Commercial Radio's Rotting Zombie Wants Your Brains

I haven't listened to commercial radio in a long time. I gave the stuff up around the time I had the CD player put in the car. But there are some things I miss about tuning into various radio stations while driving, wandering around the house, and sitting in front of the computer.

Before the epidemic of the three-chord/power chord, idiot pop-punk virus, there used to be great bands on the radio. Tuning in brought great new bands that you hadn't heard before, induced you to pursue their music, turned you into a fan. Remember back when Soundgarden was in frequent rotation? When was the last time you heard Soundgarden coming from a commercial radio station? Hell, they play Temple of the Dog more than they do Soundgarden, or even Pearl Jam, these days. I, like many of you in the pre-internet, pre-iPod-glued-to-your-skull generation, first encountered many of my favorites via commercial radio. I remember staying up late one night with my headphones on and hearing this one amazing song that, to my shock and mystery, used piano as the lead instrument. Past my bedtime will forever be associated with "Spark," the first song by Tori Amos I ever heard.

Aside from the fact that today's youth don't seem to have bedtimes, it is no longer necessary to wait until odd hours when even God isn't awake to hear your favorites. With an internet connection, online music stores like iTunes (or bootlegging via peer-to-peer), and an mp3 player, any song can be acquired at any time. Where's the struggle? I have fond memories of tuning in and waiting for just that one song to come on, or the snowday requests called in to the popular alternative rock station (although at the time I wasn't hip enough to know that "alternative" was a distinct style that by then was nothing more than a buzzword to get people listening). We truly loved our music, and were willing to wait for it.

The variety of tunes was thrown together by lovable disc jockeys. Well, some of them were lovable. Some were huge jerks. But for the most part, that voice on the other end of the transmission that told us who we were listening to was almost a savior, guiding us towards new auditory journeys. And the jokes and ridiculous banter and all kinds of goofy promotions and games they'd play on the air. I remember the "playing the song backwards and seeing if someone can guess it game;" I was amazed at how many people guessed the same thing ten times in a row.

I guess what I really miss is what commercial radio used to be like. Before cookie-cutter pop-punk idiocy and mindless ego-drivel. Before technology made patience obsolete. Before the era of preprogrammed commercial slots that kicked the DJ off mid-sentence or cut off the beginning of the song. Before all the good DJs were replaced by computers run by someone miles away. Before commercial jingles and idiot blather that somehow passed as advertisements (anybody remember that "I'll cross that bridge when I come to it" malarkey? God, I can't ever remember what they were selling) became more important than the music. When they used to play a variety of tunes instead of running the same damn songs at the same damn times every damn day of the week for months on end. Before Clear Channel owned everything (and if Clear Channel doesn't own it, Cumulus Media does).

I won't miss any of that. Radio has done a good job of killing itself in the eyes of the discerning listener. Unfortunately, it's pus-bloated, vile-smelling cadaver doesn't want to stay dead. Point in fact, it wants to sit you down and gnaw on your skull for awhile, using bad soundalike music and annoying adverts to crack through the bone.

RSR's Equivalent of The Clipshow

This is the point when I realize I neglected my blog all day. So, with nothing better to write about, let's do a quick recap of what's been happening in music in 2008. Or, more appropriately, what I think people should be listening to.

The Mountain Goats continued their ridiculously productive discography with Heretic Pride. While in my review of this album, I dinged John Darnielle for his high-pitched and annoying voice, I will concede that this album and all its quirks has grown on me. I still maintain my reservations and withhold a full and unrestrained recommendation, but you could do a hell of a lot worse than checking this out. Another grower is Earth's The Bees Made Honey in the Lion's Skull. Droning sludge that evokes the Old West makes me want to slap iron and down whiskey from unlabeled bottles.

Nine Inch Nails wowed us with two releases thus far: Ghosts I-IV and The Slip. Also amazing is that these two releases went two entirely different directions with Ghosts running gleefully into new and exciting territory and The Slip walking ground so trodden we can navigate it blindfolded. Supposedly, the second part of Year Zero will be coming out this year at some point, but I really couldn't care less since Year Zero grew very tiresome, very fast the first time around.

The Kills, a band I had never heard of until this year, brought a pleasant surprise in the form of Midnight Boom, a release that is delightfully trashy and completely fun. As it currently stands, Midnight Boom is in my personal running for top album this year. Also released the same day was Thee Silver Mt. Zion Memorial Etc.'s 13 Blues for Thirteen Moons. Unfortunately, I have yet to acquire this, but I have heard it was a disappointment from a friend with trusted taste in music. However, both Silver Mt. Zion and godspeed you! black emperor are known to cause great differences in opinion among their fans, so I reserve any judgments until I actually hear it.

Bryan Adams proved he will never grow up with his eleventh album of new material, cleverly titled 11, but I'll let you know the day I actually listen to this man's music and find myself enjoying it. I was subject to enough of his old tracks (thanks to my brother) that I could probably recite "Summer of '69" verbatim (not that it's a hard song to memorize). NO. NEVER AGAIN. BRYAN ADAMS IS BANNED IN MY PRESENCE. If you see a review of 11 here at Rum-Soaked Review, it's because someone gave it to me gratis; I would never spend money on this sh#t. Another one that I refuse to fork over cash for the sole purpose of tearing apart is Scarlett Johansson's abomination that for some reason required the songs of Tom Waits. Anywhere I Lay My Head may bring more people to the fold of Tom Waits worship, but those of us that are fans already don't need to deal with this.

It appears that 2008 was the year of reunions and releases long after the bands in question were thought to have drifted away on the wind. The B-52's, Portishead, and others all presented new material a decade plus after their previous full-length releases of original material, with mixed results. I have been recommended The B-52's Funplex, and Portishead's Third succeeds on some levels but deviates significantly from their original sound. Bauhaus' much-anticipated first album in a quarter of a century, Go Away White, was such a horrendous disappointment that I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I am not alone when I say that many wish Go Away White had gone away before even being released.

A group that seems to finally have grown into their own, The National, followed last year's sleeper hit Boxer with the short film and EP compilation set A Skin, A Night/The Virginia EP. The music CD is quite good and enjoyable as a compilation of b-sides and oddities, but the film served as a good introduction to a filmmaker that I now know to avoid in the future. While Boxer was a sleeper hit, A Skin, A Night succeeds at being just a sleeper. Ask me about how loud I snored.

Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds rocked our socks with Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!!, a departure from the usual Bad Seeds production, but entirely welcome. This is another album that sits high on the list of best albums thus far on 2008. The only thing that could possibly unseat Dig, Lazaus, Dig!!! and Midnight Boom from their standings is if Tom Waits and Scott Walker sucker-punched us in the fourth quarter. I understand Brendan Perry of Dead Can Dance fame has another solo album in the works that might be released this year, so that would round out a pretty potent top five in the Rum-Soaked Review books. Unlikely, but a man can dream, can't he?

Part of the problem here is that 2006 and 2007 spoiled us with some really great stuff. Grinderman (s/t 2007), His Name Is Alive (Detrola 2006 and Xmmer 2007), Scott Walker (The Drift 2006 and And Who Shall Go To The Ball? And What Shall Go To The Ball? 2007), Tom Waits (Orphans: Brawlers, Bawlers, and Bastards 2006), and others really set the bar high. It seems that Tuesday (release day in the U.S. for those not familiar) is lacking luster this year, and the next half of the year doesn't look promising. I can only hope that there will be announcements for things that really blow back the top of the head soon. Or, that something completely unfamiliar turns into that sleeper hit for this year.

There's also a large number of things I haven't gotten to yet. I've been meaning to tackle The Flight of the Conchords, The Black Angels' Directions to See a Ghost, Wire's Object 47, and others here and there. If there are things that are downright fantastic (or awful) that you feel should be covered, feel free to tell me about them. Depending on my cash flow at the time, I might actually get to them.

If you are in a band and would like to take the chances at a review, feel free to email, comment, whatever. I will get back to you as soon as possible.

Snarky Opinions, Issue 6: Geffen Needs Your Money

My friend Kevin recently posted about how he feels that neither Geffen nor Beck need his thirteen dollars in exchange for Beck's new album. I disagree, at least with regard to the record label. Geffen really does need you money. Otherwise, how are they going to stay in business with all the money wasted on Chinese Democracy for the past decade and a half?

He also posted this picture a couple days ago:


The real thing, or the miracle of Photoshop? Only time will tell.

Now, I've already discussed my dislike for Guns N' Roses; I need not reiterate how annoying I think Axl Rose's hideous caterwauling is. But I actually hope that Chinese Democracy, when it is released (if ever), does well in sales. Otherwise, Geffen will be really f#cked, and I don't want them f#cked like that. Well, not until I finish my collection of Sonic Youth albums, that is. After that, I don't really care. Yes, I'm being a bit selfish today.

That's all I got, really. No other major opinions.

Until next week, my little chickadees. As your attorney, I advise you drink heavily and enjoy much grilled goodness on the day of our nation's birth tomorrow. If you are a reader from a nation other than the US of A, then go grab a pint or two anyway.

Snarky Opinions, Issue 5: Literacy and The Musician

We once again have a week where there is nothing interesting coming out, and I instead fall back on the chip on my shoulder for ideas.

For my few readers that don't know me personally (if any of you exist), I write poetry and often make the mistake of reading it in public. Sometimes, these readings result in cash from the donation jar, interesting discussion, and a long discussions in diners long into the night (indigestion optional). During one such long discussion, the issue of musicians not coming to poetry readings came up. It's a long-standing gripe with some of the poets, the lack of crossover between the two (to be fair, I don't see many poets at music open mikes either).

Local scene quibbles aside, a topic did come up that is relevant to this blog: the songwriting ability and its association with poetry, writing in general, and how so much music blows chunks these days due to people not reading. I will draw examples from several of my favorites. Nick Cave strikes me as a fantastically literate man. This year's powerhouse from Cave & The Bad Seeds features some amazing songwriting, including practically rewriting The Odyssey and some name dropping and comparison of famous writers, although I disagree that "Bukowski was a jerk." Also from this year, Haale presented a touching and beautiful album strongly influenced by Persian poetry. Haale sets Rumi and other Persian poets to music, and does a fine job of it. She has an MFA in poetry, so I guess you can say she's literate.

I also must mention Tom Waits (you didn't think I'd leave him out, did you?). While literary references don't exactly leap from his music, I do know that he is a reader. I am told that he is a big fan of Edna St. Vincent Millay, but this is rumor as far as I know. But, as far as real evidence is concerned, let's look at 2002's Alice. This album was originally written as music for a play of the same name, based around Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. While the play was based on Lewis Carroll's most famous book, I can't say I really see much influence in the music. However, the unsettling song "Poor Edward" shows that Mr. Waits is familiar with folk tales and oddities. The Edward of this song is based on Edward Mordrake, a young Briton of noble birth who committed suicide at the age of 23 due to a second face that he claimed was driving him mad. Edward Mordrake's tale is often dismissed as being fanciful or at least skewed with retelling, but with the knowledge we have now of conjoined twins and other birth oddities, there is the possibility of a seed of truth to this story. Of course, in order to write a song about such a man, one must know about him, yes? To know, one must research.

Confession: I never liked "Poor Edward." Not because I thought the lyrics or music were bad in any way; it's that the song is so bloody unsettling that I can't stand to listen to it. I now find it twice as unsettling knowing that someone had such a maddening deformity, even if retelling of his short life has altered the facts of the case.

The point that I am getting at is knowledge makes for a better songwriter. How many generic love/hate/depression songs have you heard in your life, coming from musicians that sound the same? Can't begin to count them, can you? How about describing your prior loves as characters from The Odyssey? Impressive, yes? Dragging up old folk tales of mad and deformed nobles? Amazing. I could probably drag up tons of examples (no, you don't need to send me a list of your own examples), but here are but a few musicians that did something downright unusual: they picked up a f#cking book.

So, do yourself a favor and pick up a f#cking book and read it, you AIM-speaking douche.

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.

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.

Snarky Opinions, Issue 2: "Legacies and Paychecks"

Some time ago, I visited a friend at her college dormitory before she had to head back for the summer break. I had brought with me the latest offering from Tool for her perusal, since we were both fans. However, she couldn’t listen to more than about 10 seconds before having to skip to the next track, a process that continued for a further two songs before she abandoned the album altogether. She felt that the band was simply carrying on the same as their previous album and were failing to present any new directions or layers to their material. At the time, I was rather offended. One comment of hers that particularly infuriated me was something to the effect of, “Why didn’t they end with Lateralus and leave their legacy intact?” Now, in hindsight, I have to agree that 10,000 Days is the weakest of Tool’s albums. While I have no intention of turning this into a passive-aggressive attack on the young lady, her rather arrogant notion that the band should have quit before this release calls to mind a question music critics often ask: when should a band toss in the towel?

Short answer: when they’re dead.
Long answer: when they’re either dead, physically incapable of playing any instrument (with or without mechanical assistance), or have made enough money to retire in moderate comfort.

I’m tired of music snobs standing on a soapbox and declaring that a band should stop making music simply because some critic thinks the new releases are stale or lacking in creativity^*. Leaving behind a “legacy” to be remembered by is all fine and good, until you remember that the musicians are still breathing and probably don’t give two s***s about a “legacy” when there’s a car in the driveway that needs gas, a baby in the bedroom that needs diapers, and an empty refrigerator in the kitchen. Quite often, the listening public seems to forget that musicians have bills and rent to pay too. We have day jobs; they make music. Everyone finds a way to a paycheck, and everyone has expenses.

I remember a program many years ago, I believe on MTV News, which broke down how much money this one particular band made in a year^**. After studio fees and so on, their net pay each was only breaking into the middle-class bracket. Then, the taxman comes in as he inevitably does when Uncle Sam smells greenbacks. Translation: bands are not literally burning money to heat their homes. It’s a common perception that simply because someone is famous that they are also rich; bear in mind that being on a stage or having a CD out doesn’t always automatically come with suitcases full of thousand dollar bills (otherwise, I’d have several very rich friends that would be paying me handsomely to hand them approving reviews).

Let’s explore the issue further. First, there must be a reason someone would call into question why our band, let us refer to them as Band X, is still persisting (economic reasons on their end notwithstanding). Let’s assume that our reason is that which started this discussion: perceived creative stagnation. Assuming Band X’s members all get along, play together quite nicely, and there’s a market for what they’re releasing, there’s no reason for them to stop making music. Critics could argue that the market is a pack of dolts that don’t realize they’re being gypped by Band X and their lack of musical growth, but that doesn’t change the fact that someone, somewhere, is buying their albums.

Admitted, some of us music geeks are more discerning and won’t stand for a band that releases the same album every year. While we look at that and critique it, others smile with the knowledge that the band they know and love is still at it as they always have. They might not be breaking any new ground either stylistically or lyrically, but maybe that’s what the fans want. Maybe that’s why they keep buying the albums. Maybe they don’t want their favorite bands to change, to evolve into something other than what they have always known.

So, when should a band pull the plug? WHENEVER THEY FEEL LIKE IT. The band should be the ones to decide when the guitars/microphones/drumsticks/sides of beef are hung up, not the armchair know-it-alls. Critics should think less about “legacies” and more about, “if I am bored with this band, maybe I should seek something else out to interest me and let them do as they see fit.”

Then again, if we did that, we’d have nothing to write complaints about.

^*Behold the irony of complaining about arrogant and opinionated critics while critiquing music on a blog of all things.
^**I can’t exactly remember which band was being interviewed for the program; for some reason, I could have sworn it was Metallica, but they seem to be doing really well financially.

Rare double feature: Earth, The Bees... and Dr. Pepper vs. Chinese Democracy

To jump back to a release from February, Earth’s The Bees Made Honey in the Lion’s Skull is a little something a friend picked up on impulse last week and had the kindness to share with me. But before I can dig into this one, I need to clear the dust out of my eyes, because this album is all about the desert.

To my ear, this album sounds like Crime & The City Solution with the lyrics taken out and the band getting stuck on the same riff and beat for seven minutes at a clip (although some associates say it reminds them of The Dirty Three, but I’m not too familiar with The Dirty Three and thus can’t make the comparison). Through the repetitive tracks, the music conjures images of nomadic outlaws and long desert journeys. However, likening The Bees… to a “soundtrack to a Western that was never made” is so commonplace that it’s downright cliché by now. It seems like quite a few bands are going for this sound, and it’s a trend that I’m not particularly fond of. “Enough with the Ennio Morricone worship!” cries out my friend as we sip beer in his kitchen.

Actually, as much as I don’t want to make the comparison, The Bees… reminds me of certain aspects of the score to a John Carpenter film rather than Morricone’s Spaghetti Western soundtracks. Think of the bass line that ran through They Live^*.

To be honest, I’m not quite sure what to make of this overall. I’m resisting the urge to ding it for the feeling like we’re meandering around without any direction, but to do so would admit that I’m missing the point of Earth’s chosen genre. Drone music doesn’t exactly pride itself on catchy beats or soaring solos, and, considering Earth is doing a rather splendid job of creating a strong atmosphere as is, we have to question whether we would want them to do such things with their music. The album is potent as is, so mucking it up with something as gaudy as lyrics would be dreadfully insulting. On the other hand, it doesn’t reach out into anything too bizarre or unusual that might earn the moniker of “experimental.” Despite how boring I thought the majority of the album is, I have to say, I particularly liked the closing (and title) track with piano adding to the established atmosphere.

The album comes packaged in a jewel case in a slip case, and “gloss” is the word of the day as far as The Bees… goes. The slipcase is gloss black with embossed gold lettering, and the liner booklet is printed on high gloss paper. While very pretty, I’m afraid I have to ding it because anything glossy is begging to be coated in the fingerprints of curious children, drooled on by the dog, and pawed incessantly by jerks who write online music reviews. Okay, I’ll admit, I’m being unfair. The whole package is quite beautiful and the artist who did the cover (see above) deserves a lot of credit for the absolutely fantastic painting adorning this album.

The Bees… is the sort of album that requires a company of good friends to gather and enjoy it together over conversation. Unfortunately, I’m the dreaded misanthrope and listening to it here by myself is detrimental to the effect. Despite these misgivings, I found it to be a pleasant overall experience and put it on the recommended list, but be aware of what you’re getting into before hitting the register.

Earth official website and myspace page


^*I imagine you want to kill me now for getting that stuck in your head. I’m laughing evilly. Because I’m evil.

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Dr. Pepper did something that peer pressure never succeeded at: making me excited about a Guns N’ Roses album. But not for the music; I'm in it for the free soda (as long as I don't have to buy the album).

We’ve all been waiting for Chinese Democracy since the early 1990s. Actually, you have all been waiting, since I have long felt that if I wanted to listen to Guns N’ Roses, I could effectively simulate the experience by going out back and strangling a cat. I despise Axl Roses’ “singing,” always have and most likely always will.

But it seems that someone high on the corporate ladder at Cadbury Schweppes is a big fan and terribly impatient, or perhaps they just want to get it done and over with, because Dr. Pepper is offering everyone in America (except Slash and Buckethead) a free can of Dr. Pepper if Roses’ long-awaited slushbucket comes out this year. Any time this year. I have to say I’m quite amazed. Makes me wonder if this is the result of some bigwig’s bet (or an elaborate hoax, or a product tie-in).

I don’t see why Slash and Buckethead are excluded from the free drink offer. Creative differences happen; you can’t really hold it against anyone for not wanting to deal with that egotistical prick. But what of the whole cavalcade of other ex-GNR members, such as Duff McKagan and Steven Adler? Speaking of which, one of the things which annoys me to no end is when everyone leaves a band except one guy, and that one glory hog continues under the original name with a seemingly never-ending revolving lineup of temporary bandmates. It doesn’t really strike me as being the same band when only one person is left. If the lineup change happened gradually over many years and releases, I wouldn’t mind.

Being an obsessive perfectionist doesn’t bother me, since I’m one myself, but there has to be a point when you say, “enough is enough.” Axl, Geffen, put out the damn record already so we can get over it. However, I can understand the fears at label bigwigs' offices. Considering it’s been 13 years since GNR had a new release, and there has been much patience among the fans, I trust Axl is well aware that if Chinese Democracy isn’t the single greatest musical achievement of the human race (for at least the 21^st Century), then a large percentage of the world population is going to do unspeakable things to his derriere.

Check it out at CNN Money

Snarky Opinions, Issue 1: "Indie"

I've been trying to do two entries a week, updating on Tuesday and Thursday, but due to the post office not wanting to let go of my copy of Haale's No Ceiling, I'm afraid that I don't have many options open for today other than reiterating my love of Midnight Boom (justifiably this time, since I actually have it now) and diving into that dreadful ocean of shittiness that is opinion articles. So, let's take a swim.

Question: I know that I'm an archaic creature (so archaic that I should be in your car's gas tank right about now), but when did "indie" stop being an abbreviation for one's contract status and became a genre in and of itself?

I never really noticed this trend over the past few years, aside from my old college town being invaded by skinny (read: anorexic) 18-22 year-old boys wearing prepubescent girls' jeans, but just recently this bizarre transformation became apparent to me. I was wandering the grand sanctuary of the misanthropic elitist bastard (i.e. the internet) looking for new and interesting music and stumbled upon a band by the name of The Hush Sound. While I wasn't really impressed with what I heard from samples online, and thus did not seek out to purchase their album that came out today, something I saw on their myspace caused some alarm. The background image at the top of the page stated "Available Now At Target® for $9.98 (Limited Time Only)." However, I couldn't help but notice that under their genre labels, they were listed as "indie."


Now, I realize that, quite often in this crazy world we live in, the label applied to something can change in definition. It's all part of the mutation of language. I understand. I'm cool with that. But to have a special deal at a major retailer on your latest musical contribution undermines one's credibility as an "independent."

Before you all jump on me calling me a smug indie-hipster-elitist freak, note that I couldn't care less who prints a band's albums. You make good music, you sell it; I don't begrudge anyone for making money off of hard work. You hit the big time, congratulations. However, I do find it ridiculous to use the indie trend as a marketing strategy, as paradoxical as that seems. Then again, I seem to be under the anachronistic idea that "independent" means "free from corporate attachments."

Note also that this isn't the first time I've seen something like this. The major labels are signing numerous bands with the general aesthetic of the "indie" subculture, not much unlike when punk was co-opted by companies selling leather jackets. The point was missed by the corporate heads then, and not much seems to have changed. Find what's popular, and make it easier to sell. I suppose you can't begrudge them too much; they are trying to stay in business after all.

One last thing to mention: don't spell "indie" with a "y." "Indy" is a much-loved fictitious hero that we can all look up to as the rugged standard of American manliness. Confusing him with some scrawny music nerds obsessed with obscurity makes him mad. And you don't want to see Indy mad.




Webcomic cropped and mutilated from Diesel Sweeties