One step inside Universite de Quebec a Montreal's Design Building, and you know it's not, say, a chemistry building. Large glass doors open into a lobby, which wraps around a majestic staircase. Stark white pipes crisscross below the ceiling and the walls are a uniform, yet bold colour of grey. In the actual space where the panels are held, speakers are set up around the room and are blaring the Mutek 2003 CD before the sessions.
Today's topic is "(Re)Defining Distribution: Roles and Challenges in a Changing Market". We’re trying to tackle the reasons behind the decline in music sales and whether distributors can do anything to reverse the trends. I feel as though there’s an unspoken reasoning, namely the internet and "illegal" file sharing, that's on people's lips but not verbalized. It's probably a combination of trying to keep the conversation rooted in distribution issues, and knowing there's another panel discussion tomorrow tackling the internet issue (which I plan on attending).
There's no need to reinvent the wheel. Michael Bull (Caroline) thinks that cross-pollination of ideas and styles is key. For instance, he believes that electronic musicians can learn a lot from the punk scene by touring like them, i.e. get on the road, do everything on the cheap, all while getting your name out and effectively distributing and publicizing yourself. Sigy Zahn (Neuton) also believes that genre mixing is key and blames record labels for being ignorant of basic business procedures.
When it comes to spending, many labels and distributors think that throwing money at a record is a good strategy, which Paul Raymer (Fusion III) and Jeorg Heidemann (Universal Germany) dismiss as patently false. They explain that not only can distributors completely miss the boat and push a record in the wrong market, but also a record can be overpushed and not recoup in proportion to the expenditure. That is, suppose you were to spend 'x' dollars pushing a record, and it sold 'y' copies. Distributors who had falsely read their intended markets could then assume that if '2x' dollars were spent pushing the record, then you were sure to sell '2y' copies or even more. If they went through with the extra push, and the record sold 1.3'y' instead, it may be viewed as a failure (relatively speaking) given the expenditure. I gained tremendous respect for people who need to deal with these multivariable problems each and every day.
I detected a feeling of superiority from the panel toward labels, basically echoing Sigy's comments that labels are prone to screwing up while the distributors do an amazing amount of multitasking. Of course they're a bit biased toward themselves, as anyone would be, but I'm strongly inclined to agree with their viewpoints. Not only must distributors have an intimate knowledge of the actual music, but also it’s essential that they not become sloppy with their business. Labels can, and do get by without the latter (and some might argue they can also survive without the former) but there's just no way a distribution company could possibly stay afloat through ignorance because they're constantly spending money weeks or months before they see any money themselves. You just can’t spend money on publicity, buying from labels, shipping to sellers, and stay afloat while waiting weeks or months for payment from the sellers unless you're running an extremely tight ship in all aspects of business.
Things get more heated when the discussion turns to pricing issues, and dissent from the audience follows. Paul flatly states that pricing is not an issue, and even claims that prices aren't high enough. He believes that it all comes down to simple supply and demand, that is, if there's a record that people really want and it's distributed properly, then they'll pay good money for it. From the floor, someone asks why the price of the music is going up when the cost of making it (due to the proliferation of bedroom producers and labels) is going down. He responds by saying that this logic is misleading and reminds everyone that no matter how the music is recorded, there's still a lot of middle men between the performer and the consumer, all of whom need to get paid.
I agree that the path from artist to consumer is far more complex than most people (certainly not distributors) realize. However, don't rock labels rely on the same middlemen? Korn's label wouldn't spend a cool couple of million to make the record plus a few videos without a plan to recoup somehow, would they? If a record can be made for ten grand instead of a thousand grand, you've got to win somewhere on the food chain, don't you?
But regardless, today's discussion rarely strayed from the need for distributors (or distributors and labels together) to do better business. There wasn't much about the need to do different kinds of business. Everyone would prefer to function as normal and ensure that everybody gets paid according to existing practices. A drastic shift in the very nature of distribution, such as legal or "illegal" downloading, wasn't really considered. There is the notion of mp3's not having much effect on electronic music sales because they cater to a "fringe" market. Only Jon Berry (Force Inc., and the moderator for the panel) spoke up and claimed he strongly disagreed with this viewpoint. The irony is that significant shifts in the music business have indeed been taking place over the last few years, and most people don’t realize it.
I have written previously concerning the loss of the CD's "mystique" due to the recent commonality of CD burning technology. This is a potential cause of the decline in music sales, but it is not the symptom. Large chains probably don't think about it along those lines, but they do know that these causes, whatever they are, are hurting their bottom line. They are quite good at figuring out how to improve their bottom line, and they have done so by switching their attention to DVD sales. This aspect of their business was recognized in today's discussion, but its significance was not emphasized. Think about it: HMV has an eighty year history of selling MUSIC, and they've now turned over half their stores' floor space to the sale of MOVIES, and they've accomplished this change in only a few short years. How much more drastic can you get than turning over your inventory to focus on an entirely different product?
Another huge shift has already taken place in the electronic music community itself. Everybody merely takes it for granted, but its importance cannot be overstated. Essentially, it is widely understood that a full-time job is necessary to sustain most careers in these genres of music. In even simpler terms -- they understand that you (often) can't make a living solely from a career in electronic music. Getting signed to a major label and spending a life indulging in a life of debauchery is the ideal for 99.9% of rock bands. It's the accepted path to becoming a big star in the genre. I don’t believe such romanticized notions exist in (most) electronic music genres. The expectation is they'll never make enough to completely sustain themselves through musical endeavours. Multitasking via a combination of producing, remixing, DJ'ing, and running a record label is practically universal. It’s not uncommon in the hip-hop world, but both hip-hop and electronic music operate a world apart from the rock business. How many rock bands also run a record label and hold down a full-time career/day job? How many rock producers work as DJ's on occasion?
For thousands of years of history, listening to music meant going someplace and hearing it played live. The era of recorded music, and the era of making a living solely through recorded music and never playing live, covers a drastically shorter time span. Perhaps that era is coming to an end. Perhaps recordings will become worthless (i.e. not profitable) and live performance will reassume primary importance. 6:59.
Station looks exactly the same as it did last night, even though it's only five in the afternoon. Dark red lights and no sun. I miss SAT. I miss the lounge in front when you walked in, the sun shining in the large plate windows, the passersby peering inside, curious about the strange noises from within. That happy hour vibe is gone. But I keep a book handy anyhow.
While watching Samiland from a comfortable chair in the balcony, I realize the drawback of attending a festival assembled for my benefit. There’s a persistent nagging feeling that there’s nothing I'm hearing that I haven’t heard before. In this case, it's lush chords, sparse beats, clicks. Check, check, check. They earn a big gold star for sampling Mutek itself with their final track. It's the opening chords of Closer Musik's 2001 performance of "One, Two, Three, No Gravity" (complete with crowd noise) laid over a basic hip-hop backbeat. It's their least complex track and is also their most beautiful.
Then I get what's been missing from the "experimental" performances thus far -- a little noise in the system. Diane Labrosse and Aime Dontigny project sampled clanging and banging and knocking over the system, subjecting us all to their obvious love of analog sounds. It's a refreshing change in this overtly digital festival. It likely wouldn’t shock anyone unfamiliar with electroacoustic or noise music (Labrosse and Dontigny's usual MO's, respectively), but the same cannot be said for morceaux_de_machines, who dispense completely with politeness and head straight for the death noise jugular a la Merzbow or Brighter Death Now. While processing voices and other industrial sounds, they create a blazing array of chaos. They keep rubbing a thin metal strip to produce some of these not-of-this-world sounds. Later, I find out how this works -- the sound is moisture-dependent. You can feed it water by dipping it in a glass or sprinkling liquid on its surface. It can even detect the slight changes in moisture content just by waving it around in the open air. Here's my open question for rock purists. Why? Why stick to guitars when you could also be playing cool shit like this?
And finally, an hour after I feared I'd heard everything before, Coin Gutter reassure me that it's not the case. They are completely unpredictable -- serene one moment, crashing noise the next. Things will be floating along nicely and then I'll lose focus for a couple of minutes and notice there's a mountain of noise slapping me to attention. Beauty, roughness, serenity, nastiness -- No Type covered all of it effectively, but only Coin Gutter covered all of it at once. 9:14.
At first, I'm not taken with Mylena Bergeron’s churning and humming. But the liberal use of processed voices and the other ghostly sounds prove to be a grower. The duo Reconnaissance seem to pick up where Kontakt der Junglinge left off last night, with tense, high-pitched tones of the barely audible variety. The glacial progress last night was more cold and uninviting, but this stuff is more complex, with more twitching to keep you conscious, plus the sweeping lines and vibrating grids on the video screen help sustain alertness. Then, after a couple of exercises in sound/visual synchronization by 242 Pilots, it launches into their improvised visual accompaniment with Tim Hecker. He's dead-on awesome, combining noise and splendour while holding the room in his own personal trance. Actually, the whole evening's been like that, resulting in three of the fastest hours I've ever spent watching music.
The M-clock stops for ten minutes while I walk to Metropolis, and while walking I prepare for the transition to a room of Coil fans. As expected, the floor of the venue is black hell. All the seats in the balcony are the same, it's a sheet of black hell draped over stadium seating. In the midst of all this, Coil come on stage wearing white furry jumpsuits. They begin to play, although there's not much distinguishing them from all the electroacoustic stuff I've been hearing all day. Of course, Coil were years ahead of their time and influenced countless other bands. They were ahead in real time, but lagged in festival scheduling time. Obviously they’re deserving of the reverence in the air.
Philipp Quehenberger has the unenviable task of following this. For the first few minutes, people are still buzzing and milling about in front of the stage, seemingly oblivious that the poor guy is even playing. The written programme accentuates his youth -- born in 1977 along with the worldwide punk explosion -- so he's young enough to have idolized Chemical Brothers and therefore those big beats populate his set. He also goes psycho on a keyboard, playing manic lines akin to a farfisa on amphetamines. It's brash, tough, and carries the added bonus of clearing out the diehard Coil fans in time for those who want the dance floor to themselves to party with T. Raumschmiere. He’s a scruffy, lanky, tattooed freak who wouldn’t look out of place sitting on a street corner asking for change accompanied by a dog and a leather jacket. He does inhumane things to a defenseless MIDI keyboard, walks all over his table, drops chunky beat after chunky beat and gets the now quarter-full venue frenzied up nice and good. And plays the first encore of the week. 15:14.
Wednesday, May 28, 2003
JUNE 2002. As much as I've enjoyed the last two years of Mutek, I'm not sure I can justify the time and expense spent by hauling ass to Montreal, that fabulous and eclectic city nonetheless, and continuing to frequent a festival whose direction seems to be diverging from my personal expectations for it. Well, that's unfair, Mutek is what it is, and nobody, least of all a complete bum like myself, should complain that it doesn't develop and evolve according to my pussy little whims. Mutek, you and I have had an entertaining relationship over the last two year, and not unlike interpersonal relationships, sometimes you just don't want to hang out as much as you used to. I still like you, I like you a lot, oh to hell with it, I probably even love you goshdarnit but I don't think I can go on with this for my priorities have changed and there's other places I want to go and other ways I think I'd rather spend my money, but it's not like the money I spent on you was misplaced, I just think I should stop with it for a while. We'll still be cordial, of course, we'll still be friends. Basically, and I mean this in the most sincere manner, it's not you, Mutek, it's me. I don't feel comfortable at your huge club nights. Yeah, I enjoy them, but not in a travel 550 km sort of way. Your artist are top notch at what they do, they're definitely swell and all that, but what they do isn't necessarily the stuff I want and need. You're a lot of fun, but there's nothing you've shown me that I would have been sorely disappointed about not getting to see before I die, nothing that would have haunted me had I missed, like that feeling of utter emptiness I had when I arrived at Lollapalooza and all the Nine Inch Nails shirts were gone or when the Stone Roses tickets sold out and I was second next line. That was some serious heartbreak. Anyway, I can't pretend to be dancing out there with club-going people and pretending that everything is happy smiley OK when in truth I need more experimental music and minimal techno. Maybe avant-garde festivals are the answers, maybe it's Toronto's Ambient Ping nights, I don't know I'm confused and you can't be easily replaced not by a long shot but I feel I need the change. You won't miss me, you have loads of people who care about you more and appreciate what you're doing a hell of a lot more than I do, it'll be better this way.
APRIL 2003. Holy fuck. OK, we're back on. We're back on, and I'm sorry. We're back on, and I'm sorry for what I said and I won't ever say it again. We're back on, and I'll do anything you want. At the end of May 2003, I am ALL YOURS.
This years Mutek lineup is easily, EASILY, the best in the festival's brief four-year history. The lineup goes beyond eclectic, way past jaw-dropping and all the way around to choking-on-your-own-tongue shocking. There's showcases for contemporary labels that I love (Mego, M-nus), legends (Coil, Hawtin), and stuff you'll never see elsewhere ever again (Senor Coconut). Experimental noise, techno, screwed up nasty shit with turntables -- it's all there, and it's all good. Or perhaps I should say, everything there will be stuff I like, and it's all good as far as I'm concerned. It's so nice when someone cares about you so much that they'll go to such extreme lengths to make you happy. To organize a festival with my best interests placed first and foremost. IT'S ALL MINE! Now all I have to do is forget about all my important responsibilities and have fun. TAKE ME, MUTEK, TAKE ME!
MAY 28, 2003. I am so excited to be in Montreal. I love this city. Every Torontonian loves Toronto but loves another Canadian city even more. But I've never met anyone from outside Toronto who said that Toronto was their favourite city.
At this year's festival I am debuting the Mutek clock. Don't worry, you will come to understand what it is, and you will crave it. We need a snappy name for the Mutek clock. I'm working on it.
With an afternoon to kill, my thoughts turn to the usual: shopping. As is customary for my visits to Montreal, the first stop is Cheap Thrills. It’s like the She Said Boom franchise in Toronto, with the combination of music/books thing going on, except with a far better CD selection. The used bin of electronic CDs contains literally thirty discs from my collection, which is both cool and disheartening at the same time. As diabolical as ever, the Rue Metcalfe shop sucks my money from my bank account with wicked aplomb and leaves me with four CDs as a parting gift. One of them is an Asmus Tiechens album. I have a strong feeling that he and Thomas Koner will be awesome tonight and I’ll end up wanting to buy some of his work.
I pick up a Mutek flyer at Cheap Thrills and pore over it. Every time I glance over the schedule I grow more and more amazed with its awesomeness. Does anyone know the identities of the Narod Niki collective? Is this going to be the Mystery Theatre portion of our festival program? Will it be kept a surprise until the very end?
Still killing time, I read over the Mutek_intersection topics. At first, I was mildly upset when I got word that an admission charge would apply to these panels. Then I came to my senses. As anyone who has attended an academic conference can tell you, published research may be public domain, but gathering together a large group of experts in the field is an incredibly powerful resource. So much music, so many people, so much opportunity for face-to-face interaction -- any serious scholar would, nay should pay good money and travel long distances to take part in this concentrated five day overload. This is exactly the reasoning behind the Mutek professional accreditation that was introduced this year. This academic element of the festival can be nothing but good for its image.
Finally, I go to Ex-Centris for the first set of shows. In the festival booklet/programme, the word "minimal" or "minimalism" seems to appear a thousand times. There hasn’t been a written document that had this kind of a hard-on for a particular word since Mr. Garrisson's Great American Romance Novel on "South Park". And the beans have been spilled over the identities of Narod Niki. It's right there in black and white, their first names anyway. I guess I won’t be sleeping on Sunday night. And what's with the festival "overture" at five this afternoon? So I've missed something already? And where's the bar this year? I'm not sure which of these upsets me more. Only minutes later, it's all forgotten because they've laid down padded mats, which makes all the comfort difference in the world while sitting for two hours on Ex-Centris' immaculate hardwood.
And the Mutek clock starts at 8:57. 0:00.
The many fantastic visual displays were big highlights of last year’s festival. And this time, we start with another real goody. Christof Migone's music is nothing too remarkable. It's one long piece which resembles Monolake's "Gobi" e.p., but clangier. But the visuals -- all are films done in one take -- make the performance. One is a view out the window of (what appears to be) the Victoria and Champlain bridges, while a man with headphones sits near the sill facing outside. It really doesn't matter the exact location of the shot, what's important is that the sun is going down, which serves as the tacit reminder of the amount of time that is passing during the uncomfortable moments during this half-hour. Another shot is a close-up of a wide-open mouth. A recent trip to the dentist serves as the tacit reminder of the difficulty of maintaining such a pose as time passes during the uncomfortable moments during this half-hour. The strangest shot of all is another mouth close-up, this one of a man (also the one with the open mouth) biting into a tomato that is partially encased in ice. The ice is slowly melting, which serves as a tacit reminder of the amount of time that is passing during the uncomfortable moments during this half hour. For the first five minutes, I'm not paying close attention to the screens, only to the music. Then I notice subtle changes -- the drying of the lips, quivering of the mouth, the loss of texture on the surface of the melting ice. Ten minutes in and I'm feeling sorry for these guys and their unenviable situations. I’m starting to empathize. It's starting to get painful for me. Fifteen minutes in and the mouth is struggling to stay open. The bite on the tomato needs to be adjusted with greater frequency. Twenty minutes in and it’s getting very hard to keep watching. The mouth is twitching nervously. Froth is forming around the tomato and red-coloured spittle dribbles from the edges of the fruit and onto the ice. Twenty-five minutes in. A pool of saliva lies in the lower jaw. He's having trouble holding on to the tomato. It's falling apart and he's frothing more. Please let it end. End this pain. I'm serious. The sound around me is crackling and thumping, yet these guys suffer in silence. Thirty minutes. It's felt like a week. Mouth is shaking. Tongue is dried up and white. Remaining ice melts and falls away, leaving only the mushy tomato.
The mouth closes, finally. He finally spits out the tomato and red goo covers his mouth and chin. It's done. And that, my friends, is how you combine music and visuals to create an unbearable tension that is far greater than the sum of the two component parts.
Clinker has a tough act to follow, and thus he's good but unspectacular. The bright colours and simple patterns in the video and the drifting drones and hums of the audio recall Stephan Mathieu's set from last year, although Mathieu's more methodical pace is far more my preference with this type of music.
Asmus Tiechens indeed looks like a mentor. He looks very professorly with his glasses and scruffy suit. Kontakt der Junglinge begins as a quiet roar, much like the sound of the wind swirling outside in the alley mere moments before the onset of a major storm. It gently pulsates, rendering most in the room transfixed, even comatose. There's a blank screen behind them. Blank stares and persons lying down on their mats are common. There's nothing to watch except two men sitting intently before a table. There's nothing to watch except them. Nobody moves. I don't detect any real pattern to this, it can end at any time, which seems appropriate because this isn't really a gig. It's become a state of being. When it does finish it immediately receives a rapturous reception. While walking to Station, I stop at Tim Hortons for a donut to replace the blood sugar that Koner and Tiechens have withdrawn from me.
I find no need to halt the M-clock for the one block walk. Besides, the state of being that was Kontakt der Junglinge effectively continued until I consumed the donut. I have my doubts about Station. It feels like a dimly lit nightclub despite the bold red brick and has a strong, booming sound system. The layout in SAT -- enclosing the stage in the center of the venue -- was so atypical that I rarely felt that I was attending "just another gig". The crowd here seems like a complete turnover from the bunch from Ex-Centris. There are clubbers and crusties (what do you expect, it's dub night) and they all seem to be moving in fast-forward. It must be a residual effect from the static stuff I just heard at Ex-Centris.
Why do so many acts sound like Boards of Canada these days? I’ve heard many good things about Telefon Tel Aviv but I'll have forgotten about a beefier BoC in a couple weeks time. Speaking of acts that have been copied by a billion others, Pole's new material has been described as a departure from the sound that spawned dozens of imitators. On the basis of tonight's showing, it's brighter and far less claustrophobic, but it's unmistakably him. The addition of rapper Fat Jon is a great touch, which adds to, the more organic feel of the tunes. Pole's no longer trapped himself in his damp basement, he's dubbing out on the front porch instead. What a lead-in for Deadbeat, whose latest work is very classic dub, but has maintained barely enough crackle and hum in the mix to ensure a connection with his early work. Otherwise, this is no-nonsense dub bliss, kicking it old school. 5:12.
I walk by SAT on my way home, just for old time's sake. The inside is in ruins. Junk is scattered all over. Graffiti is all over the outside.
APRIL 2003. Holy fuck. OK, we're back on. We're back on, and I'm sorry. We're back on, and I'm sorry for what I said and I won't ever say it again. We're back on, and I'll do anything you want. At the end of May 2003, I am ALL YOURS.
This years Mutek lineup is easily, EASILY, the best in the festival's brief four-year history. The lineup goes beyond eclectic, way past jaw-dropping and all the way around to choking-on-your-own-tongue shocking. There's showcases for contemporary labels that I love (Mego, M-nus), legends (Coil, Hawtin), and stuff you'll never see elsewhere ever again (Senor Coconut). Experimental noise, techno, screwed up nasty shit with turntables -- it's all there, and it's all good. Or perhaps I should say, everything there will be stuff I like, and it's all good as far as I'm concerned. It's so nice when someone cares about you so much that they'll go to such extreme lengths to make you happy. To organize a festival with my best interests placed first and foremost. IT'S ALL MINE! Now all I have to do is forget about all my important responsibilities and have fun. TAKE ME, MUTEK, TAKE ME!
MAY 28, 2003. I am so excited to be in Montreal. I love this city. Every Torontonian loves Toronto but loves another Canadian city even more. But I've never met anyone from outside Toronto who said that Toronto was their favourite city.
At this year's festival I am debuting the Mutek clock. Don't worry, you will come to understand what it is, and you will crave it. We need a snappy name for the Mutek clock. I'm working on it.
With an afternoon to kill, my thoughts turn to the usual: shopping. As is customary for my visits to Montreal, the first stop is Cheap Thrills. It’s like the She Said Boom franchise in Toronto, with the combination of music/books thing going on, except with a far better CD selection. The used bin of electronic CDs contains literally thirty discs from my collection, which is both cool and disheartening at the same time. As diabolical as ever, the Rue Metcalfe shop sucks my money from my bank account with wicked aplomb and leaves me with four CDs as a parting gift. One of them is an Asmus Tiechens album. I have a strong feeling that he and Thomas Koner will be awesome tonight and I’ll end up wanting to buy some of his work.
I pick up a Mutek flyer at Cheap Thrills and pore over it. Every time I glance over the schedule I grow more and more amazed with its awesomeness. Does anyone know the identities of the Narod Niki collective? Is this going to be the Mystery Theatre portion of our festival program? Will it be kept a surprise until the very end?
Still killing time, I read over the Mutek_intersection topics. At first, I was mildly upset when I got word that an admission charge would apply to these panels. Then I came to my senses. As anyone who has attended an academic conference can tell you, published research may be public domain, but gathering together a large group of experts in the field is an incredibly powerful resource. So much music, so many people, so much opportunity for face-to-face interaction -- any serious scholar would, nay should pay good money and travel long distances to take part in this concentrated five day overload. This is exactly the reasoning behind the Mutek professional accreditation that was introduced this year. This academic element of the festival can be nothing but good for its image.
Finally, I go to Ex-Centris for the first set of shows. In the festival booklet/programme, the word "minimal" or "minimalism" seems to appear a thousand times. There hasn’t been a written document that had this kind of a hard-on for a particular word since Mr. Garrisson's Great American Romance Novel on "South Park". And the beans have been spilled over the identities of Narod Niki. It's right there in black and white, their first names anyway. I guess I won’t be sleeping on Sunday night. And what's with the festival "overture" at five this afternoon? So I've missed something already? And where's the bar this year? I'm not sure which of these upsets me more. Only minutes later, it's all forgotten because they've laid down padded mats, which makes all the comfort difference in the world while sitting for two hours on Ex-Centris' immaculate hardwood.
And the Mutek clock starts at 8:57. 0:00.
The many fantastic visual displays were big highlights of last year’s festival. And this time, we start with another real goody. Christof Migone's music is nothing too remarkable. It's one long piece which resembles Monolake's "Gobi" e.p., but clangier. But the visuals -- all are films done in one take -- make the performance. One is a view out the window of (what appears to be) the Victoria and Champlain bridges, while a man with headphones sits near the sill facing outside. It really doesn't matter the exact location of the shot, what's important is that the sun is going down, which serves as the tacit reminder of the amount of time that is passing during the uncomfortable moments during this half-hour. Another shot is a close-up of a wide-open mouth. A recent trip to the dentist serves as the tacit reminder of the difficulty of maintaining such a pose as time passes during the uncomfortable moments during this half-hour. The strangest shot of all is another mouth close-up, this one of a man (also the one with the open mouth) biting into a tomato that is partially encased in ice. The ice is slowly melting, which serves as a tacit reminder of the amount of time that is passing during the uncomfortable moments during this half hour. For the first five minutes, I'm not paying close attention to the screens, only to the music. Then I notice subtle changes -- the drying of the lips, quivering of the mouth, the loss of texture on the surface of the melting ice. Ten minutes in and I'm feeling sorry for these guys and their unenviable situations. I’m starting to empathize. It's starting to get painful for me. Fifteen minutes in and the mouth is struggling to stay open. The bite on the tomato needs to be adjusted with greater frequency. Twenty minutes in and it’s getting very hard to keep watching. The mouth is twitching nervously. Froth is forming around the tomato and red-coloured spittle dribbles from the edges of the fruit and onto the ice. Twenty-five minutes in. A pool of saliva lies in the lower jaw. He's having trouble holding on to the tomato. It's falling apart and he's frothing more. Please let it end. End this pain. I'm serious. The sound around me is crackling and thumping, yet these guys suffer in silence. Thirty minutes. It's felt like a week. Mouth is shaking. Tongue is dried up and white. Remaining ice melts and falls away, leaving only the mushy tomato.
The mouth closes, finally. He finally spits out the tomato and red goo covers his mouth and chin. It's done. And that, my friends, is how you combine music and visuals to create an unbearable tension that is far greater than the sum of the two component parts.
Clinker has a tough act to follow, and thus he's good but unspectacular. The bright colours and simple patterns in the video and the drifting drones and hums of the audio recall Stephan Mathieu's set from last year, although Mathieu's more methodical pace is far more my preference with this type of music.
Asmus Tiechens indeed looks like a mentor. He looks very professorly with his glasses and scruffy suit. Kontakt der Junglinge begins as a quiet roar, much like the sound of the wind swirling outside in the alley mere moments before the onset of a major storm. It gently pulsates, rendering most in the room transfixed, even comatose. There's a blank screen behind them. Blank stares and persons lying down on their mats are common. There's nothing to watch except two men sitting intently before a table. There's nothing to watch except them. Nobody moves. I don't detect any real pattern to this, it can end at any time, which seems appropriate because this isn't really a gig. It's become a state of being. When it does finish it immediately receives a rapturous reception. While walking to Station, I stop at Tim Hortons for a donut to replace the blood sugar that Koner and Tiechens have withdrawn from me.
I find no need to halt the M-clock for the one block walk. Besides, the state of being that was Kontakt der Junglinge effectively continued until I consumed the donut. I have my doubts about Station. It feels like a dimly lit nightclub despite the bold red brick and has a strong, booming sound system. The layout in SAT -- enclosing the stage in the center of the venue -- was so atypical that I rarely felt that I was attending "just another gig". The crowd here seems like a complete turnover from the bunch from Ex-Centris. There are clubbers and crusties (what do you expect, it's dub night) and they all seem to be moving in fast-forward. It must be a residual effect from the static stuff I just heard at Ex-Centris.
Why do so many acts sound like Boards of Canada these days? I’ve heard many good things about Telefon Tel Aviv but I'll have forgotten about a beefier BoC in a couple weeks time. Speaking of acts that have been copied by a billion others, Pole's new material has been described as a departure from the sound that spawned dozens of imitators. On the basis of tonight's showing, it's brighter and far less claustrophobic, but it's unmistakably him. The addition of rapper Fat Jon is a great touch, which adds to, the more organic feel of the tunes. Pole's no longer trapped himself in his damp basement, he's dubbing out on the front porch instead. What a lead-in for Deadbeat, whose latest work is very classic dub, but has maintained barely enough crackle and hum in the mix to ensure a connection with his early work. Otherwise, this is no-nonsense dub bliss, kicking it old school. 5:12.
I walk by SAT on my way home, just for old time's sake. The inside is in ruins. Junk is scattered all over. Graffiti is all over the outside.
Monday, May 26, 2003
"Please Kill Me", by Legs McNeil and Gillian McCain, is a fascinating, not to mention depressing read. The endlessly entertaining stories are fascinating and lose little of their sparkle when read and reread. But the (predictable?) crash and burn of many of the book's lead voices, ending in burnout and/or death, is a depressing (but realistic) conclusion to the volume.
As editors, McNeil and McCain did an incredible job of culling together interviews from dozens of characters and constructing a cohesive, nearly linear narrative of events. Many times, a story is told by more than one person. The story is "begun" by one person and "continued" by another corroborating voice, reading almost like a talkshow transcript even though the interviews likely took place months or years apart. Of course, with such editorial savvy comes the power to focus on events and people that the authors find crucial. Using my limited writing savvy, I just labeled the editors as "biased". But they certainly should be, because this is an "Oral History of Punk", and what's history without a biased viewpoint. After all, they were there, so I certainly have an interest in their bias.
Nevertheless, I'm inclined to have issue with some of the books' slants. The beginnings of punk in NYC is the main focus, but English punk is plainly labeled as an ugly warping of the original punk aesthetic. McNeil himself, "resident punk" of the original "Punk" magazine, calls his own number and delivers a diatribe against English punk. Firstly, "punk" is just a four-letter word, it's just a label, and nobody owns it. Was NYC punk different from English punk? Absolutely. So what? Is Detroit techno different from English techno? Absolutely. So what? Techno evolved as more people were exposed to it, that's how music works. English punk was more than just spiked hair, safety pins, and gobbing (the trademark punk stereotypes that prevailed throughout the 80's, and are still around somewhat even today). Many of the American principals came from middle class backgrounds, and got involved in the scene because they were bored of their parents suburban lifestyles. Many of the English principals came from working class backgrounds (save the Clash), and fell in with punk not because of boredom, but because it was a distraction from the inevitability of a life on the dole. The English may have blatantly copped their looks from Richard Hell and his ratty t-shirts, but the scene's origins and motivations go far beyond mere idol worship. John Lydon understood this -- he noted that punk is not music for the over-privileged, as did his slumming blue-collar American counterparts when they remade the music in their own image, called it grunge, and dominated the world with it.
There's also the prevalence of incredible debauchery, particularly with respect to drugs. A cynical person might say that the drugs are glamourized in this book, but the last sixty pages or so are centred on the deaths of noted drug abusers Sid Vicious, Stiv Bators, Johnny Thunders, Nico, and many more. "Please Kill Me", in words only, is neutral with respect to the debauchery, and it rarely judges anybody. I believe the editors feel that the book's ending serves as the implicit finger wagging that no direct warnings could easily say. Thus, the focus is on the outrageousness, and other less "colourful" characters (i.e. Blondie, Talking Heads, and wot, only one mention of Suicide??) are practically ignored. However, these stories are often hilariously funny, and although some of them will be known to keen fans, I can't imagine anybody not discovering new gems from reading this book.
As editors, McNeil and McCain did an incredible job of culling together interviews from dozens of characters and constructing a cohesive, nearly linear narrative of events. Many times, a story is told by more than one person. The story is "begun" by one person and "continued" by another corroborating voice, reading almost like a talkshow transcript even though the interviews likely took place months or years apart. Of course, with such editorial savvy comes the power to focus on events and people that the authors find crucial. Using my limited writing savvy, I just labeled the editors as "biased". But they certainly should be, because this is an "Oral History of Punk", and what's history without a biased viewpoint. After all, they were there, so I certainly have an interest in their bias.
Nevertheless, I'm inclined to have issue with some of the books' slants. The beginnings of punk in NYC is the main focus, but English punk is plainly labeled as an ugly warping of the original punk aesthetic. McNeil himself, "resident punk" of the original "Punk" magazine, calls his own number and delivers a diatribe against English punk. Firstly, "punk" is just a four-letter word, it's just a label, and nobody owns it. Was NYC punk different from English punk? Absolutely. So what? Is Detroit techno different from English techno? Absolutely. So what? Techno evolved as more people were exposed to it, that's how music works. English punk was more than just spiked hair, safety pins, and gobbing (the trademark punk stereotypes that prevailed throughout the 80's, and are still around somewhat even today). Many of the American principals came from middle class backgrounds, and got involved in the scene because they were bored of their parents suburban lifestyles. Many of the English principals came from working class backgrounds (save the Clash), and fell in with punk not because of boredom, but because it was a distraction from the inevitability of a life on the dole. The English may have blatantly copped their looks from Richard Hell and his ratty t-shirts, but the scene's origins and motivations go far beyond mere idol worship. John Lydon understood this -- he noted that punk is not music for the over-privileged, as did his slumming blue-collar American counterparts when they remade the music in their own image, called it grunge, and dominated the world with it.
There's also the prevalence of incredible debauchery, particularly with respect to drugs. A cynical person might say that the drugs are glamourized in this book, but the last sixty pages or so are centred on the deaths of noted drug abusers Sid Vicious, Stiv Bators, Johnny Thunders, Nico, and many more. "Please Kill Me", in words only, is neutral with respect to the debauchery, and it rarely judges anybody. I believe the editors feel that the book's ending serves as the implicit finger wagging that no direct warnings could easily say. Thus, the focus is on the outrageousness, and other less "colourful" characters (i.e. Blondie, Talking Heads, and wot, only one mention of Suicide??) are practically ignored. However, these stories are often hilariously funny, and although some of them will be known to keen fans, I can't imagine anybody not discovering new gems from reading this book.
Wednesday, May 21, 2003
I started watching "American Idol" six weeks ago. At that time, I figured it was self-evident that Clay would win. I still believe he *should* win, but it's close enough to go either way and I won't be upset if Ruben takes the title. The "trouble" with Clay is that even the judges don't appreciate how good he is. That's because his delivery, or "American Idol: The Musical" as Simon Cowell would put it, falls well outside the conventional boundaries of contemporary pop. Say what you want about Ruben and Kimberly having nice voices, but they have nice R&B voices, R&B voices will slot effortlessly into contemporary R&B radio fodder. Thus, the judges completely missed the boat with Clay's rendition of "Here, There and Everywhere" on last night's program. Sure, it's a "safe" song in that it doesn't pose many vocal challenges -- unless you're Clay Aiken and you're forced to drastically change your histrionic style to avoid overwhelming a touching, petite Beatles number. Compare with Ruben's "Imagine" -- he just sang it in his usual R&B manner.
The roles were somewhat reversed with their final numbers. Ruben's "Flying Without Wings" was a midtempo singalong joy, whereas Clay's jarring "Bridge Over Troubled Water" was an impressive vocal display, but it was a mess. Everything, from the misappropriate use of the gospel choir to the annoying way he sang the word "water", made for a performance so white-bread soulless that it couldn't have been any more honky had Pat Boone himself sung it.
Clay should still win, though. With some tweaking, he can be the new Marc Almond.
The roles were somewhat reversed with their final numbers. Ruben's "Flying Without Wings" was a midtempo singalong joy, whereas Clay's jarring "Bridge Over Troubled Water" was an impressive vocal display, but it was a mess. Everything, from the misappropriate use of the gospel choir to the annoying way he sang the word "water", made for a performance so white-bread soulless that it couldn't have been any more honky had Pat Boone himself sung it.
Clay should still win, though. With some tweaking, he can be the new Marc Almond.
Monday, May 12, 2003
Last August 18, I wrote about forming a band. Nothing resembling that band has come to fruition, and I wasn't expecting it to. It was mainly a paean to "music I'd like to make, somewhere and sometime". It's good to get these things down on e-paper for posterity, so I can at least look back on it and think of what a great idea I have and aren't I a musical voyeur and supergenius for thinking of it, etc.
Then I stumbled across a CD by the Wharton Tiers Ensemble whose back cover clearly stated "five guitars, bass, sax, drums". The CD is called "Twilight of the Computer Age", I gave it a spin, and whaddaya know, it's filled with pounding drone rock and spacey semi-improvised FX pieces. It's times like this when one realizes there is no justice in the world and all the best ideas are truly taken. I should have expected this. I've heard that Lee Ranaldo had a project with 16 guitars and one hi-hat. If true, similar ensembles of guitar excess must surely be out there, so my idea couldn't have been as unique as I'd hoped. Coming from Tiers, who has been a figure on the NYC underground scene for twenty years and has worked with the likes of Sonic Youth, Helmet and Dinosaur Jr (but I hadn't heard of him until today).
The recording featured some strong guitar sounds but I found it ultimately lacking. Much like the Warlocks' recordings, it's an album loaded with guitar and is quite good, but disappointing in the sense that I'd expect an album with that many guitars to sound, you know, a hell of a lot HUGER. I can't even begin to imagine the technical difficulties in recording a large ensemble while not bleeding the tracks into another, but nonetheless, I need a bit more bang for my five guitar buck.
Next, I listened to "The Orbit of Eternal Grace" by Grasshopper and the Golden Crickets, a side project by the Mercury Rev guitarist. And whaddaya know, it's filled with loads of the wide-eyed psych-folk you'd expect from Mercury Rev, but with oodles of tape loops, moogs, shimmery noises, flutes, and about a million other things, all vying for your ears attention at the same time. Sometimes you find your Wall of Sound in unexpected places.
Then I stumbled across a CD by the Wharton Tiers Ensemble whose back cover clearly stated "five guitars, bass, sax, drums". The CD is called "Twilight of the Computer Age", I gave it a spin, and whaddaya know, it's filled with pounding drone rock and spacey semi-improvised FX pieces. It's times like this when one realizes there is no justice in the world and all the best ideas are truly taken. I should have expected this. I've heard that Lee Ranaldo had a project with 16 guitars and one hi-hat. If true, similar ensembles of guitar excess must surely be out there, so my idea couldn't have been as unique as I'd hoped. Coming from Tiers, who has been a figure on the NYC underground scene for twenty years and has worked with the likes of Sonic Youth, Helmet and Dinosaur Jr (but I hadn't heard of him until today).
The recording featured some strong guitar sounds but I found it ultimately lacking. Much like the Warlocks' recordings, it's an album loaded with guitar and is quite good, but disappointing in the sense that I'd expect an album with that many guitars to sound, you know, a hell of a lot HUGER. I can't even begin to imagine the technical difficulties in recording a large ensemble while not bleeding the tracks into another, but nonetheless, I need a bit more bang for my five guitar buck.
Next, I listened to "The Orbit of Eternal Grace" by Grasshopper and the Golden Crickets, a side project by the Mercury Rev guitarist. And whaddaya know, it's filled with loads of the wide-eyed psych-folk you'd expect from Mercury Rev, but with oodles of tape loops, moogs, shimmery noises, flutes, and about a million other things, all vying for your ears attention at the same time. Sometimes you find your Wall of Sound in unexpected places.
Tuesday, April 29, 2003
I forgot to touch on another important point regarding the "No Sympathy For the Record Industry" piece. The price of CD's. Why are they so expensive? Does HMV really think that I'll pay $23.99 for the new Arab Strap? But all belittling aside, prices can't continue to rise like this because there is no longer any consumer mystique associated with a CD.
New technology always comes packaged with a certain "wowness", for the CD it was "Wow! What big sound coming from that little disk! And it's shiny! How does it work? This is just the coolest thing ever!". The CD, the five-inch mini-wonder that reads with a laser, was as much an attraction as the music burned onto it. But these days, CD burners are standard computer items and everybody knows that you can buy a couple dozen blank ones for about fifty cents each and burn hours of mp3's in two minutes. Free promo CD's from internet providers appear regularly in our mailboxes, and free CD games are given away in cereal boxes. Hence, the knowledge that CD's are incredibly cheap to manufacture isn't just well known, it's outwardly flaunted. And yet the music industry wants the whole world to forget that when the the new Britney Spears CD comes out and pay $19.99, thus giving an extra $19.49 to a variety of unknown recipients. To continue with the sports analogy, when a team opens a new ballpark, the fans flock to see the swanky ballpark as well as the team, but once that novelty wears off, they'll find themselves in a swanky empty ballpark if there isn't a quality team on the field.
Computers keep getting cheaper, why not CD's? How many more discs would be sold if a new CD cost ten bucks instead of twenty? Obviously the entire financial structure of the industry would change. It would no longer be very profitable to sign artists to $80 million contracts, spend several hundred thousand on recording an album, or a cool million on a new video with flashy computerized special effects and a hoochie cast of hundreds.
I'm actually sitting here today to make fun of eye magazine reviewer Kevin Hainey. Poorly written reviews, smelly dudes on subways, and watery beer are usually tolerated by the gentle public without raising a huge fuss. But sometimes you've got dissect a review line by line to demonstrate the folly, move to the other end of the car, and politely drink your beer. Here is Mr. Hainey's review of Tim Hecker's "Radio Amor".
"Ever wondered what a deteriorating mainframe might sound like after someone slipped you a heavy dose of Valium"? Last I checked, the year is 2003, which means it's no longer necessary to invoke images of 2001's HAL when presented with a record that wasn't made with drums and guitars.
"Radio Amor, mon amie!". Yes, Tim Hecker is from Montreal. Some people speak French there. The album title is French. Ha ha, I get it. Mon amie. That's funny.
"Montreal's hottest ticket in electronic sound deconstruction has crafted his latest in a successive string of releases to lull listeners into a dreamless cybersleep". In other words, he's been hyped, so it's KH's duty to inform you to not believe said hype. And how the Van Halen riffing on "My Love Is Rotten to the Core" possibly constitutes "lulling" music is beyond me. And the prefix "cyber-" lost all its remaining hipness once Billy Idol started dressing like a cyborg. But I do like the term "electronic sound deconstruction".
"Much along the same lines as what ambient static sculptors Gas, Oval, Pole and Fennesz were doing years ago, "Radio Amor" is a trance-inducing effort that's devoid of discernible melody and chock full of scratchy soundscapes and repetitive structure". These types of comments clearly reveal the reviewers' lack of understanding of this field of music. Step one: cover up the lack of understanding by attempting to namedrop known artists. The trouble is, none of these artists sound very much alike. Their fans wouldn't mistake a Gas track for an Oval, Pole or Fennesz track. I wouldn't review, for instance, a Matchbox Twenty album with the words "much along the same lines as what MOR rockers Hootie and the Blowfish, Toad the Wet Sprocket, Gino Vanelli and Bon Jovi were doing years ago ..." because none of these artists have much in common besides falling under the same (extremely) loose umbrella of musical genre, and thus, they will tend to share some of their fans. Gas, Oval, Pole and Fennesz don't appear on the electronic equivalent of a VH1 Divas special where one's meant to believe completely unrelated artists are merely different branches of a Diva tree. Just because Christina Aguilera and Mariah Carey's prissy appearances and preened hair recall Diana Ross and Chaka Khan doesn't mean they should be thrown onto a one-off special for 21st century working moms.
KH also can't understand that lack of what he terms melody and the presence of repetitive structure are common components in ambient music. You can't criticize an AC/DC record for having too many guitar riffs on it.
"So, what's the problem? Every track ebbs and flows the same as the last, which makes "Radio Amor" as boring as downloading. Overtly dreary, Amor could use a little lovin". True, it isn't as varied as "Haunt Me", if one wishes to compare. But it's supposed to ebb and flow in familiar patterns, it's supposed to revisit the same themes, it's supposed to be dreary, it's supposed to lull some listeners to sleep, just as an AC/DC album is supposed to rock, and thus can't be criticized for doing so. Strangely enough, in complaining about some of the most basic tenets of Tim Hecker's music, KH has actually provided a helpful advertising service for those who enjoy dreary, trance-like ambiance. Too bad he couldn't enjoy it as well.
New technology always comes packaged with a certain "wowness", for the CD it was "Wow! What big sound coming from that little disk! And it's shiny! How does it work? This is just the coolest thing ever!". The CD, the five-inch mini-wonder that reads with a laser, was as much an attraction as the music burned onto it. But these days, CD burners are standard computer items and everybody knows that you can buy a couple dozen blank ones for about fifty cents each and burn hours of mp3's in two minutes. Free promo CD's from internet providers appear regularly in our mailboxes, and free CD games are given away in cereal boxes. Hence, the knowledge that CD's are incredibly cheap to manufacture isn't just well known, it's outwardly flaunted. And yet the music industry wants the whole world to forget that when the the new Britney Spears CD comes out and pay $19.99, thus giving an extra $19.49 to a variety of unknown recipients. To continue with the sports analogy, when a team opens a new ballpark, the fans flock to see the swanky ballpark as well as the team, but once that novelty wears off, they'll find themselves in a swanky empty ballpark if there isn't a quality team on the field.
Computers keep getting cheaper, why not CD's? How many more discs would be sold if a new CD cost ten bucks instead of twenty? Obviously the entire financial structure of the industry would change. It would no longer be very profitable to sign artists to $80 million contracts, spend several hundred thousand on recording an album, or a cool million on a new video with flashy computerized special effects and a hoochie cast of hundreds.
I'm actually sitting here today to make fun of eye magazine reviewer Kevin Hainey. Poorly written reviews, smelly dudes on subways, and watery beer are usually tolerated by the gentle public without raising a huge fuss. But sometimes you've got dissect a review line by line to demonstrate the folly, move to the other end of the car, and politely drink your beer. Here is Mr. Hainey's review of Tim Hecker's "Radio Amor".
"Ever wondered what a deteriorating mainframe might sound like after someone slipped you a heavy dose of Valium"? Last I checked, the year is 2003, which means it's no longer necessary to invoke images of 2001's HAL when presented with a record that wasn't made with drums and guitars.
"Radio Amor, mon amie!". Yes, Tim Hecker is from Montreal. Some people speak French there. The album title is French. Ha ha, I get it. Mon amie. That's funny.
"Montreal's hottest ticket in electronic sound deconstruction has crafted his latest in a successive string of releases to lull listeners into a dreamless cybersleep". In other words, he's been hyped, so it's KH's duty to inform you to not believe said hype. And how the Van Halen riffing on "My Love Is Rotten to the Core" possibly constitutes "lulling" music is beyond me. And the prefix "cyber-" lost all its remaining hipness once Billy Idol started dressing like a cyborg. But I do like the term "electronic sound deconstruction".
"Much along the same lines as what ambient static sculptors Gas, Oval, Pole and Fennesz were doing years ago, "Radio Amor" is a trance-inducing effort that's devoid of discernible melody and chock full of scratchy soundscapes and repetitive structure". These types of comments clearly reveal the reviewers' lack of understanding of this field of music. Step one: cover up the lack of understanding by attempting to namedrop known artists. The trouble is, none of these artists sound very much alike. Their fans wouldn't mistake a Gas track for an Oval, Pole or Fennesz track. I wouldn't review, for instance, a Matchbox Twenty album with the words "much along the same lines as what MOR rockers Hootie and the Blowfish, Toad the Wet Sprocket, Gino Vanelli and Bon Jovi were doing years ago ..." because none of these artists have much in common besides falling under the same (extremely) loose umbrella of musical genre, and thus, they will tend to share some of their fans. Gas, Oval, Pole and Fennesz don't appear on the electronic equivalent of a VH1 Divas special where one's meant to believe completely unrelated artists are merely different branches of a Diva tree. Just because Christina Aguilera and Mariah Carey's prissy appearances and preened hair recall Diana Ross and Chaka Khan doesn't mean they should be thrown onto a one-off special for 21st century working moms.
KH also can't understand that lack of what he terms melody and the presence of repetitive structure are common components in ambient music. You can't criticize an AC/DC record for having too many guitar riffs on it.
"So, what's the problem? Every track ebbs and flows the same as the last, which makes "Radio Amor" as boring as downloading. Overtly dreary, Amor could use a little lovin". True, it isn't as varied as "Haunt Me", if one wishes to compare. But it's supposed to ebb and flow in familiar patterns, it's supposed to revisit the same themes, it's supposed to be dreary, it's supposed to lull some listeners to sleep, just as an AC/DC album is supposed to rock, and thus can't be criticized for doing so. Strangely enough, in complaining about some of the most basic tenets of Tim Hecker's music, KH has actually provided a helpful advertising service for those who enjoy dreary, trance-like ambiance. Too bad he couldn't enjoy it as well.
Tuesday, April 22, 2003
After the usual slow couple of months, the new releases are kicking into gear. The winter in Toronto was interminably long this year, as was the wait for the upsurge in new releases. Good weather/new music : that's a nice correlation. I've got the new Autechre at home just begging to be listened to (although the hockey playoffs may take precedent tonight), and the new Tim Hecker is obviously quite lovely. When's Fennesz's newest coming out already?
Not By Choice came up with a brilliant idea for a video: a parody of MTV's "Becoming". Guess what, bratty teens, you're going to Hollywood to Become Not By Choice! But by the end of the video, the whole concept falls apart with the Becoming Band jumping around on stage along with the Real Band. The Real Band obviously missed the whole point of doing the video -- a parody means you're supposed to make fun of an easy target and expose the silliness within. Hopping up and down like goons just makes fun of yourself, which makes the video a parody of a self parody. Better luck next time. Clearly, the way to go was to shoot the entire video using the Becoming Band and use the Real Band in bit parts such as makeup artists and limo drivers. But who cares, really. It's not like the video is a poor career move or anything since nobody will remember this band in 18 months anyhow.
Now let's fry some bigger fish. The Star published an outstanding article this past Saturday about Saving the Music Industry. Sales down, downloading up, what to do, blah blah blah. Five writers chimed in with sharp and clever suggestions, and a large dose of sharp and clever humour. Peter Howell's "Jukebox Jihad" is probably the best download deterrent I've ever heard. He suggests that the record companies collude and flood the internet with virus-laden music files. I could never support such a thing by any stretch of the imagination, but it would certainly work (until somebody came up with software to sniff out the infected files). It's convoluted, it's sick, it's maniacally diabolical. It would make for a great novel. A "1984" for the 21st century.
Radio columnist Peter Goddard made the most valuable insights of the bunch. He traced the problem way back to the early 80's, with the introduction of new formats (i.e. the dreaded CD) aimed at the pop market and the casual fan. Once the industry realized how much money could be made by convincing consumers to re-purchase their entire music collection, they alienated the classical and jazz fans, who were the most loyal and dedicated music collectors around. They focused on coaxing money from fair-weather yuppies and kids, but now it's twenty years later and nobody is loyal anymore.
And it's even simpler than that. The industry has bled a sequence of Next Big Pop Things onto the radio and has been spectacularly successful in convincing everyone of two things. Intentionally, they convinced people to buy music by a NBPT. Unintentionally (and simultaneously), they convinced people not to buy music from *this* NBPT, because in a couple of months, there's going to be an even BETTER NBPT that will be the coolest thing on two legs and you'll want to buy it even more. Hence, no loyalty. Nobody truly cares about anybody. It's simple. My friends are tired of hearing me say it.
People will buy music if they care about it. Plain and simple. The Beatles "1" and Elvis' "30 #1 Hits" both sold bucketloads, and they could have been compiled by anybody with a computer and a CD burner. Hell, they could have been compiled with just a CD burner, because all those songs were already on CD a hundred times over, often in the purchasers very own collection. It didn't matter. Beatles and Elvis fans are staunch loyalists, proselytizing everyone else with word-of-mouth and TV specials dedicated to trumpeting their greatness boosts the sales figures even more.
Kazaa is a fantastic program because it lets me preview just about any album I choose. I have no need or interest in previewing the new Autechre album because I love Autechre and I buy all their music. I only download music I'm not so sure about, or songs by individual artists whose albums I have no intention of buying. The latter will likely never make money off me, while the former are just might, because they're getting a direct route to my ears that can't happen via the radio because every station just plays 50 Cent and Avril Lavigne.
Now there's bound to be some bean counter making claims such as "we lost an estimated 10-20 % in sales of the last U2 album because of the internet". Here's a hypothetical sports analogy to demonstrate why this "statistic" is a load of garbage. Suppose there's a baseball team, call them the Titans, playing in an ordinary city near you. There's 10 000 diehard baseball fans who attend all the games religiously. They live and breathe baseball. The stadium never sells out, but those who do come are loyal and knowledgeable about the game.
One year, the Titans' play dramatically improves and they're headed for the playoffs for the first time in years. Suddenly, Titans tickets are hot items and all the games are selling out, with 50 000 people at each game. At season's end, the Titans get a big TV contract renewal for an insane amount of money. They'll now be shown in many more markets, with a potential viewership that is several times greater than what they had before.
Next season, the Titans get off to a rough start and hover around the middle of the division all year. They're not going to make the playoffs. Attendance starts dwindling. Tickets are easier to come by. Attendance is still good, 40 000 per game, but the team doesn't look to be getting any better this year so that number is expected to continue falling. Then, one day during a routine press conference, the Titans' general manager says "attendance has fallen off by 20 % because of the new TV contract. People are staying home to watch the games for free instead of coming to the ballpark".
If this situation were real, the city's fans would go sixteen different flavours of mental in their anger, all the sports call-in shows would be flooded with irate fans wanting to verbally crucify him, and there's a strong possibility that GM would be fired by the ownership. When music industry bigwigs say such things, they think they're crime fighting crusaders.
So let's look at the obvious flaws in the GM's argument. 1) Attendance is still a hell of a lot higher than it had been before. 2) The rise and fall of attendance is likely to be correlated with the quality of the team, not the TV deal. 3) The attendance increase brought a lot of casual fans to the park, i.e. general sports fans, school groups, and companies buying seasons tickets. When the team's popularity subsides, these people will find something else to with their time and money, leaving only the diehard 10 000 fans plus any new fans who fell in love with the game due to the Titans' success and can now be counted among the diehard faithful. It seems reasonable that the Titans management and ownership, in the interest of the long term health of the Titans franchise, should be more concerned with keeping the diehard faithful happy as well as courting new fans, rather than insulting their entire fan base and further alienating the casual fans who they were probably going to lose anyway once the team became mediocre again.
This is not a dig at U2. However, they have gained many a devoted fan over their 20-year career, and those fans will follow them through thick and thin. More recently, their sales have spiked due to a Live-Aid-esque 9/11 career boost, and many of those extra sales will not translate into money when they release their next album. They will not match the sales of "All That You Can't Leave Behind" just by feeding off the trickle-down popularity of their 2000-2 success. That album was a phenomenon, but it was an entirely new phenomenon, just as "The Joshua Tree" and "Achtung Baby" were, and just as "Pop" was not. "Pop" relied on the same tricks (forays into electronica, mega-high-tech global tour) as their other 1990's albums and they banked it's success on making people believe that U2 were the biggest band in the world -- not based on "Pop"'s merit, but on past glories.
U2 are smart enough and talented enough to reinvent themselves multiple times, but 99 % of musical artists are not. In these days of short attention spans and nonexistent loyalty, they will get shoved onto pop's back-burner again and again, and the music industry will cry poor. Don't feel too sorry for them.
Not By Choice came up with a brilliant idea for a video: a parody of MTV's "Becoming". Guess what, bratty teens, you're going to Hollywood to Become Not By Choice! But by the end of the video, the whole concept falls apart with the Becoming Band jumping around on stage along with the Real Band. The Real Band obviously missed the whole point of doing the video -- a parody means you're supposed to make fun of an easy target and expose the silliness within. Hopping up and down like goons just makes fun of yourself, which makes the video a parody of a self parody. Better luck next time. Clearly, the way to go was to shoot the entire video using the Becoming Band and use the Real Band in bit parts such as makeup artists and limo drivers. But who cares, really. It's not like the video is a poor career move or anything since nobody will remember this band in 18 months anyhow.
Now let's fry some bigger fish. The Star published an outstanding article this past Saturday about Saving the Music Industry. Sales down, downloading up, what to do, blah blah blah. Five writers chimed in with sharp and clever suggestions, and a large dose of sharp and clever humour. Peter Howell's "Jukebox Jihad" is probably the best download deterrent I've ever heard. He suggests that the record companies collude and flood the internet with virus-laden music files. I could never support such a thing by any stretch of the imagination, but it would certainly work (until somebody came up with software to sniff out the infected files). It's convoluted, it's sick, it's maniacally diabolical. It would make for a great novel. A "1984" for the 21st century.
Radio columnist Peter Goddard made the most valuable insights of the bunch. He traced the problem way back to the early 80's, with the introduction of new formats (i.e. the dreaded CD) aimed at the pop market and the casual fan. Once the industry realized how much money could be made by convincing consumers to re-purchase their entire music collection, they alienated the classical and jazz fans, who were the most loyal and dedicated music collectors around. They focused on coaxing money from fair-weather yuppies and kids, but now it's twenty years later and nobody is loyal anymore.
And it's even simpler than that. The industry has bled a sequence of Next Big Pop Things onto the radio and has been spectacularly successful in convincing everyone of two things. Intentionally, they convinced people to buy music by a NBPT. Unintentionally (and simultaneously), they convinced people not to buy music from *this* NBPT, because in a couple of months, there's going to be an even BETTER NBPT that will be the coolest thing on two legs and you'll want to buy it even more. Hence, no loyalty. Nobody truly cares about anybody. It's simple. My friends are tired of hearing me say it.
People will buy music if they care about it. Plain and simple. The Beatles "1" and Elvis' "30 #1 Hits" both sold bucketloads, and they could have been compiled by anybody with a computer and a CD burner. Hell, they could have been compiled with just a CD burner, because all those songs were already on CD a hundred times over, often in the purchasers very own collection. It didn't matter. Beatles and Elvis fans are staunch loyalists, proselytizing everyone else with word-of-mouth and TV specials dedicated to trumpeting their greatness boosts the sales figures even more.
Kazaa is a fantastic program because it lets me preview just about any album I choose. I have no need or interest in previewing the new Autechre album because I love Autechre and I buy all their music. I only download music I'm not so sure about, or songs by individual artists whose albums I have no intention of buying. The latter will likely never make money off me, while the former are just might, because they're getting a direct route to my ears that can't happen via the radio because every station just plays 50 Cent and Avril Lavigne.
Now there's bound to be some bean counter making claims such as "we lost an estimated 10-20 % in sales of the last U2 album because of the internet". Here's a hypothetical sports analogy to demonstrate why this "statistic" is a load of garbage. Suppose there's a baseball team, call them the Titans, playing in an ordinary city near you. There's 10 000 diehard baseball fans who attend all the games religiously. They live and breathe baseball. The stadium never sells out, but those who do come are loyal and knowledgeable about the game.
One year, the Titans' play dramatically improves and they're headed for the playoffs for the first time in years. Suddenly, Titans tickets are hot items and all the games are selling out, with 50 000 people at each game. At season's end, the Titans get a big TV contract renewal for an insane amount of money. They'll now be shown in many more markets, with a potential viewership that is several times greater than what they had before.
Next season, the Titans get off to a rough start and hover around the middle of the division all year. They're not going to make the playoffs. Attendance starts dwindling. Tickets are easier to come by. Attendance is still good, 40 000 per game, but the team doesn't look to be getting any better this year so that number is expected to continue falling. Then, one day during a routine press conference, the Titans' general manager says "attendance has fallen off by 20 % because of the new TV contract. People are staying home to watch the games for free instead of coming to the ballpark".
If this situation were real, the city's fans would go sixteen different flavours of mental in their anger, all the sports call-in shows would be flooded with irate fans wanting to verbally crucify him, and there's a strong possibility that GM would be fired by the ownership. When music industry bigwigs say such things, they think they're crime fighting crusaders.
So let's look at the obvious flaws in the GM's argument. 1) Attendance is still a hell of a lot higher than it had been before. 2) The rise and fall of attendance is likely to be correlated with the quality of the team, not the TV deal. 3) The attendance increase brought a lot of casual fans to the park, i.e. general sports fans, school groups, and companies buying seasons tickets. When the team's popularity subsides, these people will find something else to with their time and money, leaving only the diehard 10 000 fans plus any new fans who fell in love with the game due to the Titans' success and can now be counted among the diehard faithful. It seems reasonable that the Titans management and ownership, in the interest of the long term health of the Titans franchise, should be more concerned with keeping the diehard faithful happy as well as courting new fans, rather than insulting their entire fan base and further alienating the casual fans who they were probably going to lose anyway once the team became mediocre again.
This is not a dig at U2. However, they have gained many a devoted fan over their 20-year career, and those fans will follow them through thick and thin. More recently, their sales have spiked due to a Live-Aid-esque 9/11 career boost, and many of those extra sales will not translate into money when they release their next album. They will not match the sales of "All That You Can't Leave Behind" just by feeding off the trickle-down popularity of their 2000-2 success. That album was a phenomenon, but it was an entirely new phenomenon, just as "The Joshua Tree" and "Achtung Baby" were, and just as "Pop" was not. "Pop" relied on the same tricks (forays into electronica, mega-high-tech global tour) as their other 1990's albums and they banked it's success on making people believe that U2 were the biggest band in the world -- not based on "Pop"'s merit, but on past glories.
U2 are smart enough and talented enough to reinvent themselves multiple times, but 99 % of musical artists are not. In these days of short attention spans and nonexistent loyalty, they will get shoved onto pop's back-burner again and again, and the music industry will cry poor. Don't feel too sorry for them.
Saturday, March 15, 2003
I'm old. I remember reading NME's Top 100 Albums of All Time issue. It seems so recent. It was 1993. They said it'd be another ten years until they devised another such list.
Which brings us to 2003. The list is out, and get comfortable, because this will go on for a while. I'm not going to insult anyone by attempting a "lots has happened in music since 1993" essay, because I have nothing particularly witty to say about the sludging crawl of time and I'm not stupid enough to believe I can sum up ten years of music in three sentences. Even run-on ones. Instead, I'm going to toss out random comments, present random statistics (since I'm a geek and all that), and run down the top 20.
FIRST THOUGHTS. A disturbing absence of jazz, oldies (Elvis, Frank), and soul (Otis, Aretha). The 1993 chart had lots of that stuff. Instead, there's loads and loads of guitar bands. And not your dad's rock bands. The Stones and Dylan, for instance, have been shunted way down the list. Almost no electronic music.
But my most prominent first impression was the issue of recent albums. In 1993, the voters (NME writers) seemed hesitant to put (then) recent records on the list. In 2003, there are recent albums in abundance. Way too much in abundance, in fact. The White Stripes "Elephant" is there, and it's NOT EVEN RELEASED YET. The Streets? The Coral? That stuff is supposed to be timeless classic stuff?
This is where I get off the soap box and clamour for the cold, hard, statistics. I make no claim as to the exactitude of any of the following numbers. Basically, I may have miscounted at some point, but I'm confident I'm right to within a few percent. The conclusions do not change. _________ In 1993, there were 8 albums from the previous two years ('91, '92), 18 from 1988 or later, and 32 from 1983 or later.
For 2003? 9, 16, 32, respectively. It seems as though I've been carrying around some prejudices for ten years. The NME is almost precisely as biased toward recent releases now as they were then. Believe me, I was shocked after doing this tally. To give them further credit, 4 of those 8 albums from '91 and '92 are on the '03 chart. Two more (PJ Harvey and Spiritualized), bands that were very new in 1993, charted different records this time than in '93. Clearly, the NME did a good job in recognizing brand new talent back in '93. In that case, I'll give them the benefit of the doubt and state that they should know what they're doing by honouring the neophytes in '03. Incidentally, 30 writers voted in '93, 36 voted this time around, and the only person to vote in both polls is John Mulvey. Cheers to you, John.
I am proud to own 29 albums on the '93 list, and 42 on the '03 list. And allow me to defend my previously confessed prejudice by addressing the rather large turnover between the two lists. Only 46 albums from the '93 list are still around in '03. Of course, 32 of the 54 new albums were released in the interregnum, but that still leaves another 22 albums, more than one-fifth of the chart, that could have appeared in '93 but were not chosen. However, 6 of the '93 Top Ten are in the '03 Top Ten, and the other 4 all remained in the Top Thirty. Plus, only 3 of the 54 albums that have been turfed from the '93 chart were in that chart's Top Twenty. Therefore, there has been considerable turnover in the Top 100, but the albums that were considered the greatest of the great in '93 have remained so today.
"Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band", arguably the most overrated album of the rock era, was #1 on the 1974 chart. It was #33 in '93, and is nowhere to be found in '03. Good. It's taken a few decades, but that record's fifteen minutes are up. It's dramatically slipped southward on Best Album charts over the last decade, losing ground in particular to far worthier Beatles records. It's also nice to see Brian Wilson finish ahead of the Beatles yet again. The Smiths paced everybody with four albums. Second to "Queen" is "Strangeways Here We Come" at #25. That record has undergone an amazing rehabilitation over the last ten years, transcending the stigma of the being the album that broke up the band, and is now viewed as great in it's own right. But I still prefer "Hatful of Hollow" (#51).
I was personally pleased to see two Pulp albums, "His 'N Hers" and surprise surprise "This Is Hardcore". Hell, if you told me that the NME picked two Pulp records on it's Top 100, I surely would have figured "Different Class" to be one of them. But I can't argue with quality. Visionaries such as myself (ahem) have touted it as a lost classic for some time now. That record is to Pulp's discography what "Blood on The Tracks" is to Dylan's. For two decades, it was considered to be off-peak Dylan, but is now considered his best work in many circles. Including the NME -- "BotT" is the only Dylan album left on their chart. "Highway 61 Revisited" (#14 in '93) is the highest from '93 to have gone missing in '03. "Blonde on Blonde" (#17 in '93) is third-highest. Also, kudos for respecting one of the finest bands to ever walk the earth, Kraftwerk, with "Trans Europe Express" at #36. One of the biggest strikes against their candidacy in the Greatest Band Ever sweepstakes is their lack of a breakout "it" album, a "The Queen Is Dead", a "Parallel Lines", or yes, a "Sgt. Peppers". Consistently great bands are often forgotten in this way, since their many fine records split the votes. If the campaign manager need a consensus behind the manufacture of a zeitgeist album for Kraftwerk, "TEE" (although not necessarily their best) is certainly my choice. The title track invented rap and industrial, and name-checks Iggy Pop and David Bowie. What's not to worship?
Now let's examine the Top Twenty in a bit more detail. Placings on the '93 chart are in brackets.
1 (5). The Stone Roses : "The Stone Roses". I have absolutely no qualms about this. It's easily one of my top five fave albums ever. The '93 chart was compiled during a time of "where in heck are the Roses these days?" uber-hype. I was thinking it just might pull off the #1 last time. I wasn't shocked at all this time.
2 (-). Pixies : "Doolittle". On the other hand, I wasn't expecting this in the least. Only "Surfer Rosa" showed in '93, this one did not. The recent wave of critical acclaim bestowed upon garage punk is a clear f-you to the candy coated PG pop that's dominated both sides of the Atlantic for far too many years. This makes indie rock fans hearken for the days of simpler DIY punk pop, but not garbage like Sum 41, and not anything as emotionally heavy as grunge (nobody wants to think about Kurt's instabilities when there's fun to be had courtesy of the Hives). Hence, the increased importance placed on bands like the Pixies. A #2 ranking is completely preposterous, but it does make me want to buy "Death to the Pixies" a bit more.
3 (1). Beach Boys : "Pet Sounds". Has there ever been a greater four year period of musical creativity for one person than Brian Wilson, 1962-1966?
4 (26). Television : "Marquee Moon". I've never heard this record. But NYC-sounding bands are kinda popular with rock crits these days, or so I've been told.
5 (2). The Beatles : "Revolver". I can never pick between this and the White Album. Would you like to hear the marathon or the sprint? It bears repeating -- this record blows "Sgt. Peppers" out of the sky. It's quite firmly ensconced in it's "Best Beatles Album" role, with no clear end in sight.
6 (18). Love : "Forever Changes". I hear this record is quite bonkers. It wasn't Love's only album, although many probably think that it is. In that light, "Forever Changes" is quite firmly ensconced as the "Best One-Shot Wonder Album" in rock history. Maybe I can drum up support for the first Drugstore album and try to claim that misapplied crown for it someday.
7 (-). The Strokes : "Is This It?". Talk about too much too soon. I own this album. When I listen to it, I enjoy it. It is obviously not one of the best albums ever. I firmly believe that only the trainspotters will remember The Strokes and The White Stripes in ten years time. With the turnover rate of musical trends being what they are, it may only take five or six years. Remember the Spice Girls? Not many people do, which is mind-blowing for anyone who lived through their heyday.
8 (10). The Smiths : "The Queen Is Dead". The Smiths legacy has not waned one bit in the last fifteen years. Amazing.
9 (6). The Velvet Underground : "The Velvet Underground and Nico". As with the Smiths, hardcore fans are split over which is the best Velvets record. But, I believe those hardcore fans would agree that for people who are new to their music, "The Velvet Underground and Nico" (and "The Queen is Dead") is the best introduction.
10 (3). The Sex Pistols : "Never Mind the Bullocks Here's the Sex Pistols". This is becoming the "Sgt. Peppers" of punk. It's a really really good record, and achieves a high placing on lists like these because it's so famous and has become the aural symbol of an entire time period, if not an entire genre of music. But over time, the subjective memories of that time period fade, and what is left are the relatively objective pieces of vinyl and metallic thin film coatings. Thus, the stature of its contemporary albums, such as "Marquee Moon" and "The Ramones", steadily grows.
11 (-). My Bloody Valentine : "Loveless". YES YES YES YES YES!! It's classic stature has grown immeasurably over the years. Maybe I can even claim 0.0000000000004 % of the credit for helping these opinions gain prominence. MBV are truly the Velvet Underground of the last fifteen years -- not many people bought their records, but everyone who did formed a band or badly wanted to form a band just like them.
12 (7). The Clash : "London Calling". A record with incredible staying power, particularly since it sounds fairly conventional these days. RIP Joe Strummer.
13 (-). Oasis : "Definitely Maybe". Oasis are nowhere near this great, but the NME did rank this far above "Morning Glory", which is exactly where it belongs.
14 (20). Joy Division : "Closer". I still maintain that "Unknown Pleasures" is better, but history has consistently deemed this one superior for two decades. I'm always flattered when JD are ranked high on any list -- I can scarcely believe that so many people continue to like them so much.
15 (-). Nirvana : "In Utero". Please recall my Velvets and Smiths comments at #9. Now reapply. Is this really becoming "the" Nirvana record? Is this a result of a post-1990's "Nevermind" backlash?
16 (-). Radiohead : "OK Computer". At least they didn't give this one the Strokes treatment, although if this list had been compiled in 1998 I'm sure they would have.
17 (-). Spiritualized : "Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating In Space". Please recall my Velvets and Smiths comments at #9. Now reapply. Unless the Delgados land a car commercial and get a number one hit from it, overproduction is unlikely to become the next mega trend and "Let It Come Down" will continue to polarize critics and be neglected.
18 (52). Blondie : "Parallel Lines". Here's exactly what I was talking about with reference to the Pixies. The Sound of NYC Bands is the Sound Critics Love to Hear These Days. How else to explain SIX of them in the Top 20 of this list. But Blondie's genius is no exaggeration, they were the real deal, spanning a billion different genres of music, helping to legitimize punk pop (the whole lot from Green Day to Avril Lavigne wouldn't exist without Blondie), and doing it all with sex appeal and impeccable musicianship thrown into the mix. All of this is evident on "Parallel Lines", which probably sold more records than everything else in this Top 20 combined, and remains one of the few records in rock history to be a mega seller without being viewed as a sellout ...
19 (12). Nirvana : "Nevermind". ... and the same goes for "Nevermind".
20 (-). The White Stripes : "White Blood Cells". I think my opinion is already clear regarding this albums ridiculously high placement, so congratulations if you've read this far and let's so this again in 2013.
Which brings us to 2003. The list is out, and get comfortable, because this will go on for a while. I'm not going to insult anyone by attempting a "lots has happened in music since 1993" essay, because I have nothing particularly witty to say about the sludging crawl of time and I'm not stupid enough to believe I can sum up ten years of music in three sentences. Even run-on ones. Instead, I'm going to toss out random comments, present random statistics (since I'm a geek and all that), and run down the top 20.
FIRST THOUGHTS. A disturbing absence of jazz, oldies (Elvis, Frank), and soul (Otis, Aretha). The 1993 chart had lots of that stuff. Instead, there's loads and loads of guitar bands. And not your dad's rock bands. The Stones and Dylan, for instance, have been shunted way down the list. Almost no electronic music.
But my most prominent first impression was the issue of recent albums. In 1993, the voters (NME writers) seemed hesitant to put (then) recent records on the list. In 2003, there are recent albums in abundance. Way too much in abundance, in fact. The White Stripes "Elephant" is there, and it's NOT EVEN RELEASED YET. The Streets? The Coral? That stuff is supposed to be timeless classic stuff?
This is where I get off the soap box and clamour for the cold, hard, statistics. I make no claim as to the exactitude of any of the following numbers. Basically, I may have miscounted at some point, but I'm confident I'm right to within a few percent. The conclusions do not change. _________ In 1993, there were 8 albums from the previous two years ('91, '92), 18 from 1988 or later, and 32 from 1983 or later.
For 2003? 9, 16, 32, respectively. It seems as though I've been carrying around some prejudices for ten years. The NME is almost precisely as biased toward recent releases now as they were then. Believe me, I was shocked after doing this tally. To give them further credit, 4 of those 8 albums from '91 and '92 are on the '03 chart. Two more (PJ Harvey and Spiritualized), bands that were very new in 1993, charted different records this time than in '93. Clearly, the NME did a good job in recognizing brand new talent back in '93. In that case, I'll give them the benefit of the doubt and state that they should know what they're doing by honouring the neophytes in '03. Incidentally, 30 writers voted in '93, 36 voted this time around, and the only person to vote in both polls is John Mulvey. Cheers to you, John.
I am proud to own 29 albums on the '93 list, and 42 on the '03 list. And allow me to defend my previously confessed prejudice by addressing the rather large turnover between the two lists. Only 46 albums from the '93 list are still around in '03. Of course, 32 of the 54 new albums were released in the interregnum, but that still leaves another 22 albums, more than one-fifth of the chart, that could have appeared in '93 but were not chosen. However, 6 of the '93 Top Ten are in the '03 Top Ten, and the other 4 all remained in the Top Thirty. Plus, only 3 of the 54 albums that have been turfed from the '93 chart were in that chart's Top Twenty. Therefore, there has been considerable turnover in the Top 100, but the albums that were considered the greatest of the great in '93 have remained so today.
"Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band", arguably the most overrated album of the rock era, was #1 on the 1974 chart. It was #33 in '93, and is nowhere to be found in '03. Good. It's taken a few decades, but that record's fifteen minutes are up. It's dramatically slipped southward on Best Album charts over the last decade, losing ground in particular to far worthier Beatles records. It's also nice to see Brian Wilson finish ahead of the Beatles yet again. The Smiths paced everybody with four albums. Second to "Queen" is "Strangeways Here We Come" at #25. That record has undergone an amazing rehabilitation over the last ten years, transcending the stigma of the being the album that broke up the band, and is now viewed as great in it's own right. But I still prefer "Hatful of Hollow" (#51).
I was personally pleased to see two Pulp albums, "His 'N Hers" and surprise surprise "This Is Hardcore". Hell, if you told me that the NME picked two Pulp records on it's Top 100, I surely would have figured "Different Class" to be one of them. But I can't argue with quality. Visionaries such as myself (ahem) have touted it as a lost classic for some time now. That record is to Pulp's discography what "Blood on The Tracks" is to Dylan's. For two decades, it was considered to be off-peak Dylan, but is now considered his best work in many circles. Including the NME -- "BotT" is the only Dylan album left on their chart. "Highway 61 Revisited" (#14 in '93) is the highest from '93 to have gone missing in '03. "Blonde on Blonde" (#17 in '93) is third-highest. Also, kudos for respecting one of the finest bands to ever walk the earth, Kraftwerk, with "Trans Europe Express" at #36. One of the biggest strikes against their candidacy in the Greatest Band Ever sweepstakes is their lack of a breakout "it" album, a "The Queen Is Dead", a "Parallel Lines", or yes, a "Sgt. Peppers". Consistently great bands are often forgotten in this way, since their many fine records split the votes. If the campaign manager need a consensus behind the manufacture of a zeitgeist album for Kraftwerk, "TEE" (although not necessarily their best) is certainly my choice. The title track invented rap and industrial, and name-checks Iggy Pop and David Bowie. What's not to worship?
Now let's examine the Top Twenty in a bit more detail. Placings on the '93 chart are in brackets.
1 (5). The Stone Roses : "The Stone Roses". I have absolutely no qualms about this. It's easily one of my top five fave albums ever. The '93 chart was compiled during a time of "where in heck are the Roses these days?" uber-hype. I was thinking it just might pull off the #1 last time. I wasn't shocked at all this time.
2 (-). Pixies : "Doolittle". On the other hand, I wasn't expecting this in the least. Only "Surfer Rosa" showed in '93, this one did not. The recent wave of critical acclaim bestowed upon garage punk is a clear f-you to the candy coated PG pop that's dominated both sides of the Atlantic for far too many years. This makes indie rock fans hearken for the days of simpler DIY punk pop, but not garbage like Sum 41, and not anything as emotionally heavy as grunge (nobody wants to think about Kurt's instabilities when there's fun to be had courtesy of the Hives). Hence, the increased importance placed on bands like the Pixies. A #2 ranking is completely preposterous, but it does make me want to buy "Death to the Pixies" a bit more.
3 (1). Beach Boys : "Pet Sounds". Has there ever been a greater four year period of musical creativity for one person than Brian Wilson, 1962-1966?
4 (26). Television : "Marquee Moon". I've never heard this record. But NYC-sounding bands are kinda popular with rock crits these days, or so I've been told.
5 (2). The Beatles : "Revolver". I can never pick between this and the White Album. Would you like to hear the marathon or the sprint? It bears repeating -- this record blows "Sgt. Peppers" out of the sky. It's quite firmly ensconced in it's "Best Beatles Album" role, with no clear end in sight.
6 (18). Love : "Forever Changes". I hear this record is quite bonkers. It wasn't Love's only album, although many probably think that it is. In that light, "Forever Changes" is quite firmly ensconced as the "Best One-Shot Wonder Album" in rock history. Maybe I can drum up support for the first Drugstore album and try to claim that misapplied crown for it someday.
7 (-). The Strokes : "Is This It?". Talk about too much too soon. I own this album. When I listen to it, I enjoy it. It is obviously not one of the best albums ever. I firmly believe that only the trainspotters will remember The Strokes and The White Stripes in ten years time. With the turnover rate of musical trends being what they are, it may only take five or six years. Remember the Spice Girls? Not many people do, which is mind-blowing for anyone who lived through their heyday.
8 (10). The Smiths : "The Queen Is Dead". The Smiths legacy has not waned one bit in the last fifteen years. Amazing.
9 (6). The Velvet Underground : "The Velvet Underground and Nico". As with the Smiths, hardcore fans are split over which is the best Velvets record. But, I believe those hardcore fans would agree that for people who are new to their music, "The Velvet Underground and Nico" (and "The Queen is Dead") is the best introduction.
10 (3). The Sex Pistols : "Never Mind the Bullocks Here's the Sex Pistols". This is becoming the "Sgt. Peppers" of punk. It's a really really good record, and achieves a high placing on lists like these because it's so famous and has become the aural symbol of an entire time period, if not an entire genre of music. But over time, the subjective memories of that time period fade, and what is left are the relatively objective pieces of vinyl and metallic thin film coatings. Thus, the stature of its contemporary albums, such as "Marquee Moon" and "The Ramones", steadily grows.
11 (-). My Bloody Valentine : "Loveless". YES YES YES YES YES!! It's classic stature has grown immeasurably over the years. Maybe I can even claim 0.0000000000004 % of the credit for helping these opinions gain prominence. MBV are truly the Velvet Underground of the last fifteen years -- not many people bought their records, but everyone who did formed a band or badly wanted to form a band just like them.
12 (7). The Clash : "London Calling". A record with incredible staying power, particularly since it sounds fairly conventional these days. RIP Joe Strummer.
13 (-). Oasis : "Definitely Maybe". Oasis are nowhere near this great, but the NME did rank this far above "Morning Glory", which is exactly where it belongs.
14 (20). Joy Division : "Closer". I still maintain that "Unknown Pleasures" is better, but history has consistently deemed this one superior for two decades. I'm always flattered when JD are ranked high on any list -- I can scarcely believe that so many people continue to like them so much.
15 (-). Nirvana : "In Utero". Please recall my Velvets and Smiths comments at #9. Now reapply. Is this really becoming "the" Nirvana record? Is this a result of a post-1990's "Nevermind" backlash?
16 (-). Radiohead : "OK Computer". At least they didn't give this one the Strokes treatment, although if this list had been compiled in 1998 I'm sure they would have.
17 (-). Spiritualized : "Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating In Space". Please recall my Velvets and Smiths comments at #9. Now reapply. Unless the Delgados land a car commercial and get a number one hit from it, overproduction is unlikely to become the next mega trend and "Let It Come Down" will continue to polarize critics and be neglected.
18 (52). Blondie : "Parallel Lines". Here's exactly what I was talking about with reference to the Pixies. The Sound of NYC Bands is the Sound Critics Love to Hear These Days. How else to explain SIX of them in the Top 20 of this list. But Blondie's genius is no exaggeration, they were the real deal, spanning a billion different genres of music, helping to legitimize punk pop (the whole lot from Green Day to Avril Lavigne wouldn't exist without Blondie), and doing it all with sex appeal and impeccable musicianship thrown into the mix. All of this is evident on "Parallel Lines", which probably sold more records than everything else in this Top 20 combined, and remains one of the few records in rock history to be a mega seller without being viewed as a sellout ...
19 (12). Nirvana : "Nevermind". ... and the same goes for "Nevermind".
20 (-). The White Stripes : "White Blood Cells". I think my opinion is already clear regarding this albums ridiculously high placement, so congratulations if you've read this far and let's so this again in 2013.
Sunday, March 09, 2003
Avril Lavigne keeps landing those magazine covers. And they keep placing her at the forefront of the vague Anti-Britney movement. Of course, this is nothing more than Women & Songs Volume 7: The Teenage Years. Music fans, not to mention all free-thinking women, should be deeply insulted every time such things happen.
Consider these comments my tribute to International Women's day. The music industry seems to run through cycles where they come to the startling (to them), overtly sexist revelation that women are capable of writing and performing songs just like men, manufacture a bogus musical womens movement in a blatant attempt to shift product, and then forget it all. Lather, rinse, repeat five years later.
In most industries, once something different "breaks through", it ceases to become novel and is subsequently a non-issue. Take the NFL. Stereotypes have long persisted about certain positions. So, when black quarterbacks began making a splash in the league, their race was a notable facet of their performance. Now, there are many excellent black quarterbacks, and despite the position still being dominated by whites, it was no longer a race issue when, say, Michael Vick started making the highlight reels. He's not considered a distinguished black quarterback, he's just a distinguished quarterback.
Women have been a dominant songwriting force in popular music for decades, yet they're constantly pigeonholed into some stupidly named breakthrough movement and treated like novelty items, i.e. "lookie here, that Avril babe it cute and she can write a song unlike that Barbie doll Britney, well ain't that the darndest thing", until the movement dies just like any other movement and they're forced to prove themselves yet again.
Consider these comments my tribute to International Women's day. The music industry seems to run through cycles where they come to the startling (to them), overtly sexist revelation that women are capable of writing and performing songs just like men, manufacture a bogus musical womens movement in a blatant attempt to shift product, and then forget it all. Lather, rinse, repeat five years later.
In most industries, once something different "breaks through", it ceases to become novel and is subsequently a non-issue. Take the NFL. Stereotypes have long persisted about certain positions. So, when black quarterbacks began making a splash in the league, their race was a notable facet of their performance. Now, there are many excellent black quarterbacks, and despite the position still being dominated by whites, it was no longer a race issue when, say, Michael Vick started making the highlight reels. He's not considered a distinguished black quarterback, he's just a distinguished quarterback.
Women have been a dominant songwriting force in popular music for decades, yet they're constantly pigeonholed into some stupidly named breakthrough movement and treated like novelty items, i.e. "lookie here, that Avril babe it cute and she can write a song unlike that Barbie doll Britney, well ain't that the darndest thing", until the movement dies just like any other movement and they're forced to prove themselves yet again.
Monday, March 03, 2003
Brit Awards Diary.
0:01. My lord, what an *unbelievable* opening minute with Pink! Popping out of a giant royal crown, band *storming* through "Get the Party Started" -- astounding stuff. I didn't care for the next four minutes of her performance, but what a great start.
0:06. I agree -- it's a cool innovation to put the podium in the middle of the hall, directly in front of the nominees. But the trade-off is the loss of the dining tables with wine bottles and drunk attendees. This new setup is like a convocation.
0:08. Will Young is managed by Simon Fuller (Spice Girls). Well, that certainly makes sense. Will says that Simon isn't afraid to tell him when he's got a bad idea, which he admits is often. No shit, you talentless turd.
0:10. The crowd is less than thrilled at Norah Jones' win for best International Newcomer. I laugh as she gives a serious acceptance speech (via tape) at the lager-it-up Brits.
0:12. Blue. Piss break.
0:22. What sick, sick choices for Best British Single. Somebody inform Gareth Gates that post-1991 covers of "Unchained Melody" are completely unwarranted.
0:23. I'm loving host Davina McColl's constant breast jokes.
0:26. Robbie Williams isn't there? That's shameful.
0:27. Justin Timberlake. At an American awards show, his performance would be a notable portion of the evening. The trouble is, it's been a solid half hour of boy and girl toy prepackaged stuff so far, hence, Justin is practically inconspicuous.
0:30. However, Kylie Minogue doing the "Rapture" rap -- that's real sweet. I could certainly live without Justin's falsetto, though.
0:36. Ms. Dynamite beat out nine(!) others for British Urban Act. All this seamless mixing of the songs during the nominee announcements is a cool idea in theory, but it mainly shows how homogeneous all the acts are. Anyway, she gives a mini speech about respecting her and the other nominees since they work so hard at what they do. Babe, everyone's seen "Making the Band" and "Popstars" so we know there's a lot of rehearsal involved, but most of you are still manufactured catalysers, synthesized for the purpose of increasing product-shifting rates. Live with it.
1:00. International Female is awarded to Pink. Accents aside, you can always identify the Americans because they're thanking 500 people rather than just snickering "thank you" and losing their balance on the podium.
1:05. Coldplay put laser lights to opulent use during a transcendent "Clocks". Sure, it's Earls Court, they've got every right to do a Pink Floyd light show if they want.
1:11. Best British Dance Act. Remember when Orbital, Prodigy and Massive Attack were competing for this year after year? You know, back when there were competent bands nominated in this category? Now it's the urban sameness that's nominated n EVERY other category. On the bright side, notice that the # of categories proliferates like jackrabbits from year to year, and yet the show moves along FASTER and thus, doesn't run any longer than normal. American awards shows, take note.
1:20. Avril Lavigne + 21 drummers + Sk8er Boi. That kind of creativity keeps rock and roll as a viable proposition.
1:25. Best British Group = Coldplay. Also nominated are Blue, Oasis, Doves, Sugababes. When did I wake up from Pop Hell and return to a world with an awards show contested by (mainly) good bands? And Davina McColl is right -- where's the controversy this year?
1:28. Almost on cue, Eminem swears his way through his acceptance speech for Best International Album (delivered via taped message, however).
1:30. Ms. Dynamite blatantly tries to re-create Kylie's 2002 show-stealer "Can't Get Blue Monday Out of My Head" by stealing George Michael's "Faith". But you've gotta respect her, she worked hard to rip off that song.
1:39. By winning Best Album, Coldplay earn their fourth Brit, tying them with Oasis according to the voiceover guy. Maybe the Gallaghers can take solace by being secure in knowing they'd win the back alley brawl between the two bands. Hey, why not, Chris Martin issued an open challenge for a fight during his last speech. Put in on a Pay Per View and charge fifty bucks, I'd watch. This time around, he mocks/imitates presenter Justin Timberlake's dancing in the "Like I Love You" video and states these awards won't mean much after Dubbya kills us all in a war. Who would have guessed that CHRIS FRIGGING MARTIN would supply the night's only controversy. He must be turning into a prick from hanging out with Gwyneth's spoiled friends.
1:41. What a Tom Jones tribute, featuring dozens of cool clips and celeb memoirs. TJ singing "I Walk the Line" with Johnny Cash and June Carter! Singing with Aretha, Stevie. Robbie Williams atones for his absence with touching words about what TJ's meant to him. Then, Tom ruins it all by sporting a goatee on stage. But he too atones with a kickass medley of his songs.
2:00. Tom's done, and so are we, right on time.
0:01. My lord, what an *unbelievable* opening minute with Pink! Popping out of a giant royal crown, band *storming* through "Get the Party Started" -- astounding stuff. I didn't care for the next four minutes of her performance, but what a great start.
0:06. I agree -- it's a cool innovation to put the podium in the middle of the hall, directly in front of the nominees. But the trade-off is the loss of the dining tables with wine bottles and drunk attendees. This new setup is like a convocation.
0:08. Will Young is managed by Simon Fuller (Spice Girls). Well, that certainly makes sense. Will says that Simon isn't afraid to tell him when he's got a bad idea, which he admits is often. No shit, you talentless turd.
0:10. The crowd is less than thrilled at Norah Jones' win for best International Newcomer. I laugh as she gives a serious acceptance speech (via tape) at the lager-it-up Brits.
0:12. Blue. Piss break.
0:22. What sick, sick choices for Best British Single. Somebody inform Gareth Gates that post-1991 covers of "Unchained Melody" are completely unwarranted.
0:23. I'm loving host Davina McColl's constant breast jokes.
0:26. Robbie Williams isn't there? That's shameful.
0:27. Justin Timberlake. At an American awards show, his performance would be a notable portion of the evening. The trouble is, it's been a solid half hour of boy and girl toy prepackaged stuff so far, hence, Justin is practically inconspicuous.
0:30. However, Kylie Minogue doing the "Rapture" rap -- that's real sweet. I could certainly live without Justin's falsetto, though.
0:36. Ms. Dynamite beat out nine(!) others for British Urban Act. All this seamless mixing of the songs during the nominee announcements is a cool idea in theory, but it mainly shows how homogeneous all the acts are. Anyway, she gives a mini speech about respecting her and the other nominees since they work so hard at what they do. Babe, everyone's seen "Making the Band" and "Popstars" so we know there's a lot of rehearsal involved, but most of you are still manufactured catalysers, synthesized for the purpose of increasing product-shifting rates. Live with it.
1:00. International Female is awarded to Pink. Accents aside, you can always identify the Americans because they're thanking 500 people rather than just snickering "thank you" and losing their balance on the podium.
1:05. Coldplay put laser lights to opulent use during a transcendent "Clocks". Sure, it's Earls Court, they've got every right to do a Pink Floyd light show if they want.
1:11. Best British Dance Act. Remember when Orbital, Prodigy and Massive Attack were competing for this year after year? You know, back when there were competent bands nominated in this category? Now it's the urban sameness that's nominated n EVERY other category. On the bright side, notice that the # of categories proliferates like jackrabbits from year to year, and yet the show moves along FASTER and thus, doesn't run any longer than normal. American awards shows, take note.
1:20. Avril Lavigne + 21 drummers + Sk8er Boi. That kind of creativity keeps rock and roll as a viable proposition.
1:25. Best British Group = Coldplay. Also nominated are Blue, Oasis, Doves, Sugababes. When did I wake up from Pop Hell and return to a world with an awards show contested by (mainly) good bands? And Davina McColl is right -- where's the controversy this year?
1:28. Almost on cue, Eminem swears his way through his acceptance speech for Best International Album (delivered via taped message, however).
1:30. Ms. Dynamite blatantly tries to re-create Kylie's 2002 show-stealer "Can't Get Blue Monday Out of My Head" by stealing George Michael's "Faith". But you've gotta respect her, she worked hard to rip off that song.
1:39. By winning Best Album, Coldplay earn their fourth Brit, tying them with Oasis according to the voiceover guy. Maybe the Gallaghers can take solace by being secure in knowing they'd win the back alley brawl between the two bands. Hey, why not, Chris Martin issued an open challenge for a fight during his last speech. Put in on a Pay Per View and charge fifty bucks, I'd watch. This time around, he mocks/imitates presenter Justin Timberlake's dancing in the "Like I Love You" video and states these awards won't mean much after Dubbya kills us all in a war. Who would have guessed that CHRIS FRIGGING MARTIN would supply the night's only controversy. He must be turning into a prick from hanging out with Gwyneth's spoiled friends.
1:41. What a Tom Jones tribute, featuring dozens of cool clips and celeb memoirs. TJ singing "I Walk the Line" with Johnny Cash and June Carter! Singing with Aretha, Stevie. Robbie Williams atones for his absence with touching words about what TJ's meant to him. Then, Tom ruins it all by sporting a goatee on stage. But he too atones with a kickass medley of his songs.
2:00. Tom's done, and so are we, right on time.
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