9.30.2005
After the gold rush
If Neil Young had died from the aneurysm he was diagnosed with earlier this year, critics would be hailing his latest CD, Prairie Wind, as a wonderful record that perfectly capped an enigmatic career. He didn't however, and so they're left with an interesting hook for reviews and features about yet another middling album. The disc has a few memorable moments, but like much of his work in the past decade, it is disappointing, containing neither the strong melodies nor homespun wordplay that elevates the best of his work. Instead we get odd namechecks of Chris Rock, the umpteenth song about Elvis being "the King" and a tune about Young's guitar.
True to form, the disc is Young's latest in the quiet/folk vein, following the more raucous, Crazy Horse-driven Greendale. Like Young's last disc of this ilk, 2000's Silver and Gold, the songs just aren't there. The players -- including longtime sidemen Ben Keith and Spooner Oldham -- offer sympathetic accompaniment, but all the subtly engaging backing in the world can't rescue songs without hooks. Many reviews cite it as the best thing Young has done in the last 10 years, and while that may be the case, that isn't necessarily a compliment; the bar isn't set very high.
In a long interview in the latest Time magazine, Young talks about the aneurysm, the fact that the disc was recorded in the week between the diagnosis and surgery, and about his mercurial career. He says he did think about the fact that the disc might be his last: "I was thinking about things like that, and it's kind of too bad that people know about this, because it's like, 'The only way he could make a good album is if he had an aneurysm,' or something. I feel a little funny about it, because I know I would have made an album anyway."
That last comment is telling, and would likely have been accurate if he had said he would have made this album anyway. That's the beauty and curse of Young -- he does what he wants when he wants. That path has led to some stunningly good music and some shockingly bad. Prairie Wind is neither, but it is the latest in a long string of discs that just seem uninspired. That's surprising given the situation from which this sprung. If this doesn't stir Young enough to pry him from this creative funk, what will?
True to form, the disc is Young's latest in the quiet/folk vein, following the more raucous, Crazy Horse-driven Greendale. Like Young's last disc of this ilk, 2000's Silver and Gold, the songs just aren't there. The players -- including longtime sidemen Ben Keith and Spooner Oldham -- offer sympathetic accompaniment, but all the subtly engaging backing in the world can't rescue songs without hooks. Many reviews cite it as the best thing Young has done in the last 10 years, and while that may be the case, that isn't necessarily a compliment; the bar isn't set very high.
In a long interview in the latest Time magazine, Young talks about the aneurysm, the fact that the disc was recorded in the week between the diagnosis and surgery, and about his mercurial career. He says he did think about the fact that the disc might be his last: "I was thinking about things like that, and it's kind of too bad that people know about this, because it's like, 'The only way he could make a good album is if he had an aneurysm,' or something. I feel a little funny about it, because I know I would have made an album anyway."
That last comment is telling, and would likely have been accurate if he had said he would have made this album anyway. That's the beauty and curse of Young -- he does what he wants when he wants. That path has led to some stunningly good music and some shockingly bad. Prairie Wind is neither, but it is the latest in a long string of discs that just seem uninspired. That's surprising given the situation from which this sprung. If this doesn't stir Young enough to pry him from this creative funk, what will?
9.27.2005
Whatever it takes
This is a big week for new CD releases, with Wolf Parade, Brad Mehldau, Neil Young, Big Star and Ryan Adams on my personal shopping list (and discs from Blackalicious, Elbow and others likely on that of many others), but I'd like to take the opportunity to write about a fantastic disc that, thanks to its low-key release, runs the risk of falling through the cracks amid the deluge of high-profile fall releases.
Destination Unknown from Ron Sexsmith and Don Kerr is a gorgeous collection of songs that play to Sexsmith's usual strengths -- beautiful melodies, sophisticated yet subtle musicianship and strong wordplay -- and often transcend them thanks to the stripped down arrangements and near-constant harmony singing from Kerr. In the liner notes, Sexsmith says these songs were written around the same time he wrote the songs for his last disc, Retriever. Sensing that these songs were different, he held onto them. He realized that at least one sounded like the kind of tune the Everly Brothers might have done, and decided that a disc with Kerr might offer the best presentation. Good choice. Though these sound much like the best of the quietest material on Sexsmith's other discs, the consistently low-key tone provides the sympathetic setting these songs need, and make it among his best discs.
The sessions started with Sexsmith recording demos for Kerr, who has long served as a drummer, cellist and singer in Sexsmith's band. These served as the base for the recordings that eventually became the disc. Kerr added guitar and harmonies to all of the tracks, and drums to a handful of them. Other Sexsmith band members added strings and other instruments in a few spots, fleshing out an otherwise bare-bones set. The results would be stunning if one hadn't come to expect as much from Sexsmith by now.
For some reason, the disc was released on tiny Emergent/92e Records, yet another stop for the itinerant Sexsmith. Because it doesn't have Nettwerk's modest marketing and distribution muscles behind it, this may be hard to find for those who are lucky enough to hear about it in the first place. The two are getting word out a bit, including this feature on Amazon.com; no matter how you come across it, it's worth the effort.
Destination Unknown from Ron Sexsmith and Don Kerr is a gorgeous collection of songs that play to Sexsmith's usual strengths -- beautiful melodies, sophisticated yet subtle musicianship and strong wordplay -- and often transcend them thanks to the stripped down arrangements and near-constant harmony singing from Kerr. In the liner notes, Sexsmith says these songs were written around the same time he wrote the songs for his last disc, Retriever. Sensing that these songs were different, he held onto them. He realized that at least one sounded like the kind of tune the Everly Brothers might have done, and decided that a disc with Kerr might offer the best presentation. Good choice. Though these sound much like the best of the quietest material on Sexsmith's other discs, the consistently low-key tone provides the sympathetic setting these songs need, and make it among his best discs.
The sessions started with Sexsmith recording demos for Kerr, who has long served as a drummer, cellist and singer in Sexsmith's band. These served as the base for the recordings that eventually became the disc. Kerr added guitar and harmonies to all of the tracks, and drums to a handful of them. Other Sexsmith band members added strings and other instruments in a few spots, fleshing out an otherwise bare-bones set. The results would be stunning if one hadn't come to expect as much from Sexsmith by now.
For some reason, the disc was released on tiny Emergent/92e Records, yet another stop for the itinerant Sexsmith. Because it doesn't have Nettwerk's modest marketing and distribution muscles behind it, this may be hard to find for those who are lucky enough to hear about it in the first place. The two are getting word out a bit, including this feature on Amazon.com; no matter how you come across it, it's worth the effort.
9.22.2005
Wrapped up in books
I checked the Belle & Sebastian bio book Just A Modern Rock Story out from the library recently, and started listening to the band's discography front-to-back because that's what music geeks do. I've found that parts of it hold up better than others. I'm up to The Boy With the Arab Strap, and it's the best thus far, easily outpacing the charming but uneven school-project debut and showing more range than the genre-kickstarting sophomore outing, If You're Feeling Sinister. Next up are the two weak spots in the line-up, the disappointing Fold Your Hands Child, You Walk Like a Peasant, and the fairly awful soundtrack to Todd Solondz's Storytelling.
The mixed bag that this band's back catalog provides has been a surprise to someone who considers himself a fan. That up-and-down quality was given further context when I read the press pack that came with the forthcoming disc from the Clientele, Strange Geometry. An article in Gear magazine from 2001 quotes band leader Alasdair Maclean as saying about Belle & Sebastian, "I don't understand what's good about them. They're okay. I just think we're better. And it's not even an arrogant claim, really. It's like saying we're better than a Micky Dolenz album."
He had me until the reference to the Monkee. At first it sounded like sour grapes from a band that, while good and critically acclaimed, doesn't sell many records when compared to relative indie heavyweights like B&S. But having given Strange Geometry a few spins while on my trip through B&S's discography, I find I must agree: The Clientele is the better band. While B&S at its best is easily the Clientele's equal, the band is not always at its best. The Clientele, meanwhile, is consistently good, its breathy retro pop always on target, always well produced and always just the thing for when you're in the mood.
Thing is, that mood doesn't strike often, which is why, despite the fact that the Clientele is better, I'm much more inclined to actually listen to Belle & Sebastian. The sense of playful fun and mischief of the latter fits the bill much more often than the moody, orchestrated perfection of the former. It's the same reason why so many CD reviews of critically acclaimed discs include the phrase "in an alternate universe, these guys would be huge." That alternate universe is a place where people are always in the right mood for the best music, really think about music and listen rather than hear. People who are really into music are like that more often than not, and still the need for things that aren't challenging, that appeal to baser instincts, is great.
That said, the new Clientele disc is awfully good, besting everything in B&S's catalog on an album-by-album basis save for Arab Strap and 2003's Dear Catastrophe Waitress, a disc where the band's reach and grasp aligned wonderfully. Watch for a Clientele review on PopMatters soonish. As for that Belle & Sebastian book, it hasn't hooked me yet. I like the fact that the band has been somewhat mysterious to date, and don't really see the need to learn much about its members. At best, they'd be an ideal subject for a Mojo feature. I may change my tune if I'm able to get much further into this, but this time, the music wins out.
The mixed bag that this band's back catalog provides has been a surprise to someone who considers himself a fan. That up-and-down quality was given further context when I read the press pack that came with the forthcoming disc from the Clientele, Strange Geometry. An article in Gear magazine from 2001 quotes band leader Alasdair Maclean as saying about Belle & Sebastian, "I don't understand what's good about them. They're okay. I just think we're better. And it's not even an arrogant claim, really. It's like saying we're better than a Micky Dolenz album."
He had me until the reference to the Monkee. At first it sounded like sour grapes from a band that, while good and critically acclaimed, doesn't sell many records when compared to relative indie heavyweights like B&S. But having given Strange Geometry a few spins while on my trip through B&S's discography, I find I must agree: The Clientele is the better band. While B&S at its best is easily the Clientele's equal, the band is not always at its best. The Clientele, meanwhile, is consistently good, its breathy retro pop always on target, always well produced and always just the thing for when you're in the mood.
Thing is, that mood doesn't strike often, which is why, despite the fact that the Clientele is better, I'm much more inclined to actually listen to Belle & Sebastian. The sense of playful fun and mischief of the latter fits the bill much more often than the moody, orchestrated perfection of the former. It's the same reason why so many CD reviews of critically acclaimed discs include the phrase "in an alternate universe, these guys would be huge." That alternate universe is a place where people are always in the right mood for the best music, really think about music and listen rather than hear. People who are really into music are like that more often than not, and still the need for things that aren't challenging, that appeal to baser instincts, is great.
That said, the new Clientele disc is awfully good, besting everything in B&S's catalog on an album-by-album basis save for Arab Strap and 2003's Dear Catastrophe Waitress, a disc where the band's reach and grasp aligned wonderfully. Watch for a Clientele review on PopMatters soonish. As for that Belle & Sebastian book, it hasn't hooked me yet. I like the fact that the band has been somewhat mysterious to date, and don't really see the need to learn much about its members. At best, they'd be an ideal subject for a Mojo feature. I may change my tune if I'm able to get much further into this, but this time, the music wins out.
9.20.2005
How can I miss you?
A recent discussion of the possible whereabouts of singer-songwriter (and erstwhile Leatherwood) Todd Newman led me to a web search for info. I could find little about him, and nothing current. The Leatherwoods, essentially the duo of Newman and Tim O'Reagan, recorded one great disc in the mid-90s for Twin\Tone imprint Medium Cool, Topeka Oratorio, (its title a play on the contemporaneous Paul McCartney stab at symphonic composition, Liverpool Oratorio) and then split. Newman started a solo career that netted the EP Too Sad for Words on the wonderfully consistent micro-indie Bus Stop Records, and Temporary Setback on the even tinier Barber's Itch Records (found online only at eMusic, which has the label's discography, such as it is). The few mentions of Newman usually came in pages talking about O'Reagan's subsequent stint as the drummer for the Jayhawks.
So, I'm no closer to finding anything out about Newman, but I did stumble across a treasure trove of information at the Twin\Tone site. For most of the releases listed, sales information is provided. For example, Soul Asylum, one of the label's best sellers and certainly its most successful offspring, sold 10,206 vinyl copies and 4,920 cassette copies of its top Twin\Tone seller, Made to be Broken, before the album was issued on CD in 1988. That seems low to me, but it speaks to the real marginal appeal of what was then called college rock. Because everyone around me liked this stuff, I assumed it was much more popular than the truth would indicate.
Even the Replacements' Let it Be, unquestionably the best-reviewed and best-loved Twin\Tone release, sold less than 100,000 on vinyl and cassette before it's initial CD issue. According to the disc's page, 26,000 vinyl copies were pressed, while 51,000 cassettes were made. That was enough to get the band signed to a major label, a threshold that dropped as indie bands created exponentially more buzz than sales. The Jayhawks' Twin\Tone debut, Blue Earth, sold 1,383 vinyl copies, 1,464 cassettes and 2,876 CDs before the band was signed to American Records. It seems as if I knew half of the people who owned that record, but obviously many more people had heard the disc than owned it. It reminds me of something Richard Buckner once said from the stage at a packed show in Iowa City: "Where were all of you when my record came out?"
If nothing else, the site offers significant context. I mean, the Blue Hippos seemed to play Iowa City every other weekend my freshman year, yet the disc they were supporting, Forty Forty, only sold about 2,000 copies. Then again, I never bothered to pick up a copy, let alone go see them, and I saw nearly everybody who came through town back then (like the Magnolias, whose Dime Store Dream only sold about 4,000 copies, including mine). All of this might explain why we haven't heard anything from Todd Newman lately. Even when the kind of music he made was remotely popular, bands that toured relentlessly barely sold enough to justify pressing up a record. It would be easy today to figure it's not worth the bother.
So, I'm no closer to finding anything out about Newman, but I did stumble across a treasure trove of information at the Twin\Tone site. For most of the releases listed, sales information is provided. For example, Soul Asylum, one of the label's best sellers and certainly its most successful offspring, sold 10,206 vinyl copies and 4,920 cassette copies of its top Twin\Tone seller, Made to be Broken, before the album was issued on CD in 1988. That seems low to me, but it speaks to the real marginal appeal of what was then called college rock. Because everyone around me liked this stuff, I assumed it was much more popular than the truth would indicate.
Even the Replacements' Let it Be, unquestionably the best-reviewed and best-loved Twin\Tone release, sold less than 100,000 on vinyl and cassette before it's initial CD issue. According to the disc's page, 26,000 vinyl copies were pressed, while 51,000 cassettes were made. That was enough to get the band signed to a major label, a threshold that dropped as indie bands created exponentially more buzz than sales. The Jayhawks' Twin\Tone debut, Blue Earth, sold 1,383 vinyl copies, 1,464 cassettes and 2,876 CDs before the band was signed to American Records. It seems as if I knew half of the people who owned that record, but obviously many more people had heard the disc than owned it. It reminds me of something Richard Buckner once said from the stage at a packed show in Iowa City: "Where were all of you when my record came out?"
If nothing else, the site offers significant context. I mean, the Blue Hippos seemed to play Iowa City every other weekend my freshman year, yet the disc they were supporting, Forty Forty, only sold about 2,000 copies. Then again, I never bothered to pick up a copy, let alone go see them, and I saw nearly everybody who came through town back then (like the Magnolias, whose Dime Store Dream only sold about 4,000 copies, including mine). All of this might explain why we haven't heard anything from Todd Newman lately. Even when the kind of music he made was remotely popular, bands that toured relentlessly barely sold enough to justify pressing up a record. It would be easy today to figure it's not worth the bother.
9.12.2005
Why can't we go on as three?
So, long after most people have moved on, Jay Farrar finally has decided to tell his side of the Uncle Tupelo split. In a new interview with Relix magazine of all places (Home of "Music for the Mind"... I'll leave that one alone) he talks candidly about what he sees as reasons for the break-up. Sure, there was an artistic divergence that were leading Farrar and Jeff Tweedy apart, and it was clear that Tweedy had loftier commercial ambitions, but what really did it, Farrar says, is the fact that Tweedy hit on his then girlfriend/now wife. Huh? I liked it better when it could be chalked up to "creative differences." Ten years on, the juicy story finally can be told, and it's more "Real World" than anything. I was expecting some sort of George Harrison-Eric Clapton-Patti Boyd thing, not a drunken pass in a tour van.
Why now? Well, despite the fact that all but the most myopic fans are well past caring about this, Farrar still must answer questions on a routine basis. He has been interviewed quite a lot as he makes his way cross country touring in support of the new disc by the latest version of Son Volt, and he likely got tired of dealing with it. Also, almost since the beginning he was blamed for the split, something made easier by the fact that Tweedy formed Wilco by simply keeping the band together after Farrar exited.
At this point, does anyone truly lament the passing of Uncle Tupelo? At best we'd have seen five studio albums over the past decade, not the five from Wilco (seven if you count the Mermaid Avenue discs) and six from Farrar and Son Volt (seven including The Slaughter Rule soundtrack), and it's guaranteed that neither Farrar nor Tweedy would have pushed the envelope near as much together as they have apart. Sure, each has stumbled in ways they might not have had they only been responsible for five or six tunes every couple of years, but those failures -- including parts of A.M., some of Being There, a lot of Wide Swing Tremolo and Sebastopol -- are a fair trade-off for the better music that followed, music that wouldn't have happened in Uncle Tupelo.
If nothing else, this at least should put an end to the speculation about the break-up and the near-constant questions about a possible reunion. It probably won't, but if that was at least part of Farrar's motivation, you can't fault him for trying. Better to put the focus back on the music, where it belongs. Okemah and the Melody of Riot is the best thing Farrar has done in years.
Why now? Well, despite the fact that all but the most myopic fans are well past caring about this, Farrar still must answer questions on a routine basis. He has been interviewed quite a lot as he makes his way cross country touring in support of the new disc by the latest version of Son Volt, and he likely got tired of dealing with it. Also, almost since the beginning he was blamed for the split, something made easier by the fact that Tweedy formed Wilco by simply keeping the band together after Farrar exited.
At this point, does anyone truly lament the passing of Uncle Tupelo? At best we'd have seen five studio albums over the past decade, not the five from Wilco (seven if you count the Mermaid Avenue discs) and six from Farrar and Son Volt (seven including The Slaughter Rule soundtrack), and it's guaranteed that neither Farrar nor Tweedy would have pushed the envelope near as much together as they have apart. Sure, each has stumbled in ways they might not have had they only been responsible for five or six tunes every couple of years, but those failures -- including parts of A.M., some of Being There, a lot of Wide Swing Tremolo and Sebastopol -- are a fair trade-off for the better music that followed, music that wouldn't have happened in Uncle Tupelo.
If nothing else, this at least should put an end to the speculation about the break-up and the near-constant questions about a possible reunion. It probably won't, but if that was at least part of Farrar's motivation, you can't fault him for trying. Better to put the focus back on the music, where it belongs. Okemah and the Melody of Riot is the best thing Farrar has done in years.
9.06.2005
Blame it on the youth
Perhaps I'm just getting too old to stay up with technology these days, but I'm puzzled by the latest news out of the music industry. Blame it on the Youth, the forthcoming debut disc by the band The Sun (hard to believe that name was still available, isn't it?) will come in three formats: digital downloadable files via iTunes et al., a video-only DVD and good old vinyl. That's right -- no CD.
The DVD will include .wav files of the songs so those with DVD-ROM drives on their computers can manually make their own CD or rip the tracks to MP3.
"I haven't bought a new CD in a very long time," drummer Sam Brown told the Washington Post. Instead, he searches for vinyl versions, or rips songs to his iPod, or gets music from friends, he said.
How does one "rip songs to an iPod" if not from a CD? Oh wait, do you suppose he means "stealing"?
As such, isn't this a step back rather than a step forward? Assuming that I want to actually own a tangible thing rather than rights-limited files, and that I want to listen to the album in my car but am not content with the fuzzy sonics afforded by my iPod's FM transmitter, I must buy the DVD and burn the tracks to a CD. If I want to convert these .wav files to MP3, I must run a conversion program, just as I would if the songs were on CD. So, really, they're making it harder to listen to the music, not easier. The ideal way to listen to this music, it seems, is to put it into your DVD player and watch it, and who does that anymore? In fact, I'm personally set up so that the easiest way to get the music into a listenable form would be to listen to the vinyl album and then rip the songs to MP3 from there.
Why not offer this as a DualDisc? Sure, it's a bit more expensive, but the people who want to listen to it on a CD player -- and there were 766 million CDs sold last year, so someone is still listening -- could do so, while those wanting the bells and whistles would get those, too.
Brown acknowledges that it's an odd move, but hey, it's for the kids, OK? "It is risky for an unknown band to release music that requires so much manual extraction," he tells USA Today, "but the people most excited about music are young and pretty computer-savvy."
Then again, none of this is worth the trouble if the music isn't any good, right? My reaction was lukewarm at best when streaming the songs on the band's web site; check it out yourself and see if it's worth the fuss. Why, if I didn't know better, I'd think this was just a gimmick to cover for mediocre chops.
The DVD will include .wav files of the songs so those with DVD-ROM drives on their computers can manually make their own CD or rip the tracks to MP3.
"I haven't bought a new CD in a very long time," drummer Sam Brown told the Washington Post. Instead, he searches for vinyl versions, or rips songs to his iPod, or gets music from friends, he said.
How does one "rip songs to an iPod" if not from a CD? Oh wait, do you suppose he means "stealing"?
As such, isn't this a step back rather than a step forward? Assuming that I want to actually own a tangible thing rather than rights-limited files, and that I want to listen to the album in my car but am not content with the fuzzy sonics afforded by my iPod's FM transmitter, I must buy the DVD and burn the tracks to a CD. If I want to convert these .wav files to MP3, I must run a conversion program, just as I would if the songs were on CD. So, really, they're making it harder to listen to the music, not easier. The ideal way to listen to this music, it seems, is to put it into your DVD player and watch it, and who does that anymore? In fact, I'm personally set up so that the easiest way to get the music into a listenable form would be to listen to the vinyl album and then rip the songs to MP3 from there.
Why not offer this as a DualDisc? Sure, it's a bit more expensive, but the people who want to listen to it on a CD player -- and there were 766 million CDs sold last year, so someone is still listening -- could do so, while those wanting the bells and whistles would get those, too.
Brown acknowledges that it's an odd move, but hey, it's for the kids, OK? "It is risky for an unknown band to release music that requires so much manual extraction," he tells USA Today, "but the people most excited about music are young and pretty computer-savvy."
Then again, none of this is worth the trouble if the music isn't any good, right? My reaction was lukewarm at best when streaming the songs on the band's web site; check it out yourself and see if it's worth the fuss. Why, if I didn't know better, I'd think this was just a gimmick to cover for mediocre chops.
9.01.2005
I wanna be around
A review I wrote for PopMatters about David S. Ware's triple CD live set Live in the World finally sees the light of day after some technical snafus (it also took a while, truth be told, to fully digest three discs fully packed with extended live free jazz performances). It's the first of what I hope will be many more pieces out there as I try to get back into circulation with music writing.
The Onion's AV Club has a nice Q&A with Brian Wilson this week. Wilson has gone from being one of rock's most reclusive artists to one of its most well documented, and the prospect of yet another sitdown with the increasingly addled star wasn't terribly tempting. Talk turns, as it always does, to Smile, Phil Spector and the Beatles, but Andy Battaglia finds a nice rhythm here and offers the most conversational piece with Wilson in quite some time.
The Onion's AV Club has a nice Q&A with Brian Wilson this week. Wilson has gone from being one of rock's most reclusive artists to one of its most well documented, and the prospect of yet another sitdown with the increasingly addled star wasn't terribly tempting. Talk turns, as it always does, to Smile, Phil Spector and the Beatles, but Andy Battaglia finds a nice rhythm here and offers the most conversational piece with Wilson in quite some time.
@tirbd on Twitter
