Muse - Nassau Coliseum - October 23, 2010

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

Nirvana - In Utero (1993)

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

Pink Floyd - More (1969)

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.

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

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

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 Beastie Boys - Check Your Head (1992)

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.

The Moody Blues - Every Good Boy Deserves Favour (1971)

I've noticed that my reviews, much to my internal disappointment, have drifted in a kind of pendulum fashion: I'm either ponderously thrashing a thoroughly shoddy album from start to finish, or I'm sheepishly mewing the praises of the glorious greats. Problem is, I'm eventually going to run out of albums to review. More importantly, I'm cutting out the middle class. Sad as it is to admit, most albums are middling affairs, and I wish it were otherwise. Ergo, I've decided to put up the Magnificent Moodies on the chopping block. Besides Days Of Future Passed (which I love unconditionally), the Moody Blues have never really put out a terrible album, but have revealed that there's not much to their musical coffers, either. They were, more or less, a great singles band but who used that great single or so and surrounded it with fubbly filler. (Sorry for the patois; it's de rigueur in my mad little world and I always prefer sound to sense.)

While every good boy may deserve favour, the Moodies certainly don't deserve it for their efforts here. A good portion of the album is a recycled orchestral wash. I never listen to the drug-addled mysticism of "Procession," the lullaby pomp of "Emily's Song" or the torpidly lush "My Song." Instead, I prefer tracks like "Nice To Be Here" and "The Guessing Game." Sure, I'm not bobbing up and down with delight, but they're still good. The real meat, I think, is in "After You Came" and the gorgeously melancholy "The Story Of Your Eyes" -- which features quite possibly their best guitar work (with solo!) and most maddeningly depressing lyrics; it's one of my favorite songs of theirs, if that's worth a mention. Otherwise, this is one of those albums where every other song is skip-worthy. C