche. People don't read every book on their shelves every year, or even every ten years, but it's nice to know that certain books are there when you need them. Sometimes you don't need them and it's enough for you to know that they're a playing their part in this tiny bit of your life's overall work. And the best part of all -- reappreciating and reevaluating music after neglecting it for years is a fantastic feeling.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
Konono No 1, Jamie Lidell @ Harbourfront Main Stage (part of Beats, Breaks, and Culture)
Despite all the flaws in his set (bad PA system or shitty gear or a combination of both, keyboards that wouldn't work unexpectedly, keeping his gear in tune, a sloppy mix in which the percussion swamped the sludgy bass tones that sounded as if they were being played through a decaying guitar amp, the tendency to make Jamiroquai comparisons whenever a white British male makes an attempt at R&B, the overwhelming feeling that Brinkmann as Soul Center did a much better job with this minimal funk thing with the exception of the vocals), Jamie Lidell is onto something.
My number one expectation from Konono No 1 live was that they sound exactly like their "Congotronics" record. Everything over and above that would be gravy. Oh, and there were some other questions I needed answered, like "what sort of drum do they use for that rattling snare-esque sound?" (answer: it's not a drum, it's a hi-hat fed through a really shitty mic) and "do they use any sort of bass other than those thumb pianos?" (answer: no). In this case, the gravy was a huge group of white Torontonians getting down to an hour and a half of raw minimalism. The last (and probably only) time I saw anything like that in this city was the Scion + Tikiman show in 2002. And since this was the last show I will see in Toronto for a while, it's nice to go away knowing that people CAN learn some new tricks around these parts.
My number one expectation from Konono No 1 live was that they sound exactly like their "Congotronics" record. Everything over and above that would be gravy. Oh, and there were some other questions I needed answered, like "what sort of drum do they use for that rattling snare-esque sound?" (answer: it's not a drum, it's a hi-hat fed through a really shitty mic) and "do they use any sort of bass other than those thumb pianos?" (answer: no). In this case, the gravy was a huge group of white Torontonians getting down to an hour and a half of raw minimalism. The last (and probably only) time I saw anything like that in this city was the Scion + Tikiman show in 2002. And since this was the last show I will see in Toronto for a while, it's nice to go away knowing that people CAN learn some new tricks around these parts.
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Berlin Music Stores -- the update
I swore that I wouldn't buy vinyl on this trip and I managed to keep that promise to myself. The planned Hard Wax swingby never materialized for unrelated reasons, I blame the World Cup. "Blame".
I spent a lot of time in Kreuzberg during the six days I was there, which was enough time for Spacehall to join my pantheon of Berlin music stores. Oddly enough, the further you walk into the store, the greater the riches become. The front is devoted to an unexceptional selection of indie rock, but a few steps further back is one of the grandest collections of rare early-to-mid 90's techno and rave compilations I've ever seen. The electronic and ambient CD sections are solid, but they pale next to the stunning quality of vinyl in the store's back room. Besides a top notch selection of new records, they keep a dazzling array of prominent techno artists perpetually in stock -- where else can you be sure to see about 30-40 records by the likes of Surgeon or Richie Hawtin or Speedy J, covering their entire careers and containing several rare gems?
With its expanded space (and vinyl stock), Dense easily remains on top of the Berlin heap. Every second inside that store is another second of trying to not look too conspicuous while my money burns a hole in my pocket. I managed to escape with about 40% of my remaining cash and CDs by Sensational, Final, plus a few Berlin noise/improv artists. Onward to Neurotitan, which is even more dominated by comics and artwork than I remember. In concerted symmetry, its CD stocks felt even more dominated by obscure and local noise.
A few words about the Saturday night clubbing experience: after wandering through roads that were paved over with bottles (fallout from the Germany vs Sweden celebration) we were denied entry to a Perlon night at Watergate (f. Luciano, Zip, Sammy Dee) on account of the bouncer's dissatisfaction at the guy/girl ratio inside the club. Modeselektor, Plaid, and Jega at Club Maria made for a fine Plan B. Despite the mountains of recent hype, Modeselektor sounded like the 3rd or 4th coming of Heckmann at times. On the night's rankings, they trailed far behind Plaid's thick, tuneful anthems as well as Jega's snowstorm of dnb and Confield-era Autechre-ish beats. Jega's onslaught brought the intensity of black metal, and in that vein, he played for only 30-40 minutes, followed by a near-instant crash of energy on my part.
I spent a lot of time in Kreuzberg during the six days I was there, which was enough time for Spacehall to join my pantheon of Berlin music stores. Oddly enough, the further you walk into the store, the greater the riches become. The front is devoted to an unexceptional selection of indie rock, but a few steps further back is one of the grandest collections of rare early-to-mid 90's techno and rave compilations I've ever seen. The electronic and ambient CD sections are solid, but they pale next to the stunning quality of vinyl in the store's back room. Besides a top notch selection of new records, they keep a dazzling array of prominent techno artists perpetually in stock -- where else can you be sure to see about 30-40 records by the likes of Surgeon or Richie Hawtin or Speedy J, covering their entire careers and containing several rare gems?
With its expanded space (and vinyl stock), Dense easily remains on top of the Berlin heap. Every second inside that store is another second of trying to not look too conspicuous while my money burns a hole in my pocket. I managed to escape with about 40% of my remaining cash and CDs by Sensational, Final, plus a few Berlin noise/improv artists. Onward to Neurotitan, which is even more dominated by comics and artwork than I remember. In concerted symmetry, its CD stocks felt even more dominated by obscure and local noise.
A few words about the Saturday night clubbing experience: after wandering through roads that were paved over with bottles (fallout from the Germany vs Sweden celebration) we were denied entry to a Perlon night at Watergate (f. Luciano, Zip, Sammy Dee) on account of the bouncer's dissatisfaction at the guy/girl ratio inside the club. Modeselektor, Plaid, and Jega at Club Maria made for a fine Plan B. Despite the mountains of recent hype, Modeselektor sounded like the 3rd or 4th coming of Heckmann at times. On the night's rankings, they trailed far behind Plaid's thick, tuneful anthems as well as Jega's snowstorm of dnb and Confield-era Autechre-ish beats. Jega's onslaught brought the intensity of black metal, and in that vein, he played for only 30-40 minutes, followed by a near-instant crash of energy on my part.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Xiu Xiu, "The Air Force"
OK, "La Foret" didn't happen. It was a nice little experiment in improvisation, an attempt to make almost an entire album full of sparse ballads. Incidentally, several months following the release of "La Foret", I fell in love with "Helsabot of Caraleebot" from the "Fleshettes" EP. Sparse, tense, fragile -- these words don't even begin to describe it. That EP should have been Xiu Xiu's last word in tender acoustic ballads because since then they haven't been able to assemble three of them that I can listen to without getting bored.
Xiu Xiu's new album, "The Air Force" is an outstanding piece of work. With every Xiu Xiu album, people seem to write "This is the album that will appeal to those who weren't pre-existing fans. We swear it! It's the Xiu Xiu album that everyone can love." One pained Jamie Stewart scream later and that proclamation gets shot to hell. Those who feel that Stewart's voice is their main impediment to appreciating his music on any level should know that he's remarkably restrained here, with female vocals featured more prominently and his own vocal eccentricities are squashed for the most part. Whereas "Fabulous Muscles" was Xiu Xiu's crack at making pop music (white noise pop at that), only the delightful "Boy Soprano" really fits that mold. Over and over again, they hit upon a dazzling sequence of fascinating and unexpected sound combinations set to hummable balladry, midtempo 80's throwbacks, and anodyne noise-blanketed moods. If "Fabulous Muscles" was the pop album, then "The Air Force" may well be the power ballad album.
"Buzz Saw" begins with gentle piano that could have been lifted from a Satie piece (or "Music For Airports") before getting interrupted by snare cracks, ghostly cymbals, electro-funk squelches, a female chorus, and wind chimes -- all in turn (and in various combinations). It threatens to break out into something more menacing (and earsplitting), but that moment never comes. This is a ballad that is determined to see itself to the finish. "Vulture Piano", with it's metronomic beat and spidery bassline, could pass for "Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me"-era Cure (the letter-by-letter spelling of the song's title toward the end, similar to that in the chorus of the Cure's "Fire In Cairo", leads me to believe that the the ressemblance is no accident). Continuing the 80's theme, "Save Me" sounds like the Magnetic Fields covering songs on Fleetwood Mac's "Tango In the Night". Elsewhere, those who crave a noisier Xiu Xiu should be pleased with "Bishop, Ca", whose Kraftwerkian intro ("Franz Schubert" or more accurately, Rising High label ambient as immortalized on the early 90's "Chill Out Or Die" comps, or even better, Depeche Mode's "Waiting For the Night") does nothing to foreshadow the nightmare that accompanies its friendly "walla walla hey" chorus.
I have a CD by composer Martin Janicek, and on one of the pieces he plays a bent piece of thin plank wood held taut in its position by strings, creating echoey drones from its complicated vibrations. The final track on "The Air Force" is called "Wig Master" and to me it sounds a lot like that Martin Janicek piece. By this point (the entire record is a wonderously brief 34 minutes), I already have a million things to think about and that's before I get hit with the line "I'm gonna spank your ass so hard you're gonna hate the Wig Master, but I'll put two pillows on your dining room chair." Excuse me?
Xiu Xiu's new album, "The Air Force" is an outstanding piece of work. With every Xiu Xiu album, people seem to write "This is the album that will appeal to those who weren't pre-existing fans. We swear it! It's the Xiu Xiu album that everyone can love." One pained Jamie Stewart scream later and that proclamation gets shot to hell. Those who feel that Stewart's voice is their main impediment to appreciating his music on any level should know that he's remarkably restrained here, with female vocals featured more prominently and his own vocal eccentricities are squashed for the most part. Whereas "Fabulous Muscles" was Xiu Xiu's crack at making pop music (white noise pop at that), only the delightful "Boy Soprano" really fits that mold. Over and over again, they hit upon a dazzling sequence of fascinating and unexpected sound combinations set to hummable balladry, midtempo 80's throwbacks, and anodyne noise-blanketed moods. If "Fabulous Muscles" was the pop album, then "The Air Force" may well be the power ballad album.
"Buzz Saw" begins with gentle piano that could have been lifted from a Satie piece (or "Music For Airports") before getting interrupted by snare cracks, ghostly cymbals, electro-funk squelches, a female chorus, and wind chimes -- all in turn (and in various combinations). It threatens to break out into something more menacing (and earsplitting), but that moment never comes. This is a ballad that is determined to see itself to the finish. "Vulture Piano", with it's metronomic beat and spidery bassline, could pass for "Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me"-era Cure (the letter-by-letter spelling of the song's title toward the end, similar to that in the chorus of the Cure's "Fire In Cairo", leads me to believe that the the ressemblance is no accident). Continuing the 80's theme, "Save Me" sounds like the Magnetic Fields covering songs on Fleetwood Mac's "Tango In the Night". Elsewhere, those who crave a noisier Xiu Xiu should be pleased with "Bishop, Ca", whose Kraftwerkian intro ("Franz Schubert" or more accurately, Rising High label ambient as immortalized on the early 90's "Chill Out Or Die" comps, or even better, Depeche Mode's "Waiting For the Night") does nothing to foreshadow the nightmare that accompanies its friendly "walla walla hey" chorus.
I have a CD by composer Martin Janicek, and on one of the pieces he plays a bent piece of thin plank wood held taut in its position by strings, creating echoey drones from its complicated vibrations. The final track on "The Air Force" is called "Wig Master" and to me it sounds a lot like that Martin Janicek piece. By this point (the entire record is a wonderously brief 34 minutes), I already have a million things to think about and that's before I get hit with the line "I'm gonna spank your ass so hard you're gonna hate the Wig Master, but I'll put two pillows on your dining room chair." Excuse me?
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