30 points, t-365, voted on by Brian Miller
This was not what I was expecting. Judging by the title, and having never heard of Captain Ahab beforehand, I imagined an underground hip-hop artist and heavy handed commentary about a boring (in a musical context) subject like the ubiquity of 21st century media. Then I read a description somewhere that characterized it as "electro" or "synth pop" or something similarly benign. Too bad I didn't see Joe Hemmerling's review for Tiny Mix Tapes, which nicely captures the album's schizophrenic bluster. Then again, I think it was better that I wasn't prepared for this, because surprises like these are welcome sometimes.
"The End of Irony" can't decide what kind of album it's supposed to be, but it starts out with three minutes of savage, scorching rhythmic noise and frankly speaking, a lot of electronic albums could benefit from having a few minutes of rhythmic noise tacked onto the start. The second track, "Godlike", more closely resembles an 80's synth throwback, that is, if your idea of an 80's synth throwback is KMFDM, not A Flock of Seagulls. KMFDM also recorded an eight minute song called "Godlike" ... coincidence? Judging by the militaristic chanting on the third track, "The Calm Before the Sword (Club Mix)", I'm going to say no.
"Death to False Techno" is a nearly intolerable six minutes of pogoing speed trance, but sometimes it's difficult to know when Captain Ahab are taking the piss so maybe the joke's on me. "Acting Hard" is a passable homage to Nitzer Ebb in the 80's, and "I Don't Have a Dick" is a hilarious, rollicking, piano-led club number about ... well, take a guess (here's a hint: "I get the finest ass in the world/The kids line up just to smell my sweat/I can fuck a hundred people at once/'Cause I can make you come with my EYES").
Even at just over 50 minutes, "The End of Irony" is a bit too long. In the album's second half, the freakazoid jokes and weird chants become tiresome, and I think it'd be a stronger album if they'd gone the route of the sleek, 35-40 minute album and dumped a couple of tracks. Maybe Captain Ahab like being labeled as techno punks who pay homage to the electronic, rave, and EBM music that they love by ripping the blood and guts out of the music and blowing it up into an even more cartoon-y version of its original self. However, I think they're better when they're trying to be sound creators than punks, and the first half of the album really shows that.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Friday, April 29, 2011
Grading "Glee" -- Season 02, Episode 18
Yep, they were holding something back last week. I wasn't thrilled with the storyline advancement in this episode, but the music was off the charts.
"Unpretty"/"I Feel Pretty". B+. Not only was this the first mashup in the show's history that they didn't completely ruin, it flowed so seamlessly that you wouldn't have known it was a mashup. Quinn and Rachel were sitting right next to each other but barely acknowledged each other's presence -- the tension was palpable and they might have well have been singing in different time zones. It was like watching two basketball teammates pull off efficient, sometimes breathtaking moves even though you know they don't like each other.
"I've Gotta Be Me". B. This might have been Finn's best solo vocal to date, and in a genre that I didn't think he could pull off. Well technically he didn't exactly pull it off because he handed off the dancing portion of the song to somebody else. The chemistry between the two was cute, but they never gelled. They were more or less spectators for each other's respective contributions.
"Somewhere Only We Know". B-. This might have carried actual emotional heft if Kurt had shown the slightest sign of being anything less than ecstatic to be studying at Dalton Academy over the past few months. Or if he'd ever talked about how badly he'd like to return to McKinley high, even once. Still, I can't hate on the song.
"As If We Never Said Goodbye". A. And just like that, they flip the switch and make Kurt's return seem like a big deal. Like the glee club members, I watched this in stunned silence. Chris Colfer sold the excitement of his character perfectly, always balancing precariously between breaking into fits of laughter or tears of joy while delivering a flawless singing performance. This got five minutes and an entire TV segment to itself (commercials both before and after) and why not? Who could possibly follow that?
"Barbra Streisand". B+. A flash mob doing a two-word novelty song in a mall needs to go all out on chutzpah if it's going to be entertaining, and this certainly accomplished that. Just who were some of those odd characters getting down among the crowd? Puck's dancing and Kurt's facial expressions were the kinds of little details that emerge on repeat views that really help make the performance great.
"Born This Way". C+. I didn't like the T-shirt moralizing (and weren't they supposed to reveal negative, or hidden traits? How do "no weave" and "likes boys" fit the bill?) and they didn't do anything other than walk in circles around the stage, but when a high-octane performance of a great Lady Gaga song is the worst thing on the episode, you can't really complain.
"Unpretty"/"I Feel Pretty". B+. Not only was this the first mashup in the show's history that they didn't completely ruin, it flowed so seamlessly that you wouldn't have known it was a mashup. Quinn and Rachel were sitting right next to each other but barely acknowledged each other's presence -- the tension was palpable and they might have well have been singing in different time zones. It was like watching two basketball teammates pull off efficient, sometimes breathtaking moves even though you know they don't like each other.
"I've Gotta Be Me". B. This might have been Finn's best solo vocal to date, and in a genre that I didn't think he could pull off. Well technically he didn't exactly pull it off because he handed off the dancing portion of the song to somebody else. The chemistry between the two was cute, but they never gelled. They were more or less spectators for each other's respective contributions.
"Somewhere Only We Know". B-. This might have carried actual emotional heft if Kurt had shown the slightest sign of being anything less than ecstatic to be studying at Dalton Academy over the past few months. Or if he'd ever talked about how badly he'd like to return to McKinley high, even once. Still, I can't hate on the song.
"As If We Never Said Goodbye". A. And just like that, they flip the switch and make Kurt's return seem like a big deal. Like the glee club members, I watched this in stunned silence. Chris Colfer sold the excitement of his character perfectly, always balancing precariously between breaking into fits of laughter or tears of joy while delivering a flawless singing performance. This got five minutes and an entire TV segment to itself (commercials both before and after) and why not? Who could possibly follow that?
"Barbra Streisand". B+. A flash mob doing a two-word novelty song in a mall needs to go all out on chutzpah if it's going to be entertaining, and this certainly accomplished that. Just who were some of those odd characters getting down among the crowd? Puck's dancing and Kurt's facial expressions were the kinds of little details that emerge on repeat views that really help make the performance great.
"Born This Way". C+. I didn't like the T-shirt moralizing (and weren't they supposed to reveal negative, or hidden traits? How do "no weave" and "likes boys" fit the bill?) and they didn't do anything other than walk in circles around the stage, but when a high-octane performance of a great Lady Gaga song is the worst thing on the episode, you can't really complain.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Grading "Glee" -- Season 02, Episode 17
"Glee" returned after a five week break and what did they have planned for the follow up to the excellent Regionals episode? Not much ... I guess this was all about reminding people that "Glee" was back and rolling toward May sweeps and the season finale. And why blow their load on a filler episode one week before a 90-minute Lady Gaga fest? Well, we still need to review it ...
"All By Myself". B. This was mostly to remind us that Sunshine still exists on this show, although who's complaining when the results are this good (but not great ... I think I've been fairly transparent about my distaste for these performances where the "Glee" divas try to out-diva each other. Something like this really has to knock my socks off to get a really good grade). I have a soft spot for this song too.
"I Follow Rivers". C. Are the producers doing some lame running gag where Tina performs a song and runs off crying before she finishes? Last time it happened I didn't even bother to rate it, but this Lykke Li cover was shaping up to be really interesting (and a perfectly believable choice for Tina's character).
"Turning Tables". D+. This was supposed to be Gwyneth Paltrow's attempt at a "serious" solo performance, in contrast with the fun pop songs she normally sings on "Glee". She really put herself out there with the elegant black dress and huge backing orchestra, all the better to show off her inadequacy on a song like this. Some of the down moments sounded good, but she's totally incapable of hitting the big notes and carrying the song through the choruses. Listen to Adele's version and how her huge voice effortlessly propels the song along. And with that, the Holly Holliday experiment comes to an end, and what was the point of having her go out with Will for all of a few weeks, only to split town like she always does? At least they left the door open for future appearances whenever Paltrow's schedule clears up, oh goody. I suppose nobody gets out of here alive until she covers Coldplay.
"Ain't No Way". B-. If we have to humour Amber Riley and her Aretha fantasies to keep her satisfied for a few weeks while other, far more entertaining singers get their chance at a big solo, then so be it. But this was far, far better than her usual formulaic stuff, mainly because she wasn't afraid to get gritty on this one, and the effort was off the charts.
"All By Myself". B. This was mostly to remind us that Sunshine still exists on this show, although who's complaining when the results are this good (but not great ... I think I've been fairly transparent about my distaste for these performances where the "Glee" divas try to out-diva each other. Something like this really has to knock my socks off to get a really good grade). I have a soft spot for this song too.
"I Follow Rivers". C. Are the producers doing some lame running gag where Tina performs a song and runs off crying before she finishes? Last time it happened I didn't even bother to rate it, but this Lykke Li cover was shaping up to be really interesting (and a perfectly believable choice for Tina's character).
"Turning Tables". D+. This was supposed to be Gwyneth Paltrow's attempt at a "serious" solo performance, in contrast with the fun pop songs she normally sings on "Glee". She really put herself out there with the elegant black dress and huge backing orchestra, all the better to show off her inadequacy on a song like this. Some of the down moments sounded good, but she's totally incapable of hitting the big notes and carrying the song through the choruses. Listen to Adele's version and how her huge voice effortlessly propels the song along. And with that, the Holly Holliday experiment comes to an end, and what was the point of having her go out with Will for all of a few weeks, only to split town like she always does? At least they left the door open for future appearances whenever Paltrow's schedule clears up, oh goody. I suppose nobody gets out of here alive until she covers Coldplay.
"Ain't No Way". B-. If we have to humour Amber Riley and her Aretha fantasies to keep her satisfied for a few weeks while other, far more entertaining singers get their chance at a big solo, then so be it. But this was far, far better than her usual formulaic stuff, mainly because she wasn't afraid to get gritty on this one, and the effort was off the charts.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
P&J 2010 (One and Done): Gord Downie and the Country of Miracles, "The Grand Bounce"
30 points, t-365, voted on by Mike Mettler
The Tragically Hip are huge stars in Canada and have been playing arenas and headlining huge outdoor festivals for twenty years. During the 90's, they tried in vain to break through in the US market but despite constant touring and some high profile performances (e.g. SNL, the '94 Woodstock), it never happened. It's odd that they never enjoyed even Barenaked Ladies-sized success in the US (to name one band that toured their asses off to overcome the stigma of being a Canadian band trying to make it in the US) because they appeal to the same kinds of music fans that have made Dave Matthews Band and Blues Traveler into huge successes that can sustain healthy careers as touring bands until the earth falls into the sun.
So, it's not too difficult to understand why this album received only one vote on P&J -- almost nobody outside of Canada has ever heard of Tragically Hip or Gord Downie, and besides that, Tragically Hip were never all that popular with Canadian music critics. But judging from this interview with Sound and Vision Editor-In-Chief Mike Mettler, it's hardly a surprise to find out that he was the one guy to stan for "The Grand Bounce" in 2010.
I pressed play and recognized "The East Wind" immediately. I didn't understand how that could be possible, but once the chorus hit I remembered that I'd heard it on the radio while driving in Canada this past summer. It's a song that hits directly at my weakest spot -- the mid-tempo rocker led by a repetitively strummed acoustic guitar always turns me into goo on first listen (two good examples of this are James' "Laid" and Tom Petty's "Learning To Fly"). And yet somehow I forgot about this amazing song completely until I heard "The Grand Bounce", and that's why it's important to play silly little games like listening to all the albums on P&J that got only one number one vote from one critic and finished higher than your own number one album that got one vote.
I suppose one reason why Tragically Hip never became big outside of Canada is because they're a proudly Canadian band who sometimes sing about Canadian things. This hasn't been a handicap for any number of distinctly Irish and English bands who had international success, but Canadian culture has never exported itself well. Despite not being a household name, Downie could have invited any number of prominent guests to play and sing on his solo albums. Instead, he's stuck with the same backing band throughout his solo career -- Julie Doiron (from Eric's Trip), Josh Finlayson (from the Skydiggers, whose name wasn't familiar to me at all, even though I remember his band's music quite fondly) and The Dinner Is Ruined (who opened once for Tindersticks in Toronto many years ago and were awful, that was my first exposure to them and I haven't been able to stand them since). He splurged a bit on this, his third solo album, and handed the producing duties over to Chris Walla (Death Cab For Cutie) and the radio-friendly results are probably a big reason why the record went top ten in Canada, whereas Downie's other albums were considered more like esoteric indulgences that he needed to get out of his system between Tragically Hip tours.
Downie's been a consistently great songwriter throughout his career, and even when your reaction was a fairly muted "oh, it's the Nth Tragically Hip album", you still had to admit that the music was more than listenable because he's good even when he's just OK. But when he's good, he's really good, and "The Grand Bounce" can sit proudly next to the best Tragically Hip material. Highlights include the aforementioned "The East Wind", the wistful and introspective "The Hard Canadian", and "Retrace", arguably Downie's most REM-soundalike moment ever (which is saying something).
The Tragically Hip are huge stars in Canada and have been playing arenas and headlining huge outdoor festivals for twenty years. During the 90's, they tried in vain to break through in the US market but despite constant touring and some high profile performances (e.g. SNL, the '94 Woodstock), it never happened. It's odd that they never enjoyed even Barenaked Ladies-sized success in the US (to name one band that toured their asses off to overcome the stigma of being a Canadian band trying to make it in the US) because they appeal to the same kinds of music fans that have made Dave Matthews Band and Blues Traveler into huge successes that can sustain healthy careers as touring bands until the earth falls into the sun.
So, it's not too difficult to understand why this album received only one vote on P&J -- almost nobody outside of Canada has ever heard of Tragically Hip or Gord Downie, and besides that, Tragically Hip were never all that popular with Canadian music critics. But judging from this interview with Sound and Vision Editor-In-Chief Mike Mettler, it's hardly a surprise to find out that he was the one guy to stan for "The Grand Bounce" in 2010.
I pressed play and recognized "The East Wind" immediately. I didn't understand how that could be possible, but once the chorus hit I remembered that I'd heard it on the radio while driving in Canada this past summer. It's a song that hits directly at my weakest spot -- the mid-tempo rocker led by a repetitively strummed acoustic guitar always turns me into goo on first listen (two good examples of this are James' "Laid" and Tom Petty's "Learning To Fly"). And yet somehow I forgot about this amazing song completely until I heard "The Grand Bounce", and that's why it's important to play silly little games like listening to all the albums on P&J that got only one number one vote from one critic and finished higher than your own number one album that got one vote.
I suppose one reason why Tragically Hip never became big outside of Canada is because they're a proudly Canadian band who sometimes sing about Canadian things. This hasn't been a handicap for any number of distinctly Irish and English bands who had international success, but Canadian culture has never exported itself well. Despite not being a household name, Downie could have invited any number of prominent guests to play and sing on his solo albums. Instead, he's stuck with the same backing band throughout his solo career -- Julie Doiron (from Eric's Trip), Josh Finlayson (from the Skydiggers, whose name wasn't familiar to me at all, even though I remember his band's music quite fondly) and The Dinner Is Ruined (who opened once for Tindersticks in Toronto many years ago and were awful, that was my first exposure to them and I haven't been able to stand them since). He splurged a bit on this, his third solo album, and handed the producing duties over to Chris Walla (Death Cab For Cutie) and the radio-friendly results are probably a big reason why the record went top ten in Canada, whereas Downie's other albums were considered more like esoteric indulgences that he needed to get out of his system between Tragically Hip tours.
Downie's been a consistently great songwriter throughout his career, and even when your reaction was a fairly muted "oh, it's the Nth Tragically Hip album", you still had to admit that the music was more than listenable because he's good even when he's just OK. But when he's good, he's really good, and "The Grand Bounce" can sit proudly next to the best Tragically Hip material. Highlights include the aforementioned "The East Wind", the wistful and introspective "The Hard Canadian", and "Retrace", arguably Downie's most REM-soundalike moment ever (which is saying something).
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Swans, Bela Tar @ Barby Club
It's odd that I listened to Beef Terminal for the first time in a couple of years during the same week that I caught a live set from Bela Tar. Lots of people see the "solo guitarist with sampler" semi-genre as a gimmick that gets tired quickly, endlessly recycling the same ideas owing to it's admittedly restrictive basic structure. But I'm not one of those people. The vocals were the garden variety "breathy female shoegaze" type, but I gather that the Cure and all the Cure fans currently playing in bands might be wanting to talk to her about stealing a few riffs.
I'd only heard a couple of Swans albums before last year's comeback record, "My Father Will Guide Me Up a Rope to the Sky", but my excitement leading up to this gig was way out of proportion with my familiarity with their music. They're one of those revered underground bands about whom nobody has a bad word to say. I only found out who they were around 2004, long after they'd split up, and everything I heard about them only reinforced the feeling that I'd missed out. According to just about everyone, they pulled off beautiful/ugly better than anyone ever had, and were one of the loudest (many people unequivocally stated they were THE loudest) bands ever to boot. At the very least, I missed out on the MBV reunion and could get some of the same kicks via Swans. To say that they didn't disappoint couldn't be any more of an understatement, because I can't remember the last time I saw a concert this good. Great concerts are nothing like great albums in that you know immediately that you're seeing a pantheon-level show, it doesn't need time to grow on you. This was an all-time great show, on the shortlist among the best seven or eight I've ever seen.
Plenty of bands file on stage one by one, picking up their instruments, steadily building the anticipation in the crowd until the singer finally appears, and the gig formally begins. In that regard, nothing can touch what Swans did last night, opening with five minutes of drone followed by double barrel chimes and vibraphone, ringing and humming through a near infinity of shapes and tones, followed by enough bass to make your digestion proceed 5x quicker, and by the way, only half of the band was on stage at this point. This was all part of the twenty minute intro (yes, intro) to the opener from their last album, "No Words No Thoughts", which finally exploded into a volcano of noise once the entire sextet were on stage, attacking their instruments as violently as any band I've ever seen. There is nothing, nothing -- and I mean this in the nicest way possible -- better than surly old guys making a shitload of noise. At this point, I'd already gotten my money's worth and could have left happy, so the next hour and a half was something of a bonus. A bonus that takes a show from being merely great, to all-time great. Sometimes more is more.
Michael Gira turns the levels on his microphone way, way up so that somehow, you can almost always make out the words above the din. He plays the sick preacher role well, but singing is a very specialized activity at a Swans show, punctuating the beginning and end of a furious onslaught of percussion. They play the bulk of "My Father Will Guide Me Up a Rope to the Sky", but the record is fairly tame next to the infernal roar that becomes of these songs when they play live.
In Toronto, screaming and heckling is almost always tolerated at gigs. No matter what kind of crazy stuff the person says, everyone can laugh off his yelling as the rambling of just another drunk idiot. But in everyday life, you can't argue about anything without being out of line. In Tel Aviv it's the opposite -- people argue and scream about the dumbest stuff all the time, but if you yell something at a gig, everyone feels a collective embarrassment, as if we're creating a bad impression of the city in front of the guests of honour. Tonight's stooge yells requests for older songs, and doesn't stop until Gira cuts him off with "I'm not your fucking clown, man. We play what we play." And what about the "old stuff"? How could it have possibly been any better than what we heard, anyway?
I'd only heard a couple of Swans albums before last year's comeback record, "My Father Will Guide Me Up a Rope to the Sky", but my excitement leading up to this gig was way out of proportion with my familiarity with their music. They're one of those revered underground bands about whom nobody has a bad word to say. I only found out who they were around 2004, long after they'd split up, and everything I heard about them only reinforced the feeling that I'd missed out. According to just about everyone, they pulled off beautiful/ugly better than anyone ever had, and were one of the loudest (many people unequivocally stated they were THE loudest) bands ever to boot. At the very least, I missed out on the MBV reunion and could get some of the same kicks via Swans. To say that they didn't disappoint couldn't be any more of an understatement, because I can't remember the last time I saw a concert this good. Great concerts are nothing like great albums in that you know immediately that you're seeing a pantheon-level show, it doesn't need time to grow on you. This was an all-time great show, on the shortlist among the best seven or eight I've ever seen.
Plenty of bands file on stage one by one, picking up their instruments, steadily building the anticipation in the crowd until the singer finally appears, and the gig formally begins. In that regard, nothing can touch what Swans did last night, opening with five minutes of drone followed by double barrel chimes and vibraphone, ringing and humming through a near infinity of shapes and tones, followed by enough bass to make your digestion proceed 5x quicker, and by the way, only half of the band was on stage at this point. This was all part of the twenty minute intro (yes, intro) to the opener from their last album, "No Words No Thoughts", which finally exploded into a volcano of noise once the entire sextet were on stage, attacking their instruments as violently as any band I've ever seen. There is nothing, nothing -- and I mean this in the nicest way possible -- better than surly old guys making a shitload of noise. At this point, I'd already gotten my money's worth and could have left happy, so the next hour and a half was something of a bonus. A bonus that takes a show from being merely great, to all-time great. Sometimes more is more.
Michael Gira turns the levels on his microphone way, way up so that somehow, you can almost always make out the words above the din. He plays the sick preacher role well, but singing is a very specialized activity at a Swans show, punctuating the beginning and end of a furious onslaught of percussion. They play the bulk of "My Father Will Guide Me Up a Rope to the Sky", but the record is fairly tame next to the infernal roar that becomes of these songs when they play live.
In Toronto, screaming and heckling is almost always tolerated at gigs. No matter what kind of crazy stuff the person says, everyone can laugh off his yelling as the rambling of just another drunk idiot. But in everyday life, you can't argue about anything without being out of line. In Tel Aviv it's the opposite -- people argue and scream about the dumbest stuff all the time, but if you yell something at a gig, everyone feels a collective embarrassment, as if we're creating a bad impression of the city in front of the guests of honour. Tonight's stooge yells requests for older songs, and doesn't stop until Gira cuts him off with "I'm not your fucking clown, man. We play what we play." And what about the "old stuff"? How could it have possibly been any better than what we heard, anyway?
Wednesday, April 06, 2011
Panda Bear, "Tomboy"
This album is streaming on NPR's website until next week. Its release date is finally in sight after several months of delays, and the availability of some of these tracks in various forms (e.g. singles and live recordings -- there is a fairly well-circulated recording from a gig in Berlin on 15-01-2010 that features a number of "Tomboy" tracks) has not dulled the anticipation of finally hearing the finished product.
This is one of those albums where you can learn a lot by looking at the track titles and track times, especially in comparison to "Person Pitch". There are no epic track lengths, no titles with slashes (/) in them (suggesting a song with multiple parts), no two minute song snippets. In contrast, most songs on "Tomboy" are around three or four minutes long. Yes, it's supposed to be a pop record.
At first, I was disappointed that there was nothing even close to a jam on this record, perhaps with the exception of "Afterburner", which is the longest track here. There are no spots where the album strays toward something odd and unpredictable like the breakdown midway through "Bros". The songs that immediately grabbed me were the most anti-pop of the bunch, like the aptly named "Drone".
But "Tomboy" grew on me quickly. In retrospect, the connection between early 90's Spectrum and Panda Bear is so obvious, I can't believe I didn't hear it before. Pete "Sonic Boom" Kember's mixing contributions are subtle -- a bit more echo here, a bit more embellishment on this wobbly synth note there. Panda Bear's sound tends more toward the abrasive, minimalist pop side of Spectrum (think "How You Satisfy Me") and S3's "Recurring" (think "Big City"), although there's also a touch of the drone-y side of soul that Sonic perfected on "Highs, Lows, and Heavenly Blows". These elements are clearly audible if you're listening for them, but if you're not, then don't worry because "Tomboy" is instantly recognizable as Panda Bear. A more vocal heavy, could almost be radio friendly version of Panda Bear if it weren't for the miles of reverb and deliberately lo-fi blare of beats and alien noises.
Or maybe you'd prefer NPR's description of how "Lennox pushes the limits of his sequencers and synthesizers, twisting samples into coils of reverby reckoning". "Reverby reckoning" not only sounds ridiculous, but it implies a frightful, threatening type of music, which I'm not hearing but could imagine someone hearing if aided by the right hallucinogenics after the layers of harmony rattle around in your head for a while and you think you're hearing shrill voices over the Gorillaz backed by cheap and noisy synths. Hmmm ... maybe NPR was onto something ...
This is one of those albums where you can learn a lot by looking at the track titles and track times, especially in comparison to "Person Pitch". There are no epic track lengths, no titles with slashes (/) in them (suggesting a song with multiple parts), no two minute song snippets. In contrast, most songs on "Tomboy" are around three or four minutes long. Yes, it's supposed to be a pop record.
At first, I was disappointed that there was nothing even close to a jam on this record, perhaps with the exception of "Afterburner", which is the longest track here. There are no spots where the album strays toward something odd and unpredictable like the breakdown midway through "Bros". The songs that immediately grabbed me were the most anti-pop of the bunch, like the aptly named "Drone".
But "Tomboy" grew on me quickly. In retrospect, the connection between early 90's Spectrum and Panda Bear is so obvious, I can't believe I didn't hear it before. Pete "Sonic Boom" Kember's mixing contributions are subtle -- a bit more echo here, a bit more embellishment on this wobbly synth note there. Panda Bear's sound tends more toward the abrasive, minimalist pop side of Spectrum (think "How You Satisfy Me") and S3's "Recurring" (think "Big City"), although there's also a touch of the drone-y side of soul that Sonic perfected on "Highs, Lows, and Heavenly Blows". These elements are clearly audible if you're listening for them, but if you're not, then don't worry because "Tomboy" is instantly recognizable as Panda Bear. A more vocal heavy, could almost be radio friendly version of Panda Bear if it weren't for the miles of reverb and deliberately lo-fi blare of beats and alien noises.
Or maybe you'd prefer NPR's description of how "Lennox pushes the limits of his sequencers and synthesizers, twisting samples into coils of reverby reckoning". "Reverby reckoning" not only sounds ridiculous, but it implies a frightful, threatening type of music, which I'm not hearing but could imagine someone hearing if aided by the right hallucinogenics after the layers of harmony rattle around in your head for a while and you think you're hearing shrill voices over the Gorillaz backed by cheap and noisy synths. Hmmm ... maybe NPR was onto something ...
Friday, April 01, 2011
P&J 2010 (One and Done): Matt Boroff, "Reaching for Sparks"
30 points, t-365, voted on by Rob O' Connor
I couldn't find this album, but I managed to hear live versions of six songs from it via Youtube. Oddly enough, Boroff's Myspace page only contains music by his band, Matt Boroff and the Mirrors, and the section on Boroff's own website that's devoted to his solo work is still under construction. I'm suddenly not surprised that only one P&J voter heard his album!
On his Myspace page, the music of The Mirrors is described as if "they'd taken the brains of Quentin Tarantino, Tom Waits and David Lynch, seasoned them with opium, stuffed them into a meat grinder and baked them in a junkyard on the sun." I listened to a few of their songs and ... yeah, I can't top that, the description is totally accurate. This twang-drenched, slowed down West Coast surf rock couldn't sound more Tarantino soundtrack-ready even if Tarantino had commissioned it himself.
Boroff's solo work is more in the vein of confessional singer songwriter folk rock, and from the first few moments of "1000 Pieces", I know that I'll never "get" solo Matt Boroff for a number of reasons -- I don't really pay attention to lyrics, I'm not a guitar player (Boroff seems like a guitar player's guitar player, where 20% of the audience at his shows are carefully watching his picking technique and if I'm wrong about this, well, then it certainly proves that I'm not a guitar player doesn't it??), and other than Kirsten Hirsh and Lisa Germano, I can't think offhand of any artists who have done solo acoustic work that I really like. It actually goes a bit further than that ... solo acoustic + anything vaguely Americana? Definitely not my style.
On the other hand, I "get" Matt Boroff perfectly, because I've seen live shows by plenty of like-minded artists. You know the scene -- a small club that can look crowded once 50 people file in, the audience sits in shocked silence during the songs (half of them are his friends and family), a calm but intense stage presence that easily grabs your attention (check out "Things You Should Know" for a good example of this). Time slows down, every pluck of the guitar strings seems to ring and reverb around the room for several seconds and every breath he takes is easily audible. There's little doubt that I'd have been moved by his performance if I happened to catch a thirty minute set by Matt Boroff in an intimate club.
But I would never listen to his music at home.
I couldn't find this album, but I managed to hear live versions of six songs from it via Youtube. Oddly enough, Boroff's Myspace page only contains music by his band, Matt Boroff and the Mirrors, and the section on Boroff's own website that's devoted to his solo work is still under construction. I'm suddenly not surprised that only one P&J voter heard his album!
On his Myspace page, the music of The Mirrors is described as if "they'd taken the brains of Quentin Tarantino, Tom Waits and David Lynch, seasoned them with opium, stuffed them into a meat grinder and baked them in a junkyard on the sun." I listened to a few of their songs and ... yeah, I can't top that, the description is totally accurate. This twang-drenched, slowed down West Coast surf rock couldn't sound more Tarantino soundtrack-ready even if Tarantino had commissioned it himself.
Boroff's solo work is more in the vein of confessional singer songwriter folk rock, and from the first few moments of "1000 Pieces", I know that I'll never "get" solo Matt Boroff for a number of reasons -- I don't really pay attention to lyrics, I'm not a guitar player (Boroff seems like a guitar player's guitar player, where 20% of the audience at his shows are carefully watching his picking technique and if I'm wrong about this, well, then it certainly proves that I'm not a guitar player doesn't it??), and other than Kirsten Hirsh and Lisa Germano, I can't think offhand of any artists who have done solo acoustic work that I really like. It actually goes a bit further than that ... solo acoustic + anything vaguely Americana? Definitely not my style.
On the other hand, I "get" Matt Boroff perfectly, because I've seen live shows by plenty of like-minded artists. You know the scene -- a small club that can look crowded once 50 people file in, the audience sits in shocked silence during the songs (half of them are his friends and family), a calm but intense stage presence that easily grabs your attention (check out "Things You Should Know" for a good example of this). Time slows down, every pluck of the guitar strings seems to ring and reverb around the room for several seconds and every breath he takes is easily audible. There's little doubt that I'd have been moved by his performance if I happened to catch a thirty minute set by Matt Boroff in an intimate club.
But I would never listen to his music at home.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
The K Foundation Burn a Million Quid
After seeing Bill Drummond's "The 17" earlier in the week, a lot of KLF-related things have been running through my mind. The KLF's music has aged fairly well -- a lot better than anyone would have expected if you'd done a straw poll in early 1990's -- and I think their "stadium house" fingerprints are all over contemporary dance/hip-hop hybrids by the likes of will i am and Diddy Dirty Money. And of course "Chill Out" belongs in its own separate category of timelessness. "America: What Time Is Love" turned a lot of heads at the time with the way it took the original song and remade it into a preposterously bonkers piece of epic dance-rock bedlam, and it still sounds just as wild and unpredictable now as it did then. They applied their hit making formulas to the US market and came up with a diabolically simple approach: turn down the dance and turn up the rawk, because that's what Americans love. It turns out they were a bit too late because grunge washed away pretty much all of the dance rock in the US charts (e.g. Jesus Jones) and there was no combining the two for years afterward. Rock fans had their rock, and a completely different set of fans had their dance (typically Eurodance). If even U2 couldn't sell that combination to the American public in the mid-90's ("Pop" was a huge failure by their usual standards), then it couldn't be done.
But after all these years, I'd never seen their film of the infamously self-explanatory "The K Foundation Burn a Million Quid". These days, it's all on Youtube, together with a veritable treasure trove of their past singles, remixes, interviews, and live performances. The former KLF even have a channel where you can relive their best moments for yourselves, and seeing as their entire back catalogue remains deleted, you won't find a better place for beginning your KLF-related crash course.
I haven't watched the unedited film where they actually burn the money (except for some select clips), but it can be easily found online if you want to see it. Accompanying it is a rather fantastic bit of documentary film making. It's a brutally honest document of what they did, with plenty of criticism to go around. It's not a soapbox for Drummond and Cauty to philosophize about their ideas, and it's not a testimonial to how noble and misunderstood they are by a bunch of their closest confidants and yes men. It's remarkable that it's so even handed, considering that it was produced entirely by them and not independently.
There's hardly any sensationalism on display here. The K Foundation aren't lunatics. They come across as well reasoned, articulate individuals throughout, and the calmness and rationalism that characterizes all their conversations and interactions with others is almost enough to make you forget that they're talking about BURNING A MILLION QUID.
The most illuminating part of film occurs near the end, after we've seen the K Foundation and their associates consult with a series of curators, publicists, and art sellers in an attempt to assess the value of their work (i.e. a pile of ashes in a ratty suitcase). Earlier in the film, Cauty said that normally, money controls you, but by making art out of money, then they'd be the ones in control. Sure, it sounds profound and thought provoking, until you remember that (say it with me) he's talking about DESTROYING NEARLY ALL THEIR MONEY. Anyhow, they're sitting in Cauty's house, speaking with an advisor (who I'm not sure was named in the film) and he's giving them some tough love, and Cauty suggests forging a brick out of the ashes (which in fact they did do sometime later), which led to this exchange:
Advisor: If you want to get rid of the ashes, just give the ashes to me!
Drummond: We didn't say we didn't want to ...
Cauty [interrupting]: But they're our ashes. [short pause, and a hurt look forms on his face, like a boy whose about to have his toys taken away by his parents for doing something bad] They're ours.
It might be junk, but it's his junk. The advisor goes on to say that they're scared to sell the ashes and have them on display in a gallery somewhere, because once that happens, people will laugh and say how ridiculous they are and that's something the K Foundation can't deal with. They scoff at the notion, but they don't have a comeback.
Suddenly, it all made (a bit more) sense to me. The KLF spent a career trying to get away with whatever they could. No matter how silly it might have seemed on paper, they weren't afraid to try. Take a reworking of the Doctor Who theme to #1 on the UK singles chart? Sounds ridiculous, but they did it. Storm the charts with so-called "stadium house", make fun of rock star excesses by performing live with a huge entourage, wearing strange costumes, and playing guitars that aren't actually plugged it? They did that too, and sold millions of records doing it. But they were in control of everything. They got into the music business when they wanted to, and got out when they wanted to. On the way out, they deleted their back catalogue, which might have cost them a fortune in future royalties but it was their decision, they owned their art, and didn't care if they were throwing away millions of dollars in future royalties by keeping it for themselves.
They gave plenty of interviews, and generally weren't shy about talking about burning the money*. They proudly screened the unedited one-hour film of them burning the money, and made a point of advertising that they'd be answering questions after the screenings. There's a scene of a screening in Manchester, and a polite but incredulous audience where only Tony Wilson had anything positive to say about the artistic value of burning a million quid ("it's very art", he said, and of course Tony Wilson would love something like this, did you even have to ask?). I believe the K Foundation when they said that it wasn't about the publicity or about promoting themselves. And they're obviously weren't afraid of people criticizing their art ... provided that they were a part of the process. The criticism and the giggling and people saying they were selfish or indulgent was tolerable (or even stimulating!) as long as it happened under their supervision. Showing films, music, art, whatever -- good or bad, they remained in control, it could always be about them, they could lord over the process, and when they got bored of doing so, they could always stop. But selling their art would take everything completely out of their control, and that was something they couldn't tolerate.
*For added entertainment, check out the K Foundation interview on the Gay Byrne Show (a late night talk show hosted by a legendary Irish radio and TV presenter), and be sure to watch until the end to hear Joe Elliott from Def Leppard attempting to tear them down.
But after all these years, I'd never seen their film of the infamously self-explanatory "The K Foundation Burn a Million Quid". These days, it's all on Youtube, together with a veritable treasure trove of their past singles, remixes, interviews, and live performances. The former KLF even have a channel where you can relive their best moments for yourselves, and seeing as their entire back catalogue remains deleted, you won't find a better place for beginning your KLF-related crash course.
I haven't watched the unedited film where they actually burn the money (except for some select clips), but it can be easily found online if you want to see it. Accompanying it is a rather fantastic bit of documentary film making. It's a brutally honest document of what they did, with plenty of criticism to go around. It's not a soapbox for Drummond and Cauty to philosophize about their ideas, and it's not a testimonial to how noble and misunderstood they are by a bunch of their closest confidants and yes men. It's remarkable that it's so even handed, considering that it was produced entirely by them and not independently.
There's hardly any sensationalism on display here. The K Foundation aren't lunatics. They come across as well reasoned, articulate individuals throughout, and the calmness and rationalism that characterizes all their conversations and interactions with others is almost enough to make you forget that they're talking about BURNING A MILLION QUID.
The most illuminating part of film occurs near the end, after we've seen the K Foundation and their associates consult with a series of curators, publicists, and art sellers in an attempt to assess the value of their work (i.e. a pile of ashes in a ratty suitcase). Earlier in the film, Cauty said that normally, money controls you, but by making art out of money, then they'd be the ones in control. Sure, it sounds profound and thought provoking, until you remember that (say it with me) he's talking about DESTROYING NEARLY ALL THEIR MONEY. Anyhow, they're sitting in Cauty's house, speaking with an advisor (who I'm not sure was named in the film) and he's giving them some tough love, and Cauty suggests forging a brick out of the ashes (which in fact they did do sometime later), which led to this exchange:
Advisor: If you want to get rid of the ashes, just give the ashes to me!
Drummond: We didn't say we didn't want to ...
Cauty [interrupting]: But they're our ashes. [short pause, and a hurt look forms on his face, like a boy whose about to have his toys taken away by his parents for doing something bad] They're ours.
It might be junk, but it's his junk. The advisor goes on to say that they're scared to sell the ashes and have them on display in a gallery somewhere, because once that happens, people will laugh and say how ridiculous they are and that's something the K Foundation can't deal with. They scoff at the notion, but they don't have a comeback.
Suddenly, it all made (a bit more) sense to me. The KLF spent a career trying to get away with whatever they could. No matter how silly it might have seemed on paper, they weren't afraid to try. Take a reworking of the Doctor Who theme to #1 on the UK singles chart? Sounds ridiculous, but they did it. Storm the charts with so-called "stadium house", make fun of rock star excesses by performing live with a huge entourage, wearing strange costumes, and playing guitars that aren't actually plugged it? They did that too, and sold millions of records doing it. But they were in control of everything. They got into the music business when they wanted to, and got out when they wanted to. On the way out, they deleted their back catalogue, which might have cost them a fortune in future royalties but it was their decision, they owned their art, and didn't care if they were throwing away millions of dollars in future royalties by keeping it for themselves.
They gave plenty of interviews, and generally weren't shy about talking about burning the money*. They proudly screened the unedited one-hour film of them burning the money, and made a point of advertising that they'd be answering questions after the screenings. There's a scene of a screening in Manchester, and a polite but incredulous audience where only Tony Wilson had anything positive to say about the artistic value of burning a million quid ("it's very art", he said, and of course Tony Wilson would love something like this, did you even have to ask?). I believe the K Foundation when they said that it wasn't about the publicity or about promoting themselves. And they're obviously weren't afraid of people criticizing their art ... provided that they were a part of the process. The criticism and the giggling and people saying they were selfish or indulgent was tolerable (or even stimulating!) as long as it happened under their supervision. Showing films, music, art, whatever -- good or bad, they remained in control, it could always be about them, they could lord over the process, and when they got bored of doing so, they could always stop. But selling their art would take everything completely out of their control, and that was something they couldn't tolerate.
*For added entertainment, check out the K Foundation interview on the Gay Byrne Show (a late night talk show hosted by a legendary Irish radio and TV presenter), and be sure to watch until the end to hear Joe Elliott from Def Leppard attempting to tear them down.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Rebecca Black
File this one under "everyone else has something to say about this, so why should I comment on it too?"
I wouldn't say that I called this one (check note #5), and I'm certainly not saying that I was the first person to express that kind of sentiment, but this is obviously one of those times when I'm happy to stand by my comments. I know that people thought I was bonkers when that comment was posted with P&J. Some felt that I was implying that all the weird covers of "Dynamite" were better than, or interchangeable with the original. This is not true. The real point is that you can become a star by appearing in a half-million dollar video on MTV or by appearing in a two thousand dollar video on Youtube -- but not necessarily the exact same type of star. The point is that both the "professional" MTV performer and the "amateur" Youtube performer are both stars in some way.
People like watching stars emerge in unexpected or unpredictable ways, which is why so many millions of viewers all cottoned onto shows like American Idol. It seemed like an exciting and original way to make stars, as opposed to having stars fed to them via tabloids or by MTV. Meanwhile, I haven't watched AI even once this season. As long as certain enterprising people think of new ways to make stars, they can be assured that there will be a celebrity-craving audience there to appreciate their effort.
In one sense, Ark Music Factory are looking like geniuses right now, but on the other hand, what they're doing isn't so different from the songwriting factories that were abundant in the 60's, it's only the technology, i.e. the method of releasing the music to the public that has changed. They have a team of writers and producers who create cookie cutter pop by the bucketload, and it costs them next to nothing. They bring in cheap talent (enter a practically limitless supply of teenagers who want to be famous), and if they release enough music, then eventually they'll stumble upon a minor hit and will make some money. Or at least that's the philosophy. Costs remain low, and therefore their risk is low. Low risk, low reward, with potential for a high reward.
The song is horrifically bad, but yeah, (un)fortunately it's so bad it winds up being good. Or at the very least, you can have a good laugh at the ridiculousness that is the video for "Friday". The Usher lookalike rapping in the CGI driving scene. Thirteen year olds driving cars and picking up other thirteen year olds. The mind-numbingly mundane lyrics. And now we have new material to dissect ... it's the acoustic version from Good Morning America! Black is jamming out on "Friday", all casual like, in what appears to be her living room. In the room with her, smiling and grooving along to the song, are all her the friends from the video. Even the Usher lookalike is there, they're all there, it's like the final scene of "The Wizard of Oz"! But here's what I want to know: how it possible that Black doesn't know the lyrics to her own song? She flubs the words at least three times in this two and a half minute clip!
I wouldn't say that I called this one (check note #5), and I'm certainly not saying that I was the first person to express that kind of sentiment, but this is obviously one of those times when I'm happy to stand by my comments. I know that people thought I was bonkers when that comment was posted with P&J. Some felt that I was implying that all the weird covers of "Dynamite" were better than, or interchangeable with the original. This is not true. The real point is that you can become a star by appearing in a half-million dollar video on MTV or by appearing in a two thousand dollar video on Youtube -- but not necessarily the exact same type of star. The point is that both the "professional" MTV performer and the "amateur" Youtube performer are both stars in some way.
People like watching stars emerge in unexpected or unpredictable ways, which is why so many millions of viewers all cottoned onto shows like American Idol. It seemed like an exciting and original way to make stars, as opposed to having stars fed to them via tabloids or by MTV. Meanwhile, I haven't watched AI even once this season. As long as certain enterprising people think of new ways to make stars, they can be assured that there will be a celebrity-craving audience there to appreciate their effort.
In one sense, Ark Music Factory are looking like geniuses right now, but on the other hand, what they're doing isn't so different from the songwriting factories that were abundant in the 60's, it's only the technology, i.e. the method of releasing the music to the public that has changed. They have a team of writers and producers who create cookie cutter pop by the bucketload, and it costs them next to nothing. They bring in cheap talent (enter a practically limitless supply of teenagers who want to be famous), and if they release enough music, then eventually they'll stumble upon a minor hit and will make some money. Or at least that's the philosophy. Costs remain low, and therefore their risk is low. Low risk, low reward, with potential for a high reward.
The song is horrifically bad, but yeah, (un)fortunately it's so bad it winds up being good. Or at the very least, you can have a good laugh at the ridiculousness that is the video for "Friday". The Usher lookalike rapping in the CGI driving scene. Thirteen year olds driving cars and picking up other thirteen year olds. The mind-numbingly mundane lyrics. And now we have new material to dissect ... it's the acoustic version from Good Morning America! Black is jamming out on "Friday", all casual like, in what appears to be her living room. In the room with her, smiling and grooving along to the song, are all her the friends from the video. Even the Usher lookalike is there, they're all there, it's like the final scene of "The Wizard of Oz"! But here's what I want to know: how it possible that Black doesn't know the lyrics to her own song? She flubs the words at least three times in this two and a half minute clip!
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Bill Drummond Presents "The 17" @ Levontin 7
There was a palpable buzz in the air while sitting in our chairs in a packed Levontin 7 waiting for Bill Drummond to appear and ... to do what exactly?
After a brief introduction, Drummond walked swiftly down the centre aisle and to the front of the room. He carried a few poster rolls under his arm, set them down to the side, began pacing, and glared at the people in the first couple of rows in the audience. I was a little freaked out. I kept thinking to myself, "this guy burned a million quid. He threatened to cut up a live sheep onstage at the Brit awards during a live performance. Who the hell knows what he's got planned for us tonight?"
I respect the hell out of Bill Drummond, he had one of the most unlikely, most bizarre, most unbelievable (in either sense of the word, it was both "amazing, remarkable" and "totally not believable, you would never believe his story could be true" careers in the history of pop. I went to this show partly out of curiosity, partly because I wanted to see a legend in person, and I suspect that most people in attendance this past Monday night would say the same.
For most of the performance, we listened to Drummond as he told a number of stories -- stories about his love of "Strawberry Fields Forever", about his odd listening habits, and about his endless search for great music that would affect him as strongly as the music he heard as a teenager. He tried a number of odd listening experiments, such as listening only to debut albums from contemporary bands (foregoing hearing old records completely), and deciding to spend entire calendar years listening only to bands whose name starts with a single letter of the alphabet. How much of this was made up for comic effect is anyone's guess, but if I was placing a bet, I'd wager between zero and two percent. I doubt that anything is too weird for Bill Drummond.
He put us to work with some call and response singing, and an exercise in group humming (done with eyes closed, both standing and sitting) that produced some surprisingly rich harmonies and ended after only a couple of minutes -- I was hoping it'd continue for a while longer. Drummond explained how the idea of The 17 came from a cross-country drive spent listening to (and recording) the hum of his car, hung some posters explaining the principles behind The 17 (he's been promoting his work around the world and thus had these posters translated into eighteen languages), and asked us to sign the posters on the way out as a sign of our participation in the event.
At home later that night, of course I was curious about what I had just seen, and it was only then that I discovered that The 17 is already a few years old, and that Drummond has written a stack of performance scores (here's one I really like) that expand upon his concepts. Each performance takes place with whoever happens to show up to the venue, which on this night meant me and about one hundred other people. Nothing ever gets recorded and nothing ever will (at one point, he criticized two audience members for filming him and politely insisted that they erase whatever footage they had shot) so the only way to experience Drummond's art is to see him in person. That's a powerful concept for me, that is, the idea that music just happens and nothing ever gets recorded, and before you scoff at the notion, recall that this *was* the definition of music for all but the past one hundred years or so.
There's no doubt in my mind that Drummond believes strongly in his art. I also have a hunch that he knows that getting sponsored by arts councils and getting to fly around the world and serve as a "composer in residence" to write scores where strangers shout at each other on the street is a rock and roll swindle of the highest order. Either way, it's a worthwhile experience to catch a legend in action and to watch the wheels in his head spin.
After a brief introduction, Drummond walked swiftly down the centre aisle and to the front of the room. He carried a few poster rolls under his arm, set them down to the side, began pacing, and glared at the people in the first couple of rows in the audience. I was a little freaked out. I kept thinking to myself, "this guy burned a million quid. He threatened to cut up a live sheep onstage at the Brit awards during a live performance. Who the hell knows what he's got planned for us tonight?"
I respect the hell out of Bill Drummond, he had one of the most unlikely, most bizarre, most unbelievable (in either sense of the word, it was both "amazing, remarkable" and "totally not believable, you would never believe his story could be true" careers in the history of pop. I went to this show partly out of curiosity, partly because I wanted to see a legend in person, and I suspect that most people in attendance this past Monday night would say the same.
For most of the performance, we listened to Drummond as he told a number of stories -- stories about his love of "Strawberry Fields Forever", about his odd listening habits, and about his endless search for great music that would affect him as strongly as the music he heard as a teenager. He tried a number of odd listening experiments, such as listening only to debut albums from contemporary bands (foregoing hearing old records completely), and deciding to spend entire calendar years listening only to bands whose name starts with a single letter of the alphabet. How much of this was made up for comic effect is anyone's guess, but if I was placing a bet, I'd wager between zero and two percent. I doubt that anything is too weird for Bill Drummond.
He put us to work with some call and response singing, and an exercise in group humming (done with eyes closed, both standing and sitting) that produced some surprisingly rich harmonies and ended after only a couple of minutes -- I was hoping it'd continue for a while longer. Drummond explained how the idea of The 17 came from a cross-country drive spent listening to (and recording) the hum of his car, hung some posters explaining the principles behind The 17 (he's been promoting his work around the world and thus had these posters translated into eighteen languages), and asked us to sign the posters on the way out as a sign of our participation in the event.
At home later that night, of course I was curious about what I had just seen, and it was only then that I discovered that The 17 is already a few years old, and that Drummond has written a stack of performance scores (here's one I really like) that expand upon his concepts. Each performance takes place with whoever happens to show up to the venue, which on this night meant me and about one hundred other people. Nothing ever gets recorded and nothing ever will (at one point, he criticized two audience members for filming him and politely insisted that they erase whatever footage they had shot) so the only way to experience Drummond's art is to see him in person. That's a powerful concept for me, that is, the idea that music just happens and nothing ever gets recorded, and before you scoff at the notion, recall that this *was* the definition of music for all but the past one hundred years or so.
There's no doubt in my mind that Drummond believes strongly in his art. I also have a hunch that he knows that getting sponsored by arts councils and getting to fly around the world and serve as a "composer in residence" to write scores where strangers shout at each other on the street is a rock and roll swindle of the highest order. Either way, it's a worthwhile experience to catch a legend in action and to watch the wheels in his head spin.
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