Posts Tagged ‘Malkmus’

Pavement “You Are A Light” (Live in NYC 1999)

Pavement was a restlessly creative band through the majority of their existence between 1989 and 1999, so the previous four deluxe reissues of their albums were stacked with non-album songs and unreleased material that was mostly of very high quality. Stephen Malkmus was moving so fast and with so much confidence that a lot of songs that would be the best thing a lot of bands could ever hope to write were relegated to b-sides or totally cast aside and left unfinished. But with Terror Twilight there’s really not a lot of extra songs and so the extra material on this reissue is very focused on charting the progress of the songwriting from demo to rehearsal to revision, and ultimately how some of the songs changed on stage. It’s very interesting but not tremendously listenable, and certainly not for anyone but the most obsessive fans.

Listening in on process is demystifying, and Pavement is a band that really thrives on mystique. There’s one demo in this set for “Billie” that actually kinda wrecks something I’ve cherished for a long time, a live recording of that song in St. Louis in which Malkmus seems to freestyle an entire perfectly formed verse off the top of his head. But no, it wasn’t off the top of his head, it was just a verse from the original draft that he’d replaced. I guess it’s cool to know that, but the idea that he could improvise so well was both rooted in plenty of other evidence supporting this and also just a fun thing to hold on to. It’s like finding out that sometimes Michael Jordan was getting lifted up on wires to slam dunk.

One of the most interesting songwriting journeys documented on this reissue is the gradual evolution of “You Are A Light” culminating in a live recording from a show I actually attended at Irving Plaza in Manhattan. As a tape collector it’s never been news to me that “You Are A Light” is best as a live song, nor has its origins been a mystery to me – there’s other early versions of the song that are not included here, including one that has the line variation “you..are a Sprite drinker…” that I always sorta anticipate in any version of the song. This set fills in a lot of steps along the way, including an extra long rendition laid down at Larry Crane’s Jackpot studio. I appreciate the lyrical variations as Malkmus improvises his way through rehearsal, particularly “I opened up my mouth, out came the words you despised.” But the magic doesn’t really happen for the song until Malkmus fully works out how the guitar parts fit together and how to really land the solo. By the time they lay it down with Nigel Godrich the song is perfectly formed, but on stage it gets a little more room to breathe. The song truly has some of the most beautiful guitar parts he’s ever written.

“You Are A Light” is one of a few songs on Terror Twilight where Malkmus is obviously sabotaging his lyrics a bit because he can sense the music wants to be more overtly sentimental than he was comfortable being at the time. You can hear him struggling with this in all the variations as he gradually edits out everything that seems like a song about a relationship in favor of telling a story about a weird senior trip abroad and nudging the chorus away from the far more romantic “you are the light becoming the day.” Since this song exists in many forms I don’t really mind that he ran away from the more open-hearted lines even if I actually favor them, and I think shrinking away from sentimentality was very honest and as a relatable impulse in and of itself. He wouldn’t be as afraid of it today, and hearing him be more open in later material is part of what makes having a long term fascination with an artist a fulfilling experience. They grow, you grow, and perspective shifts. I feel like I’ve been on all sides of this song at this point, and I’ve got a lot out of every version of it. I hope they play it on the tour this year so maybe I can get some new variations on it.

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Wire “Three Girl Rhumba”

“Three Chord Rhumba” is built like a logic proof, a simple and efficient argument that stops after just a minute because the point has been made. Most of the early punks were attracted to blunt stripped down arrangements for its roots in earlier iterations of rock or for its utility in expressing anger and aggression but Wire focused in on the possibilities rock minimalism had to offer in servicing formal ideas and making it so cerebral lyrics could be presented with a musical punctuation that could make them physically engaging.

The first verse of “Three Girl Rhumba” is a structured like a game that seems designed to keep you distracted, like a musical version of Three-Card Monte. You think of numbers, open boxes, open and shut your eyes, think of more numbers. You end up with no numbers, and it doesn’t matter at all. But it’s not a nihilistic song – you end up doing the impossible to avoid the inevitable, and that seems pretty cool. Even better, the logic of the song moves towards a conclusion in which all efforts to project meaning on an experience is rejected in favor of just dancing.

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Elastica “Connection”

OK, here’s a different card game. This time it’s all about luck and timing, and you win by making it appear to others like you actually have control over circumstances that are entirely random. Justine Frischmann demonstrates how it works by looking and sounding like the coolest human imaginable – androgynous, mysterious, effortlessly graceful, and casually flirty in a way that seems to presume that everyone’s interested and thus it’s all very low stakes. She almost seems bored by a positive outcome: “somehow the vital connection is made,” sung with a droll sarcasm that suggests it’s impossible to avoid her inevitable victory.

“Connection” famously lifts its riff from “Three Girl Rhumba” but it’s less a copy and more like a sequel – the Aliens to Wire’s Alien, in which core ideas that were once expressed with a brute minimalism are now presented with a sleek poppy maximalism. Elastica accessorize the spikey central riff with new wave synthesizers, alt-rock crunch, and a very ‘90s sort of gloss that sounds the way shiny vinyl clothing looks. Style for miles and miles, so much style that it’s wasted…

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Pavement “Westy Can’t Drum”

Stephen Malkmus is playing a game too; it’s called Telephone. He deliberately lifts the riff from a song that everyone knows to be a “rip off” – the essence of popular music if we’re being real, but being a clever songwriter he only just uses it as a starting point before heading off in his own direction. So maybe the game he’s playing is actually Exquisite Corpse? He complicates the riff a bit while keeping its energy – always a smart way to avoid legal issues – and by the middle he’s off on more of a Stereolab-gone-feral tangent.

Malkmus possesses a slacker elegance similar to that of Frischmann and a playful mind comparable to Newman, but he doesn’t come off anywhere near as severe as either. “Westy” is very silly in a way that feels distinctly American to me in much the same way that Frischmann’s version of sexiness and Newman’s sort of intensity feels specifically English. Malkmus stacks evocative phrases like he’s fully in the zone with a magnetic poetry kit, each verse ending in a punchline – “all embrace and segue to the burning masses,” “brings to mind the portraits on the coinages and Lincoln’s beard…but why’s he got a horse’s body??” The impossibilities that are inevitable here are all fanciful and strange.

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Stephen Malkmus & The Jicks “Middle America”

I hear echoes of the Pavement song “Greenlander” in “Middle America” – not enough that they’re extremely similar on a structural level, but close enough in tone that they share a particular shade of melancholy and evoke a frigid and empty landscape. In lyrical terms they’re from very different ends of a lifespan. “Greenlander” confronts a very youthful sort of awkwardness and regret, with the line “everything I did was right, everything I said was wrong / now I’m waiting for the night to bring me dawn” standing out as one of the young Malkmus’ more straightforward and poignant moments. “Middle America” is more like a collection of wise thoughts and observations, but presented in a humble and low-key way. There’s some good advice in the song but the emotional power of it lies more in the bits where he seems far less certain of himself or anything else. There’s something in the way he sings the “in the winter time” hook that conveys a sweet vulnerability and vague doubt that actually makes him come across as a stronger and more reliable person.

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Stephen Malkmus & The Jicks “Surreal Teenagers”

You go into a Malkmus song expecting some degree of evocative wordplay, but even with that expectation, “Surreal Teenagers” is especially rich with odd and interesting images. (I feel like there’s at least three or four very strong band names up for grabs in this one.) Malkmus is extra playful on this one too, to the point of singing the last two verses in a fanciful lilt as he takes on the character of some dandy dreaming of moving to Micronesia with his manservant John.

“Surreal Teenagers” circles back to the English folk and prog rock influences that went into much of Pig Lib, but it’s also informed by the dramatic flair that came from Janet Weiss’ presence in the band – basically, it’s like “1% of One” as a rollercoaster ride rather than an extended jam. This is from Jake Morris’ first record as The Jicks’ drummer, and the song showcases his strength as someone who can shift from an expressive jam band looseness to a more straight-ahead post-punk style on a dime.

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Stephen Malkmus & The Jicks “Share the Red”

The part I always remember from “Share the Red” is the one little part of the song that breaks from its slack, easygoing sway to tighten up and get dramatic as Malkmus sings “I’ll be watching all the time” three times with an unguarded passion. That’s the moment of clarity, the rest of the song is all mixed emotions as he sings about raising his children and taking note of the ways they’re wild and unformed before fully absorbing the rules of society. It’s not a sentimental song, but it is an empathetic one. He’s appreciating their lack of perspective while doing what he can to expand it in his role as a father. I love the nuance of this song – you can tell he cares about his kids and enjoys being a parent, but also how challenged he is by it and how exhausting it can feel. But I wouldn’t characterize this as expressing ambivalence about the situation, just an acknowledgement of the complexity of the situation.

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Stephen Malkmus & The Jicks “Wicked Wanda”

The lyrical content of Real Emotional Trash is split between playful imagery and thoughtful introspection, and in the case of “Wicked Wanda” it’s pretty much an even bisection. It’s two angles on psychedelia – the first half more fanciful and trippy, the second half much about ego-loss. This song, along with “Elmo Delmo,” confronts anxiety and fear in a way that was unusual for Malkmus up to this point in his career – or at least for him to be so direct about it. This part breaks into two verses, and the first is more tranquil and ideal as he lets go and allows himself some clarity and peace of mind in feeling small. The second verse is darker: “stories, not reality / I feel like a junk contraption / truth is I can’t shake this vile fear.” That last line always rattles me a bit, partly because Malkmus always presents as being so unflappable. But that image of him, the man who’s got so much style that it’s wasted? That’s a story, not reality.

“Wicked Wanda” attains some degree of grandeur and grace thanks in large part to the presence of Janet Weiss on drums and backing vocals. Weiss was a member of the Jicks for a little over five years after Sleater-Kinney dissolved after touring for The Woods, but she only plays on Real Emotional Trash and Mirror Traffic. She has a more heavy influence and obvious presence on the former, and it’s clear that working with a drummer as powerful and proficient in her emboldened Malkmus to aim for a dynamicism and drama that wouldn’t have ever worked with any of Pavement’s drummers. Weiss’ predecessor John Moen was similarly proficient but not quite as hard hitting or as flashy with fills. She does well with the songs on Mirror Traffic but that material doesn’t seem as tailor-made for her, and while that is probably just the natural drift of his songwriting muse it also seems like the novelty of having a drummer like that became less of a novelty and more of a day-to-day reality. Four albums down the line from her departure it feels like Weiss’ presence was a very good experience for Malkmus to have, but also something that was probably better as a phase than a permanent situation.

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Stephen Malkmus “Pencil Rot”

“Pencil Rot” nudges the ersatz new wave of the Pig Lib song “Dark Wave” a bit further into more demented territory, sharpening up every part that could be called “angular,” piling on scuzzy effects, and going hogwild with the bleep-y synthesizers. “Dark Wave” was basically just a genre goof but “Pencil Rot” firmly establishes the more wacky keyboard-centric end of the Jicks aesthetic, a sound that was eventually taken to a logical extreme on Groove Denied.

The lyrics of “Pencil Rot” start off by embracing the silliness of the music, with Malkmus telling us about a villain in his head named Leather McWhip – “he needs to be stopped!!” But as the song moves along Malkmus’ riff on villainy shifts from a celebration of the cartoonish to a rumination the insidiously mundane:

I’m here to sing a song, a song about privilege
the spikes you put on your feet
when you were crawling and dancing
to the top of the human shit pile, shit pile
somehow you managed to elucidate
something that was on all of their minds
and other people see themselves in you
and I can see them in you too

From the perspective of 2021 it’s easy to read this as a pretty good description of Donald Trump, though in context he may have actually been thinking of George W. Bush. But in either case I like that Malkmus focuses in on the utility of the privileged megalomaniac as someone who can distill negative impulses and allow for identification that crosses class divides. It’s the idealized self, the version that can do whatever they want with impunity and wield actual power in the world. It’s grasping power and privilege by proxy, and the proxy is nothing without this shared delusion.

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Stephen Malkmus & The Jicks “(Do Not Feed the) Oyster”

“Oyster” is a turning point for Stephen Malkmus as a songwriter. The majority of the first Jicks record could’ve been Pavement songs – in fact, a few of the songs had at least been rehearsed with that band. But “Oyster,” which was debuted on stage well before Pig Lib was released, could only be a Jicks song. This is the sound of the middle aged Malkmus, more winding and digressive in his guitar melodies and supported by a band more capable of pushing into more epic and bombastic territory. It’s not a world away from where he’d been, but it was an aesthetic breakthrough that gave the Jicks a character beyond “the guy from Pavement playing with people who weren’t in Pavement.”

The sound of “Oyster” feels vaguely nautical, like there’s some sea shanty mixed in with the tuneful English folk and prog rock in its DNA. The lyrics reflect this somewhat, but it’s very confusing – like, what would it mean to feed the oysters when they survive by extracting algae from water? It sounds cool, though, and that’s usually his goal. The most intriguing bit is when the song circles back to the second verse and it’s suddenly about the disappointing hassles of adult life. It’s an interesting contrast with the songs on Pavement’s Brighten the Corners, which often seemed to long for these mundane rituals. Malkmus was 30 when he wrote those songs and nearer to 40 when he wrote “Oyster” – certainly less intriguing when you’re not a guy constantly touring through his 20s and probably wondering from time to time what being a regular grown up might be like.

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Stephen Malkmus “Vague Space”

Stephen Malkmus went through a phase in the late 90s and early 00s in which he clearly felt a natural pull towards writing traditional romantic pop songs but felt weird and self conscious about it, so any time a melody suggested a sentimental cliché he wrote in something absurd or off-putting to subvert the listener’s expectations. You can hear this on “You Are A Light,” “Spit On A Stranger,” “Major Leagues,” and “Ann Don’t Cry” on Terror Twilight, and very obviously in “Vague Space” from the first Jicks record. This isn’t all conjecture – early versions of these songs have been in rotation for ages and the demo version of “Vague Space” featured on the “Phantasies” single features an early version of the chorus that goes “I love to turn you on” before it was revised to “I love to tear you off.” The editing process was pretty transparent.

There’s a part of me that sees this as a cop-out, a way of shrinking away from genuine emotions because you don’t want anyone to accuse you of being corny. But that impulse to shrink away from feelings, to put up a flimsy defense – that’s a very relatable feeling, and “Vague Space” is definitely a song about hedging emotional bets and playing it cool. The first verse is a dodge on a “define the relationship” conversation that includes a genuine compliment that’s also a neg – “I came to crave your spastic touch, the honest way you move’s too much,” and the second verse drifts into poetic nonsense, as if to say “haha, never mind.” As it goes along Malkmus tries to downplay everything – “this is no new romantic blitzkrieg” – but the sound of it all makes it obvious that he’s coming from a sweet place and just hates dealing with pressure. The “vague space” is a comfort zone, a way to enjoy feelings and moments without any particular responsibility. It’s not necessarily the most noble thing, but it’s an understandable position.

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Stephen Malkmus “Brainwashed”

I certainly never expected Stephen Malkmus to ever record a song with a vibe very similar to that of Grant Lee Buffalo’s 1994 masterpiece Mighty Joe Moon, but here we are – one of the few unexpected things in 2020 to actually be delightful. “Brainwashed” is a folksy number with a distinctly woodsy feel, like he ought to be playing it while sitting on a log near a stream, or maybe out in front of a cabin with the scent of a wood-burning stove in the distance. Malkmus’ vocal falls somewhere between relaxed and exhausted as he pleads to be rid of his mind and his memories, and all the responsibilities that go along with it. He sketches out some odd Malkmusian details about what the guy in this song has been up to – some kind of scam involving propane in Maine? – but that’s just color. The main thing here is the way the “brainwash me” refrain sounds so enticing now, and the way Malkmus busts out an electric guitar solo at the end that’s a little like what he pulled out for his Silver Jews song “Blue Arrangements” over 20 years ago and a bit like a more dazed version of Neil Young.

Also, in case you missed it a few months ago, I wrote a full review of Malkmus’ Traditional Techniques for NPR and you can read it right here.

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Stephen Malkmus “The Greatest Own in Legal History”

I wrote about Stephen Malkmus’ new record Traditional Techniques for NPR Music. Here’s an excerpt from that piece about my favorite song on the album:

The album’s finest track, the country ballad “The Greatest Own in Legal History,” is one of Malkmus’ prettiest compositions ever — and also the moment where this record’s folky aesthetics make a sharp intersection with his Pavement mode. Writing from the perspective of a depressed, sleep-deprived small-time lawyer, attempting to land a young client with the promise that he can’t possibly lose the case, he sings in a plaintive lilt: “I’ll be there to vet the jury / Make sure there’s a couple softies on our side / They’ll see their own kids in you / Their empathy will go a thousand miles wide.” The character tries to seem noble, but there’s an overwhelming pathos to him that makes his boldest declarations ring hollow, like he’s hoping you’ll buy his shtick even if his heart’s not fully in it. Malkmus is writing with a fair amount of irony here, but not enough to undermine the ache at the center of this song. If you were ever going to sit at home and cry to a solo Malkmus tune, this is the one.

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Stephen Malkmus “Forget Your Place”

“Forget Your Place” is an exploration of vagueness and neutrality in which the most distinctive qualities of Stephen Malkmus’ musical identity – the way he plays guitar, the sound of his voice – are either removed or significantly altered to the point it’s nearly unrecognizable. The song is built around droning sound loops that feel both tranquil and slightly unnerving, evoking the drab hum of computers, appliances, and fluorescent lights. Malkmus’ voice is mostly pitched much lower than his natural range, and he sings phrases that seem lightly disassociated but also quite friendly. When his regular singing voice appears it seems like he’s breaking out a spell, repeating “24/7 creative adults!” like he’s realizing what’s going on in a light panic. This is basically the nightmare of having a kinda-OK day job from a guy who has been a successful artist for nearly his entire adult life. Or maybe it’s also a little bit of a fantasy? It’s not actually that bleak.

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Stephen Malkmus “Ocean of Revenge”

One of the problems of selling new albums by long term career artists is that there’s usually no story to tell about it. Music writers are mostly quite lazy, and it’s generally difficult to spin “talented person makes another very good record” into compelling copy. The entire music media system is set up to favor new things, small discographies with a clearly identifiable peak, and on occasion, a comeback story. Being consistently good for a long time is not sexy and sometimes viewed with contempt, even if that is the ideal situation for being a fan of an artist, or, you know, actually BEING an artist. But it’s never really about art. It’s about stories and images, and a consistent story and static image is borrrrrrring.

Matador Records has been successful in crafting a narrative around Groove Denied, Stephen Malkmus’ eighth album since the demise of Pavement. It’s the weirdest and most casual record he’s made, though there’s precedent for both the tossed-off looseness and dependence on somewhat haphazard and inexpert drum programming on various b-sides and outtakes released in both the Pavement and Jicks phases of his career. The story here is that the album was made prior to last year’s Sparkle Hard, but Matador asked Malkmus to shelve it and focus on his more conventional material. The label was successful in marketing Sparkle Hard as a “return to form,” so the path was clear to release the more peculiar album with minimal risk. With this narrative, the oddball style of Groove Denied was now an asset, and people could come to the record prepared for Malkmus to “go electronic.”

OK, so, it’s not THAT electronic. There’s definitely drum machines and a lot of keyboards, and the first side has a few songs that are legitimately new aesthetic territory for Malkmus, though his Malkmus-ness is so strong that it devours any sound it comes in contact with. The most extreme song is “Forget Your Place,” not just because it’s so slow and meditative, but because his voice is altered so much that the Malkmus-ness of it is muted. This is good and interesting stuff, but the real action is on the second side. That’s where he’s not trying on new vibes, but doing his usual thing with a playful “hey, who cares, I’m having fun here” attitude. This is always an aspect of what Malkmus does, but the trend over the course of his Jicks catalog is a move towards increasingly tight and technically accomplished music. He sings better, he plays better, he works with a strong rhythm section. But here’s informal and a little sloppy. He’s doing all the percussion and drum programming himself, and it’s not his strong suit. But it’s very charming, and it suits the wobbly psychedelic vibes he’s going after.

“Ocean of Revenge” is my favorite, and it’s the most tightly composed song on the record. Sue me, I am a long term Jicks fan. This is what I’ve come to love! The presentation is a bit more sloppy, but the songwriting is brilliant in a very specific Malkmus-y way – long free-floating melodies, casually winding guitar parts, lyrics full of surprising specificity. He’s writing in character here, but the key lines ring out in a way that invite you to ignore the storytelling and focus on the feeling: “I know you thought about me more often than I thought of you / it is true, just admit it!” The song is excellent in its construction but still feels like something he might have written and laid down in a day and forgot about for two years. It’s the kind of thing that reminds you how this all seems to come so easily to him, which is both astonishing and a little annoying. Some people work all their lives to write one song as good as “Ocean of Revenge,” and for Malkmus it’s just another one among the many.

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Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks “Solid Silk”

Stephen Malkmus is the kind of artist who from a distance seems to always be doing his Stephen Malkmus thing, but has actually been constantly growing and evolving for three decades. As he’s aged he’s become more refined. The melodic sensibilities he’s always had have remained the same, but his compositions have become increasingly tidy and intricate. “Solid Silk” represents a new extreme in this regard – the folky melodies are lovely and straightforward but rendered as elegantly as possible in crystalline guitar parts and a string arrangement that seamlessly shifts from smooth elegance to mild melodrama. Up until now, Malkmus has kept the sophistication of his craft hidden in his characteristic looseness and casual swagger, but now he just seems bored by playing it cool. He doesn’t seem to be embarrassed about showing off or letting his guard down emotionally.

“Solid Silk” has no clear narrative, but Malkmus pulls together a set of thoughts and images that indicate a vague, low-key disappointment and discomfort. Romantic moments are revealed as artifice and affectation, money and privilege is depicted as insulating and soul-numbing, and ordinary life is presented as endless, pointless competition. But despite how cynical this all seems, Malkmus’ voice is gentle and slightly bemused. He’s not angry or bitter, just sort of resigned. The song is like an elaborately constructed sigh.

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Pavement “Heaven Is A Truck” (Live in Cologne, 1996)

I have spent two thirds of my life wishing I could be more like Stephen Malkmus. I want his style and grace. I want everything I do to seem loose and casual, but always brilliant and perfectly composed. I want to indicate great emotion and meaning with small gestures and oblique phrases. Wanting to be more like him has served me well in a lot of ways, but it’s an impossible standard. This guy has so much style that it’s wasted.

I don’t think you can fully understand what Pavement was without listening to live recordings, and few of them have been made commercially available. The records present the songs quite well, but on stage there was a strange alchemy in the personalities and far more space for inspired improvisation. This is also where the personality of the drummers asserted themselves – when Gary Young was in the zone (as on the Brixton show included on Slanted & Enchanted: Luxe & Reduxe), he hit with a force and urgency that nudged the band closer to the intensity of Nirvana. Steve West, his replacement, was more relaxed and groovy, and highlighted Malkmus’ fluidity and swing.

You can really hear that in this recording of “Heaven Is A Truck,” which as far as I’m concerned is the definitive version of the song. This take has the chill feeling of the studio recording but it’s a little less plodding. Westy’s pocket here is so loose that it’s baggy, but it’s perfect for the tune – everything just sorta floats along, and the slackness of it all makes my body ease up like I’ve been shot with a muscle relaxant. It’s a quick remedy for a weird mood, which is why I’ve listened to so much of this and other live Pavement tracks over the past few days. You can tell yourself to chill out, but sometimes you need to just induce it.

“Heaven Is A Truck” is a California song, and obviously, a driving song. I can’t relate to that, so I’ve always heard it more as a strange sort of love song that’s not really about another person so much as the feeling left in their wake. Malkmus’ words are certain but ambiguous, every other line is about subjective reality. The most evocative line in the song – “I know arks can’t fly, I know that sharks they don’t have wings” – is a declaration of what he does not believe. He sings about a woman with reverence, but it’s unclear whether or not he’s being affectionate. For every line that suggests he knows exactly what’s going on, the tone suggests he hasn’t actually figured out how he feels. So many songs are about processed emotion, but a song like this is more like just letting yourself linger in a feeling before you can start to define it.

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Stephen Malkmus & The Jicks “Difficulties/Let Them Eat Vowels”

Stephen Malkmus approaches lyrics from a very musical perspective – he can be literary and clever here and there, but he’s mostly stringing together words and ideas together purely for their sound. He’s particularly gifted at creating phrases that have an an inexplicable emotional resonance in context, and seem to express a truth far deeper than any literal expression. In “Difficulties,” the phrase is “ROCKS ALL, DEADLINE CHASER!” It comes at the end of each verse, a passionate holler following lyrics about love and companionship that are thoughtful and emotionally intelligent, but cool and reserved. This exclamation is cathartic, but confusing: “ROCKS ALL” evoking freedom and excitement, “DEADLINE CHASER” evoking anxiety and being bogged down by commitments and responsibilities. I think this may be how Malkmus identifies now, and that’s part of why it’s so dramatic in context. He’s admitting to frustration, but saying he’s willing to make sacrifices. Obstacles, difficulties, the lowest lows – it’s all worth the effort.

As “Difficulties” comes to a close it crossfades into a totally different song called “Let Them Eat Vowels.” I don’t think there’s any reason for these songs being conjoined aside from it just sounding really good. The two songs blend together well, but are opposites – the former is earnest and melodramatic, the latter is funky and oblique. It’s all cool phrases and groovy sensation, and though there’s an undefined tension in Malkmus’ voice, it all seems to dissipate as the band coasts out on the groove.

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Pavement “Old to Begin”

I took art classes at Pratt on weekends in my senior year of high school, and took the train down to Manhattan from where I grew up in the suburbs. Not long after Brighten the Corners came out, I developed a routine upon arriving at Grand Central. As soon as the door of the Metro North train opened, I’d start the album on “Stereo,” with its wobbling intro shifting into a mellow strut. I’d play the album through on my way to Bleecker Street, and like clockwork, “Old to Begin” would start up as I got out of the subway train and walked up to the street. I heavily associate “Old to Begin” with that visual, and the feeling of being a teenager so hyped up about New York City and art and music. (Still my three favorite things!) I don’t think I felt ~cool~, but I definitely felt cooler than I’d ever been, and just wanted to soak up as much of Stephen Malkmus’ casual genius and effortlessly chill in the hope that I could be even a little more like that. (Still a thing I’m trying to do!)

Malkmus was 30 when Brighten the Corners was recorded, and it’s pretty clear from the lyrics that he was thinking a lot about aging, and what aspects of adulthood and domesticity were appealing to him, and what just seemed like an empty ritual. He’s thinking about a lot of things that inspire a lot of anxiety and tension in other people, but at most, there’s only traces of those feelings on Brighten. It’s not about the fear of growing older, but rather what happens when you’re old enough to feel comfortable being yourself, and relax and go with the flow a bit. Everything on the record sounds sunny and nonchalant, even when he drifts into moments of doubt or regret. Music is rarely so well-adjusted, with every note, thought, image, and feeling given weight, but also a sense of appropriate perspective.

“Old to Begin” is loosely about a young person’s idea of feeling old, which is usually melodramatic self-deprecation, or reaching for a status that hasn’t been attained just yet. There’s a nice sturdy sway to the rhythm of this song – it doesn’t quite convey swagger, but it does get across a playful confidence. There’s a litany of minor complaints in the lyrics, but the sound shrugs it all off, and nudges in the direction of some bolder, brighter feeling.

And underneath all that, “Old to Begin” is a very low-key breakup song. He’s telling you that he’ll “set you back” in the chorus, and proposes a mutually beneficial end to a relationship: “Time came that we drifted apart and found an unidentical twin.” I’ve always liked that line because there’s no ill will in it at all, just this acknowledgment that a relationship has run its course, and that it doesn’t have to be a sad thing. From his perspective, they both need something challenging and new, and he doesn’t want to get in the way. I can see how being told this could be infuriating, but I think it’s ultimately very thoughtful and kind.

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Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks @ Bowery Ballroom 2/26/2014
Chartjunk / Scattegories / Lariat / No One Is (As I Are Be) / Brain Gallop / Rumble at the Rainbo / Shibboleth / Cinnamon and Lesbians / Out of Reaches / Tigers / Vanessa from Queens / The Janitor Revealed / Houston Hades / J Smoov / Baby C’mon / Surreal Teenagers // Father to a Sister of Thought / Kite in a Closet

Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks @ Music Hall of Williamsburg 2/27/2014
Cinnamon and Lesbians / Spazz / Lariat / Planetary Motion / Share the Red / Jo Jo’s Jacket / Shibboleth / The Janitor Revealed / Senator / Asking Price / Stick Figures in Love / J Smoov / Jenny and the Ess-Dog / Houston Hades / Church on White / Forever 28 // Outdoor Miner / Stereo / Harness Your Hopes / Wild Thing

Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks “Shibboleth”

Last night I felt so sick and exhausted that I was seriously having trouble standing up sometimes, but there was just no way I was going to miss a Malkmus show. It was worth it! The show in Williamsburg was one of the best Jicks shows I’ve seen, and I’ve seen a lot over the past decade and a half – playful, surprising, energetic. Despite my state, it didn’t stop me from wilding out to “Stereo” and “Jo Jo’s Jacket” – there’s just no way I could ever stifle my overwhelming joy at seeing those songs played live. The previous night was quite good too, but a bit more sloppy – SM clearly hasn’t memorized the words to “Surreal Teenagers” yet though it’s been in the live set for about four years. Going in to these shows I was most excited about seeing all the Jagbags songs, so I felt a tiny bit guilty freaking out so much over the Pavement songs – I am always thrilled to hear some of my favorite songs of all time, but I honestly would’ve been just fine if he’d played more Jicks songs instead. The new songs were fantastic live, by the way – “Houston Hades” and “J Smoov” were particularly slick and groovy, and “Shibboleth” is even more kinetic and abrasive.

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Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks “J Smoov”

Malkmus hasn’t written many songs like “J Smoov” in his career – “Motion Suggests Itself” and “Blue Arrangements” are at least in the ballpark, but don’t commit as fully to this sort of low key country-soul vibe with a full-on horn arrangement. The song reminds me of mid-’70s Al Green in particular, but this is Malkmus, so this performance is about as good it gets for him in terms of technical vocal prowess, and the structure and lyrics skew away from standard tropes even when it seems like he’s embracing them.

“J Smoov” has a loungey, relaxed feeling to it, but the instrumental parts feel very elliptical, like he’s just waiting something out or drifting off into a pensive daze. The lyrics seem flirtatious and romantic at first, but once you pay attention, it all takes a turn – he’s singing about a mutual attraction that both parties know can’t be acted upon, and when he thinks about consummating it, his language gets impatient and unsexy: “At this point darling, I must say / that the seeds unsown are gonna grow anyway / rent a room, get it over with / in a race to the inside of your face.” The line that really gets me is at the start of the refrain when he sings “you’re afraid of me,” if just because it raises the question of whether the other person was really pursuing him at all.

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Stephen Malkmus “One More Night”

Can, particularly the version of the band fronted by Damo Suzuki, is one of the best rock acts of all time, but their music almost completely resists being covered. Damo’s voice and cadence is too specific; any attempt to even just sing his parts straight just sounds like you’re doing an impression of him. Also, the music isn’t exactly for beginners. But I’m really impressed by Stephen Malkmus’ cover of Ege Bamyasi in its entirety – it’s extraordinarily faithful, but retains his character as a musician. I remember reading in a magazine, probably Tower’s old in-store publication Pulse, that Ege Bamyasi is one of Malkmus’ all-time favorite records, and he used to regularly fall asleep listening to the record. That kind of intense love comes through in the playing – he’s committed every note to memory, it just flows out of his memory without prompting in, well, the same way all of his albums can just flow freely out of my mind. His version of “One More Night,” arguably the best track on the record, is nearly twice as long, it stretches out on the groove a bit. I can’t blame him – it has one of the most distinctive and evocative grooves I’ve ever heard, it just feels really good to linger on it for a while.