Mad Hatter Music

The Machine, Westbury Music Fair, October 31, 2010

2010-10-31T23:46:00.008-04:00

I was treated to the music of Pink Floyd from Spider-Man, Nurse-Man, Karate-Man and Monster-Man for three or so hours. Not much really to say other than that they continue to provide me with reasons to see them every year for their spot-on renditions of Floyd classics and obscure gems. "Wot's...Uh The Deal" was a surprise inclusion as was "Careful With That Axe, Eugene" to open the show. I also think it was ballsy to exclude songs like "Comfortably Numb," "One Of These Days," etc. But that's how great Floyd's music is -- you actually don't need to hear everything in order for it to be a great show. I wanted to hear "Comfortably Numb," but I'm not all that upset I didn't hear it. All in all, great show again. Thanks guys.

Setlist:

Careful With That Axe, Eugene
In The Flesh
The Thin Ice
Another Brick In The Wall, Part 1
The Happiest Days Of Our Lives
Another Brick In The Wall, Part 2
Speak To Me/Breathe
Time
Shine On You Crazy Diamond
Signs Of Life
Learning To Fly

Sheep
Welcome To The Machine
Wot's...Uh, The Deal
Keep Talking
Money
Set The Controls For The Heart Of The Sun
Wish You Were Here
Any Colour You Like
Brain Damage
Eclipse

Encore:
Waiting For The Worms
Stop!
The Trial
Outside The Wall

Alain Johannes - Spark (2010)

2010-10-28T22:40:00.003-04:00

One of the newly minted releases from the collaborative efforts of artist-driven labels Ipecac Recordings and Rekords Rekords ("Starting A Revolution Against Shitty Rock!"), October 5th marked the day that Alain Johannes stopping being a sideman. Previously a founding member of Eleven with his late partner Natasha Shneider, from whom this album draws all of its real energy, as well as a member of Queens of the Stone Age, Chris Cornell's backing band and recently, anyone who's caught a Them Crooked Vultures show will recognize Alain as the fourth vulture -- yes, the guy not named Josh Homme who can also fucking shred. Initially intended as a limited distribution release a.k.a to his friends, Homme persuaded him to show his work to the world, and praise be to the Ginger Elvis for that.

The album is pretty raw and confessional, and unlike other bands who write on the verge of ambiguity and allude to various general topics such as pain, happiness, confusion, sorrow, loss, beauty, etc., this is pretty real and startling because of it. I mean, if you listen to this record, all 29 minutes of it, and don't find yourself considerably moved, I honestly don't know what to tell you. Actually, I do. But I'll leave it to you to imagine what verbal cruelty I've spared you from. As the cover shows, Alain plies his trade on a cigar box guitar, which he uses to employ a variety of guitar stylings, most often in complex harmonies. "Endless Eyes" is probably the most direct in regards to his late partner and features intense guitar playing and such lyrics as, "It's killing me that I must go on living." Tell me you don't want to buy this guy a beer. Also, lest I forgot, this guy can sing really well. If anyone's heard "Making A Cross" from the Desert Sessions, that is indeed him singing both verses, one in a fairly high register, one in a low register. Impressive eh? "Gentle Ghosts" is just sick. Due to my own guitar shortcomings, I find it difficult to imagine playing some of the lines on this one. "Make God Jealous" is equally awesome, a showcase of Alain's prodigious talent with the stringed instrument. "Spider" is Natasha's nickname and features some oddly phrased guitar lines. All in all, a very short listen, but very sad, very beautiful and very powerful. This is what happens when you play all the instruments and produce it and you aren't a megalomaniac. Trust me, it's so fucking good. B+

Muse - Nassau Coliseum - October 23, 2010

2010-10-24T00:11:00.006-04:00

While I haven't followed these guys from the beginning, I did have the benefit of enjoying them before they received massive exposure from playing award shows, Twilight soundtracks and as the opening act for such notable contemporary blowhards like U2, I was nonetheless disappointed by their concert, a mostly lifeless and mechanical rendering of their songs, and many popular singles at that. I suppose this is what comes at the price of filling up giant arenas and having legions of newly-minted mindless head-bobbers who want anthems and ballads and sing-alongs, elaborate stage wizardry and lights (which were cool, no complaints) and a general feel-good time. I was less than pleased at the unquestionably short 90 minute length of the show, the lack of an encore (unless two minutes before "Exogenesis" counts as an encore), and the enormous technical mistake, hereafter referred to as THE WTF MOMENT. Midway through Bellamy's warbling erratic wah wah sequence of the solo in "New Born," the sound suddenly got sucked out of the Coliseum. With a moment reflecting the sheer incredulity of his audience, Bellamy threw his hands up as if to say, ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?, and the band promptly left the stage for a few minutes. To their credit, in rather humorous fashion, the band began again right smack at the heart of the solo, a testament perhaps more to their pristine routine than anything else. What else? Bellamy, an absolutely phenomenal vocalist, composer, pianist and guitarist was pretty much absent from the keys, only playing two songs if I recall, a marked departure from what made this band so unique.

So was anything good? Yes, "Knights" was amazing. Maybe the band was happy they were ending the show, I don't know, but it was energetic and provided a glimpse of why this band used to be so dynamic. Ditto for "Stockholm Syndrome," "Hysteria," "Problematique," "Eurasia," and a few others. The interlude "jams" were also interesting, if not for the fact that I had heard them "spontaneously" played before as well, in addition to some brief minute covers of "House of the Rising Sun," "Star Spangled Banner," some Zeppelin, etc. All in all, a very disappointing show by a band I fear has become hideously enslaved by the fickle whims of a commercial consuming public, despite the fact that I still love most of their music. It's a shame such amazing talent gets wasted for people who have no true appreciation for what they are hearing and are more concerned with waving their hands, taking obnoxious pictures and video with their iPhones and feeling bedazzled by visual displays, which, ultimately, hide the fact that the band is bored and should never be allowed to play "Undisclosed Desires" ever. C

Here's what I thought was the setlist:

Uprising
Map of the Problematique
New Born
Super Massive Black Hole
Resistance
Hysteria
Guiding Light
United States of Eurasia
Feeling Good
Undisclosed Desires
Time Is Running Out
Starlight
Plug In Baby
Exogenesis: Symphony Part 1 (Overture)
Stockholm Syndrome
Knights of Cydonia

Roger Waters - The Wall Live - Nassau Coliseum - October 12, 2010

2010-10-14T17:06:00.005-04:00

What could I possibly write that could somehow add to what I've already said a few days ago? Um ... I had better seats? I liked seeing it twice? Pigs are really underrated? A-

Roger Waters - The Wall Live - Madison Square Garden - October 6, 2010

2010-10-07T15:43:00.012-04:00

Monstrous inflatable marionettes, a flying pig with party slogans, a flock of children singing something about education and wearing shirts bearing the message "Fear builds walls," the crash and din of music interspersed with babies and bombs and erratic television crackles, and a wall, so imperceptibly constructed steadily over the course of the album's tense first half that I here and now must raucously applaud whomever created the set design and those in the stage crew who seamlessly metastasized such a wonderful visual spectacle for me -- and everyone else, too. Yet the "bricks" in the wall were not just to physically isolate the band from the rest of the audience, but also to function as an enormous video screen (enormous being too understated, really) to showcase the various themes surrounding the album: animations of scenes from the film, photos of deceased military members from all wars, visuals of planes dropping bombs shaped as crucifixes, crescents and stars (which has garnered some controversy; Google it), as well as Shell and Mercedes logos and some good old-fashioned dollar signs. For those expecting Mr. Waters to sing like he was thirty years younger, he does, actually, on the screen from some footage of "Mother" from the 1980 tour; the current version sings along with him. Basically, go see this if you can. I am. Again. In five days. Try to not buy seats on the extreme left or right sides of whatever venue, and comfort yourself to the fact that, while this is not Pink Floyd, it's the closest thing you're going to get to see them ever again anyway. A- (the minus is for lack of Gilmour, the standard for anything involving Floyd).

Bad Brains - Black Dots (1996)

2010-07-13T22:45:00.002-04:00

Originally recorded in 1979 in the best studio known to man -- a basement -- this collection of gems shows us the Brains on the up and up, still bearing some of their Pistols influence, especially H.R's trilled sneering on "Redbone In The City," and playing at a slightly subdued tempo. Hearing slowed-down earlier versions of their debut album isn't a problem though, because their debut album was superinsanelyfilthyfuckingfantasticawesome, and these versions simply give you more time to appreciate that. (Understanding H.R.'s lyrics is an added benefit as well.) For me, this album shows exactly why the Brains are the greatest hardcore punk band ever, not because this collection is the greatest compendium of punk music, but precisely because it is not. If this was all the Brains ever released, or if they released a few just like this, they'd probably have a decent niche following today. But as we know from their debut -- a manic display of searing musical riffage interspersed with reggae, the pinnacle and standard of hardcore punk -- that is clearly not the case. Aside from that, any fan of the Brains probably already has this, but for those who'd like to hear what they sounded like before everyone tried to sound like them, this is an excellent listen. Like at least 50 times on my part, much to the chagrin of my wife. A-

Kaki King - The Bowery Ballroom - April 16, 2010

2010-04-25T20:38:00.005-04:00

Rumors of this guitar virtuoso's musical death have been greatly exaggerrated. No, she doesn't do that "tapping" thing on her new album and it wasn't prominent in the show, either, because she was too busy rocking the fucking out. Is this what everyone wants to hear and see? A musician stuck in the confines of her audience's desires, which is probably the equivalent of eating camembert cheese with boysenberries. Let her do what she wants.

That said, great show. It was a nice mix of rockers ("Falling Day," "Death Head," and a variety of acoustic instrumentals, those that got her attention in the first place and some new ones. I never tire of "Pink Noise." "Bone Chaos" was pretty searing as usual; it's one of those manic displays of guitar awesomeness that makes you stop whatever you're doing. Which reminds me of something: she doesn't have a bass player. The guy posing as one was toting (I had to google this) and electronic EVI synth; it's basically like an electronic trumpet that you can play pretty much everything on, including bass. The guy was pretty impressive. Her drummer, too, reminded me of Stewart Copeland for his loose and varied style.

For her encore, Kaki brought out the lap-steel and started looping several guitar parts for "Gay Sons" with an added bass and drum backbeat until it became a kind of dance tune. She then jumped into the audience and started dancing. It was pretty awesome. Then she let everyone know her and the band would be drinking beers at the merchandise table. Cue Bowery staff, who, in the spirit of every good aftermath to rock and roll shows, cough cough, told us to make our way to the door and get the fuck out. Gotta love the way things are now. On a side note to that, NYC music venues are sucking ass. Last time I was at the Bowery years ago, it was fucking righteous. It's turned into a clean, sterile vapid place. I believe the word they use in housing development is "gentrification." The same feel can be applied here.

Setlist:

Falling Day
Bone Chaos In The Castle
Life Being What It Is
Pull Me Out Alive
Death Head
Betrayer
Unknown song/solo
Playing With Pink Noise
Sunnyside
All The Landslides Birds Have Seen Since The Beginning Of The World
Doing The Wrong Thing
Everything Has An End, Even Sadness
Spit It Back In My Mouth
Jessica
You Don't Have To Be Afraid

Encore:

Hallucinations From My Poisonous German Streets
Gays Sons Of Lesbian Mothers

First Two 7"s On A 12" - Minor Threat (1981)

2010-04-14T15:53:00.003-04:00

A combination of their first two EPs, Minor Threat and In My Eyes, this album is like a series of uppercuts to the face -- for ten minutes. Straight edge punk at its finest. I shall waste no further words. Go on and get it, however way you wish. A

Two Minutes Hate

2010-04-05T21:36:00.003-04:00

For those unaware of what this is, please read here briefly for an explanation.

Eric fucking Clapton is a wanking tired third-rate claptrap of a bluesplayer. If he could suck his own dick, he would slobber over it slowly like a worn blues lick he got caught in-between his teeth. He's overrated and if he had children, his most notable abortion would be SRV and his insistence that you hear the same 'ol blues, but faster! And then when he plays it fast-like and you ooh and you ahhh and you gimme some more moloko, he's plays the same damn thing again, but faster! OMFG. The only thing worse than this bastard's blistering blues is no blues, no soul, check-my-shades-bitch Satriani, who could probably lose a battle of emoticons texting with himself, just because he'd get confused on the origins of a smile or a wink or anything with a fucking soul.

The Jimi Hendrix Experience - Axis: Bold As Love (1967)

2010-03-23T11:18:00.002-04:00

Having recently listened to the newly released Valleys Of Neptune, I thought to myself, I need to review Electric Ladyland. Then, as testament to my prolonged absences here, I realized that I had already written it. Boink. So here's to all the picked-seconds of the world, I'm rubbing you Axis: Bold As Love. Like the opening to Electric, Axis begins with a waste of my time, the insipid avant-garde emptiness of "EXP." From there, it's a smattering of musical styles: the wah wah breeziness in "Up From The Skies" -- replete with tasty brush taps. Actually, let me interrupt myself. Mitch Mitchell gets his cake and he's probably eaten so much of it, he's had massive intestinal stoppage, but everyone still talks about Hendrix first and foremost, and I'd like to say, Mitch, you were awesome. There, I feel better. "Ain't No Telling" is a my favorite non-famous Hendrix track. If you haven't heard it -- seriously? "Castles Made Of Sand" is one of those songs that you play for people when you want them to hear what Hendrix was all about. "Little Wing" is, in my opinion, one of the few perfect songs ever written. Period. If you've ever wanted to hear an album end like it was a mad flower bursting into bloom, then listen to the last minute or so of "Bold As Love." This album is sonically exquisite. I have nothing but excess verbal superfluity in making an ass of myself otherwse. Enjoy. A

Spirit - Twelve Dreams Of Dr. Sardonicus (1970)

2010-03-01T19:19:00.002-05:00

I apologize in advance if my return is short-lived. I'm fairly certain I've been writing to an empty auditorium recently and can only fondly remember the rather robust discussions this site used to have once upon a time. Now the site seems more of a running catalog of unrelated individualistic comments. R.I.P. Bob, Chuck, Cianan, Starr, and whoever I'm missing at the moment.

That said, Dan over at Layla's Classic Rock has unwittingly introduced me to Spirit recently. Three weeks after reading his post, I've now listened to their first four albums dozens of times with stupendous glee. And Sardonicus, friends, is a fucking doozy of an album, mostly attributable, dare I say it, to the drumming. Ed Cassidy is not a drumming god. I wouldn't know his bald head from any other bald head, but damn, he's got this jazzy looseness to him that I think acts as the thread of the album. He's got some nice fills on "Prelude - Nothing To Hide" and "Morning Will Come," to name a few. Randy California is no slouch, either -- if drumming is the thread, the guitar is the needle sewing up all the right spots, from the greasy fuzz slide on "Prelude," the explosive noodling in "Street Worm" or the artful stabbing notes in "Morning." Throw in some brass, piano and some really nice vocal harmonies ("Nature's Way") and you've got, if you're me, the best discovery of 2010, which is shaping up to be a shitter otherwise. Mad Hatter, over and out, pluterperfectly.

A-

Them Crooked Vultures - Them Crooked Vultures (2009)

2009-11-19T19:33:00.010-05:00

It is indisputable and perhaps undeserving of mention that far and wide across the interwebs in forums, blogs, magazines and any other media depositories, everyone who rocks out with their cock out (or not!) invariably feels they have found something so awe-inspiring and powerful, so utterly bonkers and brilliant, so fucking genius, that they feel communally impelled to share with us that they also feel, in their most astute and clever opinions, that Them Crooked Vultures sound similar to Zep, QTSA and Nirvana/Foos. No shit, really?!?! I kind of thought they sounded like Abba on my first listen, but that's me.

But seriously, since the concert I saw them at, the subsequent streaming of the entire album on YouTube and now, the finished clarity of the real actual thing, I've been calling these guys filthy -- filthy as in fucks your face up if you're dumb enough to get in front of it. This is simply rock in all of its glorious phases, from the sophisticated time signature shifts to the filthy sludgy boozy jams to the riffs, oh beautiful bruising hammer of the gods riffs, to the fact that this band effortlessly melds classic rock and modern rock -- it's a wonder they gel so well after such short time. The album begins with "Nobody Loves Me & Neither Do I," a great opener that begins fairly innocuously -- almost as if you thought these guys were going to play it safe, stupid and sucky a la Chickenfoot , and then -- oh glorious spark of heaven -- JPJ bass nukes the proceedings. From there it never really lets up: aside from the buoyant but straightforward "New Fang," TCV burns through a litany of rockfests with the weird queasiness of "Interludes With Ludes" to break up the momentum. We get to hear some fantastic Jack Bruce falsetto imitation on one of my favorite tracks, "Scumbag Blues," which features some filthy guitar-work as does "Reptiles," my other favorite. "Elephants" begins fairly ferociously and then settles into a slow tempo throttle. "Warsaw, Or The First Breath You Take After You Give Up" is a nasty blues number that morphs into a filthy boogie jam and immediately follows "Interludes" thereby saying, more or less, that the brief break is over. "Spinning With Daffodils" ends the album and begins with a piano intro that is quickly drowned out by crunchy guitar. Oh, and "Gunman" -- this was the filthiest guitar when I saw them in concert, but yet they made the whole song funky as hell. Bad? Oh no, not at all. It's ridiculously good.

All in all, Dave Grohl was a manic beast in concert and that energy isn't quite up to snuff here, but he's still pretty amazing. JPJ is everywhere and lets you know it, and Josh Homme basically wants to pound every riff he can think of into your head. The result? Best album of the year and maybe for the past few years. It's that good.

Oh, and go see them any chance you get!

The Machine, B.B. King's, October 30, 2009

2009-10-31T18:26:00.007-04:00

Ok, I saw The Machine again. I just really love Floyd, don't I? It wasn't enough that I've reviewed all their albums here already, but a tribute band twice in a month surely certifies my addiction. So what was different the second time? The venue (bad food, lots of alcohol), the set of songs they played, and a saxophonist for "Crazy Diamond," "Money" and "Us And Them." Fucking tasty. Show started at nine on the dot and went until half past midnight with one brief fifteen minute break in the middle. What does that mean? Lots of songs -- even Syd Barrett's "Dark Globe." Oh, and "The Trial"? Spot on. See for yourself.

Setlist:
Speak To Me/Breathe
Time
Coming Back To Life
Shine On You Crazy Diamond
Welcome To The Machine
Keep Talking
One Of The Days
Sheep

Dark Globe
Money
Us And Them
Let There Be More Light
Have A Cigar
Echoes
Final Cut
Happiest Days Of Our Lives
Another Brick In The Wall, Part 2
Wish You Were Here
Comfortably Numb

Encore:

Waiting For The Worms
Stop!
The Trial
Outside The Wall

A-

Them Crooked Vultures - Roseland Ballroom - October 15, 2009

2009-10-16T12:20:00.009-04:00

For a band with no album, singles and with only a rumored release date of November 23rd, you would think that seeing these guys would be as exciting as seeing an opening band you've never heard of. But this is no ordinary band. As I mentioned a few weeks ago, Them Crooked Vultures is a supergroup consisting of Josh Homme (Queens Of The Stone Age, Kyuss) on guitars and vocals, John Paul Jones on bass and keyboards, and Dave Grohl (Nirvana, Foo Fighters). To say that the show was awesome would be a gross understatement and I actually took the day off today because I am still reeling from the absolute fucking magnificence from last night. Dave Grohl, from where I was standing (which was right in front of JPJ) looked like Neo from the Matrix -- which is to say that he was playing so fast he looked like a blur the whole night. Josh Homme was churning out riff after solo after riff after solo -- and JPJ -- my god man -- he used numerous basses, plunked at them on some songs, picked at them on others, played slide on a special inclined model -- yes he played slide! -- played his portable key-tar, synths, and a beautiful piano outro. Oh, and the mandolin. It was awesome, purely fucking awesome. Mark my words, this is going to be one of the best rock albums to come out in a very long time. While they are technically a supergroup, they don't play like they're out to impress you with their outsized egos (re: Bono, Chris Martin, et al). They're goal was to play some rocking music, have a good time and seem very humbled by any and all applause. Aside from the weird "Interludes With Ludes" and the strangely melodic "Highway One," I can't single out any particularly strong tracks because they were all incredibly meaty boozy sludgy riff-a-fucking-delic rocking monsters. Lies! Ok, "Scumbag Blues" is tops for me. And "Gunman." And the fifteen minute holy shit jam to end the show. I would see them again in a nanosecond. I am starved for more. I pity those who haven't heard them yet. I am going to sleep now. If you love music -- not the media of music, the image of music, the corporate pandering that is currently dominant in music -- you will love this band, I assure you will love this band.

Setlist:

Elephants
Dead End Friends
Scumbag Blues
Gunman
Highway One
New Fang
Caligulove
Bandoliers
Mind Eraser
Daffodils
Interlude With Ludes
Reptiles
No One Loves Me And Neither Do I
Warsaw

Alice In Chains - Black Gives Way To Blue (2009)

2009-10-10T17:24:00.004-04:00

Quite a bit can happen in fourteen years. I graduated high school, went to college, joined the army, went to war, got a good job with more pay and I'm okay. For the surviving members of Alice In Chains, they had to endure the deterioration of their good friend and lead singer Layne Staley to heroin addiction. Any music they may have made was effectively squashed with his death in 2002. So with the release of their new album, Black Gives Way To Blue, their last since 1995, people from all across the interwebs have been prattling about how dare they do such a thing, or how the album is or isn't solid, or how they are trying to replace Staley, or how they no longer sound like themselves anymore and blah blah blah. I could give a fupenny tuck what your rationale is, but he wasn't my friend and I didn't have to cope with his loss, so if they want to make music, so be it. That said:

It's a good album. It does sound like AIC. It has their typical assemblage of minor keys, crunching guitars, interspersed melodies and vocal harmonizing between new vocalist William DuVall and resident guitar hero Jerry Cantrell. It does not seek to replace Staley; it only eulogizes him lyrically. The title track features Elton John on piano and is a beautiful farewell. There's just tons of tastiness otherwise: "A Looking In View," "All Secrets Known," "Check My Brain" -- all heavy, all good. "Your Decision" and "When The Sun Rose Again" is reminiscent of the softer, more melodic stuff from their heyday as well. So you fucking naysayers can STFU already, go play Guitar Hero and listen to Godsmack. B

The Machine, Westbury Music Fair, October 2, 2009

2009-10-04T13:52:00.006-04:00

The Machine is a Pink Floyd tribute band I almost didn't see on Friday night. Blame it on a blown fuse and difficulties with finding electricians, but thankfully the show started -- even if almost two hours late. That said, the band promised no breaks and sampled mostly on the safe side of Floyd's immense catalogue. I was hoping they'd play whole albums like Animals and The Wall as they did at B.B. King's last month, but as someone there told me, drink a few beers, close your eyes and you won't know you're not listening to the real Pink Floyd. So that's what I did and I'm happy. My only problem was their choice to cater more to the average Floyd Fan by playing more of the well-known songs (i.e. from The Wall) and by feeling the need to sample from many of Floyd's albums (which meant mediocre or poor songs from The Division Bell and Momentary made the cut). I was fairly disappointed when they played "Echoes" -- yes, the "Echoes" -- and ended the song at about 17-18 minutes right before Gilmour's famous guitar line builds up. Good god, why? They played "Fat Old Sun" and that solo was awesome, Jeff. I'm trying to play it on my guitar today without much success. These guys are from New York and play here often, but I know they travel around, so if you get the chance to see them, it's worth it. The guitarist/vocalist does a pretty close Waters imitation and a passable Gilmour.

Setlist:

Shine On You Crazy Diamond
Welcome To The Machine
Coming Back To Life
Speak To Me/Breathe
Time
Sorrow
Fat Old Sun
Is There Anybody Out There?
Nobody Home
One Of These Days
Pigs On The Wing
Pigs (Three Different Ones)
Echoes
Hey You
Wish You Were Here

Encore:
Run Like Hell
Comfortably Numb

B+

Pearl Jam - Backspacer (2009)

2009-09-23T21:17:00.004-04:00

For those who know me, this statement will undoubtedly rip your flesh like weasels who had too much Buddy Holly and vodka. The last time Pearl Jam released a semi-decent album, I was a freshman in high school. (It was Vitalogy for those who don't know my age.) So I say with my rancorous cod-piece lodged squarely between my zoobies that I fully and eagerly intended on writing a Two Minutes Hate for this album and sadly cannot sate my inner Freudian wish-fulfillment fantasies. It's pretty good -- really. Part of my disdain for Pearl Jam for the last half portion of my life has been with their politics -- which is to say, their music oozed complete self-righteous seriousness, and the music fucking sucked. Like assfucker sucked. Like no better than Britney Spears sucked. Like you would rather watch Jack Bauer save Los Angeles from its 35th nuclear attack sucked. Read my previous two album reviews if you don't believe me, where the band found itself playing like they read the word torpor so many times on a piece of paper that it put them into one.

This album sounds like they had a ton of fun making it. It doesn't reek of self-seriousness and it doesn't sound tired, either. Amazing, right? I really dig the brevity as well (36 minutes or so). It kind of unfolds pretty quickly and then it's over. (Authorial interjection: Master Cianan, did I just hear you 3,000 miles away yelling, "Well, thank God for that!") I really like "Got Some" and "Supersonic," two fairly punk-like rockers and "Amongst The Waves," a nice sludgy ballad. "Just Breathe" may be my favorite song, and it'd probably surprise you to hear that it's actually just an acoustic love song with some strings -- it just sounds beautiful and I like it. So there. Of course, being the disaffected twaddling twit that I am who must find some fault with everything, I will say this: every Pearl Jam album (except for Ten) has at least one song that is so odious, so terrible, so toxic to the greater good of humanity that the band, the producers, the fans and any other associated party involved with the continued existence and preservation of that song should be violently reprimanded (myself included); and that song is "The Fixer" -- a most retarded example of what kind of music not to make. Otherwise, enjoy. B-

Arctic Monkeys - Humbug (2009)

2009-09-23T20:17:00.003-04:00

Who the fuck are Arctic Monkeys? Extraordinarily over-hyped British band from a few years back that released a fairly brazen freshman record and a solid sophomore effort. Humbug? Third record. Getting better? Yes. The real interesting thing about this album is that Josh Homme (Queens Of The Stone Age, Kyuss, etc.) produced it and apparently encouraged these chaps to play like Kyuss -- that is to say, for no sake but for the music and for themselves. As a result, the album goes so far astray from what they've done before that it almost sounds like a new band. But by far the most impressive thing about this album is the fact that it is sluggish. Sluggish like a rainy dumpy Saturday afternoon stuck inside with no munchies and a dull but poignant hangover. Anyone heard their first two albums? Lotsa lotsa energy, quirky wordplay and snark. This? A fucking strange moody atmospheric drag. But a good one. Enough to lull you into a half-snooze but still retaining the chops to knock your ass backwards. If this were the 70s, it'd be grouped with "psychedelia." Except this isn't weird because of the drugs; this is weird because -- because they're weird? Or because Josh Homme produced it -- the guy whose last album featured Bulby the light bulb and whose website mailing list reads "Let Us Spam You"? You be the judge. "Fire And A Thud" is probably the only song I don't like -- perhaps "thud" more appropriately crystallizes my feelings towards it. Otherwise, my faves are "Potion Approaching," a great mid-tempo stomp that suddenly comes to a complete boozing crawl, "Crying Lightning" for its bass groove and choppy guitar lines, and the only frenetic song here, the punky "Pretty Visitors" -- my god! -- one of the lyrics is "What came first: the chicken or the dickhead?" 'Nuff said? B-

ZZ Top - Recycler (1990)

2009-09-08T16:19:00.003-04:00

As I've mentioned below, today is a twofer. But now that I'm about to savage this album, in ZZ Top linguistics and metaphors no less, today is less like a twofer and more like a coin, one side being heads, one side being tails. And so it should come as no surprise that this album falls squarely into the complete and utter ass-end of ZZ's electric boogie whomp originating with all those MTV videos with that dork getting the chicks. Funny title, Recycler. Like these guys wrote 300 songs in the early 80s in the same vein and this is the rotten shit-bespeckled end of it. Except it's 1990. And here is Recycler. Funny, eh? My question to Billy Gibbons, one of the sickest guitar gods to ever touch a stringed instrument, who could probably pull a lick from his dick if he could see past his beard -- what the FUCK were you thinking? This album is like slow aural death. It sounds like you air-brushed a pearl necklace onto some chick to make it look like you're awesome, but in reality the chick was never there and you're just passing off your porn spanking on the wall. Sure, you had sex years ago, and probably did some crazy shit. But I mean, really? I'm pretty strict about my grading system, but even though the standings can never truly reflect how much an A+ means or how bad an F really is, I can say this: this is one of the worst albums ever. If I wasn't such a completionist, I would delete it off my hard drive. I suggest you do so if you are without my neurotic quirks. Destroy this and all copies you come into contact with. Make sure to wear gloves for proper disposal and a condom for even greater protection. Hell, if you are the charitable type, go to what few music stores that still exist or order like ten copies of this online and fucking smash it to fucking bits. There. FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF

Warchild, Morgan Memorial Park, August 30, 2009

2009-09-08T15:41:00.003-04:00

Today is Tuesday, and on this particular Tuesday you get a twofer. Whether you would have gotten lesser or equal value if I had just written one longer review is beyond my mental pay-grade. For some background, Warchild is a Jethro Tull tribute band from New York who replicates the sound and look of the original Jethro Tull circa 1970 or thereabouts; the lead singer/flautist dressed and looked somewhat similar to Ian Anderson, but his eerily similar voice, his excellent flute playing and his spot-on impressions of Anderson's physical stage mannerisms are what really sealed the deal. The rest of the band was equally note-for-note in regards to Tull's catalog, and overall, despite the wind problems completely fucking some of the sound, I was pretty impressed. The two hour set, in no apparent order, pardon my memory, consisted of: "Aqualung," "Teacher," "Locomotive Breath," "Cross-Eyed Mary," "Thick As A Brick," "Living In The Past," "Bourée," "Sweet Dream," "Skating Away On The Thin Ice Of A New Day," "Bungle In The Jungle," "Too Old To Rock 'N' Roll, Too Young To Die," "Nothing Is Easy," "Minstrel In The Gallery," "War Child," and a whole bevy of other tunes, some of which even I didn't recognize. And yes, they did "Thick As A Brick," but no, it was only a partial. Fucking righteous enough for me. B-

Them Crooked Vultures

2009-08-29T16:20:00.005-04:00

Not sure if anyone has heard of this; I've been following it pretty close to the chest, but after a few "surprise" and "secretive" performances the last few days, I suppose the cat is out on the veranda blowing reefer plumes into the fading summer sky. Them Crooked Vultures, a supergroup consisting of Josh Homme (Queens Of The Stone Age, Kyuss) on guitars and vocals, John Paul Jones (yes, the JPJ) on bass and keyboards, and Dave Grohl (Nirvana, Foo Fighters) on drums, is now a reality. Apparently, the seeds from this holy rock union have been germinating since 2005 and based on what I've been reading, they have been playing 80 minute sets of progressive sludgy stoner rock and psychedelic blues with massive riffage. One person who attended one said that Grohl was thrashing the drums like they'd wronged him earlier in the day. There is most likely going to be an album. There is most likely to be a tour. There is most likely a reason we should all be very excited. Especially since I really like Dave Grohl when he isn't hamming up his meal ticket on a Foo release. And who said rock was dead?

The Mars Volta - Octahedron (2009)

2009-08-04T15:00:00.003-04:00

I apologize well in advance if this review resembles something I would spew in my Two Minutes Hate, but I've never been one to pull back on my punches, and I don't intend on doing so here. This album fucking sucks. (You can stop reading here if that's all you require.) If Bedlam In Goliath was considered their loudest and most bombastic, this album is their most quiet -- quiet as in I could take a fucking snooze, from stem to sternum, in Lake Baikal, Russia and this would not stir me from my peaceful sleep. Anyone take Ambien? After this album, I know by not knowing, in an approximate sort of way. To say that the album is terrible, really, isn't exactly fair, though -- it simply evokes nothing. It's drib drab dribber drubber drowl, a pocket of dark matter in the expanding nothingness we call our universe, worthy of not even the margin of space it now occupies in my small apartment. Oh, and the lyrics -- БОЖЕ МОЙ - the lyrics for these guys have always been -- how do I say it succinctly -- stupid, with two o's. Swathed amidst the innumerable layers of sound on their previous albums, it was harder to notice just how fucking juvenile and 7th grade the lyrics were, but now I am convinced that Cedric thinks he is a fucking warlock. Good luck to him. Personally, I always wanted to be a samurai, but that cuirass looks way too heavy for me and besides, can you imagine me with a sword? Hack hack hack. So have at it Volta fans. Eat this nu-progadelic like fistfuls of sloppy wet shit at a carnival cookout contest. Everyone else, give thanks that it ends quicker than anything else they've released. F

Brasil Guitar Duo - Cinema Arts Centre - July 3, 2009

2009-07-07T12:36:00.006-04:00

Everyone knows, perhaps, of my love of Kaki King, the way she and her instrument seem to be perfectly coalesced into one extraordinary musical state of being. Well, the Brasil Guitar Duo, João Luiz and Douglas Lora, is like Kaki King on crack. What I heard Friday night was an intensely focused, beautifully executed performance of several classical pieces. Like anything truly excellent, of course, their popularity isn't exactly teeming at the sides. The audience consisted of approximately a hundred at best (all of them well over 50, minus me and my wife; the youth were probably out watching Transformers, a movie I have yet to see and never will, more because it looks like it sucks rather than because it probably does.) Our duo performed like electrons hopping levels; Mr. Luiz seemed keenly stolid for the most part, weaving incredible streams of clustered notes along the entire guitar, whilst his other half, Mr. Lora, seemed so exasperated in his facial contortions that you wondered whether the music was actually using him as a conduit and he was really playing at all. Lora would look at Luiz as if for approval; Luiz would turn a soft interlude into a rock riff, smile at everyone with extremely self-satisfied humor and then return to his stoicism. It was simultaneously bizarre, wonderful and aurally awesome, and a visual treat to boot, to see two virtuosos playing, well, anything. If I were them, I would take out some insurance on those thumbnails. This isn't even my genre, really, and I was quite impressed. B+

Setlist:

Gavotte & Variations - Jean Phillipe Rameau
Four Preludes and Fugues, Op. 199 - Mario Castelnuevo-Tedesco
Waltz, Prelude - Douglas Lora Las Casas
Vasu Brasileira, Cordao De Saideira, Zanzibar - Edu Lobo
Don Quixote, Sete Anais - Egberto Gismonti
Bom Partido - Paulo Bellinati

Encore:
Some cool samba song

Green Day - 21st Century Breakdown (2009)

2009-06-25T18:06:00.002-04:00

How do you follow up the only remarkable album of your musical career? Allow me to relay a story I read on the internets:

There was an old man, a boy and a donkey. They were going to town and it was decided that the boy should ride. As they went along they passed some people who thought that it was a shame for the boy to ride and the old man to walk. The old man and boy decided that maybe the critics were right so they changed positions. Later, they passed some more people who thought that it was a real shame for that man to make such a small boy walk. The two decided that maybe they should both walk. Soon they passed some people who thought that it was stupid to walk when they had a donkey to ride. The man and the boy decided maybe the best thing would be for them both to ride the donkey. Soon, they passed a group who thought that it was a shame to put such a load on a poor helpless animal. The old man and the boy decided that maybe the critics were right so they decided to carry the donkey. As they crossed a bridge, they lost their grip on the animal and he fell into the river and drowned.

The moral of the story: If you try to please everyone, you will eventually lose your ass!

D+

Underworld - All Points West Music Festival, Liberty State Park - August 8, 2008

2009-05-01T12:14:00.001-04:00

August 8, 2008? Yeah, I know. Ok, here's the explanation, really. A few days ago, I bought a $1500 20oz Pepsi. This particular Pepsi, unlike the stock market, jumped from its initial price of $2 when I accidentally spilled it all over my laptop, thus destroying it (immediate shutdown, internal fans blowing, frothy brown liquid seeping out the USB ports.) So what does a mad hatter do? He dismantles the thing to salvage anything of importance, remounts the hard drive to another computer and saves the data for future use on his now current and brand spank-me-daddy new laptop. Why I am telling you this? Because, well, restoring your data engenders this habit of perusing random files, and therefore, my tortured readers, I found this review, which I didn't post during my Radiohead lovefest way back when. Truth be told, Underworld deserves some lovin' anyway, even if what I'm about to post below is very short. Oh, and I promise some new content soon; I'm being a procrastinating self-aggregating information junkie. Pffft.

Playing right before Radiohead kind of sucks. When almost an entire festival shows up right before the main attraction, you've potentially got a very impatient audience. Underworld didn't seem to care, blitzing everyone with an hour-long barrage of carefully selected intensity. Each song, to its sometimes detriment, was about nine or ten minutes apiece. I say detriment because this stuff, while very good, is still heady and extremely hard to listen to back to back to back. Repetition only goes so far sometimes without much variation. That said, there were several moments of excellence, namely the inflatable white columns amidst the ferocious "Two Months Off," singer Karl Hyde's frantic hand-held camera histrionics to the madness of "Cowgirl" and my favorite boom boom beat in "Jumbo." Oh, "Shudder/King Of Snake" was fucking wicked, too. Very good song selection from their catalog, perhaps not sequenced quite right and definitely could have benefitted from the evening dark rather than daylight. B-

Here's most of the setlist:

Glam Bucket
Cowgirl
Pearl's Girl
Jumbo
Two Months Off
Born Slippy .NUXX
Shudder/King Of Snake
Moaner

Two Minutes Hate

2009-04-18T15:58:00.002-04:00

For those unaware of what this is, please read here briefly for an explanation.

Fucking Bono he's so cool he once gave the Pope his signature Armani sunglasses but not cool enough to reward those who fill his eternally deep coffers with tickets for his large stupid impersonal shows. Hey fuckbag perhaps if you took those rosy rubies off you'd realize your efforts to bring quote awareness end quote to third world countries is as stupid as thinking that if you drop a truckload of cash onto a pile of horseshit that at the end of the day it'll be gone when all you'll really have is horseshit covered with cash and flies you third-rate Geldof crony. Fuck you and offer a real solution, not some altruistic self-congratulatory nightcap you give to temper your megalomaniacal assbag tendencies.

U2 - No Line On The Horizon (2009)

2009-04-03T22:22:00.006-04:00

Based on my mild savaging of The Joshua Tree, one would expect that I harbor some infantile hatred of everything U2. Not so, Mssr. Pangloss. I actually love early U2 and find most of their remaining output to be beautiful little musical gems surrounded by middling corporate schlock. Case in point: No Line On The Horizon, yet another album that I and many people have bought at this point, out of nostalgia, awe, completionism, or just a simple pining for a good song. But make no mistake, this is no better an album than anything in recent years. "Get On Your Boots," by merits a sequel to "Vertigo," is okay, but what really gets me is "I got a submarine / You got gasoline / I don't want to talk about wars between nations / Sexy boots." Sexy boots? Sexy boots? Yep. It's actually more annoying when heard.

Anyway, that's my only real gripe. Everything else is business as usual: long boring filler ("Moment Of Surrender," "Unknown Caller"), excellent Edge guitar textures ("No Line On The Horizon" and "I'll Go Crazy If I Don't Go Crazy Tonight") and my favorite song -- which every U2 album has -- the gorgeous "Magnificent." I love the the vintage tinkling guitar and chord sequences. It's a definitely a keeper and probably will sound great live. Otherwise, file it with the rest of their stuff and make sure not to kill yourself in trying to see them when they come around. C-

Free - Fire And Water (1970)

2009-03-26T22:44:00.001-04:00

I never really understood why a supremely excellent band such as Free never quite made it, whereas a more commercial sounding band (on the whole) such as Bad Company became huge. Oh wait, I just answered my own question. That still being said, I prefer Rodgers' soulful gravelly voice and Kossoff's stately understated guitar any day.

First things first, "All Right Now" is the only reason these fellows were truly noticed, and that's a shame, because not only is it not representative of the Free sound, but it's not even the best song on the album. That accolade, in my heretofore unembellished opinion of such things, would go to the title track, but the beautiful "Oh I Wept" or the piano-laden "Heavy Load" or even "Remember" might be your thing. You know, most of popular music nowadays is so devoid of soul that it's so fucking refreshing to hear it here in its bare, unapologetic entirety. Guitar aficionados may not name Kossoff in the top 50 guitarists ever (hell, even I didn't ), but his quietly grand sense of playing is no more apparent than on this record; and Rodgers, for his part, may not have turned in better performances than he does here. It's a damn fine album, and shame on you if "All Right Now" is all you've ever heard. Atone for your sins! You can make it up to me by declaring a greater love for Free and a lesser love for Bad Company in the comments section; only then will I forgive you. B+

Machine Head - The Blackening (2007)

2009-03-24T18:48:00.004-04:00

Having been considerably absent for some time -- my sincerest apologies, sack of soiled diapers and anything else to alleviate the ponderous lack you must certainly be feeling -- I have decided to begin on a good note and shall fiddle my furor for another day, because believe me, it's so there. And with that, let me tell you, as a purveyor of all things metal, this is an album you need to sink your zoobies into. (I'm tawkin' to youz to you, Master Cianan.) Even if you're not into metal, and you'd like to sample something one day, this wouldn't be your worst candidate.

The albums opens with "Clenching The Fists Of Dissent" -- a ten-minute anthem against our leaders of yesteryear who likened anyone who didn't support their ideas as unpatriotic. What a fucking doozy of a song. When I saw them a few years ago, it was the best opener to start with as well. I love the acoustic intro and the somber ramping up of the massive riffage and delicious solos. Yum yum yum. "Aesthetics Of Hate" was a song written for the murdered Dimebag Darrell after some conservative cockateel declared all metalheads to be mindless dirtbag barbarians and ergo Dime deserved to be murdered for inspiring such shithead followers. I'm careening for lack of practice, excuse my politics. Basically, this album is like a happy completion of your nifty little musical checklist of sorts. Riffage: check. Attitude: check. Solos: OMFG check. "Halo" is the purest example of this. Best song on the album and possibly best song by these guys, period. The solo feels like a modernized medley of "Freebird" and "Green Grass And High Tides" with vintage thrash for good measure. The notes, even among the heaviest riffs, can be described as not so much clean as distinct. I'm pretty much at loss for this one. It's a proggy thrash album with melodies and anthems and gorgeously brutal solos and actually contains meaningful lyrics. Among any genre, that's not as commonplace as you think. So, what in the cannoli are you still reading this for? Welcome back me! A-

The Kinks - Arthur (Or The Decline And Fall Of The British Empire) (1969)

2009-01-20T06:00:00.000-05:00

I know a few people who love the Kinks. I know a few who hate them. I know a few who haven't a clue who in the Sarah Palin they are by name, yet have heard "Lola" a billion times or any of the several covers Van Halen has done of their songs ("You Really Got Me," "Where Have All The Good Times Gone?," "Dancing In The Street"). So where, you might ask, do I stand? Well, I think Ray Davies is a solid songwriter, but whose penchant for large themes and minute storytelling is a wee bit messy. Musically, I think the Kinks have a wide variety of interesting riffs and melody changes, but whose total sound is a bit homogenized and therefore makes it difficult for me to remember much. The Kinks are very much like an exercise in the dual existence of quantum mechanics and the theory of relativity insofar as they can't seem to make the tiniest of the tiny mesh with the grandest of the grand. And that's precisely why no Kinks record will ever receive a B grade or higher, since not a one are essential; they feature a few excellent songs and are otherwise comprised of a continuum of sameness. This is not to say the records are bad, either; in fact, I don't think the Kinks have many bad songs at all; they simply don't have too many great ones.

Therefore, let's get specific. Arthur is a concept album; it's long-winded and cumbersome, like an old horse with three legs trotting uphill. I actually tried to really listen to the lyrics on this one and like most rock lyricists, Ray hopes by being descriptive that you'll garner the broader idea. Great job, Ray. The British Empire is declining and I can feel it in every note of this slightly upbeat mid-tempo music you're singing along to. "Shangri-La" is amazing; if every song was like this, I might not have written the aforementioned. Beautiful acoustics and chord changings, a great harpsichord backdrop, nifty interludes, a powerful chorus, eclectic guitar-work -- and it feels epic, even though its five minutes. But for five minutes, "Shangri-La" carries more potency than the entirety of the album. "Victoria" is a solid rocker; but beyond that, everything else is pretty good and I would not be able to name any other songs, even under threat of no more Guinness. There's a reason these guys never became as huge as they could have and also why they've never been completely forgotten -- and sometimes impossible to form an opinion of! Ergo, expect my reviews of their subsequent albums to be eerily similar to this one, and also expect me to avoid doing so for as long as possible. C+

The Pogues - Red Roses For Me (1984)

2009-01-13T06:00:00.002-05:00

With anything Irish, there's always an element of "what the fuck?" wherever we happen to show our pasty freckled faces, so it should be of surprise to no one that the Pogues are invariably multifaceted in this respect. I mean, really, myself and Master Cianan are ample enough of a problem to the world, jettisoning our delectable snark or poo onto unsuspecting citizens like drunken clowns; can you imagine an army of like replicates? Madness... Joking aside, because I've gone completely off subject, the Pogues meld traditional Irish folk melodies and harmonies with a potent musical ferocity akin to the punk of the Sex Pistols, courtesy of resident lyricist/vocalist Shane MacGowan. That's right: this is Irish folk music that will grab you by the throat and crush it. Don't believe me? Imagine a perfectly symmetrical box. Then listen to "Waxie's Dargle." Is the box still there, or has it turn into a collapsed squiggle of lines? I admit for some the thick slurring of seeming vocables may be a bit much at first, but who would you rather recite you lyrical poetry: a drooling drunken Dionysus or a sober stoic Antisthenes? MacGowan's no whiskey tenor, and his occasional gruffness might repel some, but that's the price you pay for singing it honest. Other faves: "Transmetropolitan," "Streams Of Whiskey," "Greenland Whale Fisheries," etc. Oh, "Battle Of Brisbane, too. You can only fault yourself for not listening to this hereafter. B

Grand Funk Railroad - Caught In The Act (1975)

2009-01-06T06:00:00.003-05:00

They've been revered on the Simpsons, broke the Beatles attendance record at Shea Stadium and had the chutzpah to imply that they were America's band. Meanwhile, critics loathed the lilies out of them and their rapid ascension to superstardom deflated just as quickly. So why, pray tell? Well, because these guys -- musically -- are pretty bad. Like many bands, past and present, they had a dozen great songs scattered across amazingly awful albums; but where other bands fizzled, Grand Funk proved that it really is all in the timing. For one, they had a genuine raw energetic live act; secondly, they unabashedly positioned themselves as not-British Invasion; and furthermore, they wrote a fucking ton of songs and released a gazillion and one albums within a few short years. Like the pop bands of today, they realized that constant exposure, for good or for bad, will give you perhaps a few more miles out of the galllon. Mix it all up, swish it around in your mouth and pick only the choice morsels from your teeth, and what you get is this live gem, Caught In The Act.

Ever wonder why Homer says, “You guys don’t know Grand Funk? The wild shirtless lyrics of Mark Farner? The bone-rattling bass of Mel Schacher? The competent drumwork of Don Brewer?” Well, this is the album for you. I personally think Mel Schacher is the main attraction; he plays the bass like he's the lead guitarist. But otherwise, this album is all about heart. No one is ever going to put Mark Farner on a list of even the 100,000 greatest guitarists, real or fictional; and no one is going to practice their chops over Don Brewer's simplistic drum lines? But who cares? This is simplistic, soulful rock in perhaps its greatest setting: a live concert. How else could these guys do a better version of "Gimme Shelter" than the Stones? Its fucking meaty, that's why, whereas the original is just a touch stilted. So gather all ye round, my fellow rock 'n' rollers, play some "Footstompin' Music," eat yourself some "Black Licorice" and come on and ride the railroad, one more time. Oh, and do not, I repeat, do not defer to the studio equivalents. You will be sorely disappointed. A

Blue Öyster Cult - Secret Treaties (1974)

2008-12-30T06:00:00.000-05:00

Let's get some things out of the way first; some of this will be generally repetitive, but I feel the need to reassert myself. 1) I love Buck Dharma. Even in songs that I tepidly wave my meh scepter at, I totally dig his guitar-work. 2) BOC lyrics are fucking stupid. Like Pete Sinfield or Bernie Taupin, Sandy Pearlman is a poet (cough, cough) and poets love to relish; therefore 3) poor Eric Bloom, who was tasked with singing this poetry; it's in his sincerity that I find him annoying.

That said, let's begin. I've set the bar mighty low, haven't I? Fortunately, this is probably BOC's most cohesive album. When I say there aren't any bad songs, it's because there really aren't any. Despite stupid titles like "Career Of Evil," Subhuman" and "Dominance And Submission," the album is pretty solid. Sure, the harmonies and textures are still a bit odd, but that's BOC. What should really get you ramped up, though, is the album's final three tracks. The tasty opening riffage of "Harvester Of Eyes," the manic flailing (and abrupt ending) of "Flaming Telepaths" and the grandiloquence of "Astronomy" are the main reasons I come back for refills, but there's so much more to them than that. I wish they were streamlined into one long epic song, really, but I suppose sometimes it's more feasible to eat a slice rather than a whole pie. Oh well. I know people know their hits, but hits sometimes are just shining beacons on otherwise incredibly dross albums. With this one, you won't skip a track. Just taste the tastiness already, because Buck Dharma's gonna git you wit it. B

King Crimson - Three Of A Perfect Pair (1984)

2008-12-23T06:00:00.003-05:00

I thought perhaps of writing a review in consideration of the holidays, but since I'm not technically writing this anywhere near Christmas and I'm becoming a bit weary of this business, I'm going to simply say nasty clever things about a band I actually like. Or try to. The man and his kingdom of poo will undoubtedly put up a spirited defense in my absence and so I will parry in advance by saying: duh!

Here's a bit of curlicue logic, so follow me: Fripp never intended to reform KC and had instead formed a band to be called Discipline, which resulted instead in Fripp realizing he had merely reformed KC and they thereunto released the excellent Discipline as KC, circa 1981. Discipline was a dizzying amalgam of tautly conceived tunes featuring lovely arpeggios, delicious bass blurblings and the odd vocal croonings of Adrian Belew. Ever drank powdered Gatorade? When I was in Iraq I used to mix powdered Gatorade into a water bottle particularly because I became disgusted with plain water. Well, sometimes I would be in the unenviable position of drinking most of it and having additional water available, but no extra powder. So what I would do is pour a little bit of water from one bottle into the one I had, hoping to get more bang for my buck. Invariably, it tasted a little less sweet, but was still more bearable than plain water. Still having no access to powder, I would pour just a touch more water into the bottle. The result of my gambling? Colored water. Yuck.

So if you want to listen to Three Of A Perfect Pair, you will be drinking colored water -- a thoroughly diluted mutation of an original with barely any trace of what tasted so good about it in the first place. I obviously won't go more into why Discipline was so good, because that's another review, but be aware that, as my additional aside, Beat (1982), is the equivalent of slightly less sweet admixture before it became ruined. There. F

Ella Fitzgerald - Ella In Berlin: Mack The Knife (1960)

2008-12-16T06:00:00.001-05:00

I love scat. It tastes great in tea, looks good atop antique furniture and is extremely amusing when practicing pivot points from G Major to A minor. Most of all, it's best when it comes from the great Ella Fitzgerald, one of my favorite singers of any genre. And if there's anything Ella can do, it's scat. Mid-tempo scat, improvisational scat -- hell, Ella is like the Eddie Van Halen of scat; she can do it without looking like she's exerting any kind of effort, and that's simply unheard of for some people. Can you imagine if she tried "Eruption?"

So why so much ado about this live performance? Well, cutting aside the numerous applause tracks, this is a fairly solid collection of some of Ella's most known songs and includes one of the most memorable renditions of "Mack The Knife," in which Ella completely forgets the words and must improvise on the spot with some amusing filler, notwithstanding her subsequent spot-on imitation of 'ol Satchmo. I mean, wowzas. Also of particular interest is "How High The Moon" -- possibly featuring the best scat solo ever and with some additional improvised melodic renderings. This is not to say you should listen to it just for the scat; Ella's versions of "Just One Of Those Things" and "The Lady Is A Tramp" focus more on Ella's vocal interpretations than her ability to form wordless strings of syllables. And for that, I suggest you listen to them, especially if you happen to be one of those jazz snobs who feel scat has no place in real jazz. I mean, really, fuck you. B-

Queen - Sheer Heart Attack (1974)

2008-12-09T06:00:00.000-05:00

I think Jazz is probably Queen's best album, but I think this one more purely exemplifies the diversity of their total sound, and that's why I chose it instead. Perhaps I will review Jazz after this in my frenzied quest to supply you with sustenance in the months ahead while suffering from lack of hatter. Funny, you probably won't be reading this until well after it's been written. Therefore, I am speaking to myself presently, but to an unknown audience in the future who may clap or boo me long after I've fallen below the proscenium. How's that for metafiction, sweetums?

"Brighton Rock" is a fucking doozy. A helluva way to start an album: Freddie's in high register, Brian wants to kick your face in with his Red Special; and oh, I love those harmonic group choruses. "Killer Queen" is another great tune naturally from Paris, guaranteed to blow your mind. Brian's guitar is spot-on again -- I mean, but when isn't it? It's especially tasty here, though, in my humblest of humbles. Additionally, no Queen record can do without their signature pomp track -- you know, camp in not so much its highest form, but perhaps in its nascent state; and that song is "Bring Back That Leroy Brown." Vintage, baby! "Tenement Funster" is another great track; if memory serves, it's Brian who's doing some not-too-shabby vocal duties. Most of the album is otherwise pretty solid, although there are a few weaknesses -- "In The Lap Of The Gods," "She Makes Me (Stormtrooper In Stilettos)," "Dear Friends." Oh damn, I almost forgot "Stone Cold Crazy." Is not that proto-metal at its finest? Rubber tommy water guns and overlapping guitar solos like snakes coils. Lovely stuff. B+

Nirvana - In Utero (1993)

2008-12-02T06:00:00.001-05:00

Not that I buy into the whole Cobain mythical genius bullshit, but let's use this album as an example, or evidence if you will, of the emperor's brilliance. That being the case, not only does the emperor have no clothes, but his subjects are stoned out of their fucking minds. This -- a great album? By what measurement on whose yardstick? I find it hard to stomach that a mediocre garage rock album such as this is hoisted so high. Oh and I've no beef bouillon with garage rock, but I do with this fairly unremarkable tripe. Sure, sure, "Dumb" is a great song. I enjoy the living piss out of it. I love "Very Ape." I like "Heart-Shaped Box" and "Rape Me" and even "All Apologies," which I felt was overplayed like hell in 1993. But these are more or less average tunes at best, even what I would consider weak tunes for Nirvana. Great album? Hey Seattle! Over here! Yeah, over here! You fuckers had nothing better to do during the constant rain than to be proud of something. Yes, I know you have a lot to be sorry for -- Pearl Jam, the Mariners -- but come on! This is not that good! In all seriousness, thusly: Nevermind or Incesticide are better albums, period; Cobain is not a great guitarist, as many will tell you; and lastly, Grohl's Foo Fighters have beaten hindsight to the punch by clearly being the better band, and that's not really saying much. C

Muse - Absolution (2003)

2008-11-25T06:00:00.001-05:00

You've got to hand it to these fellows; for being a mere trio, they create a wallop of a sound, yet they verge so close to pure camp that it's a wonder they don't occasionally trip over it. The album's first song proper, "Apocalypse Please," sounds exactly how it would seem, a stomping piano melody amidst a swath of synth backdrop and wailing vocals. Don't ask me about the lyrics because I don't really pay too much attention to that sort of thing, although it seems as though there is a point to it all. But while I care little for lyrics, I certainly don't fudge on vocals. I like Matt Bellamy. Not the best I've heard, but he's damned good and surely worth his bundle of Ukrainian maps. "Sing For Absolution" is a fairly good showcase of some of his operatic versatility, among other things. Did I mention he's also the guitarist and pianist/keyboardist? That's not knocking the bassist or drummer, who play some meaty stuff and wouldn't sound the same without them, but Bellamy is obviously way into music. I mean, as you are hearing the awesomeness that is "Butterflies And Hurricanes," who the fuck expects a classical piano interlude in the middle of it? And if I've mentioned "piano" too much in this review for my fellow rocker fiends, let me flip a bitch and discuss "Stockholm Syndrome," which features possibly one of Muse's best guitar riffs. Fucking tastiness. What I especially love about this song is the seeming unity of the guitar solo to the main melody. Usually solos gargle and noodle and go for the jugular to impress, but this one, while not extravagant, is quite the nicety. What else? "Endlessly" and "Falling Away With You" are beautiful songs. I think "Blackout" and "Time Is Running Out" are songs from the band's earlier years I'm sad to see still around. But otherwise, excellent album. Play it loud. B+

Rolling Stones - Beggar's Banquet (1968)

2008-11-18T06:00:00.001-05:00

I realize that despite having some fondness for certain songs by these antichrists of Altamont, their albums are like filibusters designed to kill what precious few good ideas they do come up with. In this instance, "Sympathy For The Devil" and "Street Fightin' Man" are such examples. But it's funny that the first target of my ire, "No Expectations," does exactly by its title. Love boring bluesy piano ballads? Check it out. If bluesy harmonica-laden mid-tempo music is your thing, perhaps check out "Dear Doctor." Oh, you're a bluesy romper kind of person?; check out "Parachute Woman" -- it even has some little harmonica flourishes for good measure. "Jig-Saw Puzzle" couldn't be put together if the band helped me. This album is simply too boring to be a mess, and I really don't think there's much of a difference between it and Goat's Head Soup, another album I trashed, or any other Stones albums, for that matter. It seems to me, in my own revisionist musical history, that the more I listen to the Stones, the more they seem like the bastard son of bad blues music. If they are to be hoisted on some grand pedestal, it's still obviously low enough that I can shit on it, no matter how ornate it may appear. I mean, I still love Keef when he's brilliant, and I don't think anyone can do swagger like Mick can, but enough is enough. Also, for those easily disgusted/offended and with nothing more than sitcoms as the basis of their exposure to comedy, I suggest you not check out Master Cianan's hilarious and completely aristocratic review on this same album. Otherwise, for once, I may actually be seen as a kinder, gentler hatter. D+

The Who - Tommy (1969)

2008-11-11T06:00:00.003-05:00

Yeah, I know. The classic Who album. The pinball wizard. The great rock opera. Whatever. This album had been so thoroughly propped up on an untouchable musical throne that, after hearing it for the first time, I thought I was a court jester being played for a codpiece fool. Seriously, this isn't a great album -- it's not terrible, either, but that's not saying much, is it? "Overture" is fantastic. I remember being quite excited to hear such a strong beginning, and then remember spending the next half hour waiting for "Pinball Wizard" to come on. Sure, "Sparks" and "Christmas" are fairly decent numbers, and "Underture" at least tries to be as good as "Overture," but the pomp was obviously draining what power the album possessed and pissing on it. Bad rock opera, bad. After the glorious "Pinball Wizard", it's merely more of the same little narrative vignettes and poor musicianship. "Go To The Mirror!" is a great tune though, as is "Tommy, Can you Hear Me?" I really enjoy "I'm Free" and that's about it. This is simply a monstrous album, long-winded and most certainly diluted. My good friend Borges once remarked that writing cumbersome novels was relatively wasteful in expressing an idea when it could easily been done in a few concise pages. Perhaps Pete decided he really really wanted to build a portcullis when all he needed was a privacy fence. Ditto for Thomas Mann and his stupid magic mountain. C+

The Stooges - Fun House (1970)

2008-11-04T06:00:00.000-05:00

This album is raw. This album is primal. Like a catfish stripped of its whiskers and thrashing violently. Like a mad hatter dying of mercury poisoning and careening sideways from exhaustion. This is the steely without the dan and the grit without the grist -- a veritable low-fi fuzzbox of sounds and sinister sweets. "Down On The Street," the opening track, begins with a filthy guitar riff played by Mr. Ron Asheton, who is a certified fucking monster. It is said that imitation is nothing more than flattery and that it never supersedes an original. Often cited as proto-punk, if punk owes Asheton anything, it's an apology, because it never sounds as good as he does here. My favorite track is the excellent "T.V. Eye" where Asheton rips along to a nasty riff whilst the bass punches along and Iggy sneers. The erratic interweaving guitar solo is priceless as well. "1970" has some tasty sax, very much in the vein of Ornette Coleman, who I've dug into recently. Did I mention that the guitarist is completely awesome? Ok, just making sure; it's hard to type with tea in one hand and my brain in the other. "L.A. Blues," the last song, is complete random bursts of something or the other that somehow sounds coherent -- which I believe is a result of preconditioning from the album's previous six dizzying tracks (minus "Dirt" -- I care little for that one.) It's a shame that they wouldn't go on to bigger and better things after this, but it is what it is. Enjoy. B

The Free Spirits - Out Of Sight And Sound (1966)

2008-10-28T06:00:00.001-04:00

It is said that wikipedia is a somewhat accurate barometer of the relative ubiquity of a band, or writer, or anything, for that matter. Suffice to say that in reviewing the Free Spirits, I am doing so in favor of pulling them out just a touch from otherwise obfuscated obscurity. Originally recommended to me by Master Cianan, himself a treasure trove of rarified goodies, I was completely floored when I heard this album. Everyone by now realizes my obvious bias towards free-wheeling jazz and my sincere disgust in tired blues licks, so it will surprise no one that I like this album. The best way to describe it musically, I think, is that it's a fairly standard collection of pop songs from the 60s in the vein of the Fab Four gone horribly awry -- that is to say, they pissed all over them and added some snazzy brass backdrop. The first song, "Don't Look Now (But Your Head Is Turned Around) is an explosive rock-jazz fusion with the most insane saxophonist. No idea who he is, but he plays over and around everything like he's Robin Goodfellow; and yet when he's not doing so, he's fitting nicely in all the right places. In fact, I can't really think of a piece of music that isn't purely jazz where the saxophone seems more important to the music than any other instrument. Seriously. My faves: "Bad News Cat," "Cosmic Daddy Dancer," "Sunday Telephone" and the aforementioned "Don't Look Now." Oh, and the sitar on "I'm Gonna Be Free" is rad. Check this out if you can. B-

Robert Fripp & Andy Summers - I Advance Masked (1982)

2008-10-21T23:26:00.007-04:00

I would first like to mention to those who believe I make sense sometimes that I am soon to be on a very lengthy hiatus in which I may have little to no internet access and therefore am relinquishing control of my site to the perfunctory authority of automatic blogging. Having written numerous reviews in recent days to prepare for such a situation, I therefore apologize fore and aft, hither and thither, etc & etc, for not being able to, perhaps, join in our sometimes rabid discussions. Please know that I have ensured as much insanity for your future reading pleasure (every week, I promise) and hope that I can randomly visit and play the elder berry to your succulent snark. Bob and Cianan: please play nice. So there. Ahem.

The problem with having such disparate but equally excellent guitarists work together is that it's like taking two complete meals and combining them. Suppose that, as an example, Andy Summers is Yorkshire pudding and Robert Fripp is moussaka -- would you want to eat those things together? Well, I would, because in this instance, it's really good. Don't believe me? The title track is proof enough, where Andy does what he's known for doing, which is completely understated textural melodies; and Fripp, true to form, snakes around everything like a blind arpeggio monster. "New Marimba" features a similarity in tone to what Fripp was currently doing with KC and is positively sinister sounding; "Hardy Country," in contrast, sounds very lush and beautiful. In fact, much of the music -- all instrumental, if you couldn't have guessed -- is much more impressionistic and mood-oriented than posing as cohesive, recognizable song types. This is not to say this an album of egocentric noodling, but that the bridge-chorus format many are used to is not present here. That said, there is an interweaving of short little vignettes in-between the longer suites ("Under Bridges Of Silence," "Lakeland/Aquarelle," et al) and I personally find little to embrace in them. Since much of the good in the album comes from the meshing of Fripp and Summers, not fleshing out anything for more than a few minutes doesn't excite me as much. Additionally, given some context, it seems that Andy felt the need to exercise some ideas he couldn't while with the Police, and Fripp -- well, he does whatever the fuck he wants, so this is de rigeur for him. Music is music, after all. B-

Frank Zappa – Weasels Ripped My Flesh (1976)

2008-09-30T15:46:00.002-04:00

Avant my ass. I certainly espouse turning musical norms on their head and always prefer experimentalism to traditionalism, but not this time. Sometimes, even Zappa can go too far, which is what he does here in this jarring, musically lopsided Dada noodlefest, replete with abrupt vocal nonsense, pointless jazz motifs and a whole lot of headache.

You know how some music can be listened to in the background? This is not it. This demands not only your attention; it demands that you waste it. Like a cashier who can’t find the sticker on a tomato and insists the manager is on the way, even though you know they aren’t. Like to eat soufflé with a recipe? Listen to “Toads Of The Short Forest,” where Frank intones over the demented proceedings by telling you the time signatures. Want to pay your respects to Eric Dolphy, the jazz saxophonist? Well, Zappa did, by composing “The Eric Dolphy Memorial Barbecue” – a certified piece of near-noise. In the middle of “Prelude To The Afternoon Of A Sexually Aroused Gas Mask,” you can appreciate the gradual throng of moans into one cacophonous aural odor – er, stench; better yet, tune in to the last song, the title track, which sounds like it’s supposed to be one continuous ripping of flesh – which is to say, horrible dissonant static.

So what’s to like? The violin-laden “Directly From My Heart To You” (a Little Richard cover), “Oh No,” “Orange County Lumber Truck” and most importantly, “My Guitar Wants To Kill Your Mama,” which, if nothing else, has the greatest interjectory acoustic solo ever, not to mention it being one of Zappa’s best songs. I suggest listening to this with enough time to register to vote. Because this record makes me angry. Anger causes change. Change causes progress. Progress is like tea – it might be sugary or bitter or need a touch more milk, but if you stir it hard enough with your spoon, it might taste good. Well, sometimes. So switch this not-so-bitchen’ LP off your spin machine when you’re done and cast your vote of no confidence in November. Or today. Kiss my sharries. I love swirls. D+

Rainbow - Rising (1976)

2008-09-25T19:23:00.002-04:00

I'll admit the only reason I initially bothered with Rainbow was Ritchie Blackmore, who is my favorite guitarist-not-named Hendrix. This is partially because of my absolute loathing of all things Dio. I remember he had his own radio show a few years back and he seemed like a cool guy. Oh wait, that was Dee Snyder. Nevermind. Vocally, Dio is contrived dramatic blech, to be brief. So it's nothing short of amazing that I don't find him annoying. As soon as I heard "Tarot Woman" at my padre's insistence, I was hooked. I usually hate synth (underlying 80s hatred), but the opening line is supremely nifty. And let's face it: at six songs (34 minutes or so), there really isn't any room for these fellows to fuck or fluff up anything. The guitar is ridiculous (as you would expect), especially on "Light In The Black" and that tasty riff that opens "Starstruck." Hell, this is a guitar album, period. People will say it's Deep Purple-lite. I'm not so sure. While Purple is the infinitely better band, Rainbow is much less straightforward rock and more about sounding huge and including wizards and shit. Plus, Rainbow sounds a whole lot darker, perhaps intentionally, than Purple ever did. The real treat of the album is therefore "Stargazer." I never tire of that ominous plodding feel every time I hear it. Orchestras get me tickled, too, particularly when they're used correctly and not as some stupid parlor trick, substitute accompaniment or half-baked pretentious attempt at seriousness from an otherwise doldrum band (insert your candidate here __________ ). So what have you got to lose? Other than your house, job or increased taxes to support a perversely criminal bailout, give this album a spin. It's certainly the best and most consistent of Rainbow's output. Nothing came close to this again. Enjoy. A-

Yankees 1, Rays 7 - September 13, 2008

2008-09-13T19:12:00.003-04:00

I'm going to make an exception today by posting on an entirely non-musical subject: namely, my last game at Yankee Stadium. It's been a great run, but the listless, lifeless kind of play I saw today has me concerned for all of baseball, since the Yankees were the last magical thing about it. Derek Jeter had three hits, a couple of nifty defensive grabs and generally played as if it was the World Series. I could care less what people say about him; he's a class act and he loves this game. Many others on the team will go home like any other employee at a job, thankful for their salary but glad the day's over with. Sportswriters will recalculate their sabermetrics on Moose's effectiveness, bookies will cash out in favor of the Yanks not making the playoffs, Joe Schmoe will capitalize on his free agent status at season's end and where will I be, the loyal fan, who feels nothing but emptiness? In fact, I'm not going say anything else other than that pictures really do tell a thousand words. Despite erasing the scoreboard, this picture was taken of me after the game. Cheers to great memories. Cheers to my days as a Bleacher Creature. Cheers to those four World Series, and cheers to the joy that is true baseball -- a child's game, not a man's science.

Metallica - Death Magnetic (2008)

2008-09-12T20:26:00.007-04:00

Now that I've officially gotten Metallica's three abominations under my belt, let's turn to Death Magnetic, their newest release and definitely best since the Black Album. First, the bad: the album and songs are a bit formulaic; this is partly due to Metallica pillaging their past forays for inspiration, so in a way, they can't be blamed. Or can they? Part of the problem I had when listening was the occasional over-aping of past material. Sure, it may be fine for Metallica to loot Metallica, but when is enough enough? "The Day That Never Comes" is awful, not least for it sounding like "Unforgiven," then "Orion," then "One" -- all in the same song. In fact, why does it sound more like "Unforgiven III" than the actual song on the album, also named "Unforgiven III?" Both are awful and reminiscent more of their Load-era gobbidge than the old stuff they try to imitate. I also think "Suicide & Redemption" is a sludgy, boozy drunken mess; it's a ten minute instrumental, possibly intended in a similar vein as "Call Of Ktulu" or "Orion," but it's a long aimless wankfest. Speaking of wankfest, Kirk Hammett is all over the place. I have a feeling people will love the three solos he plays in almost every song, but most of them are caroused noodling, completely jarring to the music being played, and seemingly intentionally inserted for the sake of being able to be inserted -- that and some of them you can hear coming before they actually come. I have this cassette tape of me playing the guitar as an ambitious 13-year old musical prodigy (har har har!); on it, you can hear me shredding a million arpeggiated notes in a millisecond -- and it's complete crap. Thanks, Kirk. I now feel like I could've recorded a metal album and been like you.

That said, the good: some of the solos actually work quite well (the bad ones are just indelibly bad), as do the plenitude of riffs. James Hetfield used to eat riffs for breakfast; he returns to do just that here. In some instances, riffs change as quickly as they can be digested and the intent for most of the album seemed to be: faster faster faster. For that, I tip my hat to "That Was Just Your Life," "All Nightmare Long" and "My Apocalypse" (the requisite "Damage Inc. or "Metal Militia" or "Dyer's Eve" of the album). "End Of The Line" and "Broken, Beat And Scarred" are also pretty good. Hmm, what else? Robert Trujillo is pretty non-existent; a touch of bass here and there, but it's mostly the Hetfield show. It's a less-than-average album, for sure, but in light of recent history -- say the last however many dismal years -- it's a welcome comeback, even if I expect nothing better from them ever again, since it's painfully obvious they just don't have it anymore and if they weren't appropriating from themselves, they probably would've fared worse. The intent seems genuine and earnest, but the fact is, these guys aren't angry anymore, even if they tried to master the puppets again. C-

Metallica - St. Anger (2003)

2008-09-12T19:37:00.003-04:00

Today will be a twofer. First I will do an inevitable, completely unoriginal but personally necessary savaging of Metallica's St. Anger and then shift to their newest album, Death Magnetic, simply to contrast why they've sort of redeemed themselves and why they still suck. First things first.

St. Anger needs no explanation, really, for those familiar with it. It's possibly one of the worst albums ever, notwithstanding from whom and under what circumstances it came to be. Thankfully, as the new album will show, this album seems to have been their proverbial low point: whining, introspective (dare I say "emo") lyrics, Lars the Grouch banging his trash cans, weakly repetitive riffs in songs with no discernible melodies, themes, structure or anything resembling rational order. They tried to sound raw; they instead sounded raucous and unkempt. They tried to sound aggressive; they sounded like someone lit a bag of poop on their porch and ran. Long, unending and diffuse, this is the messiest, most awfully conceived, written or produced poseur of an album by any metal/rock/alternative band ever (except perhaps for Coldplay's two recent fetuses). Not owning it means one more slot on your CD rack, or the equivalent of roughly 70MB of free space on your hard drive, iPod, etc. I actually own it, but that's more because I'm a diseased OCD completionist. So hurrah to those of you who enjoy this kind of garbage. I certainly don't. And for those who seek to come to its defense -- shame on you; I won't even stoop to indulge you. F

The Doors - The Doors (1967)

2008-09-11T19:15:00.005-04:00

There are those that find Jim Morrison to be a flimsy poetaster, Robby Krieger an egregious six-stringed nightmare, Ray Manzarek a dawdling hunchback of a keyboardist and John Densmore a lifeless militaristic percussionist, but together they were The Doors, and together they were fantastic. This, their debut, is particular striking for its uniqueness as much for its variance in style, not to mention that it sounded nothing like the flower power summer of love kaleidoscope folk music then-currently being peddled. This is not to say it's a dark album -- in fact, I've heard music tailored to sound dark (minor keys, moodscapes, et al) and this album isn't so much dark as it is exploratory. (Run away, kitty cat.) So if you've been living under a tofu plant or you like safe, pleasant music -- this album isn't for you. But I'm sure it is because I don't think I've attracted too many pop fans here. If I have, I've scared them away -- the exception being Chuck, who still likes the Killers, despite my insistence that he please stop. In fact, most reading this probably love this album, sans one person I am quite aware of.

So who's with me in saying that the instrumental they criminally lop off for FM radio in "Light My Fire" is exquisitely awesome; or that "Alabama Song (Whiskey Bar)" is deliciously unsettling in a Brechtian sense; or that, despite your current or past penchants, you vote unanimously that if you were to do drugs, "The End" would be the song that you do them to? I love the drugged feel of "End Of The Night" nearly as much as I love the silliness of "Twentieth Century Fox." Oh, and "Crystal Ship" -- if everyone anyone has a second, please leave a comment if you don't like this song. I'm really curious -- really. I really love that song. Otherwise, maybe they really didn't break on through to the other side, but they did make a helluva great album. And even though I will most assuredly give all their albums (maybe except Morrison Hotel) the same grade, this one is the most deserving. A

The Prodigy - Experience (1992)

2008-09-01T23:05:00.005-04:00

This is certainly not an album I would normally endorse at first glance, but I'll do just that, simply because I love it and also because I would prefer to puncture any presuppositions anyone may have of me that I hate pop, country, or anything that isn't rock. (Actually, I loathe country, so pardon the retraction.) For those familiar with The Prodigy, you probably remember that controversial "Smack My Bitch Up" video, or maybe "Breathe" from the incessant play it used to receive on MTV -- when MTV used to play music videos. Fat Of The Land is still a pretty good album, as was its predecessor Music For The Jilted Generation, but Prodigy's best stuff begins with their first, this excellent gem from 1992. From the grandstand bit of piano exposition on "Wind It Up" to the dizzying breakbeats of "Music Reach 1/2/3/4" or the booming bass thumps from "Everybody In The Place (115 And Rising)," it's hard not to feel the jungle vibe, baby. Bells, whistles, chipmunk vocals, and even some notable samples -- "I am the god of hellfire, and I bring you fire" from Crazy World Of Arthur Brown's "Fire"-- the album is an eclectic and dense compendium of layered hooks and polyphonic electronic structures gone awry, all from the sprawling and prodigious brainwork of Liam Howlett, a classically trained pianist who makes his chops known more through composition than customary virtuoso playing. It's electronic, it's fascinatingly weird and it's devoid of guitars and a central singer. But if you like your tea difficult, which I do, these leaves simply originate from foreign lands but still taste quite good, especially when mixed with local cream. It'll take your brain to another dimension. Pay close attention. B+

Richard Ashcroft - Human Conditions (2002)

2008-09-01T21:41:00.007-04:00

After reading Chuck's almost entirely deserved beating of Richard Ashcroft's Keys To The World, and since I just recently reviewed the Verve -- a much better musical outfit than Ashcroft could and will ever be -- I'm offering up his 2002 stinker, definitely the worst of his solo output, for slaughter. Problem is, it stinks so bad I'd rather just let the bathroom air out for awhile and take a stroll outside to pretend to puff some cancer sticks. Here, read this while I'm gone. Richard Ashcroft does; you should, too.

1. Wash and condition your hair. Blow your hair dry with a round brush to remove wave. Use a ceramic flat iron to straighten naturally curly hair. 2. Section off the hair on the top of your head. Make a part at each of the temples, to the back of the head. Clip the hair on the top or your head together so that no stray hairs hang down. 3. Use a rat tail comb to back comb the hair around the border of the part. Rat the hair in the back of the head as well as the sides. 4. Spray the back combed hair with aerosol hairspray to give extra support hair extensions. 5. Use dark hair extensions for light hair, or light hair extensions for dark hair. Clip the extensions into sections of back combed hair. 6. Unclip the hair on the top of the hair. Smooth the hair down over the hair extensions. Divide the bangs into two sections. Back comb the under section of hair and spray it. Clip hair extensions to the bang area. 7. Smooth the top layer of bangs over the extension. Run your fingers through the hair to smooth it. Spray the entire hairdo with a quick shot of aerosol spray.

This album makes me feel massive indifference towards everything. Poverty. War. Salmonella. Elections. Rock star hair. Whatever. It's hard to feel good about anything for most of this half bummed-out acid trip, half-Sting pretense of an endeavor when there really isn't anything to care about. Even the world's ugliest dog got more loving than this speckled bit of rot. "Check The Meaning," as close to a song as you can probably assess one to be, is the first track and the only thing resembling human decency that I can imagine Ashcroft envisioned for us to enjoy. I like it sometimes. He probably loves this album. Everything else -- is just like that middle paragraph you may or may not have suffered all the way through. F

Mr. Bungle - Disco Volante (1995)

2008-08-27T22:30:00.004-04:00

Apparently I've ingested a tincture of Lethe because I swear I've already reviewed this, even though I am certain I haven't, which is to say I may have, but probably shan't, and you should just keep drinking your tea, because I've got no more sugar. Regardless, for those in the know, rewind for me please back to 1995, when augurs lacked erotic taint -- at least publicly -- and Kyuss, bless them lads, were still playing. Enter Mike Patton and Co. and their deranged musical madness straight from the toilets of the Archdiocese of Montevideo. Nothing short of what I affectionately would call "organized chaos," Disco Volante is not for the easily amused, nor for those looking for anything pleasantly auricular. Like a Protean shape-shifter thrashing in unexpected bondage, Bungle alternates between jazz, techno, funk, death metal -- to name just a few -- seamlessly in a matter of seconds, multiple times within songs and continuously for the course of the album, all the while with Patton at the wheel mangling his vocals through his effects boxes. It is simply nothing like you've ever heard before or since.

I mean, come on, what would you pay to see your highly diseased host of this aborted musical intestine flailing around his living room in clownish fashion to the strains of "Ma Meeshka Mow Skwoz?" I have made several performances throughout the years and -- unlike Metallica -- I've still got some oomph in these legs. Favorite tracks: the aforementioned "Skwoz," the Scooby snacks of "Carry Stress In The Jaw," the delicious "Desert Search For Techno Allah" and my favorite lyric of the album, from "Merry Go Bye Bye"-- "The deaths were faked, the laughs were cries / But resurrections are doing fine / You got me walking into suicide / And I'll be there right by your side / In reproduction at your merry go bye bye."

So have at it, bring a clean pair of underwear and remember, it's not how you shave the bunny, but how much gel you use. A-

The Verve - Forth (2008)

2008-08-25T18:20:00.006-04:00

I have my reservations about anyone, musician or not, who takes a long extended absence from anything, especially at a relative zenith in their craft, returns and immediately resumes chugging like nothing had ever happened. Ever shoot a firearm accurately? Learn a foreign language proficiently? Finally get sweep picking down? Now stop for about a decade and then resume where you left off for the fuck of it. This is more or less what the Verve did, except they really didn't quit music -- just each other. When I did this with guitar, I was duly impressed at how righteously horrible I was. The reason I say this is because hopefully you are following my thought process -- which is to say, if you've been reading in-between the lines, that I'm unconsciously hyping this album up for myself. Shall I be disappointed? Yes and no.

Yes, because a part of me wanted this album to be better than Urban Hymns. Every album they made got successively better -- why should this be an exception? No, because this is still a pretty good album, for a variety of reasons, none of them being mind-blowing, but still reasons nonetheless; and besides, these fellows sure seem damn happy doing it. The shortest song, an anthemic ballad called "Valium Skies," is 4:34; everything else clocks in well above five, six, seven and even eight minutes. Why, that is such horrid poo-poo nonsense! Who do they think they are making me listen for that long? Because the Verve have always been best when allowed to stretch; and within these songs, they do just that, peeling away an amalgam of sound layers in a loose, semi-jam fashion very akin to a live setting. I always felt like the Verve were the visual equivalent of playing with crayons: ignoring lines, scribbling oodles of non-linear color whilst hand-smearing their creations with cookie crumbs and without a care in the world.

Just a few quick remarks: "Sit And Wonder" is the opener and a better song couldn't have been picked to start the album. I think it's highly reminiscent of Northern Soul material, but still very good. "Love Is Noise" is an iffy track, partially because this is quite frankly a Richard Ashcroft solo album leftover; that synth is kind of aggravating and it feels like -- Chris Martin. Nuff said, for those who know me. "Noise Epic" has such a furiously good ending. "Rather Be" is neurotically addictive, and "Judas" is a damn beautiful song. All in all, a pretty good return to the music scene with a disc closer to Storm In Heaven than Urban Hymns, but regardless, welcome back boyos. B-

Radiohead - All Points West Music Festival, Liberty State Park - August 8, 2008

2008-08-06T23:34:00.011-04:00

After watching the end of Michael Franti & Spearhead, wracking my brain for solace from New Pornographers (and the brief rain), experiencing a mixed sort of repetitive soullessness from Underworld (which was good and bad), and hearing some Columbia U professor ramble on about how I should save Tibet for twenty minutes (which is not the venue for such a thing, in my humblest of humbles), the Only Band That Matters finally came on. Bogsmack and biffle to ye who would dispute otherwise.

The sound was absolutely flawless -- which is to say, no need for earplugs. I generally wear them to protect my ears, but I am also inherently opposed to them because they muffle the finer points of some music. Thank you, Radiohead, for taking care of that for me. Clear sky. Perfect weather. Glorious, pristine fucking sound. Statue of Liberty to the east. Manhattan to the north. And 25 songs! I feel selfish for still wanting more afterwards, but what would you do, Mssr. Montserrat?

I'm not going to labor through the playlist and insult your reading abilities, but I will say a few things. The completely electric version of "Jigsaw" was ridiculous; "Reckoner" sounds immensely better live than the studio version (which is nothing short of amazing, for those in the know); hearing "The Gloaming" live is pure fucking bonkers and sent tingling little impeticles straight through my fortified wazzle; "Paranoid Android" still resonates incredibly well, even after a decade of wear and tear; "You And Whose Army?" was poignant, painful and inspiring all at the same time. Thom's voice was simply tip-top; Jonny was an animal (especially on "Just") and it was great to finally see just how Phil plays that irregularly unsettling beat on "Videotape." And even know I know it's not, sometimes, even for a night, everything was in its right place. A+

And by the gods if I can go again tonight I will I will I will.

Setlist:

15 Step
There There
Morning Bell (Kid A version)
All I Need
Lucky
Nude
Weird Fishes/Arpeggi
The Gloaming
Optimistic
Videotape
Reckoner
Jigsaw Falling Into Place
You And Whose Army
Idioteque
Climbing Up The Walls
Bodysnatchers
How To Disappear Completely

Encore I:
House Of Cards
Pyramid Song
Paranoid Android
Dollars & Cents
Street Spirit

Encore II:
Cymbal Rush (from Eraser)
Just
Everything In Its Right Place

Pearl Jam - No Code (1996)

2008-07-21T22:21:00.007-04:00

No más is more like it. No rhyme, no reason, no grunge. Fresh off the heels off its album de la decadence, Vitalogy (the last decent PJ album, in my opinion), our Seattle über-friends here decided that: no, they would not break up because (a) their singer shot himself in the face (Nirvana); (b) they simply didn't want to do it anymore (Soundgarden); or (c) their singer was a fucking junkie (AIC); and instead opted to (d) keep going, even though they were no longer relevant under the watchful eyes of "De Civitate Dei" and had sorely squandered what little originality they had by looting and pillaging from themselves. Понимаешь?

So, let's review it, shall we? Do you like childish repetition "Sometimes?" or find yourself questioning "Who You Are," or simply prefer to "Smile" and show off your glistening little zoobies? Or perhaps, you would rather strum a guitar so slowly that it always seem like you're in the "Present Tense" while telling everyone about "Mankind?" Oh, and when you sing "I'll be playing with my magazine / Using up my listerine / Like Ovaltine" -- I actually want to throw myself in the fucking ocean and drown to escape such egregious lyrical nonsense -- and I'm actually only a hop, skip and a jump away. "In My Tree" is perhaps the only great song (the bass and drums clinch it), while "Hail Hail" and "Red Mosquito" are pretty decent as well. "Lukin'" is short, in a funny kind of way; it doesn't go on long enough for me to hate it, so I sort of dig it otherwise. The rest is fucking hogwash. Total musical excreta. A reason to read How to Kill Yourself the Hemingway. Oh, oh, oh, I got a better one! Ever wonder why Sylvia Plath and Assia Wevill killed themselves by sticking their heads in the oven? Common belief says it was Ted Hughes and his incorrigible demands; but it was Pearl Jam. Really. D+

Shadows Fall - The War Within (2004)

2008-07-20T22:22:00.004-04:00

I kinda sorta maybe like these guys -- my most precise opening yet, eh? The Art Of Balance is a much better album methinks, but my favorite two songs are on this one. Here, I must admit, I am honestly disappointed with almost everything but the album's bookends. "Enlightened By The Cold" leaves me positively confused -- was that Joey Belladona during the chorus? Or just an earnest impression? Oh, wait, there it is in "Ghost Of Past Failures" again. Ok, if this is a long-lost Anthrax album, it's much too fucking slow. "Inspiration On Demand" doesn't make me feel any better; is Brian Fair trying to sing? Switching from his throaty growls to his (cough cough) mellifluous bird chirps when he wants to whine reminds me of ... emo -- (пиво пожалуйста!) -- which is to say: plaintive shit smears, poorly applied lip gloss, tortellini haircuts -- in short, glam rock poseurs, but without panache.

All isn't a complete loss, though. The album's bookends, for me, are where I become a repeat customer. The opening track, "The Light That Blinds"," is a nice distillation of nasty thrash and beautiful melodicism -- if this song could be replicated musically for the entirety of an album -- any album -- these guys could be the new kings of metal. Oh, and this brief solo is fucking sweet.

"Those Who Cannot Speak" is an amazing end to an otherwise forgettable album; I simply love the opening acoustic passages and how the riffs come pounding down. "The Power Of I And I," "Eternity Is Within" and "Stillness" are also decent heavy numbers. All in all, it's a decent thrash album that you will enjoy if you listen to it, but won't be able to recall anything afterwards (except the bookends), and will occasionally skip a few because you hate whiny suckass bitches. C-

The Beatles - Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band (1967)

2008-07-17T21:10:00.005-04:00

I would like to address, perhaps, an unfounded perception everyone may have of me; namely, that I thoroughly despise the Beatles. This is partially true, but not entirely because of their music. While I do think Rubber Soul is utterly abominable (read here), I have more of a problem with how they have been treated (musical gods) than with how they should have been treated (brave pioneers). In this sense, much of the ire I have for them I utilize in the same vicious fashion as I do with hacks such as Clapton who, by-the-by, when unveiled beyond his guitar god hype, had considerably less to offer than the Beatles. These guys have, without argument, some deliciously good tunes; but for me, these tunes are sandwiched between mountains of awful offal. Which is why they seem to get it so right on Sgt. Pepper's.

From the joyful psychedelia of "Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds" to the carnivalesque "Being For The Benefit Of Mr. Kite," this is definitely my favorite Beatles album. I like the White Album as well, but it's a bit messier. Part of the reason for this is because of the tautness and remarkable fluidity this album possesses -- I tip my hat to you, George Martin. Even for the three songs I don't care for, the vaudeville "When I'm Sixty Four," the totally-doesn't-belong-on-this-album "Within You Without You" and the completely fucking stupid "Fixing A Hole," the album still flows quite nicely. (Ok, I am a total album purist, but whatever.) I also hate Ringo Starr and think he's fucking musical waste, but "With A Little Help From My Friends" is a great song, and if that's not proof enough why this album has to be good, I don't know what to tell you. Lastly, for those who missed my "preliminary" Beatles grades for all of their albums I own, click here and scroll down some. Oh, and "A Day In The Life" rules. B+

The Zombies - Odessey And Oracle (1968)

2008-07-14T20:00:00.006-04:00

I didn't plan on reviewing anything today, but after reading comments here I basically had to. That and I've been known to be unforgiving of most things 'pop', and I'd like to show that I am not entirely hateful. This is not to say that Odessey And Oracle is pop; it's just that there are enough catchy hooks and melodies on here to put some pop confectioneers to shame. Otherwise, it is, without a doubt, one of the greatest records of the 60s (better than any Beatles album, oh yes). If you're like me and would make love to a Mellotron, this album is for you. Prefer the harpsichord? Organ? Piano? Uh-huh. In fact, if you like jazz, Rod Argent is your man.

The album itself is nice admixture of baroque arrangements, lush harmonies and always seems to be pushing for a fruition that never seems to be realized. "Care Of Cell 44" never sounds bleak nor entirely hopeful, despite the obvious location of the narrator. For those who have read Faulkner, "A Rose For Emily" is musically jarring due to the concurrent joy and melancholy, especially the last few bars. Whenever I listen to the album, in fact, I always feel like I'm watching the last few moments of a flower before it begins decaying. It's a weird feeling of rebirth, loss and nostalgia. "Hung Up On A Dream" is probably the best example of this.

Otherwise, if this one happened to evade your ears, and you happen to have a little nostalgia, maybe this one was supposed to be for you. A-

Two Minutes Hate

2008-07-12T23:11:00.006-04:00

For those unaware of what this is, please read here briefly for an explanation.

Let the hate begin:

The Cure Duran Duran Culture Club Tears For Fears Eurythmics Reo Speedwagon Michael Bolton The Killers R.E.M (Retarded Emo Band); and for you Chuck, Def Leppard's Hysteria.

The Creation - We Are Paintermen (1967)

2008-07-12T22:50:00.006-04:00

§ Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury, I present to you Exhibit A, heretofore known as We Are Paintermen, an album by the Creation. I'm certain that many of the local residents have heard, or at least heard of, Mr. James Page's use of a violin bow during live musical venues, but is everyone aware how Mr. Page came to pilfer and popularize the idea? As I've stated elsewhere, Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury, a one Edwin "Eddie" Phillips, guitarist of the Creation, was the true originator; and unlike Mr. Page, who merely caroused the bow like a sordid novelty and superficially impressed audiences with it, Phillips incorporated the violin into the actual musical melange.

§ Therefore, I submit to the Jury that the Creation should be listened to, without reservation or contempt; and that, under visible Oath by the attesting Witness who, by order of Judge Hatter, must establish forthwith a medley of dissimilar things with which to expediently pluck the measures to accede control from the preexisting provenance, the aforementioned Jury should note otherwise with due exception any irregularities and ask for an addendum no later than three (3) consecutive days upon final writ of said request, whichever is less than the preceding day's adjournment but not later than midday teatime of any particular day (the Judge is scrupulous).

§ That aside, the Witness also attests to the fact that "Cool Jerk", despite being originally performed by the Capitols, is a remarkably better version. Otherwise, "Nightmares," "Painter Man" and "Making Time" contain considerably intense and vigorous usage of the violin bow on guitar; and a certain "Biff Bang Pow" piece is sure to raise some ear lobes. Public complaints can be addressed using the form below. B+

The Jimi Hendrix Experience - Electric Ladyland (1968)

2008-07-07T21:32:00.005-04:00

I remember very distinctly standing in the middle of the road of just about nowhere in complete darkness in some desertous region of Iraq on our way to Baghdad with my paranoid eyes hidden behind my Wiley X's and my weapon at-the-ready waiting for some potential human snuffing when, out of some perverse defensive mechanism, "1983...(A Merman I Should Turn To Be)" began playing with extreme prejudice in my head.

Nothing happened otherwise, and we continued on, but I'd figured I'd let you know.

Non-musical matters aside, this is an amazing album. The fractured majesty in "1983" continues to remain indelibly etched in my sonic consciousness. But one of the real strengths of this album is its musical flow. What I love is how it just ramps up on you -- this is not to say that the first track "...And The Gods Made Love" is weak, it's just that by the time Hendrix begins ripping through "Come On (Let The Good Times Roll)," if you haven't already fastened your seat-belt, you're fucking screwed. There is simply no room for whatever is otherwise. When Hendrix sings about chopping down the mountain with the edge of his hand, I believe him. The guitar swaggering is monumental, the psychedelic grooves flail at full tilt, the feedback shapeshifts like an embryo in chaos. Oh, I'm beside myself. Surely, if you aren't a Hendrix fan, or could care less for this album in particular, you can't possibly love the electric guitar -- which in my opinion remains the greatest testament of its usage by a man who played it better than anyone before or since. A

Aerosmith - Aerosmith (1973)

2008-07-06T02:32:00.004-04:00

What astounds me is that Aerosmith could create such a stale album and yet somehow cull "Dream On" from the same polluted pool of mediocrity. Granted, they would go on to become one of America's greatest pioneering bands of that lifeless rock sound that currently permeates FM radio and is championed by fucking idiots. Yes, and if you take offense to that, you're a fucking idiot. Most likely you know every Zeppelin, Eagles and Eric Clapton song that is played on the radio by heart -- the last hobo of which your idolatry should have you immediately extracted from the gene pool -- yet you couldn't distinguish a barre chord from the fucking Batmobile and you incessantly violate human decency by asking me to keep playing "Stairway" as if my ear was a fucking coin slot. Either that, or you'll try to convince me that Limp Bizkit really did write "Behind Blue Eyes." So here's to you assholes who help to engender the continued mediocrity in music by not delving into the bands that matter, by being spoon-fed rock pabulum via whatever the fuck you know how to turn on and by being altogether boring company at barbecues. Here's to your glorious Aerosmith, a bluesy wankfest of an album honed to perfection by Mssr. Joseph Perry, elder statesmen of the ho-hum. Here's to Steven Tyler, who showed the world that it could handle more than one big-lipped cock-rocking sex symbol. And here's to "One Way Street," a shit riff built on a tired blues scale; to "Make It" for not sustaining my attention for more than thirty seconds; to "Somebody" and "Write Me" and all those other songs not named "Dream On" and "Mama Kin" that sound exactly the same. 1973, if you do your research, was positively screaming with brilliant albums. How this one stuck around is beyond me. A D is being really nice, but "Dream On" truly is wonderful.

Muse - Black Holes & Revelations (2006)

2008-07-05T19:17:00.003-04:00

This album has been in my ears less than a week and I'm utterly perplexed at how it's completely evaded my musical radar. That said, I've been listening to all four of their albums all week as a result. I would also like to add that the Radiohead-lite tag this band has been given is duly and wholeheartedly undeserved. Coldplay is a shameless wanking pop juggernaut capable of pilfering entire musical passages from greater bands and I find it hard to believe this trio is accused of the same. The only similarities between Muse and Radiohead, in my humblest of humbles, are that 1) they create complex music 2) feature a singer who predominately uses falsetto and 3) rose above the homogenized alt-rock of the 90s and progressed musically -- hence, a genre placement of prog seems more appropriate rather than Radioheadesque. Radiohead had Pablo Honey; Muse had Showbiz -- both promising, but equally derivative, equally vacuous mirrorings of the musical period they were borne out of. That any band can categorically evade influence is fucking nonsense -- music would not continue to evolve if that were the case.

That said, Black Holes & Revelations is an astonishing album, for its peculiarly measured bombast and the risks it continually takes to achieve such intensity. Will you hear Queen? Absolutely. But that doesn't detract from the quality of the music. "Take A Bow" begins in a steady plod with eerie vocal intonations and transforms into skittish electronica. "Map Of The Problematique" is probably my favorite tune so far, with its menacing opening synth, plaintive chorus and inevitable march towards ultimate despair -- what's not to be happy about? I'm out of tea at the moment, but you can have a slice of Gouda cheese if you like. Why Gouda? Because Chedda ain't betta', boyo. "Assassin," while only clocking at 3 and a 1/3, changes riffs so many times you'd wonder if they were listening to old Metallica records -- you know, when Metallica actually cared? "Knights Of Cydonia" is a kind of parodic bloated epic that ends the album with a triumphant bang. "Starlight" is as pop as these fellows ever get on this one and it's just a beautiful song, so fuck off otherwise. This album is so refreshing I'm beside myself. I'm behind the times in noticing them, but whatever. B+

The Police - Reggatta De Blanc (1979)

2008-07-05T15:28:00.004-04:00

Despite my frequent protestations concerning reggae's lack of discernible musical oomph in general, I am quite the sucker for it on Reggatta De Blanc, my favorite Police album. Master Cianan, also a reggae-hater, will become roiled if I even describe this album as being reggae-tinged, but the music speaks for itself; and besides, the album is called "White Reggae." Kiss my sharries, dude.

"Message In A Bottle" is possibly the Police's best-known song, but it holds a special little place in my head as evidenced by the multiple indents on my steering wheel (thanks Stew!) Anyone who thinks that drums should be relegated to the background obviously haven't heard hi-hat syncopation at its finest; that and Andy's repetitive guitar sequence in this song is mesmerizing at worst. The other well-known song, "Walking On The Moon" is so fucking good I wish it would materialize in tangible form so I can eat it. And I'm always hungry.

Otherwise, if you're still reading, it's because you're still interested. Populism is unfortunately a hacking bitch who never stays off my heels and I've got to appease those who only listen to FM radio and buy compilation albums. Actually, that's a lie; I just wanted to see if you were paying attention -- it's been awhile since I've posted. "Reggatta De Blanc," for those real Police fans out there or those who want to indulge mightily, is a loose rocking instrumental with an unforgettable groove; I dig the shit out of this one, especially since it follows "Message." Does anyone think Andy's guitar lines on "Bring On The Night" are amazingly beautiful? I love how his presence is quietly understated and yet he completely controls the song. "On Any Other Day" is a fun little number that sounds like a leftover from Music Madness From The Kinetic Kid that Sting somehow permitted to be on the album -- you know, before they fucking imploded with internal strife and split. All in all, this one is a doozy of a listen. If you love the Police, this may top your list as well. A

Coldplay - Viva La Vida Or Death And All His Friends (2008)

2008-06-15T11:14:00.007-04:00

Blinded by the need for universality, yet stung by the criticisms leveled at them as being unserious, Coldplay took their wannabe U2 rock to another level by enlisting sonic nutjob Brian Eno to give them musical depth. Problem is, Brian Eno is a mixed bag of pomegranate seeds, and he either inspires ambient genuflection or utter ennui. Add a Delacroix painting, a few hispanic-tinged ditties and a preponderance of Eno's insipid mood music and this record makes for an altogether fabulously fucked up listen -- perfect for an elevator. I thought X&Y was one of the most terrible things to be unleashed upon the human race, as I wrote here; but this is beyond words. Chris Martin, the King of Bland, sings less frequently, which means the band actually plays more -- and competent musicians Coldplay never were.

What I think is especially funny are the early reviews which cite this album's dense musical layers. Really? So that derivative Pet Sounds homage during "Viva La Vida" is supposed to be richly dense? I'm horrified at the presupposition that adding a multitude of sounds somehow makes music better. In fact, I would argue in Coldplay's case, that the layered sounds are there to hide their pedestrian musicianship -- particularly those strings. Adding strings for effect is a novel and quite fashionable way nowadays to offer a false illusion of depth. Bravo, Brian. Bravo, Coldplay. That mouthy English baritone sounds perfect over that Latin backbeat.

Ok, the songs (some of them anyway -- different as they seem, they still sound the same.) Here's a revelation: start with "Lovers In Japan" and listen to the first minute. Hear anything? I did. It was called "Where The Streets Have No Name." Maybe it was unconscious; I could care less. But Chris really just needs to kill himself already, because I think people prefer Bono. "42" sounds like a bad ELO practice session. Weary and wanderlust and looking for a trite ballad? "Lost." Not going to listen to the album except for the singles? "Viva La Vida" is an exceptionally marvelous product of pop confectioneering, replete with insistent hooks, anthemic choruses and an iPod video full of dazzling histrionics -- in short, shit.

I apologize for not getting out my Police review; I try not to stack the hate consecutively, but too many people are going to love this for the wrong reasons, and now I have my peace. F

Two Minutes Hate

2008-06-01T21:10:00.004-04:00

I've noticed that I either review albums I enjoy (to varying degrees), albums I sort of like and albums I doggedly abhor (and own) -- but I've left no room for albums I despise so much that I actually refuse to own them in any capacity. Therefore, every once in a blue I'm going to inject a new installment into Mad Hatter Music culled directly from my Big Brother mental portfolio: the Two Minutes Hate. In two minutes, I'm going to think and type as many dreadful-not-even-worth-a-listen albums or songs that I can possible think of to save you, Dear Reader, from future suffering. After all, I already had to suffer incredible aural tortures. And no, I'm not Christ. I'm just as mad as a hatter and sometimes I prefer my green slippers over my purple ones, okay? So much ado without further of it, here is the Two Minutes Hate.

My Chemical Romance - The Black Parade
Styx - Kilroy Was Here
Linkin Park - Hybrid Theory
Journey - Raised On Radio
That horrible Green Day/U2 collaboration

The Rolling Stones - Goat's Head Soup (1973)

2008-05-31T14:26:00.005-04:00

I've trashed the Beatles -- unapologetically -- for the furiously awful offal that is Rubber Soul and have decided I am musically obligated to administer like if not equal treatment to the Stones as well -- because, well, Goat's Head Soup very well deserves it. See, a good portion of what we perceive in life consists of the dialectic interplay between a thesis and antithesis. For me, most examples of this proffered nonsense are confused readily with dichotomies, pure opposites, polarities, etc. -- Good and Evil, Being and Nothingness (any Sartre fans?); and, most importantly for this review, Beatles and Stones. Except, in terms of fulfilling their end of the deal, the Beatles and Stones, for all intents and purposes, are poor purveyors of such musical foodstuffs and therefore I tend to treat them in terms of Hegelian aufhebung, or sublation -- which is to say, if you follow such philosophy, I offer The Who as a better alternative instead. Follow me? If not, it's all good; you aren't coming here for the coffee. Or are you?

Ok, the album. It's almost purely fucking awful. Aside from the splendid "Doo Doo Doo Doo Doo (Heartbreaker) and its tasty riff, I can't wrap myself around this one. For all the acclaim "Angie" receives, I don't get it -- it's decent; nothing very spectacular, though. I certainly don't crave listening to it. "Dancing With Mr. D" is awful. "100 Years Ago" is awful. "Coming Down Again" is awful. And these begin the album. "Can You Hear The Music?" No. I can't. This album feels similar in feeling for me with Houses Of The Holy, which I also trashed -- and it's where we hear faint glimmers of former glory but its mostly torpor and excess that are present all that is left is a blurrily traced outline of what existed formerly. This album sucks. D

Frank Zappa - Hot Rats (1969)

2008-05-31T13:18:00.001-04:00

This is one of my favorite Zappa albums -- which is possibly more of a testament to my jazz leanings than anything else -- but I really never tire of this one. Ever. What's to tire of? "Peaches En Regalia" never gets old -- no matter how many times I play it (that interjectory acoustic noodling always makes me happy.) It's one of Zappa's most inventive songs -- or at least, an excellent showcase of his dazzling compositional variety; and besides, it strikes just enough of a silly tone to distinguish him from the Mahavishnu, for example. (That and I prefer Zappa over McLaughlin anyway.) "Willie The Pimp" (a blues-drenched jam featuring the aural gruffings of Captain Beefheart and some tasty violin) "The Gumbo Variation" (a crazed sax/guitar noodlefest) and "Son Of Mr. Green Genes" are the three longest pieces of the record. Besides "Peaches," these represent, I think, a sort of loose musical centerpiece for the album. "Little Umbrellas" is okay -- not really amazing. "It Must Be A Camel" is fairly blah for me; once "Gumbo" ends, I usually forget this one. Other than that, "Peaches" and the three aforementioned longer jazz pieces will undoubtedly keep you occupied for most of the 47 or so minutes of this fantastic record. Oh, and besides Beefheart's appearance, this all instrumental. B+

Stormtroopers Of Death - Speak English Or Die (1985)

2008-05-25T23:52:00.003-04:00

I apologize beforehand for those who might expect some kind of rampant racist rant or endorsement of the obvious lyrical content of this album, since everybody knows that I'm likely to say anything. I've never been one to pay too close attention to lyrics and have always focused more on the music instead, although I will briefly state that I do believe you should learn the native tongue of whatever country you wish to live in and respect their laws and culture. I'm not fond at all of the Mexican flag being hoisted above the American one in California schools, but I don't think blind hatred is the answer. Not that these fellows intended to hate; I think they just felt like rattling everyone for fun.

Controversy aside, this is an insanely good thrash album, sprinkled with some fairly amusing odes to milk, ballads to Jimi Hendrix and other stupid topics that only concern those among us who care either very little for such things or never really bother to think of them at all yet find them superficially profound. Comprised of members from Nuclear Assault and Anthrax (fans will recognize some of these songs from Attack Of The Killer B's), the band indulges in an all-out speedfest of sorts, scorching through 20-odd songs in less than a half hour and never letting up. The riffs are aplenty, the attitude is brash and this is most certainly for any metal fan worth his can of thrashing beans. Not that silly sludge metal. Or doom metal. Or whatever sub-genres they have nowadays; I can't keep track. For me, it's either fast or slow, and I prefer fast. Ya gotta love it. Top tracks: "Chromatic Death," "Milk," "Freddy Krueger," Sargent D & The S.O.D." and "Pussy Whipped." And "Fist Banging Mania" and "Kill Yourself" and you get the point. B+

Lenny Kravitz - It Is Time For A Love Revolution (2008)

2008-05-23T15:45:00.007-04:00

Lenny Kravitz is an interesting musician: despite the stabbings he's received throughout the years as being a retro-rock connoisseur incapable of anything original, he's still around. This is partly because, well, his musical template is classic rock and funk; and therefore if he sounds remotely close -- even sometimes -- to the wonderful period during the 70s he seamlessly emulates, he's placed himself above the moribund music we already suffer through. But that's the rub: he's good enough to stick around but not enough to be accepted; like the White Stripes, he reminds you of the joys of the original without entirely sounding like them, but take away this musical crutch, and he can't even break his fall with his arms. We admire him (for his good taste in past music), yet we revile him for doing nothing more than repeating it. Interestingly enough, he does have his own guitar tone; there is a definite strangeness in being able to know the difference between a Zeppelin-like riff played by no one in particular and a Zeppelin-like riff that is played by Lenny Kravitz. He's made an art form of sounding like himself sounding like others -- that's why he's still around, and why shite bands like Blink 1-82, Creed, et al, are not.

Okay, the album: this is one of many albums that I would classify as being of the 'taking-a-shit' variety, which is to say, it takes a shit roughly halfway through, transforming into a smatter of coagulated fester smitten in a public toilet bowl, never quite clean because of constant use. The lyrics are shallow, the music is blah and it's pretty awful. The first half, however, is pure indulgence. Like what I've said of Blur, Lenny wears his influences on his sleeve: Zeppelin, Grand Funk, Sly Stone, the Rolling Stones, Prince, etc. It's highly entertaining stuff, makes you bob your head up and down to his nifty rhythms and causes you to smile that someone still manages to play guitar solos. But don't mix this up with your old Floyd records. It's just a re-creation tie-dye tapestry, not the real thing. C-

Guns N' Roses - Appetite For Destruction (1987)

2008-05-15T22:57:00.005-04:00

When I first heard this album, I was arguably at a point in my life where I could not consistently produce coherent, rational thoughts -- after all, I was eight! -- but the fact remains that this was, indeed, my first taste of rock 'n' roll. The above artwork is somehow a preserved relic from my stubborn little days as a child artiste. I'm not sure why I still have it, but it's kind of interesting. Even more interesting, in retrospect, is why my parents let me listen to this, of all albums. I suppose this accounts for my omnipresent devilish grin in all matters unholy and my sincere lack of decorum in anything regarding social order.

Ok, so the album -- nostalgic waffle aside -- is exceptionally good, despite the soon-to-be ridicule I already anticipate receiving from two otherwise splifficated musical fiends. This is where Slash the guitar god makes his first entrance and more notably, where GNR totally snorts rock and roll from off a table and trashes your living room. But enough of its historical import -- this album rocks. You know when an album starts with a doozy such as "Welcome To The Jungle" that awesomeness is in store for your ears. Hell, that's all you need to hear, I think, with its brazen taunts and indomitable menace -- how could this not be the future of rock? And who said rock was dead? Ok, this was 1987, the year of the mush, the long scuttlebutt and dreck accumulated from an otherwise useless and musically soulless decade (Fuck you Depeche Mode! Fuck you Tears For Fears!). Just as well, this is a mite better than the homogenized rock we have posing as the real thing today, where classic rock rip-offs like The White Stripes are actually refreshing.

Sidetracked again. "Nightrain" is delicious. "You're Crazy" is fucking crazy. "Sweet Child O' Mine" is positively fucking sick. If Slash's guitar tone hadn't been burned into your consciousness by this track, it surely is now. Super fucking tasty. "Paradise City" -- OMFG! These guys never did anything like this again, so cherish it. Granted, I dig some of the stuff from Lies; but nothing was ever as brutal, bombastic, fresh and irreverent as this. Those who believe that this album contains weak riffs, I think, are misguided, as they may be mistaking the Use Your Illusion I and II monstrosities instead. A

The Beach Boys - Pet Sounds (1966)

2008-05-04T18:59:00.003-04:00

For those familiar with my petulant fumings over the paltry relics of a musical era long past, you should know that I usually do not bestow heaps of pointless praise on albums that are otherwise made to have us fawn and froth over. Greatest album ever made? Hardly. The fact that Rubber Soul -- itself a horrible musical truncheon smashed against my face -- begat this middling morass of musical muck utterly astounds me. Granted, I do like some of it -- but the production, the "influence", the cockamamy of bells and whistle melodies with or without harpsichord is of no consequence to me. I am undeterred by any particular zeitgeist -- in truth, not having been born even remotely close to this album only strengthens the fact that I can't get nostalgic with it. Did this sounds fresh and exciting, then? Most likely. But I don't listen to an album because of its importance, or its value, or the fact that it conjures up some pleasant memory -- I listen to it because I like it; and besides "Wouldn't It Be Nice," "God Only Knows," Sloop John B" and "Here Today," this album is fucking gobbidge. Just because the Mesopotamians invented the wheel doesn't make them the greatest civilization (especially now that we've made a ruin of it). D+

Gnarls Barkley - The Odd Couple (2008)

2008-04-18T22:19:00.008-04:00

Gnarls Barkley is an interesting kind of anomaly, methinks. Their hit single, "Crazy" made them the topic of household chatter overnight, and yet, they didn't become one-hit wonders like everything else does nowadays. In fact, their debut album, between singer Cee-Lo and multi-everything mofo Danger Mouse, was actually pretty solid. I would use the word inventive, but I think I really mean they had more ingenuity than the creation of something truly inventive, simply because they're a kind of wild hybrid of older and newer musical styles; that and Cee-Lo has quite a distinct voice.

So what do these guys do for a second album? They switch it up, naturally. For one, since I am an album purist -- despite this fractured age we live in -- I listen to every album as both an album and as a collection of songs with individual merits. Therefore, let me speak of flow. Great albums have it; lesser ones as well. The Odd Couple does not have it; in fact, the upstart start-stoppage is pretty jarring and only highlights that this is a collection of songs, not a cohesion of musical ideas, weird or traditional. That's my biggest complaint.

I really love "Going On," (especially how it simply slows down to a descenting chant) "Blind Mary" and "Run (I'm A Natural Disaster)." In fact, the cheery upbeat tempo and hearing -- "Run children; run for your life; run away" -- is supremely amusing. I'm the Mad Hatter for good reason, you know? Personally, I prefer to eat children before they run away. In this sense, I'm the Big Bad Wolf. I'll huff and I'll puff and "A Little Better", "Who's Gonna Save My Soul," "A Charity Case" and "Surprise" are good tunes as well. Despite no "Crazy" equivalent, expect to hear a mixture of organ, vintage crackling and soul train camaraderie going on here with Master Cee-Lo at the helm. Like the last album, I just don't have a taste for it all. B-

Kaki King - 9:30 Club - April 12th, 2008

2008-04-13T12:46:00.009-04:00

To those obnoxious people who came fashionably late, decided to stand right in front of me on the side balcony and obviously couldn't give a whit for Kaki King, go fuck yourself; I was inordinately happy to find a better spot right in front of you shortly afterwards so I could see Kaki's wicked fucking fingers go to work. Perhaps you are why DC is the worst fucking city in the world. Otherwise, this is very simple: Kaki was not the main feature; therefore, she was sandwiched between some forgettably loud band and the featured act Nada Surf, who apparently came out with a hit song at some point many years ago. Whatever. She was fucking brilliant. In a kind of interesting way, short of a few people who recognized and cheered her when she came out, she struck most methinks as a roadie tuning the real Kaki's guitar, or some reluctant house announcer.

Then, "Bone Chaos In The Castle." I don't think anyone expected to see, let alone hear, what this modern day guitar god was unleashing upon us. I mean, she didn't ease us into anything; she decided to explode in our faces. Eventually, her bandmates came out and joined in and so the show began. Her description of "2 O'Clock" as 'deceptively mellow' was interesting considering, just like on the album, she played an easy ballad and then her fingers jettisoned back and forth along the fretboard in nuclear combustion. Usually between songs, she said a few words, casually remarking that she hadn't had a break for forty days and that she'd experienced all the highs and lows she'd ever had in her life -- 'like fucking Biblical shit.' It was great. Especially the last song, which Kaki told us was a cover of The Bubonix, a German metal band. A German metal band! Seeing her and her band shred and scream bordered on almost stupefying insanity. All in all, a B+. Everything was great except for the fact that it lasted only an hour.

Unlike previous shows, I was too dumbstruck by what I was seeing and hearing to jot anything down, so my memory is a bit fuzzy on the setlist.

Setlist:
Bone Chaos In the Castle
Life Being What It Is
Pull Me Out Alive
So Much For So Little
Saving Days In A Frozen Head
Yellowcake
Montreal
2 O'Clock
Fashion Tattoo (Bubonix cover)

The Mad Hatter All-Star Band

2008-04-09T19:02:00.009-04:00

Out of ennui springs life; such was, my veritable friends, my resolve at work today, where I pondered many an egg hatchling of pink hues in my sheer and utterly perplexing boredom. Twinkies. Borges. Crying little children. Pure desideratum. I was the shadow of the waxwing slain by the false azure of the windowpane. So here's my All-Star band -- not whom I feel to be the greatest at each instrument, but who I believe would work together most splendidly to create the music I in very much particular would like to hear. Feel free to provide your own bands and suggestions. I figured the more instruments I included, the more cumbersome this would become. Less is more, more or less; moreover, why waste more for less, Baroness?

Jimi Hendrix - Lead Guitar
Robert Fripp - Rhythm Guitar, Mellotron, Soundscapes
Geddy Lee - Bass, Keyboards
Stewart Copeland - Drums, Cans, Barrels
Thom Yorke - Vocals, Piano, Macintosh Computer

And just in case you've been reading this blog and haven't figured out that I'm fucking crazy, here is what some of my All-Star band's studio chatter would sound like.

Stewart: You like that?
Geddy: Yeah, um...ok, so--
Jimi: I really dig that beat, that feel, like an earthy African beat, inside the soul of a person.
Geddy: There was something fresh...about the way it was played.
Thom: I fucking hate it.
Stewart: Why?
Thom: It was a bit nauseating.
Stewart: Nauseating? Look, do you know what happens when you make rock music to lions? They hate music, completely philistines, the lions are; and since they don't appreciate music, you've got to surround the cage with hunks of meat so they when they charge towards you they look more photogenetic. It's a thrill.
Jimi: It's more spiritual than anything. The lions. Like an electric church, you know? -- where everyone is asleep; there's so many sleeping people, these young cats, you know? They forget about the music.
Geddy: Robert? You here with us?
Robert: Good evening. (Pause). I thought this was King Crimson.
Stewart: I'm not Bill Bruford.
Jimi: Greg Lake is a groovy dude.
Robert: In a sense, having committed myself, I would substantially prefer the anechoic chamber over the reverberation chamber acoustic research lab, because for me, art is the capacity to experience one's innocence. Craft is how you get to that point; maturity in a musician is the point at which one is innocent at will, and in which the music is direct and reliable.
Thom: That's fucking awful. Like the other side of a black hole. I'm quite a precious person (slaps himself sideways in the face, jokingly).
Stewart: Well, what would you suggest?
Thom: I just beam it. I haven't a fucking clue. It's just there. Beam it.

Kaki King - Dreaming Of Revenge (2008)

2008-04-04T21:05:00.008-04:00

Haven't heard of Kaki King yet? Even after she made an awesome guest appearance on the most recent Foo Fighters disaster or may have eluded your attention on my top 50 list of guitarists? Well, she's just made her fourth album, and it's by far her best. Her first two albums, Everybody Loves You and Legs To Make Us Longer were blow-your-fucking-face-off instrumentals featuring her ridiculous finger picking fret-tapping technique. Ok, not all was explosive; there were some very beautiful and more subdued textured pieces as well. With her third album, Until We Felt Red, Kaki had a band with her, and it didn't come off too well. I mean, she's a virtuoso, and yet had lesser musicians to work with, and she sang, quite limitedly. This is not to say her singing was awful, but that it just doesn't play to her strengths. So on her new album, Dreaming Of Revenge, it's refreshing to see she's playing much more cohesively with her band, and she doesn't sing as much. "Bone Chaos In The Castle" begins the album, and it's a doozy. Polyphonic guitar triplicate with loops -- very prog, methinks. It's delicious. "Montreal," another instrumental piece, works from a slow fret-tap to a what I would call an equivalent of a boogie jam. "Open Mouth" is a beautiful instrumental with strings, like many of her others, for that matter; "So Much For So Little" is probably my favorite song. It's guitar fucking tastiness.

As for the vocal tracks -- "Life Being What It Is," "Pull Me Out Alive," "Saving Days In A Frozen Head" and "2 O'Clock" -- like on Until We Felt Red, Kaki seems to be focusing more on keeping within her range and mouthing her lyrics than with expressing emotion, which the lyrics clearly indicate otherwise that they should possess. Fortunately, the music itself overpowers the relative weakness of the vocals -- relative, I say, because she's not awful; she simply amazes musically (and besides, I'm not a fan of forced rhyming schemes). In fact, "2 O'Clock" is an interesting song symbolically, I think, because of its divisible halves. The first part features vocals, but the lyrics seem flat to me; they simply don't resonate, though they are clearly personal -- and yet the second part, which easily can be described as an Irish fucking car bomb, fulfills the emotional lack left by the lyrics. In other words, Kaki's guitar is much more emotive than her voice. Which is, of course, the real question: where does she go next? The musical divide couldn't be more clear: to preserve the insistent bombast of her terrible, beautiful fingers, or continue to become more accessible and break through to a wider public? For now, I'll savor this.

And go see her next Saturday. B+

Pink Floyd - The Wall (1979)

2008-03-28T17:59:00.006-04:00

So you knew I would leave this one for last. Master Cianan is certain to be verily pleased that, indeed, there will be no more Floyd albums. So here we go. The Wall, as Bob has said, is rotten; but not in a musical sense. It's rotten in its megalomania, its bitterness, its complete and utter soullessness. In a way earlier alluded to on "Welcome To The Machine," Waters himself had become increasingly distant from his audience -- hence, his Wall. And as one would expect, the music itself is a kind of detached emptiness. Rotten? Thematically, yes. But that's the point. This is no longer the Oberon Miranda and Titania of yore where one of these days I'm going to cut you into little pieces pieces even if I still need a damned Leer jet to seek shelter from pigs on the wing. This is pure technical musical execution done in the strictest sense; and that is precisely why Floyd is wonderful -- they have transformed their entire career: "Lucifer Sam," "Alan's Psychedelic Breakfast," "Echoes," "Time," "Sheep," "Shine On You Crazy Diamond," "Run Like Hell," & etc. The music changed, the themes changed, they changed; and yet, they still sound like Pink Floyd, no matter what album it is. From the crazy days of psychedelia to the epic virtuosity of their golden years to this album, where there is nothingness. Syd is gone; they can't fucking stand each other, and they will soon cease to be, despite subsequent albums.

Furthermore, this is a double album. Such ambition always comes crashing down. Such ambition cannot be sustained. Such ambition is nothing more than wish-fulfillment of hubris. But yet, tell me, other than this album and maybe London Calling, what double album really strides from start to finish? The bloated Tommy opera? Charles Manson's Nightcap? It's simply criminal to not listen to this in its entirety, double album or not. Sure, everyone's heard "Comfortably Numb," "Run Like Hell," "Another Brick In The Wall," "Hey You," etc. a million or so times -- but, no excuses. Secondly, you must be coked the fuck out if Gilmour's guitar work doesn't make you want to run around jumping oh lordy and whammer jammering on your air guitar, especially to his immaculate solos on "Comfortably Numb." Thirdly, this is it. Don't go out and find The Final Cut and think there's more to come; this is it, the proverbial 'hitting a brick wall.' So go out, have a listen or forty, remember not to shit where you eat, and don't listen to Bob, ever. A

Pink Floyd - The Division Bell (1994)

2008-03-27T23:19:00.003-04:00

Just when you thought Momentary was a one-off we've-got-to-do-something-without-Roger album, nearly seven years later our fading heroes produce this, The Division Bell. Sure, it's wicked tasty when compared to Momentary -- but, too little, too late. The glimmers of old Floyd appear primarily on the last five tracks (the only ones I will admit to liking) and mostly because of Gilmour's vocals and guitar. But the child is grown, the dream is gone. The band has seen better days. The house is gone and fade away. Fortunately, everything post-Wall doesn't damage anything for me. These guys were amazing, and are every time I listen to them. And tell me, about whom was Gilmour alluding to when he sings, "So I open my door to my enemies / And ask could we wipe the slate clean / But they tell me to please go and fuck myself / You know, you just can't win." C-

Pink Floyd - A Saucerful Of Secrets (1968)

2008-03-27T22:34:00.003-04:00

This is the unfortunate successor of Piper -- unfortunate in that Syd is a half-entity and it seems the madness could only be harnessed by him. Like all early Floyd albums, though, A Saucerful Of Secrets is yet another stepping stone the band would eventually use to reach greater musical heights. It starts off promising enough with "Let There Be More Light," a back and forth interplay of loud and soft mingling psychedelia on an epic scale. Then, omigawd, "Remember A Day" happens. And can you remember a day when Pink Floyd didn't sound original -- which is to say, like Pink Floyd? This sounds like a bloody Moody Blues song, and while I still like it, I think I like it only because I also sometimes like the Moody Blues. "Corporal Clegg?" Fucking brilliant. I love the dissonant contrasts and and especially the triumphant kazoo passages. "Set The Controls For The Heart Of The Sun," like the live version on Ummagumma, is just awful. Ditto for "Saucerful Of Secrets," also known as "Drugged Drumming 101" -- awful as well. "See-saw" is just pure up and down, which may be fitting, but I still don't like it. "Jugband Blues," our official farewell to Syd's time in Floyd, is pure bonkers. I love it. It's awfully considerate. Especially that brief descent into horn chaos. C+

Pink Floyd - More (1969)

2008-03-27T22:09:00.004-04:00

My sincere apologies , oh darling readers, for my having erred. I thought Obscured By Clouds was a proper Pink Floyd release, and not a soundtrack. You could have fooled me -- it doesn't change my opinion of it one bit; I reviewed it as an album as such. Which is how More is to be treated as well, at which it fares far more poorly. This is not to say More is horrible, but that is decidedly average. "Cirrus Minor" starts off decently, I suppose. It's neither innovative nor boring -- just pleasant enough. "The Nile Song" is a traditional rocker -- which is kind of interesting because when do you ever hear a traditional Floyd song? "Crying Song" is soft and subdued; "Up The Khyber" is a staccato piano and organ piece, and it continues on as such, with the exception of "Cymbaline," the album's standout track. Yeah, classic Floyd. "Ibiza Bar" is another rocker and pretty much at track ten is where I become annoyed: bluesy rambling ("More Blues"), noise ("Quicksilver"), more chaotic noise and stupidity ("A Spanish Piece") and a kind of reprise ("Dramatic Theme") of the "Main Theme." It's a soundtrack, for sure; and while it may sound wonderful as a soundtrack in a film (I wouldn't know; I haven't seen it), it's merely mediocre by itself. And that's why it's a C. The intent with More, it seems, was to create music for a film, whereas it seems Obscured was made as an album and happened to be used as a soundtrack for a film.

Pink Floyd - Wish You Were Here (1975)

2008-03-26T20:40:00.003-04:00

Sometimes, usually right after a fresh listen, Wish You Were Here is my favorite album instead of Dark Side Of The Moon. But mostly, uh, no. Rank notwithstanding, this is an amazing album. To think that this had perverse expectations following Dark Side and nearly equals it is almost unthinkable. I mean, who does that? Funny thing is, it doesn't build upon Dark Side musically at all; it's all its own singularity. In fact, it's the only Pink Floyd album that I would call timeless simply because I don't think you can peg it down, whereas all their others you can almost trace their development with your pick. Perhaps it's because this album is the most human of their albums, the most personal. Sure, The Wall was personal -- for Roger Waters; but this is a communal offering -- a poignant and elegantly executed tribute to Syd Barrett.

"Wish You Were Here" has possibly been played with more frequency on a daily basis than the national anthem, and people could probably sing you all the lyrics (sans music) before they could rattle off the Ten Commandments. Still, this doesn't take away from the fact that it's the cornerstone track, a final lament for a good friend long gone. By themselves, each song on the album is powerful, a panoply of different styles; and yet as a whole -- which is how any album, good or bad, should be listened to -- it's just pure aural awesomeness. The "Shine On You Crazy Diamond" bookends are solemn odes to the man that was Syd. "Welcome To The Machine" and "Have A Cigar" are fitting portraits of a band sullying theirs hands with record company filth after they've made it big -- which is to say, after the success of Dark Side. What I really like is the juxtaposition of these two tracks smack dab in the middle. It's as though, in a way, they lost that part of themselves -- that frenetic childish spirit embodied by Syd -- and became international megastars. Sure, it didn't completely destroy them, but there is still that sense of loss, and of mourning, and remembrance -- hence the return to Syd in the last two tracks. That's my feeling anyway. This album truly has to be felt, I think. All in all, I want to be buried with it. A+

Pink Floyd - Ummagumma (1969)

2008-03-22T13:00:00.002-04:00

If Atom Heart Mother is a bunch of psychedelic waffling, Ummagumma is undoubtedly its mother. Fortunately for us, the first disc of live material that reflects such sentiment does not continue to the second disc, where the real meat and matters are. Besides a great live version of "Astronomy Domine," the rest of disc one is just pure Grade A distilled psychobabble. Dreck. Drivel. Dross. DRUGS. Disc two is immensely better. There we are treated to three separate suites, a walk through some Grantchester meadows and the unorthodox frontispiece that happens to be in the middle, "Several Species Of Small Furry Animals Gathered Together In A Cave And Grooving With A Pict," which, etymologically speaking, might have something to do with Ummagumma -- not that I would know, though. It's a fucking highlight, that's for sure, in ways that are impossible to describe. "The Narrow Way" suite is possibly the closest thing people who generally like Floyd will latch onto and like, besides "Grantchester Meadows", simply for its resemblance to their later musical output. This is not to say it's homogenized and contrived -- because later Floyd is good, but comparably to the rest of the album's quirkiness, it's quite tame. The "Sysphus" suite is quite erratic in a good way, but completely train-wrecks in the fourth part. Strange, too, how Sysphus plays into this whole Ummagumma theme. Hmmm, think they're trying to say something to us? The second part of the "The Grand Vizier" suite precedes "Alan's Psychedelic Breakfast" -- it sucks. Sure, parts one and three are good, but they span a combined 1:41. Otherwise, I suggest a few good listens, but this is more or less a kind of necessary bridge in their development from Piper to Meddle. B

Pink Floyd - The Final Cut (1983)

2008-03-22T12:11:00.003-04:00

Having just reviewed A Momentary Lapse Of Reason, The Final Cut is a bit appropriate, I think, in the whole scheme of things Floydian. First off, the album says it all: The Final Cut (A Requiem For The Post War Dream): by Roger Waters; performed by Pink Floyd. I mean, he may as well have made it: Roger Waters, former Arrogant Egghead of Pink Floyd, and his scourged Mind, all things Considerate, being therein on Display, Post War Hootstuffs & etc., featuring sometimes the "Comfortably Numb" Guitar Player. Granted I think Waters was great prior to this; but this is otherwise just absolute dross. I do think the first four songs, ending with "The Hero's Return" are actually pretty good, and hearing Gilmour sing "fuck all that" with gospel-like accompaniment in "Not Now John" is kind of amusing; but otherwise, this album consists primarily of the butt-scrapings of The Wall, minus the music. It's the Roger Waters show at full tilt, except he wasted his equity building a fence -- er, wall -- at his other residence, and here he's just careening by on bad credit in some horrible memorial home. "Boom boom, bang bang. Lie down you're dead." Like Momentary, listen only because you have to. D+

Pink Floyd - A Momentary Lapse Of Reason (1987)

2008-03-21T21:00:00.001-04:00

My wife and I refer to this album as "Permanent Lapse Of Reason" because it seemeth as though our musical heroes began a torpid duration in a strait-jacket on methylphenidate and forgot to color outside the lines with crayons like they always did. Surely, Waters' departure had something to do with it, but we had already learned that these blokes just couldn't play nice anymore and that Waters had exhausted his creative faculties on The Wall as evidenced by his genuine lack of anything on The Final Cut. Good show, jolly rabbit! To be nice, this album is a fair representation of the other band members musical abilities. "On The Turning Away" is simply wonderful. To a lesser extent, "Learning To Fly" seems like it was a great song, but they kept working on it to become a hit and so it goes that it's not as good. Icky ick. "Dogs Of War?" Yuck. All this album proves, with the FInal Cut as its companion piece, is that Roger and David needed each other to make amazing music; this is just David's solo album, and apparently he tried to top Waters' shitty post-war dream with this syphilitic ick. This is just blahhhhhhhhhh. You guys are my favorite band -- how could you do this to me ? D+

Pink Floyd - Atom Heart Mother (1970)

2008-03-21T20:31:00.006-04:00

Like Obscured By Clouds, Atom Heart Mother is in the unenviable position of being sandwiched between two better albums -- in this case, Ummagumma and Meddle, respectively. Consisting of five songs, the last of which spans an interminable 13 odious minutes of your life, Atom Heart Mother is not for the easy-eared. First things first, "If" is an endearing little song -- not very inspiring -- but still very good. "Fat Old Sun" is nice and contains a vintage Gilmour solo -- which is to say, amazing; and "Summer '68" is my favorite piece on the album, despite the fact that you'd lose a bet over its authenticity as Pink Floyd; it simply doesn't sound like them. This brings us to the bookends, "Atom Heart Mother" and "Alan's Psychedelic Breakfast" -- two mental flights to Mars via a hallucinatory conduit. "Alan's Psychedelic Breakfast" is really awful stuff. The absolute udder of the psychedelic scene. Colorful trash, as it were. Or maybe it's de rigueur; what do I know? Listen to it at your own peril. Jeff has a much favorable review for those interested. B-

Pink Floyd - Obscured By Clouds (1972)

2008-03-21T20:01:00.005-04:00

Obscured By Clouds is the bastard birthed out of wedlock, the prodigious and stalwart second son secondarily subservient to the grand airs of a more successful first sibling. Meddle was great. Dark Side Of The Moon? Best album ever. So it's easy to forget that Obscured even existed, let alone deserved any kind of consideration. Perhaps "Obscured By Clouds," "When You're In" and "Burning Bridges" -- the album's first three scapegoats are to blame. Do I enjoy them? Yes, but can I cite their chord structures on threat of no more Guinness? Not a chance. 'Tis a shame, methinks, because "The Gold It's In The," "Wot's...Uh The Deal," "Mudmen," Childhood's End" and "Free Four" are incredibly meaty, atypical Floydian compositions. Hell, even if you think me a sometimes hack, a sometimes Viennese Quack -- fuck you, Freud! -- please at least listen to tracks 4-8 -- you won't be disappointed. "Stay" is decent enough and "Absolutely Curtains," the album's closer, seems to halt the album to a fairly tepid, bordering-on-miserable close; but all in all, a solid record deserving of placement in the Floydian pantheon. Oh, and as with Meddle, the guitar work is tasty as usual. B+

Pink Floyd - Piper At The Gates Of Dawn (1967)

2008-03-20T16:57:00.004-04:00

Pure madness. How did such an album come to be? Drugs? Most definitely. Zeitgeist? Okay, sure. Syd Barrett? Check. Aurally intoxicating, at times embarrassingly weird, Piper is Floyd's proverbial fist in the face of all music hitherto heretofore. Is it absolutely brilliant? Sometimes. Does it seem positively wretched? Oh yes. But unlike my necessary condemnation of Trout Mask Replica, Piper is far more rewarding in its awkward abundance. "Astronomy Domine?" Delicious. "Lucifer Sam?" Pernicious. "The Gnome?" Who the fuck writes songs about gnomes? The revolting barrage of random cacophony in "Bike?" Genius. And stupid. At the same time. Never has an album (despite my lack of existence in 1967) seemed so perversely fresh. Best ever? Hardly. Important? If I am to conjure up Master Cianan for a moment and his sincere loathing of labeling any album "important," I would say, as I always do, in retort, "Yes! It's important to me!" Just maybe not to you. Rub some oil on your bald soprano. This is the Mad Hatter, over and out. B

Pink Floyd - Meddle (1971)

2008-03-16T19:48:00.005-04:00

This is for you, Bob. Meddle, по моему, is perhaps Floyd's transition point between the trippy, not altogether focused and sometimes rambling psychedelia of their first few albums, and the tightly wound musical virtuosity that came to fruition on Dark Side Of The Moon. Simply, it's got a touch of everything, the focal point being the otherworldly "Echoes" -- which is clearly one of the best musical statements of that era. (It sounds even better live.) An ethereal quality, let's call it, seems to permeate the entire album. "Echoes," even at its almost 24 minute length, has this fleeting, pulling away kind of quality despite some incredibly moving and powerful passages. "One Of These Days" is menacing; "Pillow Of Winds" dreamy; "Fearless" like an inevitable marching forward feel; "San Tropez" is a beer in the breeze and a nice bit of sun on your face. All very moody, impressionistic type stuff going on here, but not simply drug music -- stuff you need an amy under your nose for. No, no, this is the kind of music that makes you remember a band named Pink Floyd and not the other numberless psychedelic outfits from that time; they're simply too creative and skilled as musicians to forget them.

"Seamus" for me is one of the worst songs I've ever heard in my life. Pure fucking vulgarity and nonsense. A nasty black blot on an otherwise perfectly written work of a master scrivener. Thankfully it's short and thankfully "Echoes" accounts for half the album. Seriously, folks, if Floyd to you is "Comfortably Numb" and "Wish You Were Here", you are missing out. Dark Side Of The Moon, besides being the greatest album ever, is not the starting point for these fellows. Piper has its merits and flaws; Ummagumma is responsible for some quite exotic divergences in opinion and the poor forgotten Obscured By Clouds, nestled squarely before Dark Side and after Meddle, is quite solid as well. But Meddle is crucial in the band's own catalogue and it should be for you too. No, you don't need to get their soundtrack More like me, but this will still do nicely. Man, and listen to "Echoes" if you haven't already. The guitar is SUPER FUCKING TASTY. A-

Pink Floyd - Dark Side Of The Moon (1973)

2008-03-10T18:06:00.006-04:00

I'm considerably aghast at how little I have to say of this album. As I've already professed in the beginning: Best. Album. Ever. Start to finish. Every ooh, every ahh, every timbre and shaft of light. The colours, the lyrics, the dazzling awesomeness of this wonderful little musical prism. It's all here on display, an aura for every ear, an emblem for every ember. A perfect synesthesia. The miraculous graying of forbidden light.

What's not to appreciate? You can choose any colour you like. If you've got no time, you can listen to it on the run. If you've got no money, speak to me; I'll lend you some. No sense waiting for an eclipse; just listen, and breathe. And don't fritter and waste about the Us and Them conflict -- they can keep their hitmebabyonemoretimes and iwantitthatways until they've suffered brain damage. We've got the greatest gig in the sky, circa 1973, always and forever. Besides, there's no dark side of the moon, really. As a matter of fact, it's all dark. A+ (I think I need a Leer jet.)

Talking Heads - Little Creatures (1985)

2008-03-09T19:18:00.005-04:00

For being a band frequently described as inaccessible, this record surely has some nice stuff on it. No, I'm not a fan, and I don't concentrate nearly as hard as I do when listening to some of my other recurring faves, but this album is worth a listen every now and again. "And She Was" is a delicious little number that almost leads you into thinking it will remain the awful dreck that tainted nearly everything imaginable during the most egregious musical decade known to man or animal-- fuck you Depeche Mode; you give me daily nightmares -- but it doesn't. "Give Me Back My Name" is pretty creepy. I don't know if the Oxford lads from Radiohead listened to this and wrote "Climbing Up The Walls," but I'm still unsettled by both. "Creatures Of Love" is an alien twang song that somehow works. "I've seen sex and I think it's okay." Maybe it's the way David Byrne sings that ties it all together, I don't know. He's possibly the first lead vocalist who sounds like he's presiding over a demented circus that can somehow carry a tune. "Road To Nowhere" has what sounds like an accordion, I think. I like accordions; you should too. Eat your clam chowder. Ignore tracks 5-8 and enjoy otherwise. B-

Led Zeppelin - Houses Of The Holy (1973)

2008-02-13T20:41:00.005-05:00

With the imminent arrival of Valentine's Day, I'd like to switch things up a bit -- after all, have we truly forgotten the Saint Valentine's Day Massacre? No, I haven't the time to massacre seven albums to equal the number of victims, but perhaps -- hear me out -- I can do to one what I would do to seven. Especially if the album is a sacred cow in need of an overdue slaughter whose reputation is supremely undeserving. No, I wasn't there, I didn't get the T-shirt and my zeitgeist card expired a long time ago with my lack of nostalgia. Sorry, I really don't know my victim.

So without further ado, let's venture into the Houses Of The Holy and do some deplorable sacrilege! (Brief caveat: Zep's first four albums are just short of amazing; there, that's my penance rock gods.) I really can't describe how much I loathe this album; it's a complete distillation of all the things that could have went wrong on their previous albums but somehow didn't. Yet, here they are on full display, every popped cyst, abscess and oozing sebaceous gland: egregious imitative blues/reggae/funk pilferings, pointless noodling and guitar wankery, tepid percussion and bass performances, and the seemingly endless caterwauling from the Diocese of this filthy sermon himself, Roberto De Planta of West Bromwich.

What's to say? "The Song Remains The Same" sounds like a bad Zeppelin rip-off; "The Rain Song" is a lot of time I'll never get back; "No Quarter" makes me wish I had one for the jukebox. "D'Yer Mak'er" is atrocious. As soon it starts, I want to pop a brick into Plant's mouth and make him stop. Then, I want Mssr. Page to stop. Then I want John to sober up. Then -- and where is JPJ's mad bass thumping? What can I say, oh my brothers and sisters? -- you know those hypotheticals where people say, oh so-and-so can put out a horrible album and anyone would buy it? This is that album. "The Crunge" is the most awful thing I've ever heard in my life. "Dancing Days" is a precursor for Plant's later solo material. "The Ocean" is my favorite track to highlight, not because it sucks (though it does), but because I feel like this song exemplifies the excess and pompous nature the band had transformed into. Sure, it sounds like Zep, but a different, more bloated version. All the refinements blurred; all the intricacies swept away in favor of flawless production and the fact that they just didn't have it anymore. The only saving grace to this abortive monstrosity is "Over The Hills And Far Away" -- which I dig and dig so much, perhaps just because it's the only thing on the album I like. Sorry Zep-heads, my purplish tie-dye is comfortable, but I throw it into the wash when listening to this garbage. F

Donny Hathaway - Donny Hathway (1971)

2008-02-10T17:00:00.001-05:00

This little long player consists of Donny's expansion from his eclectic compositions on Everything Is Everything to then-current musical styles -- which is to say, all of these songs (except one) are covers. Normally, this is a poor decision -- think Bowie's Pin-Ups -- but Donny does to the originals what most do with Dylan songs: make them supremely better. I find Leon Russell's "A Song For You" to be particularly grating, but Donny's version feels like it's his song, and many oblivious to Mr. Russell probably thought it was his to begin with, so who's to argue? It's one of Donny's greatest songs and showcases his seemingly effortless ability to weave his voice around any lyric, mood or musical set-piece. In fact, besides the perfection that is Sinatra, Donny is probably one of the most treasured voices I've ever heard. It's a shame he snuffed it, and even a greater shame that he's being given the Thelonious Monk treatment as a misguided eccentric. "Giving Up" opens the album, and establishes fairly quickly that the cheerful optimism expressed on his first record was not to be repeated here; and despite my own depraved religious sensibilities, the gospel-like numbers -- especially "Put Your Hand In The Hand" -- are thoroughly rousing, even if they are steeped in a subtext of hopeless longing. Covers aside, the vocal renditions may not be as brilliant as on Everything Is Everything or the music as complex as on Extension Of A Man, but the album still bears the mark of Donny, through and through, and deserves consideration just for that. B

Joseph - Stoned Age Man

2008-02-07T23:51:00.001-05:00

Well, I usually burst into elated paroxysms for my darling audience to go out and listen to any albums I dig. Ho-hum, good luck with this one. You'll probably have your chance to pay Jesus back that fifty cents you owe him before you ever find this. I think I found the album years ago as a rare resell on Amazon. This guy doesn't even have a wikipedia page (sniff, sniff). Anyway, from what I myself have gathered, Joseph was an up-and-coming guitarist with some tasty bluesy psychedelia chops who got someone's attention back in the 70s. He cut an album, and then vanished into thin air forever. Seriously, despite having been given better accolades over the years, no one knows what happened to him. Obviously, the album did not do well at the time, but is he dead? Did he pull a J.D. Salinger? There is even dispute as to whether his name is Joseph Long or Longoria or Longeria. Certainly, the myth of this all is kind of silly to ponder, but the music itself is worth a listen. Personally, I think the world wouldn't be as pleasant without "Gotta Get Away" and "Stone Age Man," but you can be the judge -- if you can find it. Maybe I'll burn some copies for any interested parties. No, wait; I won't. I found myself under the large and oppressive boot of the military for years; I don't want the RIAA after me. Overall, the album features a nice amalgam of psychedelic blues and Joseph's husky vocal gruffings. I wouldn't kill myself to find it, but as I'm wont to mention, a D-list band from the 70s is oodles and oodles better than any snot being picked today. B

AC/DC - Back In Black (1980)

2008-02-06T23:17:00.000-05:00

I'm listening to this album right now. The crunchy tones, the gritty vocals, the oomph that makes an Oompa Loompa bounce. I mean, is "Hells Bells" not one of the greatest openings to an album ever? Mourning aside, these guys said bon voyage to Bon Scott and hello to Mr. Johnson, and then some. Ok, I'm being crass now. Perhaps my reasoning arises from a sincere inability to express everything all the time, but I must say, if you don't own this album, you mustn't give a fupenny tuck for straight-up rock & roll. "Hells Bells," "Shoot To Thrill," "You Shook Me All Night Long" and "Back In Black" are all radio staples, but they're also ridiculously good, no matter how often you hear them. Yet, four great and amazing songs don't make a great and amazing album, although it is better than the bait-and-shit single tactics record companies use now to get you to recoup losses on egregious bands. Instead, with AC/DC, we are treated to all of the songs having been done extremely well. Nice! And have you given the dog a bone lately? He deserves one, assuredly. Definitely not noise pollution. Definitely not for the background. Listen and relish oh my brothers and sisters, and all that cal. A-

The Foo Fighters - Echoes, Silence, Patience And Grace (2007)

2008-01-31T22:07:00.000-05:00

I haven't a slice of bloody cheesecake to offer as to this album's reception due to my year-long hermeticism and lack of contact with the free-wheeling public, but -- I don't think that matters anyway, because no one is going to convince me this album is any good. I think the Foo's had their finest moment in One By One, and then they began to parody themselves. Sure, little vignettes and sonic veerings do surface, but this is the same old schticky Foo. Dave Grohl needs to sub in on another Queens Of The Stone Age album or resurrect his nifty Probot project because he's an excellent drummer; otherwise, hang 'em up guys. The Hatter's milk is beginning to curdle and I'm considering switching to soy if you make me sit through another album. Truth be told, I only got this album for the appearance of Kaki King -- because anything she plays is SUPER FUCKING TASTY, and she doesn't disappoint here, either. Check out "The Ballad Of The Beaconsfield Miners" -- it's so nice, but so short. Ok, and I do like "Let It Die," and "The Pretender" is like an old friend who won't go away, even after you've sent death threats to his mother. Otherwise, enjoy the ick. D+

The Allman Brothers Band - Eat A Peach (1972)

2008-01-30T00:05:00.000-05:00

Okay, so I wasn't too vicious with At Fillmore East. So for those with whom I do not share such feel-good affinity for the Allman Brothers, rest assured, I dig the living pig manure out of Eat A Peach. What's not to like? Duane's beautiful slide renderings, the furious "One Way Out," the glorious intertwining of guitar melodies on "Blue Sky." Oh, hell. Listen to it here; it's my favorite from them.

"Little Martha" is also a touch softer, too, but Duane is in prime form. "Melissa" is also a song that's a bit softer, but still has some great guitar work. The only drawback, ahem, is "Mountain Jam," inexorably pulled from the Fillmore sessions and possibly the weakest point for me. I do think "One Way Out" and "Trouble No More" were better showcases for their live energy, but alas. And I do love jams, I truly do, just not by these guys. Rest in peace, Duane. B+

The Allman Brothers Band - Live At The Fillmore East (1971)

2008-01-29T23:59:00.000-05:00

Since I've been an irresponsible blogger and haven't posted in awhile, I'm going to attempt to make good with two reviews, both from the Allman Brothers. Bob, listen up, because one of them is about to be mildly slaughtered. So, let's just chase the rabbit down the hole, shall we?

"Okay, the Allman Brothers Band." And so begins for most one of the greatest live albums ever -- except I must have been asleep during class, because I don't understand why. "Statesboro Blues" is proof enough, for sure, if it could only sustain my interest after that. Really, truly wonderful little cover it is. But come on, these fellows have better stuff than what this mediocre mess of a live album has become. Duane Allman and Dickey Betts are phenomenal guitarists, but the three boogie jamfests left me wondering if I could have taken three pilgrimages to Mecca and back before they were done. And I'm not Muslim. And I love jams. There was simply nothing consistently inspiring in "You Don't Love Me," "In Memory Of Elizabeth Reed" and especially "Whipping Post." Really, where were they going other than being novel and fulfilling the pandering of a wanting crowd? Live shows are fantastic, but I'm not entirely sold on most of them being good recordings. Very few can do that. This one sounds like even if you were there it may not have been great, either. C

The Mars Volta - Terminal 5 - January 14, 2008

2008-01-16T17:26:00.000-05:00

Let me be very clear. This show consisted of two parts -- the one I hated, and the one I loved. After Cedric and his permed buffon and Omar the cracked-out Hendrix made to the stage with roaring approval, everyone suddenly went deaf. That's because for songs 1-7 of the setlist, the sound check technician thought we were at Wembley Stadium. Much like an atom bomb incinerates everything within blast radius, the Mars Volta destroyed our ears with an adverse Phil Spector wall of sound. Besides the staccato drumming, all I heard was noise and an occasional "exoskeletal" or "humans as ornaments." The saxophonist was blowing, Cedric was wailing, Omar was riffing away -- but I nor the entire tepid audience could hear a thing -- for 90 fucking minutes. I honestly wished for the concert to end.

Then, brothers, it came. "Cygnus...Vismund Cygnus." Oh, bliss, bliss, and heaven. Gorgeousness and gorgeousity made flesh. Gravity all nonsense now. "Cygnus" morphed into an extended jam with Cedric climbing the side balcony and spastically plucking the safety wires. "Drunkship Of Lanterns" was simply frenetic. A new tune, off their soon-to-be-released Bedlam In Goliath, "Aberinkula" was positively sick. And then, to end it all, the sickest Volta song you'll ever hear, they played "Day Of The Baphomets." Cedric says he awoke in NYC to the sound of jackhammers and thought it appropriate to end the show in similar fashion. Nice, nice indeed. Too bad the concert just got started right as it ended. C

Setlist:
Roulette Dares (The Haunt Of)
Viscera Eyes
Wax Simulacra
Goliath
Conjugal Burns
Tetragrammaton
Agadez
Cygnus...Vismund Cygnus
Metatron
Drunkship Of Lanterns
Ilyena
Meccamputechture
Aberinkula
Day Of The Baphomets

The Smiths - The Queen Is Dead (1986)

2008-01-12T20:19:00.000-05:00

"Sweetness, sweetness; I was only joking when I said I'd like to smash every tooth in your head. Oh, sweetness, sweetness; I was only joking when I said by rights you should be bludgeoned in your bed," so sings Morrissey. Like Sting, he made a name for himself as the vocalist/lyricist in an excellent band (featuring Marquis de Marr, the inscrutable), pumped his head full of pompous snot and tortured the world with his egregious solo work afterwards. But for a brief period of time, Morrissey was splendid. On their third album, The Queen Is Dead, the Smiths unleashed their most complex and textured work yet. First off, Mr. Marr is all over the bloody place, winding and weaving his taut guitar sequences like he didn't know the 80s were supposed to be such dreck. If you don't believe me, listen to "Bigmouth Strikes Again."

Yeah, you know it. This one gets a SUPER FUCKING TASTY from me. "Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others," The Boy With A Thorn In His Side" and "Frankly, Mr. Shankly" are superb as well. "Cemetry Gates" -- listen to it, now. You can definitely hear where stellar Brit bands such as the Verve and Radiohead, among others, were influenced. I have very little to say otherwise of this album other than shame on you if you don't have it, and "Never Had No One Ever" is blah. So do yourself a favor and pick up this politically charged, beautifully written, brilliantly played masterwork from the most horrid decade of music known to man. A-

The Beastie Boys - Check Your Head (1992)

2008-01-08T11:02:00.001-05:00

Now that the happy from the holidays has been inevitably forgotten, I'm going to get back on the horse and plow and finally post something of mellifluous magnitude. I just looked at the stat counter at the bottoms and noticed many people have been knocking at my door to read the same drivel day-in, day-out without something new to entice them. Meanwhile, behind the facade of an innocent looking bookstore, a certain group of irreverent gentleman nigh on the heels of their neglected Paul's Boutique, came roaring from the ashes of the current music scene (then 1992) with yet another pilfered offering of samples and sounds, and a bit of their self-possessed attitude. Check Your Head is an iffy, irascible assault on the ears, at once familiar and yet still different -- but don't rush to judgment just because I'm not a hip-hop connoisseur; these fellows are famous for a reason, and if "So What'cha Want" doesn't get your attention, I don't know what will. There's a bit of everything here: punk, funk, rap, soul and silliness; but at the end of the day, this isn't the best thing since sliced bread, and had they not had the abundance of samples to use, they would have been like a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest -- which is partially why I can't stomach hip-hop: too much sampling. Same with the blues as well as covers that replace original content. So if you want to hear Biz Markie rapping the Beastie Boys name for thirty seconds to the guitar of Nugent's "Homebound" -- it's your cake and you can eat it however you like. But please, cash your chips elsewhere. An exemplary C. And yes, I received permission to sample the clichés.