Archive for 2009

The Gossip “For Keeps”

Beth Ditto has a huge and impressive singing voice, but it seems to have a limited application. She thrives on songs that express some kind of grievance, and allow her to play the part of the strong woman standing up for herself and speaking her mind. Whereas other singers communicate their anxiety, it’s clear that Ditto is trying to obliterate hers though sheer force of will. When she’s in this mode and paired with an inspired arrangement, she is unstoppable and incredibly empowering. “For Keeps” is one of her band’s best songs to date, particularly in the way that it plays up her strengths while pushing into a more sophisticated pop sound that adds a bit of textural nuance and elegantly composed chorus to their established quasi-primal rhythmic aesthetic. It’s sort of mystifying to me that this is not their new album’s first single, but we’ll see what happens down the line.

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Rachel Taylor Brown “Susan Storm’s Ugly Sister”

Susan Storm is the Invisible Woman of the Fantastic Four, and her superpower is that she can become, well, an invisible woman. Susan Storm’s Ugly Sister, an invention of songwriter Rachel Taylor Brown, did not need to be bombarded with cosmic radiation to acquire a similar talent — she’s simply found that her homeliness allows her to escape the notice of most everyone. The character is bitter and disturbed, and indulges in revenge fantasies in which she uses her “invisibility” to her advantage in murdering oblivious men. Brown’s arrangement and vocal performance is brilliant, emphasizing her character’s extreme discomfort and ethical conflict, as well as projecting a sort of sullen placidity that is periodically interrupted by tiny outbursts of simultaneous rage, angst and guilt.

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Jeffrey Lewis “If Life Exists (?)”

This song is essentially a shrug of resignation: There is no logic to our emotions, our intellect is at the mercy of our brain chemistry, and we live moment to unpredictable moment. Nevertheless, it is not wholly negative or even sorta sad. If anything, there is a calm in this song, as though simply admitting that being human is fairly difficult, and that disappointments are frequent and crushing, and that no matter how hard you try you cannot control everything, just takes this huge weight off your back. It’s a relief, and it’s true. It’s easier to be hard on yourself and expect too much than to be calm and relatively free of neuroses, but it’s also less productive. That’s the trade off: Would you rather have the drive to always feel that you need to improve and have it motivate you to actually gradually become a better person, or do you want to be mediocre and content? I know what I choose, but if you read this site regularly, you probably have a sense of just how anxious I can get.

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Fiona Apple “I Know”

Maybe there is something a bit weird about how one of the most beautiful and unbelievably painful love songs ever written is about David Blaine, but then again, it’s probably for the best that we don’t know anything about the people most songs are written about, right? I reckon the more emotionally wrought the song, the more likely it was written about someone lame, awful, or otherwise unworthy. This is where biography gets in the way of art — even with some specifics relating to stage performance, this is a song written about a very common experience. We never need to think of Blaine when listening to it.

(Edit: Okay, apparently it’s actually for Paul Thomas Anderson, but you know, same difference.)

“I Know” is a song about suffering through patience, and waiting, perhaps in vain, to have your love for someone validated and fully reciprocated. Its sentiment is gut-wrenching, but the lyrics and vocal performance are not particularly melodramatic. There is agony and sadness in nearly every moment, but the thinking is very pragmatic: I’ll help you out of your mess, I’ll support you, I’ll love you, I’ll swallow my pride and deal with my jealousy and stifle my desires, and….well, maybe there’s something good for me on the other side of all that.

It’s the hope that makes the song so devastating, and the way she clings to her faith that it will all be worth it in the end. But she can’t know what will happen, and the doubt drags her deep into melancholy. She feels a bit used, and she struggles to understand why he can’t just be straight with her.

The ending is brutal: “If it gets too late for me to wait for you to find you love me and tell me so, it’s okay, you don’t need to say it…” The title is implied but never uttered, and the song concludes on the equivalent of her casting her head down, and slowly walking off in the opposite direction, crestfallen and totally defeated.

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The Fiery Furnaces @ Le Poisson Rouge 6/11/2009

Here Comes The Summer / Leaky Tunnel / Chris Michaels / I’m Going Away / The End Is Near / Charmaine Champagne / Cut The Cake / Ray Bouvier / Staring At The Steeple / Even In The Rain / Keep Me In The Dark / Lost At Sea / Cups and Punches / Take Me Round Again / Drive To Dallas / Duplexes Of The Dead / Automatic Husband / Ex-Guru / Worry Worry / Wolf Notes // Single Again

I kept thinking about boxing during this show. The Fiery Furnaces were performing in the round under stark, dramatic lights in a relatively small room, and they played their songs in the leanest, most rhythmically taut ways possible in a guitar/bass/drums arrangement. This was particularly true in the opening trio of oldies, in which the melodies of the songs were foregrounded and unchanged, but the tone of the music was far more menacing and intense than usual. I was initially quite surprised that the performance was entirely focused on guitars given that I’m Going Away is such a piano-centric album, but for the most part, transposing the parts to guitar worked just fine, and in some cases (“Ray Bouvier,” “Even In The Rain”) improved the song in general. The new numbers were played fairly straight for the most part, but the old Friedberger perversity came around in some questionable decisions in playing the two best songs from the new record, “Drive To Dallas” and “Take Me Round Again.” They didn’t mess those tunes up, per se, but you could sense their restlessness with the material.

The Fiery Furnaces “The End Is Near”

Eleanor kept mentioning how most of the new songs were about ex-boyfriends, and at one point was almost apologizing for that fact, joking that they were now out of ideas. She shouldn’t be so concerned. I love the more obscure and whimsical topics that have come up in past Furnaces releases, but I welcome this more straightforward, emotionally driven material. They’ve done it before, but it’s never been as bittersweet as this, nor as neat and soulful. It was time to shift gears, and they made exactly the right decision — their melodic sensibility is front and center, the preciousness is dialed down considerably.

Pre-order it from Amazon.

Bat For Lashes “Pearl’s Dream”

The past four days have been nothing but darkness and rain, and it’s done a number on my brain. I’m not sure if I was always so sensitive to these sort of things, but I am pretty sure that a lack of sunlight is directly effecting my mood and productivity, and entirely for the worse. There is scientific basis for this, sure, but I still feel horrible admitting to it because I feel like I’m not taking responsibility for myself. Either way, in this negative lazy state, I find that I can’t enjoy a lot of music that I normally love. When I feel like this, so much sound becomes aggravating in and of itself, and what does stick is either so keyed into my emotional state that it is painful to hear, or provides some sort of comfort. Bat For Lashes’ “Pearl’s Dream” falls into the latter category. There is a dark gravity to Natasha Khan’s music, this irresistible pull into a grim yet magical world, and despite the gloominess that pervades her songs, there is something peaceful and calm in it, this noticeable lack of anxiety. If this is what feels right in this moment, it may speak well of me — perhaps I am moving toward this type of grace.

Buy it from Amazon.

Dirty Projectors “Cannibal Resource”

Like many of the greatest album-opening tracks of all time, “Cannibal Resource” has the effect of making the listener feel as though they are passing through a portal and entering a new world. The distinct aesthetic of the band is quickly established, with each element of their style introduced in a way that is more inviting than confrontational. They are not holding anything back, but it is clear that this is meant to be ingratiating and pleasurable. Whereas previous Dirty Projectors music often reveled in its own strangeness, the music on Bitte Orca is matter-of-fact about its quirks and deliberately beautiful. This is incredibly confident art — thoughtful, considered, extremely controlled — but it is not sterile or overworked. Every moment of “Cannibal Resource” is flawless in its execution; every rhythmic shift, harmony, and guitar tone precisely calibrated to evoke color, optimism, and graceful movement. It sounds like a new world opening up around you, or perhaps more accurately, finding a new way of thinking about and seeing the world you already know. Every moment of the song feels like a personal revelation, and the moment when everything around you suddenly seems invested with a wonderful new meaning.

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Milberg “It Was The End”

This song sounds very good on repeat, as a loop of bittersweet finality without an actual ending. Lisa Milberg’s voice is cool and removed, but she also sounds sweet and empathetic as she sings about a girl who may or may not actually be herself. As nice as her vocal melody may be, this composition is mostly about the track itself, which evokes just the right balance of muted melancholy and faded joy.

Visit Lisa Milberg’s MySpace page.

It Hugs Back “Forgotten Song”

Curl up in a ball. Lie flat on your back, staring at the ceiling. Look out the window. Lean back in your seat. Melt into the couch. Pull up the covers. Listen to that guitar, and the way the arpeggios tangle with the elegance of nature. The notes ring out, perfect in tone, floating in the air long after the sound is gone. Let your mind go, and fall asleep.

Buy it from Amazon.

Anni Rossi “Venice” (Afton version)

Anni Rossi’s proper debut album Rockwell came out in March, but last fall she released an EP called Afton which includes more than half of the songs on that record. This sort of thing happens all the time, but the difference between the recordings runs contrary to the normal logic of these things, in which the EP is essentially a glorified demo tape, and the LP is a polished, finished product. Whereas the Afton recordings sound full, robust, and feature extremely bold vocal performances, Rockwell is raw, tentative, and comparatively restrained. I cannot imagine why the more timid recordings were privileged, or why Rossi opted to dial back her excesses when they served her so well. The most dramatic difference between takes is “Venice,” which sounds seasick and unhinged on Afton, but limp and stiff on Rockwell. The former highlights everything fascinating and engaging about Rossi as a composer and performer, leading the listener through an eccentric structure that dives from peaks to depths, and showcases her wild emoting. At some points in the song, Rossi sounds positively orgasmic, and in other moments, just flat-out weird — gurgling, hiccuping, shrieking. She may go further out than most people are willing to go, but it’s astonishing, moving, and sexy stuff. Hopefully she’s not abandoning this style permanently — there’s no reason for this woman to hedge her bets.

Buy it from Amazon.

UUVVWWZ “Castle”

Teal Gardner sings most of UUVVWWZ’s debut album in an appealing, if not wholly unique, quirky rock girl style, but on “Castle,” she is a total revelation. As the music floats between moments of dreaminess, turbulence, and catharsis, her performance is similarly mercurial. For the most part, her emoting matches the sound of the band, but her inflections and cadences can be very surprising, so bits that would signify a particular emotion under typical circumstances end up getting twisted somewhat. Sometimes it’s more intense, and at others, dialed down and understated in a way that is slightly at odds with dynamics in the song. This is one of my favorite things: A song that sounds like being inside a person’s moment at a specific moment. I barely even understand what she’s talking about, but I’m riveted.

Buy it from Amazon.

Future of the Left “Chin Music”

Andy Falkous has a way of making bile, bitterness, resentment, and aggravation sound fun. It’s a real gift, and it is ideally paired with his bands’ knack for dynamic, heavy punk rock that hits almost as hard as I wish I could punch the universe in the face on some days. Conveniently, “Chin Music” is actually a song about punching. It churns and it burns and it seethes, and though there are rationalizations, there aren’t any apologies. It’s just GRAAAA and FUCK YOU, and of course, HE HAD IT COMING. Is it good to be so angry? Is it useful to be violent? No. Not at all. But it doesn’t hurt to fantasize sometimes. Falkous gives voice to the macho fantasy, and simulates the feeling of the ideal scenario while puncturing it with clear-headed logic. Very useful.

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Sonic Youth “Walkin’ Blue”

On a superficial level, “Walkin’ Blue” resembles “Karenology” from Murray Street, but the intensity isn’t really there. Whereas that song had a similarly springy strum and build to release, it also had a bittersweet tone that flipped its moment of catharsis into a moment of powerless confusion and heartbreak. “Walkin’ Blue” is more simple, and not just because it lacks an extended noise coda. For Sonic Youth, this is very post-U2 arena rock — ringing chords, huge sentiment, big chorus. It’s almost deliberately “normal,” but the SY-ness comes across in the color and the texture. The mood of the piece tiptoes back and forth between listlessness and peace, little sighs and big sighs, but the center is Lee Ranaldo’s gentleness and empathy, which is entirely unambiguous. He’s not saying too much, but what comes across is important: I’m here for you, let’s try to make things better, but let’s not get our expectations too high.

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James Rabbit “These Are Perfect Waves”

Even in spite of some occasional setbacks and ongoing frustrations, I am a pretty lucky person. One of the many ways in which I am fortunate is that I can count myself among the select number of people who can claim to fully love a song in which they are mentioned by name. “These Are Perfect Waves” in some ways comes across like liner notes set to music — I get my shout-out when Tyler starts listing off thank-yous — but it’s more about memory, and being appreciative for every good moment in life, and especially the adventures you share with the people you love. Tyler’s language is wonderfully specific, and emphatic in just the right spots. You listen to him, and it’s hard not to be a bit jealous: I want that fun, I want that excitement. Maybe I already have it, but I want more, more, more, more. The music charges along, moving into an infinite horizon, ready to take on new challenges while keeping in mind everyone and everything that made what you are in the present. It’s like a bus, driving off to the next big fun thing, and when I hear it, I just want to jump on and go for the ride.

Get it for free from Last FM.

Apollo Ghosts “I Won’t Support Your Love”

The Jarvis Cocker song featured here last week examined the inner life of a terrible boyfriend, but this track by the Apollo Ghosts comes at the same topic from a perspective more of us are likely to share: The friend or sibling who struggles to be supportive of someone whose taste in suitors is extremely and consistently poor. I can’t imagine anyone reading this has ever not felt exactly like this about someone or other at some point, or all the time. The song is simple and direct; the sentiment is pitch-perfect, even if the guy’s voice is not. Crucially, the singer conveys the careful diplomacy involved in delivering this sort of tough love, coating the bitter pill of brutal honesty with a large amount of sugary affection.

Buy it from Catbird Records.

Phoenix “Lisztomania”

Maybe you’ve heard this song before?

The lyrics to “Lisztomania” are entirely inscrutable as a whole, but there are enough phrases that ring out and demand identification that it’s hard to listen without trying to make sense of every line. Obviously, English is not Thomas Mars’ first language, but previous Phoenix songs were rarely so cryptic — if anything, he erred on the side of directness and simplicity. It could be that as his life has become more public, he has opted to obscure his self-expression somewhat with strange imagery, random asides, and allusions to things that have no obvious connection to the apparent theme of the song. Usually songwriters start out this way and become increasingly open, so it’s odd to find someone move in the opposite direction.

Here’s a possibility: Maybe he just doesn’t care what the words are because he knows that with a song like this, it barely matters. It’s all in the sound, and especially the spring in the beat, the shuffle of the guitar, the plinking of the piano, and the keening of the melody. Romantic joy, romantic confusion, romantic angst, romantic foolishness. It can be whatever we want it to be, as long as the romance is there, and oh God, it is.

Buy it from Amazon.

In case you’ve been putting it off, you should know that I am officially cutting off orders for the Fluxblog t-shirts on Friday. If you want one, please do order one now. I will keep the paypal donations open indefinitely, though. Your support means a lot, especially right now. Thanks to everyone who has ordered a t-shirt or donated, it’s been a major help.

Marit Bergman “Carry Me Home”

I’m not crazy about Kelly Clarkson’s most recent album, mainly because I keep wanting her to make another “Since U Been Gone,” and she only ever seems to come up with ballads that are nothing like it, or rockers that are more dense and heavy than dynamic and cathartic. I hold her up to an unfair level of expectation, and so I have to find my “Since U Been Gones” elsewhere. This song by Marit Bergman nearly does the trick. It’s not quite as rocking, but it has a similar sort of velocity and emphatic emotion. It’s not coming from a place of pain and bitterness, so the relative lightness works in its favor, and works as a come down from that kind of intensity. Bergman isn’t a vocal powerhouse like Clarkson, but she’s a fine singer and this is a terrific performance, and as much as I love the blockbuster-scale desperation in Clarkson’s voice, I appreciate the more sensible, scaled-down melodrama in Bergman’s delivery.

Buy it from Marit Bergman.

Joan of Arc “Explain Yourselves #2”

Joan of Arc have written songs with groovy beats in the past, but “Explain Yourselves #2” is different — there are no odd tangents, and a minimum of intentional awkwardness and tension. There’s a stillness and peace at the core of this song that makes me imagine a cool, clean, air-conditioned place to rest while the rhythm grinds mechanically outside. Tim Kinsella can’t keep himself from sounding anxious, but even that gets toned down a bit in this track, in favor of conveying broader sense of yearning for safety and stability. All together it sounds like a realization: The world around him cannot be ignored, but somehow recedes into the background as he focuses his mind on what he wants and what he needs.

Buy it from Polyvinyl Records.

Jarvis Cocker “I Never Said I Was Deep”

“I Never Said I Was Deep” is great partly because we all know in our hearts that Jarvis Cocker is not the miserable, idiotic cad that he portrays in the song. If you have any investment in Jarvis, you no doubt idealize the guy somewhat — he’s the smart, classy guy who always knows how to put horrible people in their place — but he’s deliberately messing with that here, kinda nudging you to think that maybe he actually is singing from his perspective. (Still, probably not!) This is a surprisingly sympathetic depiction of unthinking douchebaggery; casting the dink in question as a confused fool who knows when he’s doing the wrong thing, but cannot stop himself from always acting on his worst impulses. He’s selfish but helpless, and the pathetic tragedy of his existence elicits just enough empathy from the listener to blind us to the reality that he has absolutely none at all, and that’s his major problem.

Buy it from Amazon.

St. Vincent @ Webster Hall, 5/20/2009

The Strangers / Laughing With A Mouth Of Blood / Now, Now / Actor Out Of Work / The Party / Oh My God / The Bed / Save Me From What I Want / Black Rainbow / Marrow / Just The Same But Brand New // Marry Me / Your Lips Are Red

If you have been to enough concerts, you become familiar with the dynamic of the audience and the singer during small talk moments: They say something, the audience claps or laughs accordingly, and the space between the songs is filled up, nothing more to think about. Annie Clark is a friendly, funny person on stage, but last night, it seemed as though the audience collectively didn’t know what to do when she addressed us. Awkward pauses, bad jokes from weird dudes in the back, lots of nervous laughter — at some points, it felt like the entire room was on a bad first date with someone way out of our league.

Clark and her band of top notch multi-instrumentalists were excellent, but they did not entirely find their groove until about halfway through the show. They were tight and well-rehearsed, but some songs early on came across as a bit tentative, as though they had not yet settled into the best way to perform the arrangement in concert. This was apparent on “The Strangers” and “Laughing With A Mouth Of Blood,” in which Clark sang both her lead and backing vocals, which overlap slightly on record. It wasn’t unsuccessful, but it was less than ideal — she may be wise to eventually have another woman on hand to handle the secondary parts. Her male vocalists were superb, though — the extended outro of “The Party” was totally gorgeous, and they added the necessary weight to the chorus of “Save Me From What I Want.”

“Save Me From What I Want” marked the part of the show when everything totally clicked together. Not coincidentally, these were the more groove-oriented songs — “Save Me” popped with a smoothly funky bass line, and additional melody and texture from pizzicato violin and saxophone; “Black Rainbow” was transformed into something of a stomp without sacrificing its lovely, delicate tune, and “Marrow” had a burning intensity that made me want to start a petition begging Clark to write more songs like it.

St. Vincent “Marrow”

When Annie Clark sings phrases like “save me” and “help me,” she never sounds as though she is making herself vulnerable to appeal to other people, especially not in a sexual sort of way. It comes across more like self-directed exasperation, as though he’s freaking out about getting herself caught in one trap or another. “Marrow” is about as hysterical as the preternaturally composed Clark gets, but its groove is smooth and gliding even when the song is tense and violent. The arrangement reminds me a bit of Trent Reznor’s work circa The Fragile — that perfect marriage of immaculate production, super-tight musicianship, potent anxiety, and unapologetic funkiness.

Buy it from Amazon.