Wednesday, February 29, 2012

The Monkees, "Daddy's Song"



It probably says something about the temperament of this blog that I didn't do anything to mark the passing on Whitney Houston (whose talent was obvious) but that I really feel I have something to say about Davy Jones, who died today. The Monkees are one of those bands from the far-flung past that you don't really have to love, but whose fans are pretty enthusiastic. Just the other day they came up in conversation with a customer about great oldies. I wasn't even the one who mentioned them first.

Davy was great for the Monkees not only because of his poster-ready image, but because, like all four of the bandmembers, he brought a particular angle. Mike Nesmith was the country boy, Peter Tork was the zonked-out folkie, Dolenz was the garage rocker, and Jones had his Broadway background, as well as the weepy ballads. The combination of these four (or five) ingredients on the Monkees albums made them, if not consistent listening experiences, remarkably interesting collections.

This clip, taken from their notorious film project Head, pretty well distills my feeling about the complicated relationship between art and commerce inherent in the Monkees enterprise. Here we have Davy performing a really impressive, Fred Astaire type routine (made psychedelic by Bob Rafelson's editing) while singing a brassy old-school jingle about a father and son. It seems both sincere and satirical, as the lyrics are a fair bit tragic, but delivered in an over-the-top sunshiney matter to rival the throwbacks Paul McCartney was writing at the time.

I don't know if this has any basis in reality, but there's a scene in the Monkees biopic, (Daydream Believers,) where Davy returns home and seeks advice from his father, it's weirdly sweet. And this song was written by Harry Nilsson, underlining the fact, as I've already stated, that regardless of whether the Monkees count as "real," the people responsible for making the music was indisputably top-notch.

Oh, yeah, and that's Frank Zappa at the end there.

For an even better write-up of Davy Jones' place in the Monkees (and highlights from his career,) check out Rob Sheffield's article in Rolling Stone.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Serious Contenders: Alice Cooper, "Poison"



Considering it was the late-80's, and this is Alice Cooper, it's remarkable how much less silly it is than its contemporaries. Don't get me wrong, it's still a bit much, but considering it next to Poison or Winger it seems rather subdued and subtle in both its instrumentation and lyrical matter. It's not surprising that this song, with its definitive 80's lead guitar and quintessential vocal hook, was a big hit in 1989. What's a bit more surprising is that it holds up 20-some years later better than most of its contemporaries (aside from Aerosmith's Pump.)

It was the perfect Alice Cooper song, as much as "I'm Eighteen" or "School's Out," love as a game of life and death. Alice, with his knack for theatricality, does a great job wringing out the melodramatic overtones without sacrificing whatever meaning there is in the song. Alice comes off like a vulnerable psycho on the brink of disaster.

It's silly, as hard rock frequently is, but it's not afraid of itself. I dig Alice Cooper because at his best, he is simultaneously highly theatrical and over the top, but very controlled and conscious of his image. That's what makes many of his best songs stand up alongside rock's best: very much of their time, but also standing out from the pack.

Sunday, February 19, 2012

Noel Gallagher: High Flying Birds

No matter what I thought about Oasis, it was a successful rock band that is still talked about today (although much moreso in the UK.) A while back I addressed the fact that although I wasn't a fan of their work by and large, I could still admit when a song of theirs was good. I have their two-disc greatest hits and find myself skipping a lot. Regardless my feelings about those other Oasis songs, Noel Gallagher is someone whose songwriting talents are considerable. He's internalized so much classic pop rock that he seems to compose his records with his eye closed and one hand behind his back. It's easy for him to do, I'm saying.

The sound of High Flying Birds isn't the sound of genius at work, I don't think. It's not innovation in progress. It's the work of a really good songwriter knowing what works and what he wants to play: not only that, but it seems to dovetail well with what his fans want and expect from him. He does it so consistently and with such ease that I don't find myself skipping around much, although I do always let my ears perk up when I know "The Death of You And Me" is coming near. Even the most basic-seeming tracks, like "Dream On" or "(I Wanna Live in a Dream In My) Record Machine" offer anthemic, strummy pleasures. If not all the songs quite stand out, at least they all offer a little ingredient that endears me, like the swaggering "So long, baby, buh-bye" chorus on "(Standing On) The Strong Beach" or the oceanic late-Beatlesness of "Stop The Clocks." Most have really catchy, toe-tapping choruses, the insidious kind you find yourself humming to yourself. "If I Had a Gun..." has some of the best lyrics I've heard the usually-incomprehensible Noel has cranked out.

"The Death Of You And Me," though, is the moment of greatness here. Although I made note of Noel being fine to fall back on his apparently-natural ability, that's the one that feels like it took some doing and it paid off. If it doesn't totally break from his Oasis pattern it certainly feels like a development of its own, a slight development but an effective one. It swirls like gypsy music, swells with horns (which recur throughout the album, along with plenty of other sonic accents) and has a chorus that really commands attention rather than settling in the back of the mind. The whole exercise was worth it if only for that piece.

There's nothing shocking here. It's what you might expect from a solo album from the main creative voice of Oasis, the same basic pop chords and word salad lyrics and vague-feelery. But Noel is no longer the brash, world-beating young man of Oasis' heyday. This sounds like an album by someone who's been there and back, who knows his skillset and has settled in nicely to it. It offers a lot of the same goodies as the Oasis songs I like, like "Wonderwall" or "Lyla," but toned down considerably. Because Noel is handling the vocals, it sounds a good bit more subdued and down-to-Earth. His voice sounds less rock star and more coffee shop than his brother. So the music comes off as an interesting mutation between the arena and the coffee shop: epic yet grounded. Dreamy and Earthy. Familiar yet fresh.

Buy this album now: iTunes Canada // iTunes USA Flying Birds // Amazon.ca // Amazon.com


Wednesday, February 15, 2012

Serious Contenders: Stars, "Your Ex-Lover Is Dead"



Stars, that most theatrical of Canadian indie pop-rock bands, creates a scene and a mood and characters in sound. This is one of the most beautiful, lovely, longing songs I know and it's always a pleasure to stop what I'm doing and let myself get absorbed in it. There are many songs that preach love and devotion, some sincerely, some truthfully. But for me it'll always be songs about the difficulty of ever having been in love.

Happy Valentines Day.

Monday, February 13, 2012

Who is Paul McCartney?: How The Beatles Still Matter

When all was said and done after the Grammy awards last night, there was one question looming large over the ceremony. It wasn't "What Killed Whitney Houston?" It wasn't "Why do people still pay attention to Chris Brown?" And it wasn't "What's a Bon Iver?"

The question was: "Who is Paul McCartney?"


Pictured: ???


The always-insightful Twitterverse provided a massive bank of tweets questioning exactly who this elderly British gentleman on their TVs was. And I, being the resperctable (sp?) online music journalist I am, or claim to be, was shocked -- shocked! -- that there was anyone out there who did not immediately know the founding bassist for Wings.

Admittedly, it's easy to have missed "Sir" Paul, who has flown under the radar for several decades in obscure bands. Every so often he collaborates with a more established artist, like Stevie Wonder, Michael Jackson, or Youth, but mainly it's considered a tax dodge for those superstars. Charity. Cunningly, he's remained underground, cultivating a rabid, vocal, but decidedly minute fanbase, over the past five decades.

Okay. Most people know. If you're reading this blog, it's likely you know me directly and I don't think I would associate myself with you if you couldn't at least pick out three of the four Beatles (George is a bit easy to miss.) However, playing Devil's advocate for a minute, let's acknowledge the audience for the Grammys. For starters, as I mentioned, a disproportionate number of the audience is in favour of abuse. We're not always dealing with the smartest, most aware section of the audience here. It's easy to understand exactly how a musician whose glory days were thirty years before their birth escaped their notice. There's a lot of people, not wrongly, focused on the here-and-now, on the Rihannas and Lady Gagas and LMFAO. This is their world, and the Beatles, that's something old and irrelevant. And honestly, if you're not someone who already knows who Paul McCartney is, you'll probably be perfectly fine continuing to not know. It's not necessary for you.

But even making allowances for how it happens and why it's okay, there's something gnawing at me, sparked by this tweet:



And there's just something not quite right about that. Because although the numbers add up, that seems like a false piece of logic. That seems to preclude any 15-year-olds from caring about Sir Paul, that it's silly to consider they might. But they do. Somehow, the music has survived. I get parents in my store beaming that they're picking up a copy of Abbey Road for their 12-year-old kids, that they asked for The Beatles Rock Band when it came out, that they love Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd too. I don't think a subset modern 30-year-olds, fifteen years ago, would be caught in a new wave of Comomania.

I'm not here to talk about why Paul McCartney still matters: why his accomplishments deserve recognition, why his legacy should stand. I'm here to acknowledge that it does. That the Beatles fans of the world are constantly being replenished, at least partially, by new discovery, in a way that throwaway pop of bygone days doesn't usually.

On the Internet, nothing dies. Everything lingers, waiting to be reborn. The Beatles, conveniently, form the beginning of the narrative of pop music. Although I love earlier music, if you go back further than 1964, it becomes a bit estranged. But they were there at the time, and were largely the catalyst, popular music took a very solid form. Any fan of the Foo Fighters or Arcade Fire or Bon Iver or some band I haven't heard of yet can trace its lineage back to that time, and now that we have the Internet, we can let that continue to be a well-traveled route, for anyone interested in visiting. You don't even have to be 15 to start; I wasn't. Part of that is due to advocates constantly building the narrative of the Beatles as the greatest, myself included. But it wouldn't have taken hold if there weren't enough evidence to support it.

There may come a day, although I doubt I'll be around, when the Beatles legend finally collapses and nobody thinks about them anymore, when the history of music has moved on to where their moment can no longer be marked as the beginning of anything relevant. Where Abbey Road and A Hard Day's Night are as alien as the old-time crooners or depression-era ditties. But I doubt that their significance will dampen soon, because what they started will probably remain part of the narrative for as long as I'm talking about music. The Beatles will be in that same classification as Socrates or Galileo: Their work was before our time, and much has come since, but they will always be known to the anyone who follows them in their field.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

Arctic Monkeys/Strokes: Favourite Worst Nightmare/Room on Fire (Two-For-One)

The key to this blog is that it's not music journalism. I'm not out there to provide commentary on all the latest music and keep up on the scene. This is really a personal blog, documenting my ongoing project to discover and rediscover great music. And given I spent a lot of the 2000s not paying enough attention to current music, that leaves a healthy gap to fill in, since, on my first pass, I largely missed out these bands. I knew of them, but didn't pay any attention. And now I'm here, learning how to talk about them.

In the case of both of these bands, I came around to them specifically for material for this blog. The Arctic Monkeys' debut, Whatever People Say I Am That's What I'm Not, was one of my favourite albums I listened to in the first half of the year. I got around to the Strokes' first album in the fall, but didn't review it because I felt like my comments would be limited to "This is excellent." (Okay, I probably could have done better, but I was more interested in talking about their latest album, Angles.) These two bands are often linked in my mind because they both delivered massive debut albums with a ton of hype, then provided a series of follow-ups with diminishing sales and praise.

Having to write a second album is the worst prospect in rock music, especially if your first one is a smash. There's the possibility you used up all your good stuff on the first go, the insurmountable fan expectations for "the same but more," and the paradoxical concern you'll just end up copying yourself. I think a lot of fans, in the back of their minds, root for the follow-ups to fail, to maintain the purity of the first album. Both of these offerings navigated these pressures simply by being awesome.

The first few tracks of Favourite Worst Nightmare by the Arctic Monkeys are a bit like a hangover from Whatever People Say I Am: Wordy, observational, power-funk, bratty rock. There's the feeling, though, that as good as they are, they don't quite measure up to "I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor," "The View From The Afternoon" or "From The Ritz to the Rubble." But they do have some points in their favour: Their sound is thicker and more powerful, indicating that the band has leveled up some. "Brianstorm" is a whirlwind, "D is for Dangerous" is an explosion and "Balaclava" edges the album toward its greatness with its nimble basswork. The lyrics haven't suffered none either, especially on the latter.

"Fluorescent Adolescent" is where the album really hits its stride, bringing in any easy-riffing shuffle that culminates in a circular, overlapping lyric that marries form and function (tastes great, less fat!) It and even moreso "Only Ones Who Know" provide evidence that the band has a heart on this album. While "Fluorescent" was sort of a new prospect for the group, "Only Ones Who Know" has a shimmering beauty and earnest vocal that was not hinted at on the earlier record. But enough about how this one compares. It takes on a spirit of its own from here on out. The watchword for critics is "maturity," and that's true, it does feel like the songwriting has broadened its eye without quite changing the topic (the dark underside of a good time.) "Do Me A Favour," "This House is a Circus" and "If You Were There, Beware" propel themselves on a basic urgency that never makes the band seem too carefree or lightweight. Things in these songs, all through this album, are not simple. The way the dizzying "Circus" transitions into the ominous "Beware" is a thing of beauty.

"The Bad Thing" is the next great track on the album: it's not that it distinguishes itself from the rest of the songs as much as I feel it is one of the best examples of what Alex Turner & Co do, setting a rhythm-n-shakedown up with a lyric about how taking off one's wedding ring to cheat "Won't make it / That much easier / It might make it worse." Its abrupt end takes you to the mesmerizing funk of "Old Yellow Bricks," with its lyrics suspicious of nostalgia. The closing number, "505," is one of the most outstanding songs on either album, beginning as it does with that whimpering, lonely vocal (reminiscent of "Only Ones Who Know" or the earlier "Riot Van,") but exploding into a driving classic rock number, at last unwinding into an uncoiled bass riff that leaves you hanging just that little bit.

Like Favourite Worst Nightmare, Room On Fire has a number of pleasures of its own. The album doesn't foresake the bleary-eyed Sunday morning hangover sound of its predecessor, but it does pump it up to almost cartoonish proportions, wonderfully, right from the start on "What Ever Happened," with its pulsating guitars and that razor-rasp vocal from Julian Casablancas. Julian has two modes: uninterested mutter and freaked-out howl, and he alternates between them perfectly: some songs are all one or the other, and the ones that are both are perfect. Take "Reptilia," the best cut on the album, with its jigsaw riffs that snap together perfectly and that urgent chorus, set against a rock-solid rhythm of bass and drum. Those first two tracks both provide a listening experience different from that found on the previous album. "You Talk Way Too Much," "Meet Me In The Bathroom," "The Way It Is" and "I Can't Win" bring the straightforward, strummy, glossy garage punk you want from these guys. I'm particularly interested in the way the vocals are mixed, fuzzy and distant, almost desperate not to be heard. On a few key tracks, they monkey around with genres, with ska-like cuts (as Is This It also had) and the nearly doo-wop "Under Control."

Meanwhile, "12:51" features some of the best guitar sound, with its sparkling pedal effect, and the next-to-last track "The End Has No End" combines every element I like about the band into one, serving as an awesome climax for the record ("I Can't Win" is the abrupt aftermath.) It's a really exciting listen, and the band really does benefit from the upsizing of their sound.

I may be the only one who cares or thinks about this sort of thing, years later. But as I've mentioned before, an album does not cease to exist because its timeperiod of release as passed on. Both these bands' discographies are still widely available and perfectly enjoyable. The reason I don't give star ratings, of course, is so I don't have to concede "Well, it's not the first album, so I knocked off half a point." I mean, what is that? Why would "different" mean "worse?" Or for that matter, why would "too similar" also mean "worse?" Both albums to some degree are similar to the previous, and to some degree different, and both provide incredibly enjoyable listening experiences.

Buy Favourite Worst Nightmare Now: iTunes Canada // iTunes USA // Amazon.ca // Amazon.com



Buy Room On Fire now: iTunes Canada // iTunes USA // Amazon.ca // Amazon.com

Sunday, February 12, 2012

Serious Contenders: Elton John, "Madman Across the Water"



Elton John's career with Bernie Taupin is probably one of the most fruitful, rewarding partnerships in pop music history, right up there with Lennon/McCartney and just ahead of Steinman/Loaf. I don't have to love "Your Song" or "Candle In The Wind" but I can respect how ably they and songs like them hit that commercial sweet spot, all while John and Taupin had their other feet on the art-rock side of things. I don't have any goddamn idea what "Madman Across The Water" is supposed to mean or represent, but it gives me a chill, and I think it's pretty boss that this is on the same album as "Tiny Dancer" and the same career as "Rocket Man."

Thursday, February 9, 2012

Serious Contenders: Iron Maiden, "Number of the Beast"



I'm not much of a metalhead. I tend to focus my musical tastes on the middle part of the spectrum, because anything much heavier than what I listen to tends to be hard (for me) to critique. Doesn't make it bad, in fact good genre music is one of the best pleasures of today's market. The genres outside the "rock-pop" spectrum (Metal, punk, hip-hop and, yeah, country) all have their audiences with particular criteria for what's good.

I was watching Doctor Who the other night, an episode called "The Satan Pit," which featured the Doctor encountering a giant horned beast whose appearance I would describe as "metal as fuck." It got me thinking about this song, which nowadays sounds just like a regular fast hard rock song, given it's pretty early in the metal years. It does feature not only excellent guitars (it was one of my favourite songs to play in Guitar Hero) but also wicked metal screaming from Bruce "Not Christopher Walken" Dickinson. Still, metal as fuck.

Cover: Neutral Milk Hotel, "I Love How You Love Me"



Cleaning off my desk, I found a note written from a former co-worker with this song written on it. The original was one of the early instances of Phil Spector's wall of sound production. I'm posting it not just because I think it's good music, but because it reminds me of the feeling of sharing music with people, discussing it and finding someone something they've never heard before. My hope is always that I've done that for most of the people reading this blog at some point.

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Serious Contenders: The Darkness, "I Believe In a Thing Called Love"



It's funny how oftentimes in music a feminine manner (tight clothes, long hair, high voice) becomes intensely masculine. It remains something of a mystery how one ends up as Justin Hawkins rather than Boy George (or worse, Pete Burns from Dead or Alive) although playing good music is a good start. The glam-rock conceit of the Darkness involves pushing forward into that falsetto voice as far as it'll go at just the absolutely most intense moments of the song, to increase its power tenfold.

It takes a lot of balls, if you'll pardon the expression (or don't, as I used it deliberately) to really sell the glam rock image. Make no mistake, this is cock-rock, but it's amazingly done and not at all ashamed of what it is.

Sunday, February 5, 2012

My Morning Jacket: Circuital

There's a spiritual simpleness to this album. In my past experience with My Morning Jacket, they tend toward the elaborate, the psychedelic, the showy: tracks like "I'm Amazed" and "Evil Urges" that demonstrate unbridled enthusiasm for creation: imagination and technical wizardry. Here the boldness is toned down, but I still think the album carries that inventiveness. They've managed to learn how to get a lot of mileage out of a lot less.

Even the brassier, bolder songs on this album have a modesty to them. Something like "Holdin' On To Black Metal" or "First Light" announces itself as special but still feels grounded. "The Day Is Coming" feels like a hymn or a sermon, but still never needs to puff itself up. Both it and the opening track, "Victory Dance" use their sheared-down sound, standing on towering drums, to sound huge without needing to slap on a bunch of decorations.

The heart of the album is in some of the quieter moments. "Wonderful (The Way I Feel)" is delivered with an earnest vulnerability, really carrying the lyrics of "Going where there ain't no fear, going where the spirit is near... where the living is easy, and the people are kind, with its picked guitars sitting on top of light strings. "Outta My System" is probably the strongest lyric on the album, where songwriter Jim "Yim Yames" James details his growth from a drug-taking, car-stealing thug to a responsible, married adult. He speaks fondly of his former self, not passing judgment, understanding he did what he felt was right at the time but wouldn't behave that way anymore. The way the song is delivered demonstrates the perspective, and manages to engage the issue of growing up without outright saying "Kids are dumb" or "Adults are lame." A lot of the album takes this serene attitude toward the idea of growing and changing, like "Movin' Out," which marvels at the opportunity to create a new life for oneself.

The finest moment of the album is probably the title track, which manages to sustain itself for 7-plus minutes without dragging or needing to be built out of suites (not unprecedented but not common.) It starts un-peeling its rhythmic riff as James croons, building to its apex as the moan becomes a howl.

In general, the album has a relaxed, easygoing vibe to it, perfect for latter-day hippies. "Slow Slow Tune" with its ringing guitars and staggered drums, is an ultimate slow jam. I think it's healthy to have something like this in your musical diet, even with my general preference for exciting, lively tunes. It helps clear the mind a bit, to unwind. It's not one I find myself excitedly pushing on people, because I'm concerned they'll listen to the generally mellow tones and murmured lyrics, and go "So?" But when you sit down with it, given a chance, it'll speak to you. One of those great albums that matches its thoughts with its way of speaking, big and small at once.

Buy this album now: iTunes Canada // iTunes USA // Amazon.ca // Amazon.com