Polvo- Exploded Drawing

While listening to Polvo for the first time, I began thinking about how most of the music we think of as post-rock is mostly descended from Tortoise and Mogwai and not the accepted Slint or Talk Talk starting points. However, there actually were a lot of bands who closely studied Spiderland, Slint's 1991 masterpiece, and went from there. Bands like June Of 44, The Shipping News, Rodan, and, yes, Polvo picked up on the experimental guitar based rock music of that album. But none of these bands has ever cracked into the mainstream or produced an album that is widely known or critically acclaimed. Why is this??

Well, before I get to that, I want to make an important distinction here. This may seem pointless since genre classifications are by nature fluid and meaningless, but we've got to have something we can use when talking about different styles. So: bands like Polvo fly closer to math rock than post rock. There's a lot of overlap between the two, but bands like those named above usually focus on extended instrumental passages using guitars, unique tunings, and non-traditional time signatures instead of the more overtly impressionistic music of post-rock, which normally has keyboard/electronic elements to it (often borrowing liberally from kraut rock, dub, ambient, and sometimes jazz in the process).

The problem with this--and with post-rock/math metal bands in general--is that none of them have recorded anything as good as Spiderland. This may seem like an unfair level to compare them to, but I would argue that almost all of the Tortoise/Mogwai inspired post-rock bands have matched or bested the best efforts of those two bands. See, the thing about math rock is that because of the frenetic playing and complexity it often comes off like prog rock but much more dissonant and experimental. And lacking memorable tunes. Spiderland is so brilliant and memorable because while Slint really got down into some distorted, angular guitar playing and flat out rocking moments they also wrote some affecting, powerful songs. I think I mentioned this in my review of Spiderland, but watching the band perform it live a few summers ago at the Pitchfork Music Festival, I could look around and see thousands of people who had, like me, memorized every deft movement.

This brings us to Exploded Drawing. It is a good album, indeed, often very good. The songs are perfectly competent and always interesting to listen to, but, well, nothing really sticks with you. It's the same thing I see happening with modern noise/indie/rock/experimental bands with mostly unprintable names like Holy F*ck, F*ck Buttons, HEALTH, et. al.: they have interesting sounds/textures and their songs are flat out cool and/or rocking, but none of it really sticks with you. Billy Corgan once dismissed Pavement by saying something like "no one wakes up humming Pavement songs", which is provably false, but it's the kind of thing I think about when I listen to those bands and Exploded Drawing. I enjoy it, I don't regret the money I spent on it, and I'll probably listen to it a few times a year for the rest of my life. But it'll never be the album I make copies of for people I know; it'll never be the album I put on 'best of' or 'my personal favorite' lists.

This review may seem like an indictment of math rock-leaning post rock in general and Exploded Drawing in particular, but it wasn't my original intention. In all fairness I would qualify this album as above average post-Slint indie rock and the "math rock-leaning post rock" bands mentioned above are all worth checking out for those interested. Assuming you like this kind of stuff, Exploded Drawing is highly recommended. However I caution anyone looking into these bands--Shipping News is the only one I can really vouch for, because I don't have any full lengths by June of 44 or the others--and hoping for some kind of underground, undiscovered masterpiece on the level of a Spiderland. I fear that Exploded Drawing is the sort of thing an over eager record store employee or *ahem* music critic might foist upon you with the best intentions. But there's a line between very good genre excursions and very good, lasting music. Polvo managed to make the former but not the latter. To put it simply, they don't transcend their genre.

The Sincerest Form of Flattery

As kids, a great deal of our play was given over to recreating and imitating the things we loved, whether it be TV shows, movies, videogames, or books. I fondly remember constantly having the debate between 'little Turtles' or 'big Turtles' with playmates; that is to say, would a friend and I play with our action figures of the Ninja Turtles, or would we pretend we were them?? It grew to the point where, when a bit older, we would use such exciting new technology such as tape cassette recorders and video cameras to recreate talk radio and game shows, respectively, both with primitive props, sound effects, and costumes. Eventually, the human mind desires to create things of its own. We learn how to play instruments by playing the songs of others, but if you stick with it long enough, you want to write songs of your own. Personally, I've spent a lot of time reading and imitating the writing style of others in order to figure out what works, but also to help influence and shape my own style.

There is something genuinely sacred and fulfilling about the creative act and it's something that I think most people take for granted and don't realize they're doing. As adults we often parrot lines and skits from TV shows and movies we love in order to elicit the laughs of those in on the joke, and as a way to connect with people we don't know very well but who also love similar things. This, obviously, mirrors what we did as children. But the older you get, the most amusing things to you are those that you and your circle of friends and family come up with. I'm sure you can think of a few hilarious moments or running jokes you and your friends/coworkers have that wouldn't make sense to outsiders; even if you took the requisite 10 minutes to set up why the joke is funny, in the telling it becomes neutered and lame.

At the same time, it's increasingly hard to be original anymore. I'm talking specifically in the field of the arts. I routinely get the feeling that everything has been done before--every book has been written, every kind of music has been made, every possible permutation of a story or joke has been told, every art movement and counter art movement has run its course. Originally comes at a premium for me, such that it's always a temptation for me to overvalue things that don't look/sound/read/play like anything I've experienced before. However, the critical faculties eventually kick in and I begin to ask myself whether something is both original and good. There is a huge distinction between "original" and "original but also good" that critics and fans must constantly keep in mind. On the other hand, this obsession with originality plagues my mind when I'm writing, to the point where I sometimes scrap things because, even though they're good by my estimation, they read/feel too closely to the style or thought process of other writers.

I've always gravitated towards art that creates a distinctive, unique world. Even if it borrows elements of other things, the result is something that feels wholly original. I completely realize the flaws in something like, say, the anime Neon Genesis Evangelion, but I absolutely love it for the odd world it establishes. I think this is precisely why people like 'cult' movies, TV shows, videogames, and so on, because they like to feel as if they're part of some other reality outside our own that most people aren't aware of. Kind of like a larger form of an inside joke, if you think about it. This is why I loved The Adventures of Pete & Pete as a kid: the city it was set in, along with its characters, gave me a glimpse into a world that was more surreal, interesting, and sensible than our own. When I meet people who also loved the show, it's as if we suddenly have a set of inside jokes and references to share.

To tie all this together: the best art, in my opinion, is that which feels like the work of a small group of people--the inside jokes and references they have--which somehow translates to a wider audience because of the world it creates. Kevin Smith always seems baffled by the popularity of his Jay and Silent Bob characters, but the way they walk the border between the 'mundane' and the 'supernatural' is what makes them seem so real and lasting. They sometimes end up doing extraordinary things, but they're part of a world (the Askewniverse) that has a definite mythos and concrete set of rules. The same goes for bands that sound completely original, who seem to come out of nowhere and shock crusty critics like me who spend most of their thinking time at their menial jobs trying to come up with reference points for whatever band they're going to have to write a review of. Whether you love or hate Deerhoof, The Fiery Furnaces, The Silver Apples, Beat Happening, Frog Eyes, etc. you can't deny the originality of their sound. Certainly they have some influences and antecedents you could point to, but they don't really sound like them. It's more "we were influenced by..." than "we imitate...", if you follow my meaning. I love those bands because they create their own little niche world you can inhabit as a fan. They may not seem to create a world as richly and easily as books, TV shows, movies, or videogames can, but keep in mind that you've got more than just their music to work with. You've got their album covers and liner notes, their websites, their live shows, and their interviews to work with, too. Listening to, say, the Pixies or Talk Talk for the first time, it's as if you're being let into a new club that's always existed and now you get to play catch up. Moreover, other bands may be influenced by them, but if they stick too closely to the sound they sound like a cover band playing original material in between said covers. This is why Nirvana were so awesome, because Kurt Cobain admittedly took a lot from listening to the Pixies, but listening to them back-to-back, there's something new and original in Nirvana's sound.

You may remember that in 1998 a remake of Psycho was released to theaters and promptly dropped out of sight. What you probably don't remember is that it was a shot-for-shot attempt by Gus Van Sant to remake the original by following Alfred Hitchcock as perfectly as possible. Even though critics tried to see it his way, as an experiment in remaking films, everyone--even Van Sant himself--has agreed that a shot-by-shot remake of a film is pointless. You can't totally copy a film anyway, and even if you could, what would it accomplish?? As much as most remakes end up being crap, it's always best to change something from the original because otherwise it's a waste of time and money on everyone's part.
With all of this in mind, I present to you Rook by Shearwater and Stars and Garters by Muy Cansado. Enjoyable albums, yes, but they sound so close to their influences--the aforementioned Talk Talk and Pixies, respectively--that it bothers me. Rook is, according to Metacritic, one of the best rated albums of the year, so I've given a lot of thought to this whole 'originality'/'imitation is the sincerest form of flattery' issue. What's ultimately troubling about both of these albums is that they aren't very original yet I like them. Mostly I think it's just because both the Pixies and Talk Talk are defunct, and you can only listen to their albums so many times before you want something like it, but different and new. So, do you, as a critic, curve your score of these albums because you know they're borderline ripping off other bands, bands you enjoy?? I mean, it would be one thing if they were ripping off cancerous bands like Creed and Limp Bizkit, but critical darlings such as the Pixies and Talk Talk?? No fair. The case against Muy Cansado is more damning, I will say, because, not only do they sound like the Pixies, they also stole many other things from them, like being from Boston, having a girl bassist who sings one song, having a song or two in Spanish, and having album pacing that recalls Doolittle. I mean, the first song, 'Telemundo', might as well be 'Debaser', while the second song might as well be 'Tame', only with less screaming and tamer (har har) guitars.
People like to pretend that art should be judged on its own terms, but nothing exists in a vacuum. This is where the role of critics come in, whether it be the professional old hands or snotty upstarts like yours truly. Our job is to expose ourselves to a chosen art form, to swim across its breadth and dive into its depths, and to use this knowledge to sift the gold out of the river of releases like old timey gold prospectors. A job that is half consumer guide and half high falutin' think pieces (like this one, I suppose).

Judged on their own merits, Stars and Garters and Rook are good albums. But judged in reality, where I know of other, better, more original bands, they aren't good albums. They can't be, because they try to insinuate themselves into the world and mythos of others, and this always rings as false. We knew as kids that we weren't really the Ninja Turtles. We had fun with it, had fun playing in the world they resided in, but we never tried to convert that play into a career. I'm not implying that Shearwater and Muy Cansado are making money off the work of others--because that's what cover bands do, in all honesty--but I wish people who know better would make clear to the public when bands are imitating versus when they've just been influenced. Because in the arts, influence is the true sincerest form of flattery.

Album of the Week: Talk Talk- Laughing Stock

I generally don't try to make significance out of coincidences, but it's difficult for me not to start this off without pointing out that, in 1991, Slint's Spiderland and Talk Talk's Laughing Stock were released. Post-rock being one of the most important and fascinating 'underground' genres to emerge in the mid-90s in both the UK and American music scenes, it's also important to note that Slint were an American band and Talk Talk were English. Also, listening to the two albums back to back, they don't sound much alike in the same way that no two post-rock bands will sound much alike, but still feel as though they occupy the same space.

Laughing Stock was the last and most experimental album released by Talk Talk. By this point, the band were almost fully a studio-only creature, giving the band plenty of time to craft this masterpiece. Drawing on a mix of jazz, ambient, and rock, Laughing Stock is a unique and, I daresay, magical piece of music. Nothing else sounds quite like it, from the angry crescendos of 'Ascension Day' to the half jazz/half krautrock beat of 'After The Flood' to the gorgeous but melancholic 'New Grass', built on top of pristine guitar chords. The deft and often unorthodox use of strings and horns only adds to the totally original and brilliant palette of sounds. If Spiderland didn't sound like anything other American bands were doing at the time of its release, let alone any bands anywhere, well, Laughing Stock didn't either.

I want to sort of pick up that thread and run with it, because as much as one can say the albums were influential on the post-rock genre, they still exist on their own. The Wikipedia entry for Laughing Stock mentions that reviews noted the album's kinship with In A Silent Way by Miles Davis, and that actually makes a lot of sense. In A Silent Way is a similar mix of jazz, rock, and ambient music, though it sounds entirely different. The same goes for Spiderland, which sticks more closely to a rock sound but approaches it from strange new angles via math rock, prog rock, minimalism, and so forth. Those looking to dig into the roots of post-rock (which, admittedly, go further back than 1991) will find in Spiderland and Laughing Stock touchstones for the sub-genre as well as elements and ideas they have never heard before.

This may just be my American perspective talking, but I feel as if Laughing Stock has been forgotten. Pitchfork actually ranked it above Slint's Spiderland on their 'Top 100 Albums of the 90s' feature 5 years back, but I don't think there's any doubt which album is better known or more listened to these days. Which is a shame, because there is so much to enjoy and dwell inside with this album. If music could ever be compared to a perfect dreamscape you wish you didn't have to wake up from, you could do worse than using Laughing Stock to argue it.