Pearl Jam - Backspacer (2009)

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)

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)

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

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

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)

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

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)

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

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

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)

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-