from the LP From the Ashes of Electric Elves, Jackpine Social Club Records, 2003
First week back of the new semester, and my head is a spinnin’ like always… students often fail to realize that our brains are in the clouds just as much as theirs are these first few days back after the break, it’s true. Right now it is snowing like a motherfucker outside: low visibility, yard disappearing into a blanket of snowy ash, kashing bowls at the computer, you know the deal… Yes, I fully realize that the vibe of this song is pertaining to the sky in Spring, but it’s so wet beyond the window right now, and the snow is falling at the perfect velocity, so it just feels right. Oranger hails from the Bay Area, and the vibe of that city has definitely imprinted itself onto their brand of whimsical psych-tinged indie rock, pulling off reasonably difficult 3-part harmonies with seeming ease, adding depth to a sound that could easily sound flimsy or shambling in the wrong hands; instead, they successfully whisk the listener away with them, drifting along blithely into a kaleidoscopic swirl of guitars & keys…Oranger indeed, dig it!
from the LP The Strange Idols Pattern & Other Short Stories, Cherry Red Records, 1984
Last night was Larry King’s final evening on CNN, and even though I rarely made it through the whole hour of his interview show, he was obviously liked by some people in high places (see: former and current heads of state, movie stars, TV stars, musicians, etc…), so much so that it got me to thinking--- what does that say about our culture exactly? Or, increasingly, the whole damn world for that matter, given that the most surreal and head-spinning moment of Larry’s big send-off came not on the final broadcast, but last week when Vladimir Putin professed his love of the King; frankly, that whole exchange was so bizarre, I was speechless…a rare thing (wink). Not to dumb it down or anything, but my clearest memory of Larry King was his coverage of the O.J. Simpson car chase: my friend and I were baked out of our gourds on schwag and found the whole thing beguiling & impossible to turn off…so what does that say about me…? I suppose we all like sticking our noses where they don’t belong from time to time, but Larry King got to enjoy doing it for a living, for over 2 decades. So cheers to him, and cheers to living in a voyeuristic world.
from the LP The Pink Mountaintops, Jagjaguwar Records, 2004
Stephen McBean’s other band, Black Mountain, have never delivered for me on the promise that such a monolithic name carries with it (too much focus on a musical image, in my humble opinion), so when I was told by a friend about this album of his other stuff under the moniker of Pink Mountaintops, I was somewhat skeptical. Happily, it was surprisingly good, and where his other project comes off somewhat contrived, these songs really evolve organically. This particular song hits the nail on the head for me: lightly tribal percussion, cyclical bassline, gentle guitar, and mysterious lyrics (“…I fuck fire, and I, I fuck rain; if I had my chance, I’d get down again…but the A-bombs are comin’, oh oh, the A-bombs are comin’…”), coming together to create its own little drugged-out scene, sounding as if the Brian Jonestown Massacre went krautrock, or if Zeppelin’s “No Quarter” & Janes’ “Slow Divers” had a baby. Dig it.
from the LP You’d Prefer An Astronaut, 12 Inch Records, 1995
Sticking with an Illinois theme, Hum are surely among the mightier unsung heroes to have never emerged from the underground, short a brief (and mostly forgotten) brush with fame via their lead single from this LP, “Stars”. One might think that having the almighty oracle of all things indie & Midwest, Stevel Albini, producing your demo would ensure eternal success, but you’d be wrong, and the story of Hum reads similar to countless other crews that also fell prey to lady luck’s emotionless divining. Where their Chi-area peers the Smashing Pumpkins always leaned more towards a Led Zeppelin frame of mind, Hum reached more for the stars, marrying Hawkwind’s brutal drugy riffage to Pink Floyd’s expansive dream, concocting a noise that sounds both sprawling & torpid at the same time, and employing cryptic lyrics which tease the brain, “…sleep comes to everyone while we wait for the Sunday afternoons… that's why the suicide machine is built for two, a simple sick device devised to overload on love, to bring us colored dreams and soundtracked waves of fun…and to the left where up is down, now stands a zebra made of shapes of me, and silver and the sun; so bring no guilt with you up above the flat-line, let's just hit the sky, exploding into one…and so I give myself away, to everybody everyday; and so I give myself to you, and you need it more than I do…” Psychedelic haze from the nation’s midsection: get high, raise volume, and exist…
from the 7” single, Sub Pop Records, 1988
These early Nirvana tracks have never really come to sound dated, perhaps in part because the musical influences which served as grist for Cobain’s mill at this stage (Melvins, Meat Puppets, Dino Jr., Scratch Acid, etc…) have fallen so far off the radar that we’ve never been submitted to a proper revival, but one can’t deny the eagerness with which they attacked their instruments, a sloppy and unprejudiced expression of post-adolescent ambivalence. Speaking of which, aren’t we due for a resuscitation of all things flannel, unkempt & loose-fitting (in keeping with the twenty-year retro rule)? Anyways, back to the music, which always came first for Cobain, particularly early on, and it was something he often made reference to in interviews, wondering why in the hell reviewers kept vigilantly analyzing his words (often written on the spot, as an afterthought). With that in mind, forgive my hindsight here, but given the complications he wound up having with stardom later on, it’s glumly ironic that they came out of the gate with a song called “Big Cheese”--- obviously not intentional, but sadly prescient.
from the LP Holiday, Merge Records, 1994
Male singers who have unfathomably deep vocal ranges always run the risk of sounding like they’ve been chasing Quaaludes down behind pints of Jägermeister, but in the case of Stephen Merritt (the persistent axis inside of indie rock darlings, the Magnetic Fields), that deadpan drawl actually contrasts wonderfully against his peppy, skewered take on pop music; not to mention, dude loved him some drugs for a minute, so it all fits. Upon first inspection, one wouldn’t be judged harshly for presuming that this was just a droll take on your basic love song, “…on the ferris wheel, looking out on Coney Island, under more stars than there are prostitutes in Thailand; our hair in the air, our lips blue from cotton candy, when we kiss it feels like a flying saucer landing…” However, when you factor in Merritt’s unorthodox upbringing and his well-noted sense of misanthropy, another picture emerges out of the second verse, “…in Las Vegas where the electric bills are staggering, the decor hog wild, and the entertainment saccharine; what a golden age, what a time of right and reason, the consumer’s king and unhappiness is treason…” His sarcasm smacks like those old school sourballs, pointing us in the direction of his dilemma over these modern times, not necessarily anti-capitalist exactly, but maybe leaning in that direction. To be honest, I’m very hit-or-miss when it comes to assessing the Mag Fields whole discography, but when things all come together as they do in this song, the sensation resembles rolling naked through fields of warm cashmere Snuggies.
from the 7” single, self-released, 2010
While many of those who currently set about re-vamping the varying styles of ‘80s music have mainly chosen to focus on driving synth pop or dark new wave, a handful of others are taking a broader view, incorporating elements found in all sorts of Top 40 fodder from back then (i.e. Phil Collins, Stevie Nicks, Dire Straights, et al.). One of my absolute favorites of the moment that falls into the latter category is L.A.’s own Teen Inc, who manage to integrate a true panoply of ideas within each track they craft; this enigmatic cut plays with all kinds of influences, a little Toto here, some Belinda Carlisle there, maybe some Peter Gabriel or the softer side of Prince for good measure. These guys bring a good name to the over-used concept of “pastiche”, in every sense of the word. If you live on the west coast, you can catch them opening shows for Ariel Pink & Os Mutantes in less than a month, a show which will deliver the goods---trust me! To my knowledge, these cats are still unsigned, but I doubt it will remain that way for long…I certainly hope not anyways, because a full-length LP simply needs to follow.
from the LP The Taller You Are the Shorter You Get, Homestead Records, 1989
Lyrics have always been secondary to me---you can have the smartest or most heart-felt words in the world, but if the music sucks I’m not gonna fucking listen to it (the opposite isn’t true, and in fact there is plenty of great music containing no lyrics at all); frankly, before I started writing this blog, I didn’t know some of the specific lines to a number of tunes I loved. That said, incredible writing can certainly catapult a song into one’s memory in a way that instrumental stuff can’t, particularly if the words connect to a certain feeling, situation, or moment in time that links up with your own life or mindset. Often times it’s some short & basic phrase which winds up revealing itself to be a broader existential truth, as is the case with this slice of indie rock heaven from Cleveland mainstays My Dad Is Dead (essentially the work of Mark Edwards, yet another Ohioan working-class hero), laying at our feet a stunningly real declaration of belief in the form of a rhetorical proposition, “…I could spend my whole life figuring out what’s important to me; I could spend my whole life thinking about what matters to me; I could spend my whole life worrying about what's gonna happen to me; I could waste my whole life thinking about just what it is my life means… sometimes what matters doesn't really matter at all, sometimes it doesn't fit inside the big picture; sometimes I need to be just where I am, sometimes I need to know that right here is good enough…” It reminds me of that parable about the three monks huddling around a half-full bucket of water, contemplating the meaning of life: the Confucian monk argues about the bucket being full, filling your life with stuff & accomplishments while the Buddhist monk argues for the paramount worth of said bucket’s emptiness… the Taoist monk, having become annoyed with their endless prattle, kicks the bucket over and walks away laughing. I’m sure I adulterated the finer nuances of this fable, but you get the idea: the moment we stop trying to figure it all out, we actually figure it out…
from the LP At Echo Lake, Woodsist Records, 2010
It’s easy enough to sit around and complain about how crappy Top 40 music is right now, but it’s more fun to expend that same amount of effort (or more) digging for & discovering current stuff that happens to be great, even if the goods aren't getting the adulation they deserve. Singer and guitarist Jeremy Earl is a good example--- this man is busting his ass, helping create captivating tunes for our savaged minds with the Brooklyn crew Woods & helping others to do the same by running Woodsist Records; the DIY spirit flows strong in this one. The mashup of dissimilar noises proves to be enthralling rather than confusing (that sitar paints all the right colors), thanks largely to an underpinning in simple, pop-savvy melodies & hooks; also, his tender vocals match well with the gently witty lyrics, “…up in the air, for a time, let’s go; it’s not what it seems, but that feel lets you know…in an hour or so, I’ll let you know, in an hour or so; as the hours let go, time fading lines, creeping into control…” This one brings the autumn vibes so good…
from the LP Pure Guava, August Records, 1993
Could there be any more appropriate band to go and see on Halloween than Ween?!! Surely not, and so my better half & I set off a couple nights ago to experience what was undoubtedly one of the wildest and loosest Ween shows we’ve ever been to, dressed in complimentary banana and gorilla outfits (yes, we are that lame). Deaner had high praise for this area in an interview he gave to the free weekly out here, “Denver and Boulder are the places that we've played more than any other place; we're almost there once a year...it's the pot-smoking hippies… honestly, it's a very liberal, progressive, artsy community that's rich in marijuana smokers. I'm really, truly excited for the Halloween show in Denver. There's no way it can't be fun…” True to his prediction, the show was fucking epic, even for Ween, pummeling the crowd with a far-reaching 3+ hour set that all the hardcore fans are still drooling over (including a sweltering “Let Me Lick Your Pussy” to close the show, and a touching rendition of this number, "Sarah", with only Dean & Gene on stage, one of the only times they’ve ever played this track live, and something which brought the vibes so hard I saw some people crying gently)---not to mention their hilarious bunny costumes, the perfect amount of surrealism & good old fashioned fun. I also happened to be sitting near a couple from Florida, and it turned out that my first Ween concert (at Club Detroit in St. Petersburg, 1995) was also their first, something which reminded me for the zillionth time: it truly is a small world. Ween: bringing good people together for over twenty years, may we all be blessed enough to enjoy another twenty or more…all hail the mighty BOOGNISH!!
from the 7” single, Korova Records, 1980
Sociologist Erving Goffman spoke at length about what he called the dramaturgical sociology, positing that all human beings were essentially actors in the movie of life, presenting ourselves in the manner to which our setting or role of the moment demands, managing our impressions in the eyes of other observers---even if someone chooses to rebel against the norms in a given culture, one does so as a reaction to the set expectations, and in so doing they act out rebellion in the ways which other “rebels” have already displayed for them, proving thus to be just as inclined to have societal forces guiding their moves. The actors in any given exchange who have power or leverage (the dominant class) often have the ability to exercise greater control over what the subordinate actors do, say, or even think, making a dramaturgical impression of puppetry rather than proper theater. It’s no fun being a puppet, whether individually or as a member of an oppressed group or subculture, and some of us have a greater propensity to resist authority than others; if I had to guess, I would wager that singer Ian McCulloch (the metaphorical ‘Echo’ leading the Bunnymen) is that kind of guy, someone who doesn’t like to be told what to do or how to be cool. He had originally been paired with Britain’s other resident psychedelic mess, one Julian Cope, but neither were willing to back down from one another’s visions enough to fashion that creative tension into a functional template, so Cope fired Ian, and the rest is history; frankly, as much underground cred as Mr. Cope has garnered over the decades, I think it was his loss. The Bunnymen’s guitarist, Will Sergeant, had an atmospheric approach to the lead role that wound up having an enormous impact on everyone from Peter Buck to the minimalist master himself, Johnny Marr. These guys grew in popularity as the decade progressed along, but it’s these early psych-based cuts that I love the best.
from the LP Jane’s Addiction, Triple X Records, 1987
Certain musicians come across deeply validating of one’s inner freak-flag, whether directly or intangibly, delivering songs which carry the heaviest freedom vibrations: Hendrix, Rage Against the Machine, The Pixies, The MC5, etc… High up on that list, for me anyways, is Jane’s Addiction; I stated in a previous post that listening to their music can almost be a spiritual experience for me sometimes, and I meant it---somewhere between the thud of their primordial rhythm section, the drive of Navarro’s guitar (cannot even believe solos he peels off here, the kid was still a teenager when this album was released for fuck’s sake), & the banshee-like wails which compose Perry’s inimitable vocal delivery, it just hypnotizes me in a deep way that few other bands manage to do. You can’t fuck with lyrics like these, “…way down low where the streets are littered, I find my fun with the freaks and the niggers...I love them whores they never judge you, what can you say when your a whore; they cast that pearl and it don't upset 'em, they take their chances if they get 'em…gimme some more, motherfucker, I need a little more, goddamn you…oh how I love them whores, oh how I love them whores…” Who else can get away with saying shit like that?! Not many bands have balls big enough to open with a live album---even though they had already been signed by Warner Bros, Perry wisely made sure to receive a contractual allowance to release this set, taped live at the Roxy in L.A., on an indie label, assuring them some underground cred outside of California before rolling out with a major label debut. Squares need not apply.
from the 7” single, Rough Trade Records, 1980
As generic as this track might sound through modern ears, nobody else was making this sort of sparse & twee rock back in 1980---at least no one fronted by a female vocalist, something which added leagues to their delicate vibe; the Young Marble Giants hailed from Cardiff, Wales and were only around long enough to record one full-length album, but they get name-dropped like a motherfucker throughout the indie rock world as having been very influential to a wide range of other musicians. This song is so minimal it almost disappears, but that synth playing one solitary note (sounding sort of like a theremin) commands attention, and frankly, the tune is downright catchy; Billy Bragg nicked the chords from this for his clever track, “A New England”. Not sure what to make of all the apocalyptic imagery here, “…as the light goes out on the final day, for the people who never had a say…as the final day falls into the night, there is peace outside in the narrow light…”, but it fits the austere ambiance like a glove.
from the LP One Bedroom, Thrill Jockey Records, 2003
Following along with the theme above is one of my all-time favorite crews, The Sea & Cake (yes, it sounds like you are saying “the ‘C’ in cake” when it’s verbalized, and yes, it’s intended, re: Gastr del Sol’s song of the same name), something of a post-rock supergroup who counts John McEntire (brain of Tortoise) as their drummer, along with other Chicago area rock nerds like Sam Prekop (Shrimp Boat) and Archer Prewitt (the Coctails). These guys likely consider post-Bitches Brew Miles Davis as an equal influence to bands like NEU! or early Kraftwerk, but some tracks really belie their love for krautrock more than others, and this is one of ‘em; shit, they get so lost in the dreamy wonderland of opening bridges that they don’t even get around to singing a word until about 3 minutes into the song, but how about those sick-ass breaks!?! Where NEU! comes across like a car firmly attached to the ground, these guys’ penchant for synthtastic madness leaves the impression of flying through outer space…
from the LP Mommy’s Little Monster, 13th Floor Records, 1983
Darlings of the entire punk rock universe, and for good reason, Social D has been feeding the angsty masses for over three decades now (excepting for a brief recess in the mid ‘80s while singer & guitarist Mike Ness got off dope), endearing themselves to each successive generation and providing the template that Vans-era crews like Pennywise & The Offspring have used to much accomplishment; as much bickering as there was between all of punk’s subgenres through the years, I’ve never heard anyone say a bad word about Social D, no lie, they were (are) truly that revered. This was their first full-length album, and though the vibe might be a tad bit immature for someone my age these days (re: “…well I love the sound when I smash the glass, if I get caught they're gonna kick my ass; my mommy's worried ‘bout the way I drink, my daddy can't figure out the way I think…they wake me up, tell me, "get to work," I slam the door, say, "shut up you jerk"; I can't wait ‘til the show tonight, when I'm with my friends every things alright…”), this shit is like the fucking BIBLE when you’re a misunderstood teenager, and so it remains timeless, like much of this great band’s lengthy archives
from the LP When the Red King Comes, Elephant Six Recording Co, 1997
“It seems like I'm in danger, distracted by all that I see, and even the nodding strangers can tell what is happening to me; well, the boats we ride have been leaking lately, and the tunnel of frozen time has been increasing greatly…” Warbling along in a gauzy psychedelic haze made up of acoustic guitar, a xylophone & some heavily processed (damaged) effects, this song fully hits the mark for me: a perfect combination of existential, near quasi-paranoid, lyrics and bittersweet minor chord melodies, emerging like the taciturn parable of some ‘luded hermit prophet. Coming along in the second wave of Elephant Six crews, Athens’ own Elf Power always stood out from the pack for me, and though they still relied heavily upon the shared neo-psych sensibilities of that entire collective, their songs always seemed a bit more ethereal and spacey than their peers’ more fey endeavors; that said, most of the heavyweights from that scene had cameos on this LP, including Jeff Magnum (that’s him sitting in on guitar and tossing off one of his signature lilting harmonies in response to the lyric, “…then, to my friends, I'll be gone, and they'll gather and put me away; I hope Jeff will sing me a song, and everyone else will play…”). Anyone who’s gone through rough patches in life for long enough to make trouble your friend knows that always-sinking feeling which often follows you onto a better path, waiting for the other boot to fall, ‘cause it always did, “…there’s a knot in my throat, and the arrow files close, closer all the time…”
from the EP The Visit, New Hormones Records, 1980
You’d be hard pressed to find a musical movement in the past century or so that encompassed as many differing sounds & influences as did the post-punk scene, where having no boundaries or limits on one’s creativity and experimentation was the norm; in so doing, that scene fashioned some of the most memorable (and least classifiable) groups in rock history, including the exceedingly bizarre and enigmatic Ludus. Formed in Manchester by the radical feminist artist named Linder (she’s the proudly responsible party behind that incredible collage which adorned the cover of the Buzzcocks’ 45 for “Orgasm Addict”), their music was expansive, aggressive, assertive, but always funky & jazzy as well; it’s hard to front on lyrics like these, “…abuse my sexuality, I’ll use my sexuality…you take it and make it, you take it and make it…commodity, I am your property, commodity, I am your property…”
from the LP Crazy For You, Mexican Summer Records, 2010
Reeking of Coppertone and Mr. Zogg’s Strawberry Sex Wax, the Los Angeles trio known as Best Coast are getting the balance just right, in my humble opinion, so much so that I’ve found myself dreaming about the beach a lot lately, waking up to find their songs rolling over & over in my mind; granted, I do think the surf-rock thing is getting to be overdone now, but these cats are the cream of that crop, so don’t punish ‘em for it. Truth be told, I spent more time waxing my board than I actually did surfing as a kid, considering we don’t get proper “wake” in southern Florida, more like ripples (with the glaring exceptions of hurricanes and tropical storms, which always managed to get even the older surfers coming out of the woodwork). Anyways, this album has sufficiently invaded my headspace, in a good way---it’s like the Pixies meets Rocketship on a longboard in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
from the LP From the Ashes of Electric Elves, Jackpine Social Club Records, 2003
