How Far We've Come From Chiptunes

Well, today I was busy doing heavy lifting and receiving a paycheck (that's a change, isn't it?). Thus, instead of a real review or some random opinions on how strange the music industry is these days, I will discuss one of the things that has been on my mind for some time now.

I was at a gathering of local writers one evening, and the topic of Beethoven came up. One of our more eccentric writers mentioned a study about Beethoven; the study concluded that, if Beethoven were alive today, he'd be making music for video games. The idea being that Beethoven was so experimental and powerful for his time, that if placed in a modern setting he'd be where the cutting edge is. Of course, this notion didn't sit well with some of our more tradition-minded writers (and I can't find the actual study itself), but I found the idea fascinating.

Perhaps our traditionalists were thinking of old Atari games or classics of Nintendo with cheesy chiptunes, but I argue that certain classics of video gaming had brilliant soundtracks. The one that I've been stuck on for awhile is the original NES Metroid. The title screen music, even as a chiptune, was quite amazing. The Legend of Zelda? Just plain cool. When we were young, we probably didn't pay much attention to the music, but now, we find those old themes captivating. I don't think I ever noticed how potent game music could be until Chrono Trigger on the Super Nintendo. That soundtrack was so good, it was made available on CD (mostly as an import from Japan; take that whatever way you please).

Technology has progressed to the point where games can have phenomenally rich music. If original music isn't quite the speed of the developers, current technology can accommodate a soundtrack consisting of real-world rock music (listen to the car stereos in the Grand Theft Auto series, for example).

Also, it seems like everyone and their dog has some kind of program to remix music on their computers. Video game music was certainly not forgotten in that respect, with vast legions of people layering unimaginative techno beats over old chiptunes. However, some have taken to remixing with a flair. Some aren't so much remixing as they are reinterpreting, using (gasp!) real instruments. Take this jazz variation on the Darkworld theme from The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past. Slick.

I'm really impressed with where we've been and where we're going in this realm. It's a new world of technology and development, waiting for a musical genius to bring greater respect to this artform. If I am ever arrested for running an illegal Beethoven cloning experiment in my basement to achieve this end, please remember the cause and continue to fight the good fight.



Overclocked Remix (Fair warning: most are thumping techno. Listen before you download.)

a couple favorites from OCRemix:
Chrono Trigger "600 AD in Piano"
Metroid theme remix by efsisos



Bother me about putting up a decent review when my arms don't feel like they're going to fall off.

Meret Becker, Fragiles: Review in Retrospect

All apologies for this entry so late in the day; been busy with other things (such things that offer payment in exchange for hard work, as opposed to blogging which is rarely a profitable enterprise). There's also the problem that I am damn close to flat broke, plus most of the new releases coming out interest me as much as having another root canal done. So, we reach into the bygone era of 2001 and the land of bratwursts and sauerkraut for Meret Becker's Fragiles.

Meret Becker came to my attention through Einstürzende Neubauten; aside from being married to Neubauten's longtime guitar and bass player Alexander Hacke from 1996 to 2002, she also sang a duet with Neubauten frontman Blixa Bargeld on Ende Neu's "Stella Maris" (my personal favorite love song, by the way). She has done two albums with Ars Vitalis (1993-'95, Noctambule), two solo albums (Nachtmahr, Fragiles), and the motion picture soundtrack to Pipermint... das Leben möglicherweise, among other assorted collaborations. Acting is her primary calling, but her recorded output is more than enough to firmly establish Meret as a potent musician.

Unfortunately, since her fame is mostly confined to Europe, most of these albums are difficult to find to us unfortunates that happen to live on this side of the Atlantic. Enter eBay. In July of last year, I was the sole bidder on an auction from a British seller for an unopened copy of Fragiles. I paid one pound for the CD, and 2.50 GBP for the shipping. At the time, I think that came out to be something like 6.70 USD.

My understanding of the music is obviously hampered by the fact that I understand about five words in German. However, the liner notes provide translations for all songs, so at least there is a starting point to understanding what the heck I'm listening to. The lyrics are remarkably poetic and surreal (at least in translation), but several fall victim to the album art in that some are obscured with the images, or running into and over the images, making some partly unreadable.

The album art consists mostly of one of the most vivid shades of deep red I have ever seen. Fragiles definitely stands out the most on any shelf it sits on, drawing all attention directly (name and title in giant block letter along the spine assist this effect). The case is a digipak with a matte finish and the liner notes glued to the front flap. While I am grateful for the extensive work done arranging the lyrics in three languages (for most songs), and the outstanding surrealist-style artwork, the glued-in booklet makes perusing those lyrics rather troublesome unless you take up a good portion of your desk every time you want to read them. I would have preferred a booklet you could slide out separate from the rest of the case. Otherwise, the packaging is beautiful; always a plus when most albums are paired with awful atrocities that can barely be called art.

Becker's voice ranges from low seductive whispers to belting her heart out to twisted mad elfin to that annoying high pitch typically reserved for small children. If you find female vocalists unattractive, then I can't recommend this to you. At times, I feel like she's channeling the quirks of Tom Waits, but with an even more carnival-like atmosphere mixed with an alien etherealness. This is a twisted, topsy-turvy ride into a surreal mindscape; it's like I'm picking up radio stations from the other side of the looking glass. The arrangement of the music is superb, with a variety of instruments including (but not limited to): saw, glockenspiel, kazoo, accordian, assorted guitars, banjo, harmonium, and so on.

Becker proves herself a commander of the bizarre love song with such tunes as " Zirkus," "Zum Diktat," "Miroir De La Nuit"... come to think of it, most of the album is love songs, be they either romantic celebrations and confessions or laments of heartbreak. Fascinatingly, one of the tracks on Fragiles is a cover of The Beatles' "For No One." A rather compelling variation, I should say. Another cover is the traditional nursery rhyme "Hey Diddle Diddle," here retitled to "Cow & Moon." The music to "Cow & Moon" is repeated for the instrumental "Dish & Spoon" and "Schwalbe (Vogellied);" hearing the same tune three times in a row is rather maddening, and one of my few complaints with Fragiles.

This album jumps from music to spoken pieces with little musical accompaniment, most of which are under or around a minute long. My research tells me that she tends to mix poetry with the music, and, while I can appreciate the mix since I have often been accused of being a poet myself, I find it a tad distracting, as well as lengthening the album past the hour mark and beyond the attention span of most contemporary music listeners. Since I can't understand the language, and these pieces don't have words listed in the liner notes, I can't estimate whether or not these short pieces are essential to the overall thematic experience. While I find them taxing, they are also fascinating to listen to, even if you don't know the language.

Despite my minor quibbles, I find this to be a very impressive and under-listened album from a very talented woman. Excellent lyrics (again, I only can tell from translation; German-speakers might find it less than stellar), instrumentation that is mind-twisting, and an album art that immediately grabs attention make for a release that should be in more personal collections than it probably is. However, this is a seriously acquired taste and hard to digest. You might not like until you've heard it five times, or it might be too much weirdness for you. It certainly is for many people.

By all accounts, all releases by Meret Becker are out of print, with some fetching high prices on various websites. However, copies of albums occasionally turn up on various online marketplaces. If you are interested, then keep your eyes peeled; you'll find them sooner or later.



Meret Becker's homepage, which won't be much help to those not fluent in Deutsch.

*zzzzzzzzz*snerk* Sorry, I was dozing: Neil Diamond, Home Before Dark

First confession: I am not a fan of acoustic guitars. When I was in college, it seemed like everyone had an acoustic, and they all thought they were folk singers. Some thought they were Bob Dylan, some thought they were Woody Guthrie, some thought they were Joni Mitchell, all of them were boring as a dentist’s waiting room being filled with sleeping gas. American acoustic folk is one of the music genres that provides me an express trip to Snoreville. Second confession: I have never listened to Neil Diamond before. The first I will remain steadfast on, but I apologize for the second, solely based on his fame.

I’m not expecting to make any friends with this review, so be prepared when I say this album is very effective as a sleep aid. I found very little interesting with Home Before Dark, and what caught my interest for even a moment was rapidly forgotten by subsequent tracks that make a good money working part-time jobs as substitutes for the Sandman.

The first song, “If I Don’t See You Again,” struck me as being a touching and potent piece that, while not exactly making me jump up and down in excitement, held me down enough to appreciate it in some sense. Unfortunately, this is almost immediately undone with the next track, “Pretty Amazing Grace.” I found “Pretty Amazing Grace” to be somewhat annoying and otherwise forgettable, starting out sounding like “Feliz Navidad.” I can sort of dig “Don’t Go There,” but at the moment, I can’t recall why. Skipping to track five, “One More Bite Of The Apple” wins the Official Rum-Soaked Review Silver Medal for Most Annoying Song of 2008 (Gold goes to R.E.M.’s “I’m Gonna DJ,” but it almost was unseated here). It only serves the purpose of waking me up after the last track. The chorus is cliché and badly delivered, and at 6 minutes runtime, too f#cking long. The whole album feels long, but I can't tell you because I can't pay attention to it long enough to accurately judge. “Forgotten” is a bit more what I was looking for: down-home country folk. “Slow It Down” grabs with the introduction before following it’s own title and dropping pace to something very comfortable (to the point of putting my head on a pillow). The title track isn’t bad, but still boring in ways I didn’t think were possible. The deluxe edition features two covers, “Without Her” by Harry Nilsson and “Make You Feel My Love” by Bob Dylan. “Without Her” is the dark, morose, painfully beautiful sort of thing that I automatically gravitate to, while “Make You Feel My Love” doesn’t change the prevalent drowsiness. That’s all I got; every other track is so bland that I didn’t realize they were over until two songs later.

Almost forgot to mention: the album has nice photography. It's a pretty slick looking case. The only criticism here is that it is annoying to slide the disc out of the cardboard sleeves glued to the outer flaps.

I’m given to understand that Neil Diamond is a very polarizing artist, with disputes between fans and non-fans running the risk of ruining relationships of all kinds. Find out if your spouse-to-be is a fan or not if you are strongly on either side of the fence; otherwise, you run the risk of many bitter arguments. Yes, Neil is famous as a great songwriter. But he’s not the be-all and end-all of contemporary music.

Final analysis is that Home Before Dark is emotional folk inspirational lovey-dovey crap that gets very old, very fast. To be fair, Home Before Dark isn’t a bad album by any stretch of the imagination. What it is is utterly boring. To some, generating a sense of complete indifference is a worse effect than being bad. For them, I can only say, “avoid this album.” However, if acoustic, calm, but occasionally potent is your speed, then perhaps this album is for you, assuming you aren’t a rabid Diamond fan already and haven’t bought it already. As for me, I beg your pardon but, yawn I’m feeling kind of drowsy right now. I’ll get back to you after a nap.



Neil Diamond website and myspace

John Francis Dooley, take the stick out of your @$$

I was originally planning on posting a review of Neil Diamond's latest album, Home Before Dark. But I was distracted (not a hard thing to do considering the subject matter; more on that later this week) just yesterday evening and damn near sh#t myself at what I saw. No, it was not an attractive woman demanding my attentions to satisfy her lustful wants. It was not a set of winning lottery numbers written in blood on my bathroom mirror. It most certainly was not a Zeta Reticulan (grey alien) in a Hawaiian shirt asking for directions to Woodstock.

It was the prices on the Dead Can Dance reissues.

First, a couple notes. I f#cking love Dead Can Dance. They have been mentioned several times in this blog as being a shining example of contemporary musical beauty. Also, I have been on the edge of my seat since hearing their albums were going to be remastered and reissued in hybrid SACD format (disregarding the fact that I don't have a SACD-capable CD player... yet). These fancy hybrid reissues are to be packaged in mini-LP style sleeves, mimicking the original vinyl packages with complete liner notes and lyrics, etc. This was beautiful news; I could not wait until they reached the retailers. 4AD had them scheduled for a June 2nd release, at least for Europe.

Over the past month or so, I have taken to checking both the 4AD website and Amazon.com for news or postings about these reissues, since I have only three albums on CD as it stands right now (I have all the original albums on my computer, thanks to friends that hopped the DCD Train long before I had ever heard of them). 4AD's site didn't show much change, but just last night, I dug around Amazon. Amazement! American release dates on all 9 releases (Garden of The Arcane Delights is being issued separately, like it was originally on vinyl)! July 22nd is the date. But, there was a lurking misery.

They want $20 each (except Within The Realm of A Dying Sun, which is $16.99 for some anomalous reason). All of them. Including Garden of The Arcane Delights. Mind you Garden of The Arcane Delights is an EP. A four track EP, and it's 20 f#cking bucks! 15 minutes of music, and 20... f#ck... sh#t.... GRRRAAAAAAAA! CHRIS SMASH!

Here's the kicker. 4AD said there was a possibility of a box set. While the record label is still tight-lipped on that, Amazon offers us an import box set of all 9 discs for the low, low price of (**drum roll**) $315.99. Yeah. No kidding. Although, this is labeled as being SACD only, not SACD hybrid, which makes little sense since I was led to believe the reissues were to be all hybrid. Bad product description? Possibly. EDIT: This particular box set might be the Japanese import version.

Am I flipping out excessively here? Yes, Dead Can Dance is one of the most innovative and singularly amazing music acts to emerge from the 1980s. Yes, Amazon has the tendency to change their prices week by week; there's the distinct possibility that, as the time between first posting and release day shortens, the price will drop dramatically. It's not uncommon; hell, they do that with such frequency that it barely warrants mention, but sometimes warrants frustration when the price change is not in your favor.

At one point, when discussing the reissues with Kevin (from Swing the Heartache), I accused the band of being money-spinners whose output hasn't changed in a decade. Now, I love this band, don't have many of their albums, and had been looking forward to these reissues since the news was released. But, I, like most of my readers, am damn near flat broke. I probably wouldn't have cared what the price was if I were swimming in disposable income. Where are we supposed to get the money for this? One idea I have kicked around is saying, "f#ck the remastered editions" and buying the original CD issues either used or unopened (believe it or not, there are still unopened copies of the original editions floating around). Another is boiling a hot dog, forgetting what I was worked up about, and wandering off to do something else since I have the attention span of a hummingbird that mistook a cup of espresso for a nectar-filled flower.

Time will tell. This rant may have been for naught considering the factors involved. In the meantime, I'll be getting caffeinated and hurriedly throwing together posts when I should be doing something that earns me a living so I can afford these sorts of things.

Snarky Opinions, Issue 4: Selling Out

Ugh. I originally planned on doing something else for today, but things have been a little hectic over here the past couple days (long explanation that doesn't feel appropriate explained here), so I am going to do something quick and get out.

I've seen quite a few upstart bands before. Walk into any college town on a weekend evening and chances are you'll be stumbling over people between the ages of 18 and 25 carrying assorted musical instruments and making small talk about this and that. Most of them are not professionals, just doing what they love. However, start talking about any band that made it big from humble roots, and you run this risk of hearing any of the following sentences:

-"They were good before they sold out."
-"What a pack of sellouts."
-"They sold out and started kissing the @$$ of the mainstream music industry."
-"I saw them play in [insert middle-of-nowhere town/completely unknown venue/parent's basement]; it was cool. That was before they sold out and became a pack of pretentious snobs."
-"They sold out and are dead to me now."

You get the idea. Hang around enough indie kids and hipsters, and you will hear these sentences frequently (assuming you are not one of them; otherwise you would know who is a sellout and not to be spoken about in that company).

The idea behind this manner of thinking is that an artist is more credible when they are less concerned about money and more performing the art for the sake of the art itself. The implication is that the integrity of the work is compromised when the artist steers towards attempts at commercial success. Understandable, I suppose. That which is labored over in silent toil tends to leave a lasting impression. I'm down with that; I know the feeling, being a poet with a limited audience.

But, should someone, somewhere, want to hand an artist a paycheck for his hard work, all of a sudden they are branded a sellout. As though their talent evaporated like dry ice. What's so band about taking payment, signing that big record deal? Yeah, the music sometimes suffers at the hands of the label bigwigs, but all existence is compromise. Making art is one thing; selling it is another.

Perhaps many of us forget the history of art. I remember from my history classes that much of what we consider classics of art were commissioned (i.e. paid for, you know, through contractual agreement) by the wealthy. Fancy that. The history of the arts (not including cave paintings) is populated heavily by those with a talent and using it to put food on the table. Noble patrons want something pretty to look at or a nice piece of music to listen to or a poem extolling their virtues, they find an artist to do so. That's what puts bread on the table. Would we call Michaelangelo a sellout for painting the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel?

While maintaining your artistic intention is great and preferred, there is a harsh reality to face. Some of the young and idealistic (and old and idealistic) don't seem to grasp that unfulfilling jobs and low-paying gigs are no way to go through life. "Selling out" isn't so bad. If you were offered a way to do something at least vaguely fun and get paid for it, why should anyone look down up that? Hell, if offered the opportunity to play kazoo in an emo band with a record deal sitting on the table, I'd do it. Aside from the fact that I like the combination of an instrument and a music style not known for using that instrument, there's a career to be thought of. Bills must be paid, diapers have to be changed, life has to go on.

Personally, I feel much of the disgust with "sellouts" has to do with hatred of the mainstream music industry. Right about now, I can't say I blame anyone for going to the average music store and feeling nausea at the hot sellers section; much of what is being released on the main market stinks. However, there has been a large amount of amazing music released by the big labels. Jeff Buckley, Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen, David Bowie, and so on. Admitted, that was the past, but that's not to say that there stands no possibility of great and influential music again coming from the likes of Sony BMG, EMI, Universal, and Warner.

I tend towards being a uptight person, but if you are getting your knickers twisted over who is taking a modest paycheck for the nightmare that is a life in music, then you seriously need to chill out. The quality of the music is what it is, and who they sign with isn't going to change that fact all that much. The merits of a band/artist rely on what they create, so stop worrying over whether or not they have a big record deal and a wad of cash to sit on. You don't like the music or the direction the artist has gone in, send a message with your wallet by not opening it. And lighten up for f#ck's sake; there are other things to worry about in life.

This is the new church music: The Late Cord, Lights from the Wheelhouse

I’m going to jump back to 2006 for a minute. Among the amazing releases that year, including Scott Walker’s The Drift and Tom Waits’ three-disc beast Orphans, a little two-man project called The Late Cord put out an EP called Lights from the Wheelhouse.

My personal experience with this release is rather anomalous. I must have bootlegged it from someone at some point, since it has been on my computer since around June 2006, which is odd since the album wasn’t released in North America until July 25^th of that year. I kept passing over it as I scrolled through my media player, always asking, “What is that, and where did it come from?” Well, the mystery was eventually solved and I now wonder why the hell I didn’t listen to it sooner; the issue of not owning a physical copy was also recently rectified.

The Late Cord is made up of Micah P. Hinson and John-Mark Lapham. Hinson is a man whose young life has been fraught with difficulty. Drugs, arrest, jail, bankruptcy, homelessness… but he has still managed to fight his way through and create beautiful art. Here is a man a mere three months older than I am, been through hell itself, and has not quit. He stands as an inspiration to those of us who think we are in a bind. John-Mark Lapham is known for his work with The Earlies. The two grew up in the same town, but never knew each other until introduced by mutual friend Brandon Carr. Mr. Carr is owed a round of applause, since the meeting of these two sparked a music project that I have come to love.

I have a confession to make: I can’t think of saying anything about Lights from the Wheelhouse. It is so tuned to evoke emotional response from the listener that criticism is quite difficult. Everything, every last organ and cello and ambient noise and harmonica, everything, is so rich and potent that I am swept up and away. The variety of instruments used (and there are a lot of them) is mind-boggling; you barely notice how many different sounds you are actually hearing until you sit down and try to pick them out. That’s a particular songcraft style that I really appreciate. Their online bio begins, “This is the new church music.” It is a sentiment I can hardly argue with. Somber, but beautiful.

In a way, it reminds me of another excellent release from 2006: Carla Bozulich’s Evangelista. However, not for any reason other than the sort of country gothic experimental feel of the music. Lights from the Wheelhouse is much mellower and more (dare I use a word that two of my readers hate because they overused it when young? I overused it too, but not as bad as those two) ethereal. Lights from the Wheelhouse is a sort of otherwordly folk, like echoes from the winds of history. “Chains/Strings^I” (featuring cellist Semay Wu), aside from being the track directly in the middle of the EP, is also the shortest and my favorite. It’s pure instrumental, and reminds me of the music by Jankowski used in the Brothers Quay short “Street of Crocodiles.” If anything, putting the longest and arguably most potent track, “Lila Blue,” at the beginning is potentially detrimental to the effect of the following four songs, but I find myself enjoying the whole thing from start to finish regardless.

Lights from the Wheelhouse is a 4AD release, which means you can expect several things. First, the music will be of high quality. 4AD generally does not print sh#t. It may not be to your liking, but it certainly will not be trash (even The Breeders’ Mountain Battles, for all its lackluster, wasn’t garbage). Second, you can expect Vaughan Oliver/v23 to provide graphic design so that the whole package and not merely the music that’s on the CD is a work of art. 4AD is odd in a way; not many record labels have the benefit of brand loyalty from their consumers. Their commitment to quality is no doubt why many (including myself) often look to them as a shining beacon in the dank, foul, rot-stench realm of modern music publishing.

Vaughan Oliver works his art direction magic again, as does Marc Atkins with his photography. Design and textures were performed by Chris Bigg from v23. I cannot do more than heap praise upon their creation. It lends a perfect visual accompaniment to that which I am hearing. Incidentally, the same team of Oliver, Bigg, and Atkins were responsible for the art from another one of 2006’s best releases, Scott Walker’s The Drift. Lights from the Wheelhouse comes in a mini-LP style case; while I used to hate those, I’ve grown to like them in some ways.

Why is all this relevant? One EP from two years ago, and we haven’t heard anything since? Well, they are currently working on a full-length release that I am hoping will see the light this year. If the full-length album is of the same quality as this EP, we may have to start making room in the top ten right now, just in case. I don’t have a top ten from 2006, but if I were to go back, this would be somewhere in there, probably near the number 1 slot. Lights from the Wheelhouse is a debut release that is at once haunting and beautiful, and something that I have no intention of letting gather dust.



The Late Cord online, 4AD’s band profile, and at myspace.com

Special Sunday Update: Setting Sun, "No Devil Me No More" video

Hopefully, you all read my review of Setting Sun's Children of The Wild. Having read that review, you would know that this is one of my favorite songs on this album. While this has been posted here and there on myspace and my friend Kevin's blog, I'm posting it here in case I have some readers that they don't. Watch, and enjoy.



Music video by Charles Pieper.

No, I don't really need your discipline: Nine Inch Nails, The Slip

Due to the lack of anything else on hand to work with, and the fact that I’m not of the inclination to do another opinion piece, I’m going to run the risk of being filleted alive by my usual readers and throw some good-natured darts at a dartboard named The Slip. Since you are reading this, it is safe to assume you have internet access, and therefore safe to assume that you have heard about the latest excretion from the Nine Inch Nails womb.

I wonder if the title is a reference to the fact that Mr. Reznor has given Interscope the slip, sort of a 43 minute “f#ck you” to his former overseers. “Hey guys! Look at me giving away music! Count your money now, you chimps!” In that respect, I have to give Mr. Reznor credit for simply throwing all ideas about profit to the wind. He probably could have made himself a million for the second time in a year had be dropped it with a similar pay scale as this year’s prior release, Ghosts I-IV; instead, he decided to surprise us with a gift. Unfortunately, I find this gift to be rather bland. There’s nothing to really hate about it, it’s entirely listenable, but I don’t find anything so grabbing as to make me soil my pants in excitement. I usually don’t do a track-by-track review, but here’s some notes jotted down about each song as I was listening.

1. “999,999”: Opening ambiance; nothing to really say.
2. “1,000,000”: Loud, noisy, catchy beat, tight, fun and jumpy. The lyrics are of the depressed, suicidal variety of high-school overemotional dross we’ve come to expect from Nine Inch Nails, but if you’re seriously going to complain about Reznor’s lyrical quality, I’m afraid I’m going to have to beat you upside the head with the studded aluminum baseball bat of knowledge. Trent Reznor has never been known for writing fantastic lyrics, so shut up. His strength is in being blunt about how he’s feeling. But, what does Reznor have to be depressed about? He’s got one boot firmly planted in the back of the bloated corpse of the American music industry, waving both middle fingers in the air and screaming, “I told you nothing could stop me now, but you didn’t believe me! Why didn’t you believe me?!” He may feel like he’s a million miles away, but is that such a bad place to be?
3. “Letting You”: The sort of aggressive quick beat thing that I never cared much for in NIN music. Nothing new, but not as obnoxious as, say, “Getting Smaller.”
4. “Discipline”: The criticism of ‘gay disco’ has been made since this dropped, so I don’t think I need to beat it with that stick. Might be fun to dance to, as Trent intended; might also make good sex music.
5. “Echoplex”: I gave this a rating of ‘meh’ when I first heard it. It has grown slightly on me, but I’m still not crazy about it. Feels like it drags out the end unnecessarily.
6. “Head Down”: Doesn’t do anything for me.
7. “Lights In The Sky”: The sort of slow-building track that always winds up 6-8 tracks in, a.k.a. the quiet song. Feels like the quiet song has been done better on prior albums.
8. “Corona Radiata”: Interesting title. Instrumental that isn’t bad, but not great either. Puts me to sleep, actually.
9. “The Four of Us Are Dying”: … and so am I while listening to this. Not awful, but a bit too meandering.
10: “Demon Seed”: The transition from the prior track is jarring. Really not impressed with this one. Same angry stuff we’ve been hearing since day one.

Maybe I’ve become jaded, but after Ghosts I-IV (and prior masterpieces), I’ve come to expect a bit more out of Mr. Reznor. This whole thing sounds like the same thing we’ve been hearing for the past couple years. While I’m glad he hasn’t gone completely loopy and transitioned to big band lounge music, a change in pace would be nice. I’ve been seriously trying to like this album all damn week, but every time I run through it, it bores me even more. There’s plenty of energy, but no real spark. I have to admit, I feel kind of like I’m picking on the handicapped kid considering this release was handed out to all the fans as a thank you. However, just because it was given freely doesn’t mean we have to accept it for what it is and be jubilant solely because it was free.

I’m genuinely surprised at how fast this came out. Most artists tend to wait a while for the shockwaves of their prior release to die down a bit before running out and dropping another album on the heads of the listening public. Not Trent; oh no, my dears, he lacks that particular strain of patience. A mere month after Ghosts, and he’s at it again. No one can fault the man as lacking motivation.

The speed of this release most likely has something to do with his shaking loose the shackles of label supervision. While his new-found freedom may seem exciting initially, it is not without its issues. Having no-one serving the purpose of an editor above him may actually be detrimental to the process and final result. There’s nobody to stand over his shoulder and say, “Trent, this sucks,” or, “Trent, didn’t we do this already?” Editorial review is an essential part to any artistic expression. When a novel is in the process of publication, there is a whole army of people picking over it with a fine-tooth comb searching for mistakes, errors, and things that just don’t work. Imagine if a book went to press before someone stopped the author with the news, “Pages 137-145 look like a cat snuck into your house and had a seizure on the keyboard, while the entire last chapter is punctuated solely with semi-colons; what gives?” A supervisory entity makes sure the final product is worthwhile, and, lacking any sort of overseer, Trent is pretty much running around like a child hopped up on too many glasses of cream soda. It's a whole load of fun, but is it good?

[Detour] However, this criticism would be more valid had the music industry not decided to take a page out of Hollywood’s playbook and create whole catalogs of sound-alike mediocrity. Frank Herbert, in the introduction to his short story collection Eye, explained the Hollywood technique: Don’t take risks. Find out what succeeds and copy it. The record industry has taken to that methodology with a fervor and now the radiowaves are populated with cookie-cutter pop-punk acts and legions of rock bands chanting, “Let’s be like Nickelback.” Derivation is one thing. We wouldn’t have much of our great contemporary music if the current crop of musicians didn’t nick at least a bite off their predecessors, but this is outright cloning! Around the end of last summer, I kept hearing on the radio a song that if you held a gun to my head and told me to correctly identify the band, you may as well have just painted the walls with my brains since I could have sworn it was Avril Lavigne. It wasn’t; it was someone that had the same insipid lyrics and annoying voice. I ask, has it always been like this and I was just unobservant? Was the music industry really better "way back when?" The point being that the record heads, instead of doing a good job of bringing new and compelling music to the masses and insisting on their signed musicians to stop being like everyone else, celebrate the blatant ripping-off of contemporaries to make a quick buck with radio-friendly repetition. It’s not unexpected to say a company wants to make money, but, Christ, they can at least pretend to care about artistic growth on the occasion. [End Detour]

One could argue that The Slip is a clone of With Teeth, but I don’t support that notion. The Slip strikes me more has being a cousin to With Teeth, dressing and talking the same way but trying to have a modicum of individuality. It’s not a bad album, but doesn’t make any distinctions in the Nine Inch Nails catalogue. Personally, I feel that this vein of music is dried up and at risk of getting infected and requiring amputation of the whole limb should Trent insist on continuing to stick it with needles. Ghosts I-IV spoiled us with a new and exciting direction, taking the high road of artsy instrumentals while The Slip is more like a slide down Been There, Done That Avenue. Some might find that comfortable, like a familiar old blanket. There’s nothing here we haven’t heard before; it’s the same pattern of anger/thrash/something danceable/more anger/instrumental/more thrash/end of album. If you liked With Teeth and Year Zero, then sign onto this one because it’s more of the same. The fact that it’s sticking to the pattern is mitigated by the fact that it’s free, so take five minutes out of your day, download it, and come to your own conclusions.



Nine Inch Nails official website

Overglazed? Maybe: The Breeders, Mountain Battles

I seem to be in the minority of my limited audience in that I absolutely could not stand The Breeders’ big hit from the 90s, “Cannonball.” As such, I never picked up their prior three albums and casually forgot their name since about 1993. However, on April 8^th, I was out and about, stumbled on Mountain Battles on the store shelf, and found the band name to be so nagging in its familiarity I picked it up on a whim. It took some research before I could make an adequate trip down memory lane. I also seem to be in the minority since I happen to like this album while most of my associates didn’t care for it (one went so far as to say he hated it).

The first thing about any album that grabs anyone unfamiliar with a band is the cover art. Mountain Battles, being a 4AD release, features art direction and design by Vaughan Oliver/v23, and, if that name and design firm doesn’t immediately conjure images of some of the best album art and art direction ever, then you have a dreadful deficiency of 4AD releases in your personal collection. I was so taken by the art and photography (by Marc Atkins, panoptika.net) that, when I offered Mountain Battles for group perusal at a dinner party, Gary Levitt (see Setting Sun and Quitzow reviews) asked, “Does it play music too?” Yes, I admit, I couldn’t shut up about how pretty the package was, save for the ridiculous half-size liner notes. It’s like they only gave us half a booklet. But even then, I couldn’t really bash them too much since everything looked so damn nice. I didn’t mind so much that there aren’t printed lyrics in that tiny booklet either.

Gushing almost ceaselessly about the art reveals the greatest flaw of Mountain Battles: the music is not particularly memorable. To clarify why I like this album when faced with such a potent (and usually eternally damning) criticism, I find the songs to be quite pleasant and enjoyable and nothing wrong or so awful as to warrant a sound trashing. At around 36 minutes, it’s short and buzzes in and out of the ears without making much of an impression. Normally, I’d smash a band into the ground for this, but The Breeders at least entertain when I deign to give it my full attention.

The one aspect that will make it or break it for many listeners is that the album comes off more like a mix tape than a cohesive whole. Point in fact, I’ve heard mixes featuring every artist under the sun (and a few that insist on being mole-people) that are more unified than Mountain Battles. While I find the extreme variation of style and language (“German Studies” is in German, “Regalame Esta Noche” is in Spanish, I think) to be fascinating, I can’t say that it offers any aid to keeping the listener’s attention. I suppose it could’ve been worse as The Breeders could have just as easily released an album featuring the same song a dozen times. Variation is good and all, but it’s best to maintain to a somewhat narrow range of variation as opposed to being all over the board as Mountain Battles is.

Another famous name to grace this album is sound engineer Steve Albini. This is another name that you should be familiar with, and, if you aren’t, you should start familiarizing yourself immediately with what he’s done and where he’s been. I mean right now. Go, now. Do it. Seriously. Admitted, he was one of four sound engineers, the other three credited being Erika Larsen, Manny Nieto, and Ben Humphrey, but he’s the one I (and hopefully most of you) immediately recognize and associate with excellent recording practices.

I’m struggling to pop out a recommendation like an obstinate zit, with not much success. While I find the music to be fine and dandy, it’s nothing particularly amazing or Earth-shattering. If you’re the sort of person that likes albums so varied as to not sound like the same band from track to track, then this is your cup of tea. I recommend only picking up Mountain Battles if you have a gift certificate to burn up, or a coupon to use, or can otherwise get it cheap. But even then, chances are there’s something much more exciting or closer to your liking to pluck off a shelf while you’re at the record store.



The Breeders website and myspace
4AD's website and myspace

Snarky Opinions, Issue 3: "Return to Form," Celebrities with No Sense, and Scarlett Johansson

“They don’t come back, won’t come back, once they’re gone,” Benway sings softly. “Now this ward has some innarest.”

-William S. Burroughs, Naked Lunch

I was at the home of Erica Quitzow and Gary Levitt when my friend Kevin and I began a discussion about someone or other’s new album being touted as a “return to form.” Now, I can’t remember exactly what we were talking about; perhaps it was the new R.E.M. album that I so rapidly forgot, or perhaps it was someone else who has a recent history of completely unexciting releases. Whatever the case, Kevin says to me, “Wasn’t that one of the things you wrote about recently?” At the time, I had to say, “no,” but assuring that I would approach the topic sooner or later. Well, for lack of anything better to write about (I actually do have better things to write about, I just don’t feel like writing about them right now, or maybe I’m lazy), I will tackle the expression “return to form” and its overuse in music criticism.

My primary problem with the expression is the assumption on the part of the critics that the band who has “returned to form” was somehow better at some point in its past. Let’s just assume that a perennial favorite of two out of three of my regular readers, Dead Can Dance, had decided that their 1990 album Aion should be more of the ethereal wave of their first album as opposed to their neoclassical/neofolk vein that they had been operating under for the three albums in between. Would the critics have hailed it as a glorious “return to form?” Probably not, I would like to think, but I’m giving the average music critic the benefit of the doubt instead of my knee-jerk assumption that they’re a phenomenal pack of clinically brain-dead hacks. Okay, maybe Dead Can Dance is not the best example to use, considering Spleen And Ideal, Within The Realm Of A Dying Sun, and The Serpent’s Egg were all absolute works of brilliance, and so was Aion for that matter, so any attempt to create a hypothetical situation using them as an example is an exercise in wasting space on the internet.

We need to work with a band that honestly took a significant dive and then tried to backtrack to their glory days, with the critics buying the record label hype hook, line, and sinker. Unfortunately, this is a difficult task since I have a standing refusal to put up with that kind of crap in my music collection. Hearing all sorts of metaphorical standing ovations from Rolling Stone and the like is more likely to make me suspicious of the album at hand, on the rare occasion I actually pay attention to those knob-polishing twits. My primary interest is in bands that are in a continual state of metamorphosis. Face it, Tom Waits is never going back to straight-up nightclub jazz/blues, and if he did, I think more people would question what the hell he’s thinking rather than celebrate it as a “return to form.” His Name Is Alive is all over the place stylistically speaking, seems rather comfortable with the indie pop vein they are currently in, and they are most likely better off that way. So perhaps what I’m trying to say is that I have no tolerance for bullsh#t and boredom and will call it out as such. Accelerate was touted as a “return to form,” and I couldn’t get all the way through it without pausing and running back to the kitchen for another half-pot of coffee. I’m not particularly looking forward to the next Garbage album (to be released after Shirley Manson’s solo effort, which I’m not looking forward to either), partly because I didn’t like Bleed Like Me and don’t care to see them continue down that path, and partly because I would rather they not attempt to strike lightning twice on the style of their first two albums. Then again, they could always pull something completely different out of left field and totally surprise me. You never know; I guess we’ll find out whenever it is released.

There are very few bands and musicians that I would welcome “returning to form.” Tori Amos has gone, in clinical terms, flipping batsy (then again, she always was a bit unhinged), so I wouldn’t mind if she stopped making concept albums to celebrate all her multiple personalities and went back to something more along the lines of, say, Boys For Pele. But I sincerely doubt that will ever happen. Hell, I’d be happy if she simply put out something that wasn’t a concept album.

It’s a matter of band identity. Evolution of style is a natural thing, and far too many bands seem to be frightened of losing what they think they are instead of taking that leap of faith into Where They Can Really Go. It comes down to a band knowing when they’ve gone beyond their original mission statement and either admitting they have irreversibly changed, embracing that change, and marching down this untrod and potentially unstable path, or pulling the plug and going their separate ways. In any case, it’s up to the band to make that decision. It doesn’t help matters that the critics are all too eager to lick up whatever gets squeezed out onto shop shelves like LSD-laced Kool-Aid pops. When there’s critical acclaim, the band may not realize how badly they are sucking and keep putting out the same trash year after year. First thing we do, is kill all the critics, to mangle Shakespeare for a moment.

Honestly, I thought I had more to say on the subject; I’ve pretty much run out of steam. Besides, John Harris already pretty much nailed the topic on his blog at Guardian Unlimited, so what the hell else can I say about it? Strike those three words from your reviews and get over it. In the meantime, let’s shift gears and discuss celebrities buying their way into the music market.

Considering the hell that is typically associated with a life in music (talk to the members of The Butthole Surfers about where they’ve been before you try to convince me it’s all champagne and easy sex), it’s hard to fathom what exactly millionaire heiresses and big-money actresses want with record deals. Oh, forgive my momentary stupidity; it’s about acquiring more fame. When you can drop more money than most can make in a lifetime on a vanity project, you don’t have to worry about late-night riots that are somehow called “gigs” and collecting cans and bottles for the deposit money just so you can afford gas on the trip home.

I couldn’t help but hang my head and groan when I heard that a certain slut of a trust-fund brat (who will remain nameless, not that you can’t figure out who it is; I’m just tired of seeing her name in print) had some ghastly pop/dance album recorded. Worse was when I heard that people actually paid for it. Her actress friend, who we’ll call Ms. Skeletor for now since she is known for wild weight fluctuations, also hopped onto that wagon a few years before The Sex-tape Wonder in what was cited as a hasty cash-in on her motion-picture fame.

Why rag on these two bad drivers when they are seemingly on the fast track to early liver failure at nearly every turn? Well, they both have records planned for this year. The media circus loves their little coked-up sideshow, so naturally much attention will be wasted on this demented duo when there are infinitely better musicians that have slogged their way through more misery than these two will every have to deal with.

I suppose I really don’t have a point to make on this other than the fact that I find talentless rich celebrities attempting to make a name in the music industry to be annoying to no end. Admitted, these two are only infants in this regard; actors, actresses, and other people accustomed to having their name in the news every other day for various reasons can’t seem to get the idea that they may not have the voice or musical talent that cuts the mustard, and it's been that way for some time. The list is very long, with some embarrassing entries.

The most recent addition to this list of actresses thinking they are singers is Scarlett Johansson with her Tom Waits cover album, Anywhere I Lay My Head. The music video for her version of “Falling Down” was released this week, and I have to say that Mr. Waits’ music is best handled by the man himself. And David Bowie contributed to this track! He also appears on the cover of “Fannin Street.” While I give Ms. Johansson credit for tackling a variety of material from the Waits library, I can’t say this first song impressed me enough to be hopping in my seat until May 20^th, when the album is released. Also, I find it a bit tacky of anyone to cover music from an album that is only a few years old. On Anywhere I Lay My Head, there are covers from both Real Gone and Orphans: Brawlers, Bawlers, & Bastards, one from each. Call me a nitpicker, but I feel that when you cover a song, it’s because it has influenced you over a significant amount of time. Real Gone is only four years old, and Orphans is still a child (admitted, “Fannin Street” has been floating around since 2001).

I can’t say the track listing has me excited either. While I do give Scarlett credit for selecting two tracks from Alice and two from Bone Machine, I can help but feel some unease. From Bone Machine, she picked “I Don’t Want To Grow Up,” which I’m sure half the population is convinced is a Ramones song at this point, so maybe the obvious cover should have been set aside. It seems like she went for mostly mellow tracks, and, while I can’t fault anyone for avoiding the more erratic Waits songs, I can’t help but feel this will be a rather boring release. I suppose we’ll have to wait to find out. At least Scarlett has taste in music.

For anyone who’s interested in the tracklisting:

1. “Fawn” (Alice)
2. “Town With No Cheer” (Swordfishtrombones)
3. “Falling Down” (Big Time)
4. “Anywhere I Lay My Head” (Rain Dogs)
5. “Fannin Street” (Orphans: Brawlers, Bawlers, & Bastards)
6. “Song For Jo” (the only original track on the whole album)
7. “Green Grass” (Real Gone)
8. “I Wish I Was In New Orleans” (Small Change)
9. “I Don’t Want To Grow Up” (Bone Machine)
10. “No One Knows I’m Gone” (Alice)
11. “Who Are You?” (Bone Machine)

Okay, enough flexing of the bile duct. I have a wicked headache, and the cure is sitting in the tumbler next to me.