Video: Yo La Tengo- Summer

I like Yo La Tengo a lot, but they don't have any videos, really. There is the one for 'Sugarcube' but it's partially a Mr. Show sketch, so...

Mostly I just wanted to post this so you'd listen to Yo La Tengo, and also to note that a dude I knew in college kinda looks like Ira Kaplan.

Album of the Week: Olivia Tremor Control- Music From The Unrealized Film Script: Dusk At Cubist Castle

There's just something about late 60s/early 70s music that continually fascinates and appeals to music listeners. Though there was a lot of great music made beforehand, this era in particular feels like the point at which musicians--pop musicians in particular--began to take music seriously as an artform. Bands taking themselves and music seriously would result in a lot of pretentious dreck, but there's no denying the huge amount of fantastic music that came out during this time. It's a well known tale, but the Beatles and Brian Wilson of the Beach Boys had a friendly rivalry going, resulting in some of the best pop music ever made. All over the world, people were really pushing themselves to innovate and to say something with pop music. The rise of concept albums, progressive rock, art rock, and so on were all results of this trend.

It's no accident that the Elephant 6 collective latched unto this era as their influence. And as, arguably, the flagship band of the collective, the Olivia Tremor Control represented the most obvious and pure obsession with this era, creating music that sounded like it belonged in the late 60s/early 70s and to sit alongside the incredibly ambitious pop music of the time. Music From The Unrealized Film Script: Dusk At Cubist Castle (whew!!) is the band's first album, and a suitably monolithic debut it was. Even the background of its creation sounds like it could be the story of some kind of 60s hippie commune taking too many drugs and slowly finishing a masterpiece, as it was recorded over the course of three years on outdated 4-track machines (just like they had back in the 60s, kids!! Well, OK, Wikipedia tells me that they later used a 8-track for final production work).

Olivia Tremor Control is the story of the co-existing-but-ever-dueling music sensibilities of Bill Doss and Will Cullen Hart. While Doss is seen as the pop classicist, writing incredibly catchy 60s style tunes, Hart is seen as the arch experimentalist, favoring tape collages, ambient soundscapes, and musique concrete. As such, Dusk At Cubist Castle is a fascinating, complex album that rewards the returning listener. Though primarily a psychedelic pop album that recalls the best of the Beatles at their druggiest and catchiest, the album also has a middle section entirely given over to the 10-track 'Green Typewriters' suite, a showcase for Hart's experimental bent, as well as odd sonic tricks throughout. I've always thought of Dusk At Cubist Castle as a perfectly paced album; that is to say, an album's album. Right about the usual time I tend to drift off while listening to a long album, Dusk hits the 'Green Typewriters' suite, and wakes up along with me 23 minutes later. Not that it isn't an engaging listen, as it gives little snippets of mini-songs along the way that are intriguing glimpses of what could have been full songs, but once you hit the drifting, ethereal heart of the suite, it's hard not to surrender to the void.

At 27 tracks and 74 minutes of music, Dusk At Cubist Castle may seem like a daunting, overlong listen. But thanks to the delicious pop songs of Doss, it's a breezy experience: 'Jumping Fences' is rightfully considered one of the best things the band produced; 'I Can Smell The Leaves' has a druggy, reverential vibe; and 'The Gravity Car' sounds like a music box or carousel going delightfully out of control. More than anything, though, Olivia Tremor Control prove to us what the best artists of the late 60s/early 70s discovered: pop music and experimental music aren't mutually exclusive. Though I have to confess that I personally enjoy the band's second (and last) album Black Foliage: Animation Music Volume 1 slightly more because it's darker, crazier, and not-as-slavishly-close to the 60s sound, Dusk At Cubist Castle represents the more successful combination of the visions of Olivia Tremor Control's co-leaders. Black Foliage often sounds as if the yin and yang are tearing at each other and stepping on each others' feet, but they co-exist peacefully on Dusk.

'Timeless' is a term that's sometimes bandied about to indicate music that has a unique sound which doesn't belong to any particular era or scene. I'm not sure I would call Dusk At Cubist Castle timeless. What I am sure of is that I would call Dusk At Cubist Castle an incredible achievement in pop music, and an underground legend deserving of its praise.

The Jesus And Mary Chain- Psychocandy

Since you can't get more than a paragraph or so into a review of Psychocandy without bringing up feedback and noise, I figured I would just attack it head on. I used to hate noise and loud volumes, and I still generally avoid them when I can. I have always hated being around the kind of people who malevolently pop balloons at parties, play music ridiculously loud in their cars, and are incapable of sitting still and being quiet for more than five seconds at a time. Moreover, I was genuinely nervous the first time I listened to the Velvet Underground since I had read so much about the 'noisy' aspects of their music. The idea of feedback scared me for a long time after I accidentally touched the strings of my electric guitar to the amplifier while showing it to a friend shortly after I got for a birthday and a horrendous, deafening, indescribable racket erupted into my ears and body. At some point, though, I began to like noise, feedback, and distortion, probably when I started to hate the world, myself, and other people. I even got around to 'playing' feedback with my guitar. All that said, I still don't like noise music. I have occasional dalliances with it, sure, but I usually require some kind of modifier to go along with 'noise', whether it be 'noise-pop' or 'pretty noise.'

I figured I would just lay all of that out there because Psychocandy, despite the 20+ years of criticism since its release, is still referred to as 'noise pop.' And going into the album with that assumption (and the deadpan recommendation from a record store clerk that it was his "favorite album for about five years"), I was misled. I've been struggling with the album for a few months now, and the curve of my experience with it is pretty much identical to my original relationship with noise and feedback. On first listen I was kind of terrified of the album. It seemed so bleak and menacing, all nihilism and skull throttling bursts of white noise. I didn't listen to it for awhile, afraid to admit to myself or anyone that I didn't like such a 'classic' album because the feedback scared me. Empowered by alcohol, I have since made repeat excursions into the cityscape of Psychocandy and have finally come around to it. It's a great album, but it's great more for what it sounds like than what it is.

See, Psychocandy is not 'noise pop.' But that doesn't help, does it?? Genre distinctions are entirely meaningless and arbitrary; they're shorthand for referring to a general "feel" or "kind" of music when we're too rushed (or lazy) to completely lay down the full story. Allow me to explain what I mean, then. 'Noise pop', to me, is music that allows--wait for it--"noise" and "pop" to co-exist peacefully. This can be pop music with experimental/noisy undertones (see: Deerhoof, Sonic Youth, et. al.) or noise as pop music (see the ethereal, beatiful noise of My Bloody Valentine's Loveless). However, Psychocandy is much more noise than pop most of the time. What little pop there is to be had isn't the 'Beach Boys' kind of pop reviews often refer to it as. Rather, it's more like the Velvet Underground, a druggy, languid pop with a singer who doesn't care. At the same time, most of the songs have a shrieking torrent of noise either constantly on tap or waiting to be poured for the listener. This isn't noise, feedback, and distortion as an enhancement or interesting texture to music. Rather, it's noise as an impediment to enjoying the song that is trapped underneath.

The sad truth about Psychocandy is that, without all that howling noise, nobody would really care about the album. Only 'Just Like Honey' stands up as a classic pop song with or without noise, and it's one of the least feedback-drenched tunes from the album. Without the incredible aural headache you're exposed to on 'Never Understand', all you'd be left with is a sub-par take on Joy Division/Velvet Underground inspired British 80s music. It's telling that the band never recorded another album like this, and the shoegazer bands who are its obvious descendants crafted music that was much more successful at blending 'noise' and 'pop' in a symbiotic way. You can tell they looked more closely to 'Just Like Honey' and 'Inside Me'--which, in retrospect, sound really similar, down to the drumbeat--for inspiration, music that was still challenging and 'noisy' but not so excruciating and forceful about it.

And yet...remember when I said earlier that I liked Psychocandy more for what it sounds like than what it is?? Well, Psychocandy was like a shot-across-the-bow for the 80s underground scene. You're very unlikely to hear an album quite like it from this era, and its sheer extreme-ness garnered it endless talk and debate in British music magazines at the time. Listening to Psychocandy at loud volume is really the only way to hear it for what it truly is: a noisy monolith, a middle finger to polite-and-proper British pop music, and a reptilian-brain-stem endurance test. Psychocandy is an album you experience as much as you hear, and even if you don't like noise music, it's hard to argue with its committment. The Jesus & March Chain weren't fooling around when they recorded this music. The feedback and noise are actually more extreme than that of the Velvet Underground; even if the resultant songs are nowhere near as good or enduring, the sheer sonic assault of the album is brilliant. I mean, is it even music?? It's the sort of album that makes me reconsider what 'music' can be, and what it means to 'enjoy' something. I don't 'enjoy' watching Silence of the Lambs or Schindler's List, yet they're incredible movies. Or should I say "experiences"?? Like them, Psychocandy is not enjoyable in the way I typically associate with its artform, but it is an incredible experience.

To be succinct, what Psychocandy is isn't important, because it's not 'noise pop' and the songs buried below the noise are mostly forgettable. But what Psychocandy sounds like is important because it's an incredible piece of sound violence, nihilistic and painful, that is like nothing you've heard. I don't like it as a piece of music made up of discrete songs to enjoy, but as a slab of noise to be played at loud volume so that I feel it in my whole body. Amazing.

Yeah Yeah Yeahs- Fever To Tell

You don't hear much about Fever To Tell anymore. In fact, the last time I can remember talking about it to someone was the fall of '06, when a short lived relationship found me in a then-girlfriend's car with, oddly, her pet bird hanging out on her shoulder. The song 'Maps' came on the radio and she quickly turned it to something else, insisting that she couldn't stand that song because it was played too much. I tried to argue its case, saying that you couldn't hold popularity against a song if it was good, but it did get me to thinking how much 'Maps', and to a lesser extent 'Y Control', had become these generational touchstones. During the latter half of my college life, circa '04 to '06, I could swear I heard one (or both) of those songs at every party I went to.

Allow me, then, to present my case against Fever To Tell. My thesis is that it's the most overrated album in recent memory, and its reputation is built entirely on the last three songs which are all anyone remembers from it. Now, don't mistake my meaning: I don't dislike Fever To Tell. It's the kind of fun nostalgic album I can throw on while drinking and remind myself of the good times I had in college, shrieking along to the tracks. But therein lies the problem...you see, most of Fever To Tell is made up of very repetitive, simplistic, and short songs that fail to make any sort of impression. Certainly they sound cool, and have a visceral, punk rock rush to them which is fun to try to sing along to while drunk. But they aren't songs, and definitely aren't good songs. They're like sketches for songs, with only a few ideas barely held together before collapsing into the next song-ette. Short songs, and by extension, short albums aren't a bad thing, but the true meat of Fever To Tell only shows up in the last three songs.

If you disagree, try this exercise: name me one song from the album that isn't 'Maps', 'Y Control', or 'Modern Romance.'

Had to really think about it, didn't you??

You may or may not recall that the Yeah Yeah Yeahs' reputation was almost entirely built on two EPs. I've only heard their first, self-titled EP, released two years before Fever To Tell, and I think it's emblematic of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs as a creative unit. They work great in 20ish minute EP doses, but don't have enough good material for a full album. This isn't an entirely original criticism, I'll admit, because I remember seeing this issue brought up in some reviews at the time. Yet Fever To Tell was the New York Times' album of the year for 2003, and while opinion is ultimately subjective, it does give one pause to consider, just how goes an album that's half or mostly forgettable earn such top marks??

Well, as I keep eluding to, the last three songs on Fever To Tell are incredible. After the way-too-long 'No No No' evaporates, the unbeatable 'Maps' soon begins, with its radio signal flutter giving way to anthemic drums and guitar chording. Once you get to Karen O.'s restrained, yearning chorus, it's hard not to fall absolutely in love with the band. Then we get the "everybody on the dance floor!!" throwdown of 'Y Control', all skittery drums and that noisy keyboard/guitar slide sound that keeps popping up. The song could be the cap to a great night or a mid-evening energy boost, but either way, it's definitely one of the best songs of the decade. Finally, the plaintive comedown of 'Modern Romance', which bums us out by assuring us that love is dead...then, after some silence, a hidden track comes in and convinces us that, no, no matter how badly we've been treated, true love is real. All in all, it's a stunning conclusion, and kind of proves that if an ending is good enough people are likely to forget the stuff they didn't like from the beginning...and the middle.

What it all comes down to is that Fever To Tell is an incredibly uneven and overpraised album. Give a cursory glance to other, better albums that came out that year and it's hard to justify the love this one gets. But, as I've established, the love it gets is built almost entirely on the last three songs--which, again, are really good. And while I'm hesitant to break an album down mathematically and say "I only like 8 of the 12 songs, so it gets 4 out of 5 stars" or some such formula, that's got to be the case with Fever To Tell. As an EP it would've been a borderline masterpiece (like Young Liars by TV on the Radio), but as an album it's just average.

Not To Be Confused With...

Developing an encyclopedic knowledge of music is a tricky business, requiring one to memorize all sorts of names, album titles, release dates, and arcana. More often than not, though, it's the names that trip people up. As time goes on, there are just so many bands to keep track of that it becomes a maddening process to keep it all straight. Allow me to present some easily confused bands and artists and how to distinguish them for everyday, music nerd conversation.


The Rapture, Not To Be Confused With Rapture
The Rapture are an indie rock dance/punk band. Rapture are a metal band from Finland. 'Rapture' is also a hit song by Blondie which featured semi-embarrassing rapping from Debbie Harry. But that's neither here nor there. How to keep them straight in your head?? Repeat this sentence to yourself: "Rapture would rupture my ear drums, but The Rapture covering 'Rapture' by Blondie would be either the best thing ever or completely terrible."

The Sea and Cake, Not To Be Confused With Cake
While this one may not be quite as tricky, it's worth going over just in case. The Sea and Cake is a breezy, jazzy indie pop band from Chicago. Cake is a vaguely Beck-ish alt. rock band mostly known for the singles 'The Distance', 'Never There', and 'Short Skirt/Long Jacket.' Music nerd fact: The Sea and Cake's name came from a song by Chicago-scene-legends Gastr Del Sol entitled 'The C In Cake', on which a future member of The Sea and Cake played. Anyway, repeat this sentence to yourself: "I like Cake because they helped me realize that I, too, like vaguely Beck-ish songs about girls in short skirts and long jackets; however, I like The Sea and Cake more because they helped me realize that, as with eating cake every day, I like hearing what amounts to mostly the same album recorded in different ways over and over."

Wolf Parade, Not To Be Confused With Wolf Eyes, Not To Be Confused With Frog Eyes, Not To Be Confused With The Frogs
This one's a pretty tangled web, so I'll dig right in. Wolf Parade is an indie rock band who've recorded two really great albums so far. Wolf Eyes is an experimental noise band who I can't stand to listen to because it hurts and I'm a coward. Frog Eyes, sometimes featuring a member of Wolf Parade on keyboards, is a skewed indie rock band with a crazed, energetic frontman and remind me of the mania of Pere Ubu despite sounding very little like them. The Frogs are a jokey lo-fi indie pop band active from the late 80s to now, who kind of remind me of Beat Happening only they write songs about being gay (despite not being gay) and other ironic things. So, how do you keep these four bands straight?? Repeat this sentence: "I would march in the Wolf Parade because they record great indie rock, unlike Wolf Eyes, who produce painful noise, though I'm torn on Frog Eyes and The Frogs because the frontman of Frog Eyes scares me and I think The Frogs are just a jokier, not-as-good Beat Happening."

Soft Machine, Not To Be Confused With The Secret Machines or The Soft Boys, The Latter Of Which Should Not Be Confused With The Dead Boys
Since I've never listened to any of these bands, I find it hard to keep them straight. However, they're all very different so putting them down on paper helps a bit. So, then: Soft Machine are a prog rock band from the 70s who eventually became quite jazzy and introduced Robert Wyatt to the world before he left the band, became paralyzed, and made a career out of pretty great music (from what I'm told). The Secret Machines are a sort-of-proggy trio from Texas who record music which begs the question "what if Pink Floyd or Rush grew up in the 90s and sucked??" The Soft Boys can best be summarized, from a cursory listen of YouTube clips, as the missing link between Syd Barrett and punk rock. Finally, the Dead Boys were one orthodox product of the break-up of proto-punk legend Rocket From The Tombs, the other product being the post-punk/new wave/Captain Beefheart-worshipping Pere Ubu. Repeat this sentence to yourself: "I like Soft Machine because they recorded good prog rock, unlike the crappy modern day Secret Machines; at the same time, I much prefer the Soft Boys to the Dead Boys because the Soft Boys were weird and psychedelic and the Dead Boys were, well, just a decent punk rock band."

The Silver Apples, Not To Be Confused With Silver Jews
Well, this one's pretty straightforward, and for the record, both bands are awesome (even if the new Silver Jews album is crap). The Silver Apples were one of those "way ahead of their time" late 60s/early 70s bands that were influential and revolutionary in retrospect. In this case, they were an early electronic music duo who expertly blended experimental keyboard/synthesizer textures and psychedelic melodies with funky/jazzy drumming, recalling German contemporaries like Can and Neu!, only more catchy. Meanwhile, Silver Jews is the country tinged indie rock project of singer/songwriter David Berman, originally (and mistakenly) thought of as a Pavement side project. Fun fact: 'silver jew' is a term for Jewish people with blond hair. Keeping them straight is easy, but I still sometimes flub up. Repeat this sentence: "The Silver Apples were way ahead of their time, with funky electro-psychedelic grooves, and equally timeless as the Silver Jews, who, despite being an indie rock band from modern times, could easily have fit into the singer/songwriter craze of the early to mid 70s."

Gang Of Four, Not To Be Confused With Gang Gang Dance
This one's a bit tricky because not only are their names kind of similar, but their sound is, too. Gang of Four were an ahead-of-their-time punk band from late 70s England who mixed funk and reggae into their sound, later inspiring a whole scene of American indie rockers like The Rapture and Liars to pick up this 'dance punk' thread. Gang Gang Dance is among many modern bands--like Liars, Animal Collective, TV on the Radio, and others--who combine primitive, hypnotic drumming, noise, pop, effects pedals, and unique vocals in such a way as to sound totally distinct and yet sounding of a similar movement. Repeat this sentence to yourself: "Gang of Four were a funky punk band from the late 70s which inspired modern bands like Gang Gang Dance, who combine hypnotic drumming with experimental rock kind of like Liars."

Album of the Week: Danielson- Ships

If there's one thread running through indie rock, it's the constant struggle between authenticity and sincerity vs. irony and sarcasm. Not that bands can't tap into both, but many indie rockers end up going so far into the overly clever realm, piling on so much irony and sarcasm into their act that you can't believe a word that comes out of their mouth. At the same time, because of the proliferation of overly coy indie rock bands, it's hard to tell if the other ones mean it or not. Such is the case in point with Danielson, an overtly or understatedly Christian band made up of an actual family (hence why they sometimes perform under the name Danielson Family). For years people questioned the sincerity of the act, suggesting that someone so odd and quirky couldn't really mean what he was singing, dressing his band in nurse uniforms to symbolize the spiritual healing the audience was undertaking, and donning a tree costume himself to reference the fruit of the Holy Spirit.

People forget, of course, that indie rock has never been a terribly successful genre. To suggest that Danielson was using Christianity to gain publicity and pretend to be a weird band misses the point, since the band couldn't hope to gain much in the process. No, indie rock has always been the place where the freaks and oddities go to make their music free of outside influence. Danielson are simply too strange and not overtly Christian enough to fit on those modern Christian music compilations you see advertised on TV. Moreover, they're too good for it. For, with the release of Ships in 2006, the indie rock world came to realize the truth: whether or not you're Christian doesn't matter, because this album was some of the best music of that year.

Ironically, the only caveat emptor I can make about this music has nothing to do with its spirituality. I've never detected enough Christian-ness about the album to consider it fully sacred, and I doubt if anyone listening to it who didn't know about the band's story could hear it. No, the problem is Daniel Smith (aka Brother Daniel, the band's leader) and his voice. As is typical with most great indie rock bands, he has a very distinctive set of vocal cords--in this case, very high pitched, squeaky, and sometimes borderline shrill. It's not that he can't sing, it's that the way he sings is destined to turn people away from the music. I've come to love his voice, but there is a 'getting used to' period you'll go through with Ships. Think of it as the final litmus test to enjoying this incredible music.

Every song on Ships bursts from the speakers with melodies, sounds, and inventive songwriting. You don't come across such unique indie rock/pop very often, and the whole package has the same uplifting, borderline-orchestral majesty that the Flaming Lips's The Soft Bulletin does. Where that album came to life affirming music through space-pop and psychedelia, Danielson arrives at it via shining Brian Wilson-esque pop and spiky, skewed indie rock. Corralling a list of collaborators and band members about two dozen strong, Daniel Smith managed to craft eleven songs of both immediate satisfaction and lasting flavor. Like the Everlasting Gobstoppber of Willy Wonka film fame, it tastes good right away and never stops revealing new facets of flavor.

At the center of every song lies Smith, and the arrangements, ever malleable, turn around his every dip and turn. Even simpler songs like the closing 'Five Stars And Two Thumps Up' follow his straightforward delivery--watch the way new instruments and background vocals are added and subtracted as he moves through the song. Along with impossibly catchy gems like 'Did I Step On Your Trumpet' come the more complicated and rewarding songs like 'Bloodbook On The Halfshell' and the epic 'Kids Pushing Kids', which keeps bobbing up and down for more than six minutes but never runs out of steam or ideas. Speaking of which, though the album is a hair over 42 minutes, it contains enough meat for a recording twice its length. This isn't a case of "too many things packed, schizophrenically, into a small amount of time" like some Fiery Furnaces albums can be, but more that lesser bands would stretch these ideas out into an album far longer and thus far weaker.

Regardless of what you think of Danielson the band, there's no denying Ships as an album. It's been scarcely two years since its release and I'm afraid it's destined to be forgotten in the endless pile of indie rock best-new-bands that come out every few months. Not to say that the bands that have arrived unto the scene since Ships aren't good, but it's easy to get lost in the discovery of new, exciting things and forget about the true masterpieces of yesteryears. Ships is--I'm going to say it--a true masterpiece, and one of the greatest, most unique indie rock albums of this decade-so-far.

Video: Fleet Foxes- White Winter Hymnal

I developed a cold over the weekend and have spent the better part of today, off work, and convalescing. Since some kind of cold medication or cough syrup has been in my system for the better part of 24 hours, I feel pretty out of it and generally odd, especially after watching movies for hours on end.

So, here's the video for 'White Winter Hymnal' off the Fleet Foxes' self titled debut. I'll get around to reviewing the album itself one of these days, since it is unbelievably good and keeps getting better the more I listen to it (or maybe that was just the NyQuil last night...). Anyway, this video goes with the daring choice of claymation. I think it works for this song, though the obvious symbolism of the men becoming young when 'time' is 'wound backwards' so it's daytime and spring, instead of nighttime and winter, is sort of weak. Especially since the old men become young again, and dead plants become alive again. I'm not sure what, if anything, they're trying to say with all of that, but it sure is a cool thing to look at, now, isn't it children??