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The opening track to this album is a great introduction for anyone. A firm declaration of not only blackness, but a blackness that doesn't often get rapped about, much less portrayed anywhere. A ghetto-less existence in middle-class white schools with parents who work hard together to bring a better life to their kids. That opener, "Outside", also includes a decidedly anti-soul gospellish hook. It defines the indie rap flow he'll be going for in the rest of the record/career. Even later on, he declares himself, "the only black dude at the Sufjan concert".
Later on, the beats and loops get more traditional hip-hop, but the lyrics never let up. Glover's a comedy actor/writer of course, so you would expect straight-up jokes or simple dick-joke Mickey Avalon style bullshit. But no. While Gambino's rhymes have a distinct sense of humor, it really just runs the quality MC route. Sometimes boastful, sometimes introspective. To give a list of accomplished examples would be futile here- there's simply far too many of them. "Kids" for example, has one of the best lines.
"There any breakage in that Trojan?"
She see what she wanna see
So I make her take Plan B in front of me
Women talk shit on men like all day
But it's Pete Wentz, goes both ways
The whole song, dealing the with ego flip following the female influx once a man becomes successful, is as clever as "Golddigger". But CG delivers it mournful and angry, as if he's lost something more pure by winning what he fought for. It's not the party jam of Kanye's ilk, but just as satisfying. Especially for a baller like this writer.
CG is sure to have a hit with "Heartbeat" which I cringed when I fist put on due to it's typical radio-beat and Usher-stlye club-sexy hook. But then the sexual politics of a broken-up couple who still cling to their physical whims are story-told in the lyrics and I was sold. "I'm a ghost and you know this. That's why we broke up in the first place."
When we get to the end, Donald is telling a story; a poem, almost; about this whole "Camp" idea. It's written for one woman, or girl- more to the point, a rememberance of one of those important declarations. The story is wistful, childish, romantic, dark and lonely. And it's a perfect ending to a great record. (4 of 5 stars)
A side project of Deerhunter's Brandon Cox. Apparently, the guy's a little off-kilter in the headdome. But I wouldn't pretend that this music paints the picture of an earless Van Gogh.
He's a dreamy pop guy in his day job and he doesn't stray from that too far off hours. The first two tracks especially are bland as they are pretty. Sunny indie-pop. After that we see a certain amount of texture. Some electronic programming that plinkos through your ear's sky rather than riffage that you can either dance, mosh or jam to. I'm not trying to be hippie-dippy on purpose, but for god's sake- he's got a song called "Modern Aquatic Nightsongs". He's asking for a little mocking.
But those texture moments are few and far between. For the most part, he seems to be fixated on one sentence fragment that he somehow think deserves two chords and additional musicians. "Everywhere I look, my angel is broken..." Now say that say five times, add on some "oohs" and "ahhs" and that's the gist. I'm sure it will fit somewhere neatly at your next... I don't know... pottery art class. But you'll forget about it when you leave. (1.5 of 5 stars)
"Frustration is my lexicon of hate."
Metallica plays behind Lou Reed at one concert; he asks them to do a record with him; they say yes. The result, even before I get started, is getting a buttload of shitty reviews. I have to quote one of the best lines I saw, by Chuck Klosterman: "If the Red Hot Chili Peppers acoustically covered the 12 worst Primus songs for Starbucks, it would still be (slightly) better than this."
This is okay, I'm saying to myself. I assume Metallica fans were the first responders here, being Napster-loving downloaders. And those guys are not the most open-minded of art-lovers. They freak out at the slightest of production-style changes. They're not going to understand a guy reciting poetry of over riffy jams with no chorus or lyrical melody to speak of.
So, while I'm still a big enough fan of Metallica, I was going to put on my Lou Reed fan-hat for this, because the view will probably be better. He really started this whole thing off, writing the basic tracks, while Metallica heavied-up the arrangements.
And for the most part... I'm okay with the collaboration. Metallica is as heavy if not heavier than they have been in years. Particularly on "Mistress Dread", which is an unrelenting thrash concrete wall. The harshest part is the vocal stylings of a rambling of a bum on the street waltzing Mathilda. Granted, I DO believe that Lou is more important than that, but his style is of course, one of a particular taste. And I'm actually happier than he's got a good, heavy band behind him. Otherwise, the 11+ minute repetition of "Why do I cheat on me?" would have been more unbearable than it otherwise is.
It's not all that repetitive though. I mean hell, the opening line is "I would cut my arms and tits off when I think of Boris Karloff." That's... interesting. And later on, "to be dry and spermless like a girl"... And I'm not ashamed to admit that it's all a little abstract. Based on a 19th century playwright, Lulu is definitely a desirable girl who gets shit on. And surely learns to do a lot of shitting on. And then there's apparently a Jack The Ripper element. It's way dark and hateful, which adds a good flavor.
There's a lot of quieter, feedback-laden passages where Lou tests our patience. The aforementioned "Cheat On Me" and "Little Dog" where we're comforted in knowing "as long as you can raise that little doggy face to a cold-hearted pussy, you could have a taste."
But there are good spots. The first four tracks in particular are strong, heavy, lyrically interesting and vocally strong (as strong as a near-70 year old bitter guy can drum up). It's an odd collaboration to be sure, but a kid today could just as easily have thrown out "I wish that I could kill you, but I do love your eyes." and it wouldn't seem as pure as someone with a lifetime of asshole women in his memory. "The one who rejects you is winning." I might have pushed it to 4 stars, had they removed the drone feedback and the "Cheat On Me" track. But, as it stands, (3.5 of 5 stars)
Another big release from one of my favorite artists. Tom Waits' first new album in seven years. I always expect big things. But what I got even exceeded my expectations.
The first thing you notice from the onset is the big-out-frontedness of it all. This is in comparison to his most recent works. The melodramatic-eerily romantic Alice; the bleak cabaret of Blood Money and low howl of Real Gone. All were presented pretty much under the vest. Bad As Me is bigger than that. Rolling Stone just shouted out Swordfishtrombones here, and while I don't want to paint that avant garde of a picture, it certainly has that brightness. For example, the opener "Chicago" is a fantastic rewind to the "Midtown" instrumental off Rain Dogs. Lots of horns and harmonicas and guitars and not the calliope drones that has been a key instrument in the last decade.
Plus, his vocals are way up and at 'em. The title track is a perfect example of that. His gruff growl is ever present as always, but it's constantly enunciated and clear here.
But the focus for any Tom Waits' review will always be directed toward the pen. As one of the most prolific songwriter in American history (not an exaggeration), Tom - and increasingly, his wife, Kathleen - have provided a tremendous amount of lyrical shelter for the emotionally homeless. They keep it clever several times throughout the collection including a new confusion epic, "Talking At The Same Time" where he observes, "We bailed out all the millionaires / They’ve got the fruit, we’ve got the rind". And a completely experimental march of "Hell Broke Luce" scissors to bits everything furthering the war machine, asking "How many ways can you polish up a turd?"
But there are also times that the duo keeps it simple, which also works. The almost-straight rockabilly "Get Lost" is about little more than getting in the car and driving. And the jazzy "Kiss Me" is deeply romantic in its simplicity of a couple whose newness is behind them.
Another great collection which will no doubt be in my best of the year. (5 of 5 stars)
When the word "Magnafuzz" is in your album title, you're pretty much giving away the ending right away. Radio Moscow made waves with their Dan Auerbach-produced debut. No Dan in sight here, and also nothing in sight even remotely resembling control. In a good way...
A friend of mine has been posting a plethora of Ryan Adams videos in the past weeks. I've been watching them amiably and even liked some of the offerings. I am certainly well aware of Adams' reputation much more than I've ever listened to him. And with a career as prolific as his, it's hard to get started. But nonetheless, with a new album out, I thought now would be a good time as any to update my singer-songwriter iPod repertoire.
Having said that. This album is SO fucking boring! I mean, so crazy dull that I don't exactly how to shit on it. This is simply not the same Ryan Adams that I have gotten in brief chunks in the past.
First of all, every song follows the same acoustic guitar verse-chorus-verse-chorus-bridge-chorus-chorus form. Even if I had some personal connection to the lyric: "kindness don't ask for much but an open mind" (I don't); I'd still wonder to myself why I needed to hear it four times with the same inflection with the same musical accompaniment. The songs don't build from anywhere to anything. They start, the etch-a-sketch pin follows the etch-a-sketch line, and then the song ends. A lot of dead space on that board.
There's also no value in these lyrics. I mean, he has a song using one of the biggest clichés ever with "Chains Of Love". He's also certainly concerned about growing old and not being the kid he once was. But his only ability to verbalize this comes in:
That song, "Save Me", is the one that offended me the most. His expressionless voice sings that he's in "so much pain" but never describes anything in the rest of the song that explains that. I have a 30 second audio clip of Aimee Mann farting and that, on a scale of artistic expression, is still halfway between this song and "Brahm's Lullaby" (1 of 5 stars)
Not a lot to say about this one. If you heard WWPJ debut album, you heard a plucky Scottish band playing post-punk rock with thick Scottish accents. Basically the same thing here. This album is decidedly heavier than the last. Darrin Lackie, especially, who has seem to have taken a page from Matt Helders of the Arctic Monkeys. Faster, heavier.
Quite unlike the Monkeys, though- WWPJ take themselves über-seriously. And while Alex Turner would play with a clean guitar tone to keep it bouncy, and to give space for his mile-a-minute lyrics; WWPJ crack the guitars to buzzsaw levels. It makes the end result sound less post-punk and more post-grunge. Like Bush, but faster.
The odd part is the sameness of most every song. I actually looked at my computer player at one point to see if a song was skipping. Sixteenth notes played constantly, rarely changing chords whatsoever. And Adam Thompson's vocals do not evoke any counter melody either. Monotoned tunes with monotoned vocals undermixed behind the rev of grunge guitars. Not bad, just uninspiring. The closer, "Pear Tree", is a standout amongst the others. If only because shows somewhat uniqueness against the remainder of the album. (2.5 of 5 stars)
The opening track to this album is a great introduction for anyone. A firm declaration of not only blackness, but a blackness that doesn't often get rapped about, much less portrayed anywhere. A ghetto-less existence in middle-class white schools with parents who work hard together to bring a better life to their kids. That opener, "Outside", also includes a decidedly anti-soul gospellish hook. It defines the indie rap flow he'll be going for in the rest of the record/career. Even later on, he declares himself, "the only black dude at the Sufjan concert".
