Month: February 2012

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Where It’s At.

Ego, it strikes me, is wishing that the internet would realize when you haven’t had any new stories on a website for a couple days. Such a thing may be a good enough reason for taking stock and coming up with a new plan of attack, when I stop to think about it, but I’m still at that tender stage where prodding that particular bruise too much makes me wince and want to change the subject. The irony of this is that all of it happened at a point where I was thinking long term, and career-building and brand-building and all of those kinds of things, only for thinking and plans to be simultaneously derailed by the same event, leaving me sitting on the ground going “wha’ hoppen?” like a cowboy sitting, legs apart, amidst the wreckage of some exploded caravan as the result of some heist or another.

…I suspect that my analogy got away from me a little, there.

Nonetheless, I see things like this and feel a little inspired, a little nervous; David’s a friend, but also a true talent in terms of writing and thinking that I find myself in constant awe/anticipation of, and I find myself jealous of his sureness in saying things like “I’m good at one thing and straight at several others,” because it’s that surety in myself and my talents that I’m lacking right now, frustratingly enough. “The only thing stopping me is me” he also writes, and I recognize the truth in that, and I try to fight that battle by reminding myself that, if I could’ve gotten this far, it’s not impossible to keep going no matter what setbacks lie ahead. We’ll see if I start to believe that anytime soon, though.

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366 Songs 037: Disappointment


The idea that people could complain that David McAlmont’s vocals during any of the McAlmont and Butler songs were too over the top is one that I’ve always found amusing. Sure, he swoops and soars and chews the aural scenery as much as humanly possible – although at no point does he do the thing that American Idol contestants love so much, when notes stretch to include multiple ups and downs to show off just how well they know their scales; clearly, he’s a show-off in an entirely different way – but listen to what he’s competing with; Bernard Butler was the one in charge during the McAlmont and Butler sessions (The first album, The Sound of…, at least), with the tracks doing their best to become his attempt to fulfill the old Brian Wilson saying about pop songs being teenage symphonies to God; listen to “Disappointment” and try to argue that McAlmont’s vocal isn’t just icing on a cake that doesn’t even necessarily need it – something, of course, that Butler helps to convey with his 90 second instrumental freak-out in the middle of the song, which may be the most interesting point of the proceedings, before McAlmont comes back to chant “Disappointment,” his voice becoming just another instrument in Butler’s grand experiment, as everything seems to build towards something that has always felt like a George Harrison guitar solo that the Beatles forgot to include somewhere at 7:07 (Yes, the track is more than seven minutes long; I’d argue that the “song” portion is actually closer to three minutes, and the rest is Butler going crazy with sound). It’s epic, and overblown, and more than a little self-indulgent, but also completely and utterly Bernard Butler’s creation. Let David McAlmont sing as wildly and as openly as he wants; he’s always going to lose when he’s surrounded by music like the stuff on show here.

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Fame, One Step Removed

The weirdest part of catching up on IFC’s Portlandia recently was seeing various parts of my neighborhood show up in this sketch, particularly the much-beloved Waffle Window, complete with genuine Waffle Windower serving Fred and Carrie. I had this great moment of “Oh my God! That’s actually the woman who works at the Waffle Window! I’ve talked to her and now she’s on television!” while watching this.

(For those who listen to Wait, What? – The woman serving at the Waffle Window is the woman who cut Jeff off when he was in the midst of his Waffle frenzy. For all we know, she is the reason he is alive today, and not dead from Waffle Overdose.)

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366 Songs 036: We Just Won’t Be Defeated

Yes, yes, I know, I’m late; things haven’t exactly been going to plan recently, shall we say.

There’s been a lot said about the Go! Team, and their mix of found source music and influences; the place where mash-up mentalities meet live music, and then go off and do something less boring instead (A reference that’ll make sense to no-one who isn’t of a particular age and nationality, but for those who saw Why Don’t You…? on British television during the 1980s, you’re welcome; oddly enough, there’s something about the Go! Team sound that reminds me of the theme music for that show, too), and in theory it’s a fine, fine thing. But in practice, there’s a mudiness and laziness to much of the Go! Team’s music, especially on the second album, where songs sound far too alike, and far too busy, for their own good. It impacts even their best songs, and “We Just Won’t Be Defeated” is certainly one of those, but behind the “Double Dutch” vocals and sampled horns and indie jangle, there’s something… tired, perhaps, would be the best way to put it? For a song made up of all these elements that are so alive, so vital, there’s a life missing from the final effort.

It’s something that struck home especially when watching this live performance, which looks like a band barely awake, working to a formula and doing it very professionally, which is great as far as it goes, but – well, music, especially pop music, is something where professionalism is always trumped by passion, and this performance is passionless. You watch everyone at work, and you end up liking the song less, as a result. The Go! Team, when you think of them as this multi-cultural group mixing genre and culture and era into one aural blender and coming out with something to shake your tush to as a result, should be above all fun, and this… isn’t fun at all. It’s just something doing a job very well.

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366 Songs 035: Born To Be Blue

Day two of feeling sorry for myself (This is actually not necessarily true; I’m writing ahead, so this is actually coming from the inner darkness that is Friday evening, still), and so another song with “Blue” in the title, this time Ray Charles doing “Born to Be Blue.”

There’s a fascinating romanticism of sadness in pop music, maybe in more than any other artform, I think. Normal service will be resumed soon, of course.

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366 Songs 033: Melody Day

What makes Caribou’s “Melody Day” work is that it disguises itself, sounding like something from the 1960s on first listen – The vocals, the two-note piano, the sleigh bells – while being something with the shape of the 1990s, or more contemporary. It’s like a harder Polyphonic Spree, in a way, or a meaner, sleeker Mercury Rev/Chemical Brothers collaboration; there’s a collision of musical cultures that, by the time you get to 1:09, sounds like a collision in the best ways, with drums and vocals and guitar all spiraling out and fighting for your attention. By the time you get to what sounds like a flute, twittering away in the background (It may be a keyboard…?), I’m completely won over.

Also wonderful, but with a very different feeling: The Four Tet (Yes, him again) remix:

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366 Songs 032: How We Wrote Elastica Man

Continuing the Mark E. Smith-ness from yesterday, “How We Wrote Elastica Man” – from Elastica’s patchy second album, The Menace – is another messy, yet catchy, song that Smith sounds as if he’s wandered into by mistake, mumbling and moaning in the middle of the band chanting down how to spell their name like some kind of bizarro cheerleading squad (I’ve always loved that the chant doesn’t follow the spelling convention you’d expect: “E! The possibilities are…/L!” and so on). But that seems fitting, considering the sound of this song, distorted but recognizably classic in its arrangement (two guitar, bass, keyboards, drums, vocals) and structure. Like so much of Elastica’s output, there’s something knowingly nostalgic and traditional here, performed with a smirk and off-kilter velocity. For all of the MES vocal fuzz, this song could’ve come from any point from the 1960s forward, which may be why Elastica worked so well during their short lived existence: The music appealed to so many people because it could’ve come from each of their own favorite eras.