Stephen Malkmus- Mirror Traffic

Now that he's released the same number of solo albums as he did with Pavement, Stephen Malkmus has proven, if nothing else, that he's still committed to making music as a full-time career. Furthermore, the work he's done with his backing band, The Jicks, has been of a fairly consistent quality and definitely not the work of a man coasting on goodwill from his youth. Wandering between eclectic, song focused releases (his self titled debut and Face The Truth) and guitar-centric, jammy records (Pig Lib, Real Emotional Trash), his post-Pavement work has seen him go as far as he can. Now he's settled into the craftsman phase of his career, making music that never re-invents his sound or innovates but is nevertheless enjoyable.

Mirror Traffic is something of an attempt to combine the two sides of his Jicks-backed solo work. Boasting 15 songs, it's to be expected that it wanders a bit. Anyway, focus and finesse were never one of Malkmus's strongpoints. He's usually at his best when he's wandering to extremes, and this record tries to go to both of his extremes at the same time. So you'd expect that the obvious touchstones for this album would be Pavement's Wowee Zowee and Real Emotional Trash, and you'd be right. Except that, when he made those albums, those extremes were new and fresh. Mirror Traffic is, well, exactly what you'd expect of a new Stephen Malkmus album in 2011.

See, Mirror Traffic is a comfortable record. He's pretty much doing what he's always done, and even when the results can be as good as anything he's ever done, it's still a boring, disinterested album. When Malkmus goes for a big guitar solo, the playing may be as strong as ever, but it doesn't always follow coherently from the song—the way 'Long Hard Book' ends with a solo feels completely half-assed, as if he couldn't think of a good ending so he stuck in a guitar solo. Lyrically, Malkmus has never been the most sensical writer, but there was an oblique logic to his lines. On Mirror Traffic, I always got the impression the music was written first and then he improvised lyrics to fit; 'Share The Red' comes off like a song written around guitar solos, and the embarrassingly bad 'Senator' will rank up there with 'Discretion Grove' and 'Major Leagues' in the pantheon of Malkmus stabs at mainstream acceptance/relevance.

Tellingly, Mirror Traffic is at its best when Malkmus is trying new things. 'No One Is (As I Are Be)' argues compellingly for an all acoustic album from him at some point in his career, with an easygoing backing of skittering snare drum and modest bass lines. The short instrumental 'Jumblegloss' recalls the psychedelic ending to the album version of Pavement's 'Shady Lane' and unfortunately ends right as it seems to be heading for some lyrics. Continuing in his now established tradition of excellent album closers, 'Gorgeous Georgie' makes me wish he would use the Jicks more prominently as vocalists. However, the overall story of this record is one of good-but-redundant rock songs. After the first two tracks you could listen to the album in any order you wish. There's no sense of flow or pacing to where 'Stick Figures In Love', 'Spazz', 'Tune Grief', 'Forever 28', and 'Fall Away' are placed. Which isn't to say they're bad songs, they're simply forgettable and Malkmus sounds like he's going through the motions.

Feelings for Mirror Traffic are going to be all over the place. It's the kind of record where if you've been following Malkmus's career closely, you'll think it's a solid if unremarkable release, one that doesn't see him besting his past or going many new places. If you've only occasionally listened to Malkmus over the years, Mirror Traffic will seem quirky and interesting, sometimes sloppy but still fun.

3 Poorly Drawn Stars Out Of 5

Weekly Whiskey Episode 19

Posted a little later than usual, but hey, there's a reason I always date the show for Wednesdays to allow myself some wiggle room.

The Walkmen- A Hundred Miles Off

I've always thought of the The Walkmen as men of much finesse and ease, of professionalism and self-control. But during the mid-point of their career-so-far they recorded a cover of the entirety of John Lennon and Harry Nilsson's Pussy Cats. An album written and recorded during their infamous “lost weekend” together, it's a record of reverential tributes to music from their rock 'n roll youths but also one of debauched looseness. The Walkmen's take on the record is a bit more polished and less interesting, but it certainly must've influenced (or was influenced by) their sessions for A Hundred Miles Off.

You see, this is an album that overturns my assumptions about the band. The songwriting isn't consistently strong and finessed. Nearly every song has a claustrophobic/dramatic feel thanks to the pervasive, borderline-dissonant guitar and organ sounds. Recorded during the Fall of 2005 into early 2006, A Hundred Miles Off has a definite 'cabin fever' atmosphere. It's a record for those random work nights where you realize you've been sleeplessly pacing around your apartment and you have to wake up in three hours for work. Much of the time, it has an energetic rush: 'Tenley Town' is the closest they'll ever get to punk rock. This is also a record for those reeling drunken nights when you've recently broken up with someone or are about to. 'All Hands and The Cook' sounds like a nervous breakdown and the lyrics read like fragments from a bitter, rambling email to an ex-girlfriend.

This is a record which, taken on an objective-as-possible critical metric, feels sloppy and tossed off, more akin to something by Pavement than The Walkmen. Yet I feel like this is the kind of album which sits in your collection until that perfect moment when it suddenly seems alive and makes sense to you. In this perfect moment, the chaotic collage art cover and the very-appropriate album title call out to you because you're not feeling like your usual self, either. Indeed, you feel “off”, or more precisely, “a hundred miles off.” Whatever has put you into this state seems deeply analogous to the late night intoxicated dramas of A Hundred Miles Off such that you are finally happy you bought this record.

As this album sits at the point before The Walkmen became consummate professionals on the excellent You & Me, there's a certain bent appeal to hearing them as slightly-younger men who probably drank and spilled their share of beer during the year or so these sessions, and those of their Pussy Cats cover, took place. They were temporarily the kind of guys who went out to bars more than two nights a week, who threw horn sections into their songs for the hell of it; A Hundred Miles Off staggers to a start with the reeling 'Louisiana', mariachi horns and all. Everywhere, but particularly on 'Emma, Get Me A Lemon', Hamilton Leithauser's vocals are at their most pinched and strained, as if he had recorded everything in one take after spending the better part of a day recovering from a hangover while listening to The Basement Tapes and Blonde On Blonde over and over.

A Hundred Miles Off is the weakest record in The Walkmen's career but that's only because this is a “let your hair down” affair. Held to the standards of even their debut, when they were still trying to shake the last remnants of the Jonathan Fire*Eater sound from themselves, it comes up a bit wanting. But you'll note I just said “a bit”, because the more I listen to this album, and the more times I hear it in a mindset of appropriate desperation and unsettled-ness about my life, the more I like it. This is music for times when you aren't so much depressed as you are unhappy. When you're not so much an alcoholic as a temporary lush who can't face harsh reality just yet because it's still too much for a sober mind and heart to deal with.

4 Poorly Drawn Stars Out Of 5

For Sale Now!

Just approved the proof copy of the first collection of blog posts. You can order it now from the following site: https://www.createspace.com/3566369

It's not available on Amazon for a couple weeks but if you order from the CreateSpace site I get slightly more royalty money. But I know Amazon has that free shipping awesomeness going on...In any case, it's $12.99 for 252 pages and represents more than a year of hard work, between posting all the original articles during 2008 as well as spending the last six months editing them, writing footnotes/commentary on each article/review, and making the table of contents (which is a hellish ordeal if you don't plan ahead, as I didn't!).

I'm sure there are still some spelling/grammatical errors but since I did this all on my own I can only feel so bad about it.

Great Album Covers- Geogaddi

Boards Of Canada are one of those bands whose every release is a momentous occasion, if only because it happens less frequently than Presidential elections. As such you're given plenty of time to absorb their albums and dig into every corner. Boards Of Canada further inspire intrigue and obsession by playing on music nerd past times, putting backmasked messages in their songs, referencing numerology and other weird religious themes, and so on. I'm sure there are still people trying to figure out why they put a track of pure silence at the end of Geogaddi. It couldn't be just to round off the album to being 66:66 in runtime, could it?! There must be something there if you listen close enough, sort of like the missing 18 minutes on the infamous Nixon Tapes.

Right?

Anyway, I feel like Boards Of Canada are also one of those bands whose every album cover is perfectly chosen. There's a simultaneously psychedelic, dark, child-like, and entrancing quality to their music which is perfectly captured in their covers. True, the Geogaddi cover may be the most coherent kaleidoscope image ever seen--it's a dude, with arms outstretched, in front of some trees!--yet it still strikes me as, well, psychedelic, dark, child-like, and entrancing. I really wish I owned this album on vinyl, but then again, it would only inspire me to do a lot of drugs and stare at it (and the rest of the album art inside) for hours at a time.

Weekly Whiskey Episode 18

Whew, another long episode!

Iron & Wine- Kiss Each Other Clean

Coming to prominence as a hushed, bearded indie folker, Sam Beam is still best known as the guy behind the cover of 'Such Great Heights' used in that M&Ms commercial. Barring that, it's also hard to shake the initial impression left by his debut The Creek Drank The Cradle, one of Beam as a rustic, minimalist singer/songwriter who played banjo or acoustic guitar with no accompaniment and had production quality that sounded like it was recorded in a dusty, dilapidated barn on a hand-me-down 4-track. But starting with Our Endless Numbered Days, and especially his EP collaboration with Calexico, Beam moved toward a more full band style that plays strongly to the gypsy/hippie atmosphere of Bonnaroo. His voice simultaneously became more energetic and emotive. No more whispering in the direction of his beard and toes; in fact, on Kiss Each Other Clean he even swears a couple times.

I saw Iron & Wine earlier this Spring, right around the release of Kiss Each Other Clean, and was surprised—in a good way—by this change which I had missed out on. They opened with a grooving version of 'Boy With A Coin' from 2007's The Shepherd's Dog, Beam chugging along on an electric guitar with wah-wah pedal and all. His nine-or-so piece band included a drummer and percussionist, and this same expansive and varied collection of instruments carries over to this record (as well as the preceding The Shepherd's Dog). You can be sure that every stock 70s AOR instrument makes an appearance here, whether it be a sax solo (as heard on 'Big Burned Hand'), marimbas and other 'ethnic' percussion instruments, what is either a Clavinet or similarly funky organ, piano, and so on. I'm frankly surprised he didn't work in a harmonica somewhere.

While the chillwave bands are busy evoking memories and feelings of the 1980s, and even Destroyer's recent Kaputt album has a similar 80s style, Beam is stuck in the 70s. The vibe Kiss Each Other Clean goes for reminds me of the sort of music people would drive around their rural small towns to back in that decade, sort of like a less hard rock version of music you could imagine the characters from the movie Dazed And Confused listening to. To give you an example, album closer 'Your Fake Name Is Good Enough For Me' makes effective use of its seven minutes, allowing you time to stop at a carryout on the way to a party for cigarettes and cheap beer and get back in the car before the song ends.

As such, Kiss Each Other Clean is the polar opposite of The Creek Drank The Cradle in that it's a 'hang out with your friends' kind of record. You put it on to create a certain vibe. As a consequence, the hooks aren't as strong as they could be because they don't need to be. Beam is painting in broad strokes with a wide palette of sounds at his disposal. This often means while he doesn't lack for ideas as to what sounds to use, the songs sometimes don't add up in memorable ways. Taken as a whole, it's a fine album, and great fun to listen to with a few friends. Indeed, I can certainly attest to the appeal of these songs in concert. However, like the good time grooves of late 70s Grateful Dead live shows, this kind of music doesn't translate well to a studio album.

Over the past few months as I've listened to Kiss Each Other Clean it never stays with me for very long. I've put off writing about it for months because it inspires no strong feelings or ideas in me. I only recently realized this is because it's not trying to. There are no grand statements here; the stakes are low and the songwriting is laid back in a sometimes-formless kind of way. How much you'll enjoy this depends almost entirely on how much you enjoy just chilling with some friends, talking about nothing much of import, simply enjoying the weather and passing the afternoon and/or night without incident. You never remember these times past a week or so later, but that's exactly why you need to have them.

4 Poorly Drawn Stars Out Of 5