Two disparate acts came to mind when I heard that OK Go had extricated itself from its recording contract with EMI and planned to go it alone. Neither would probably make Damian Kulash and Co. giddy with excitement, but they certainly serve as a cautionary tale.

In the late 1990s, cosmic country singer Jimmie Dale Gilmore left/was let go from Elektra Records and signed with much smaller Rounder Records. It wasn't a big deal at the time, but I remember thinking that it was a good move. Gilmore would likely never sell more than he did on Elektra, but having used that major label's resources to build a fan base, he probably wouldn't sell a lot less, either.

The Posies were in a similar place at the exact same time. As with Gilmore, their last major label album was in 1996, followed by a 1998 album on an indie. I interviewed the band's Ken Stringfellow around that time, and he articulated what I had been thinking about Gilmore: Why not use the major label to record good sounding albums and promote them like crazy, then walk away and take a much larger piece of the pie on your own?

The cautionary part of the tale is obvious enough. Neither act came anywhere close to the (relative) heights scaled in the early 1990s. Now, you could blame that on a significantly slower pace (Gilmore) or a fractured band (the Posies), but it's also clear that it's certainly harder than it looks to duplicate the multi-pronged efforts of a major label.

OK Go has a leg up on both. Nobody noticed or cared in those pre-Internet days when Gilmore or the Posies parted ways with their labels. OK Go, meanwhile, has write-ups all over the place and its lead singer, Kulash, penned an op-ed for the New York Times shortly before the split about the band's quarrel with its label. The band also has viral marketing on its side, with its self-produced videos earning it millions of hits.

Still, the band had all of that before splitting with EMI, and while it could be argued that the label's archaic ideas about embedded videos likely hampered promotion somewhat (a hurdle more than compensated for by the press the band earned by bringing those policies to light), it also spent money on ads and other promotions. Result? Less than 25,000 albums sold in about two months. While most bands would kill for those figures, a major label can't tolerate that total.

So, for OK Go, the future is entirely reliant on mediated expectations. If the group is content to sell 25,000 albums every couple of years and supplement its income with live shows and merchandise, it should be fine. If it takes on a huge staff, attempts make it big and throws a lot of money at the challenge, it won't last long. I'd predict the former course rather than the latter, which then puts all of the pressure on the band's music. Thus far, it has been solidly unremarkable, it's music no better or worse than that of hundreds of other bands. Stripped of the clever videos, there's not much there. Progress is being made (new single "This Too Shall Pass" is definitely a creative step ahead), and that must continue apace while now also running their own label, promotion, distribution, scheduling, etc. Stay tuned.

Labels: music, record labels

The progress reports from the Baseball Project camp have been disappointing in only one respect: we'll have to wait until 2011 to hear the crack of the musical bat... or will we?

The group -- Scott McCaughey (The Minus 5, R.E.M., Young Fresh Fellows), Steve Wynn (The Dream Syndicate, Gutterball, Miracle 3), Linda Pitmon (Miracle 3, Golden Smog) and Peter Buck (R.E.M.) -- is working on the official followup to Frozen Ropes and Dying Quails, which isn't scheduled until next year. However, the foursome recently announced that they would be doing some musical baseball blogging, so to speak, writing, recording and releasing in quick succession a series of songs during the coming big league baseball season, dubbed Broadside Ballads.

"The band will be providing tuneful commentary on baseball events big and small, recording them in magical bi-coastal fashion (Linda and Steve in New York City, Scott and Peter in Portland and Seattle, respectively) and putting them up online while the ink is still wet," they report on Steve Wynn's web site.

The first track already is available: "All Future and No Past." Written by Scott McCaughey, it deals with the fact that before the first pitch is tossed, every team is full of promise. "I'd been reading all the pre-season reports and realizing that this is the time of year when every team has high hopes, no matter how unrealistic. Then I stumbled upon a saying from the great Indians player/manager Lou Boudreau: 'On opening day, the world is all future and no past'. And for me that really sums up the beautiful feeling that comes with spring training each year."

Wynn reports that the song was "written, recorded and mixed in Portland and New York City, all in the space of about a week, setting a template for regular dispatches throughout the season."

The songs will be available on ESPN's "The Life" section. The second song, already in the can, will be released in April around opening day.

"I think it will be a lot of fun just to kind of see what's going on and get fired up about something," Wynn writes on his blog. "And instead of just writing bemused e-mails to each other, we'll put chords behind it and call it a song."

Labels: music, Steve Wynn

You'll read plenty of tributes, analysis and speculation about Mark Linkous' suicide today. I'll leave that to others. What it made me do, I'm sad to say, was pull out his music for the first time in a long time. Save for a couple of spins through his Danger Mouse collaboration, Dark Night of the Soul (prescient title now, that) last year, I haven't sought out Sparklehorse music in a long time. I would put Linkous' music in the "to be admired more than listened to" category along with many others. I appreciated his artistry, but I was rarely in the mood for it.

I came across Linkous' music early and incongruously. He was the guitarist and songwriter for Dancing Hoods, a New York foursome that trafficked in college rock (for you young'uns, that's what we called indie before it was called alternative). The band appeared on one of my favorite MTV shows of the mid-1980s, "I.R.S.'s the Cutting Edge," hosted by the Fleshtones' Peter Zaremba. Johnette Napolitano came out and sang with them (this was loooong before the schmaltz of "Joey"... before Concrete Blonde had a record out, I believe). It wasn't bad, a step up from bar band flannel rock. A couple of weeks later, perusing the used CDs in a Des Moines record store, I came across Hallelujah Anyway, the Dancing Hoods' second album. A huge sticker on the cover touted it as the first CD picture disc. That's a laughable concept now, but at the time, the few CDs in circulation (this was 1988) all looked alike, with black letters on silver discs, and that coupled with that MTV appearance was enough to convince me to part with $5.

That marketing ploy obviously tanked with everyone but me, as the band split up not long after. Several years later I heard about Sparklehorse, connecting it with the Dancing Hoods (Linkous' name is rather notable). It was a shock to hear such different music coming from the same guy. I liked some of vivadixiesubmarinetransmissionplot, but rarely listened to it. Same for Good Morning, Spider, his second album. After that, I would acknowledge but not pursue his new releases.

I saw Sparklehorse open for someone around the time of Good Morning, Spider. It was a good set, though predictably melancholy. There have been times in my life where I have looked to music as a way to sooth the soul, seeking the sounds of someone who has it worse than me. But usually I'm looking for uplift, and Linkous rarely offered that.

Now, he's gone, and people will parse his music looking for cues that signaled what was to come. There seems to be plenty of fodder there. But regardless of what he was saying, his music spoke to a lot of people, and they'll always have that. I rarely needed it, but it was always nice to know it was there when I did.

Labels: music, RIP

Having had the pleasure of listening to the digital version of Merge Records' Stroke: Songs for Chris Knox for the past two months, I was pleasantly surprised to see the 2-CD set show up in the mailbox this week. I had forgotten that it was coming.

For those who have missed the boat thus far, pick this up. If you're a fan of Kiwi rock or American indie rock, you'll find much to like here. If you're a Knox fan, it's a no-brainer. Even if the music wasn't great, it's for a great cause: Helping Knox to recover from a June 11, 2009 stroke that left him debilitated.

Knox is a gifted songwriter who seems intent most of all on entertaining himself. His songs are concise, biting, darkly humorous, goofy and extremely catchy. The most-successful artists on this set use that as a launching point, putting their own stamp on the tune. These are kindred spirits, if not in sound, than certainly in soul. Jeff Magnum, Yo La Tengo, Mountain Goats, Lambchop... it's an impressive set.

Pitchfork had a nice feature with Knox this week where they asked what he listened to at five-year intervals in his life. With the help of the Straightjacket Fits' Shayne Carter, he offers energetic affirmations of artists like the Beatles, Robert Wyatt, Neutral Milk Hotel and Beck.

Labels: Chris Knox, music

Listening to St. Vincent perform Tuesday night in Iowa City, I couldn't help but think of Taylor Swift. Both are young women in the music business, but the comparison stops there. Annie Clark, who performs as St. Vincent, is wildly talented, with an angelic voice, serious guitar chops and considerable songwriting skills. In contrast, Swift, if reports are to be believed, can't carry a tune, but has handlers who are able to cloak those deficiencies in pleasing arrangements of powerful pop songs (I haven't knowingly heard a note of her music, so I'll take the critics' word on that one).

So, why did I think of one while watching the other? It's that tired music critic trope: "In a perfect world, artist X would be a star," the laziest of reviews always begin. I don't know that the world will need to be perfect for Clark to be a star; she seems on the cusp already, and has arrived there seemingly without compromise. Yes, her songs have just enough edge to keep the indie kids in perpetual swoon, and just enough polish and soft edges to keep the attention of the more adventurous soccer moms when they come on NPR in the minivan, but it never feels calculated.

When standing at Tuesday's show, I thought the same thing of Clark that I've long thought about Neko Case: I wonder what would happen if she completely sold out for one album, went to Nashville (or in the case of Clark, Hollywood) and turned herself over to the hitmaking machine. Both are too talented, ambitious and feisty (no pun intended there, though that's another, less likely example, one supposes) to ever do so, but the prospect is intriguing nonetheless.

Case has proven that following her own path is working, and Clark seems to be taking a similar, parallel journey. The show was good, at times great, as she injected a bit of drama into already solid songs from her latest album, Actor. The set-up made it clear that this would not be a typical indie rock show. While she held down the front of the stage on vocals and guitar, the musicians surrounding her played flute, saxophone, violin, cheesy 80s keyboards and electronic drums. The whole works on album, and did so here (despite my feeling at times like the manufactured nature of the music could stand an organic kick in the pants from more traditional instruments).

It's probably demeaning to suggest that Clark's appeal stems in part from the fact that she's quite comely and, as evidenced by her stage banter, enchantingly charming. That seems to have gotten Swift's shaky pipes to the top of the charts, but for Clark, it's the bow on top of an already incredibly appealing package. Her songs, guitar playing and singing are what hook you, and while you might not mind gazing at her doe-eyed visage while spinning the disc, it won't be the reason you picked it up in the first place.

The show proved that her albums are no fluke, which only made me pine more for what comes next. Actor and its predecessor, Marry Me, are awfully good. All evidence suggests the next one could be tremendous.

To see what the fuss is about, watch her appearance last week on KCRW's "Morning Becomes Eclectic:"

Labels: concert, music, review

When I first heard Brian Dolzani's new self-titled disc, my first thoughts weren't about the music, but about the chutzpah of the artist. Sure, we're in a time when a catchy tune on a MySpace page can help to break someone out and into the mainstream, but it still takes ambition and a healthy self-worth to record a CD and self-release it out into the world.

When I learned that this was his fifth CD, all of the above thoughts were amplified. The Connecticut singer-songwriter has obviously been plugging away at this for a while, and at first I felt sorry for the guy. Banging your head against the wall for that long can't be pleasant. But a quick listen to clips from his earlier albums shows that rather than an exercise in futility, his work over the past few years has been an effort at improvement. His sound hasn't changed, but his songs are deeper, stronger. With the benefit of moving out of the basement and into a studio, the recording is more befitting of this improving acumen.

The result is a disc of pleasant acoustic pop-rock. It's the kind of thing that is tailor-made for Starbucks compilation CDs, and as such, isn't usually my cup of tea. But there is something insistent in Dolzani's music that won me over. Tracks like "Summer," with its insistent melody and warm production are inviting, while subtle touches like the Middle Eastern feel of violin on "Water" elevate the songs and make them more than they first appear.

Musically, Dolzani is likened to Jack Johnson, Josh Rouse and John Mayer. None are perfect comparison, but there are elements of all in there. Vocally, he reminds me most of the dB's Peter Holsapple, a nasal whine that shouldn't work, but does.

Dolzani is earning accolades for the disc, and rightly so.

Labels: music

I first heard Franklin Bruno when I picked up an album from his band Nothing Painted Blue (ØPB). I'm not sure what led me to the purchase; perhaps a good review in a fanzine or simply the visual appeal of the album cover, but it was a fortuitous purchase. A Baby, A Blanket, a Packet of Seeds started what has been a 20-year streak of dependably outstanding releases.

My look back was precipitated by Bruno's own. He just released a collection of his solo odds and ends from 1992-98, dubbed Local Currency. Listening to all of these songs in one place rather than on the scattered pieces of vinyl or compilation albums, I'm struck not by the consistency, but rather by the variety. While there are plenty of pop gems like those Bruno has sprinkled throughout his career, I had forgotten the noisy, more obtuse experiments. Just when you think you have a guy pegged, he surprises you.

This trip down memory lane had me pulling out a lot of Bruno's back catalog, and I was glad for the excuse. Too long had elapsed since I had spun some of the earliest ØPB releases, and they deserve to be back in rotation. The band broke no new ground musically, but the territory it traversed it did very well, melding a very slight punk attitude (though more in the "let's make our own records" vein than anything sonically) with pop smarts and the most erudite lyrics around. Bruno cites the Go-Betweens as an influence, and I'd bet that Stephen Malkmus would cite Bruno and ØPB as one, too.

It has been difficult to keep up with Bruno's output, released as it has been on albums, 7" singles, cassettes (long live Shrimper!) and various compilations. Thankfully, Local Currency helps to fill in some gaps and makes listening to some of his less readily available work note quite so arduous. In addition to his work with ØPB and his solo recordings, he has worked with the Mountain Goats' John Darnielle as the Extra Glenns (whose lone disc, Martial Arts Weekend is superb) and with Jenny Toomey (of Tsunami, et al) on the disc Tempting. A new group, Human Hearts issued the disc Civics on Chicago's Tight Ship Records a couple of years back as well.

In addition to the music, Bruno is an accomplished academic and an insightful music critic. He has kept a handful of blogs, Nervous Unto Thirst being the latest (his recent look at Brad Paisley's "American Saturday Night" shows you how entertaining the reports from an enlightened critical ear can be). He has written for many publications, including the Believer, which in its November/December 2009 issue published a great interview Bruno conducted with musician/artist Peter Blegvad. He wrote a book on Elvis Costello's Armed Forces for Continuum's 33 1/3 series and, in the first thing I read that showed me his talents beyond music, he wrote a scathingly funny (and spot-on) review of the horrid indie rock novel Our Noise that ran in Matador Record's shortlived newsletter, Escandalo!

Bruno reports below that there is more in the works. So, catch up with Local Currency, then get ready to dive back in.

TIRBD: Any surprises or revelations when you heard all of the material gathered on Local Currency?

FB: I always had in my head that that group of songs -- especially the one on my first 3 7"s -- were a kind of album-by-other-means. (That's part of the reason there were four or five short songs per single/EP.) So I knew that they would hang together, somehow. That said, on going back to the original recordings, I was surprised that so many of them include some "experimental" element, whether it be low-rent sound collage or some kind of noisy intrusion (or alongside) these formally tidy little songs. I guess my ideas about recording were a little stranger than I realized at the time. Beyond that, I'm pleasantly surprised that some of my guitar playing still seems interesting, to me at least, and less happy to find that I could have taken more care over the vocals. I shouldn't apologize too much -- that diffident attitude towards getting certain things "right" could also be heard as a kind of immediacy. Either way, that approach was part and parcel of the '90s indie scene. Also, since I've been playing some of these songs live again for the first time in many years, I'm relieved that some of them stand up -- with a rhythm section, "Cat-Scratch Fever" (not a Nugent cover) has turned into a full-on Smiths pastiche.

Any thought of putting out more of your hard-to-find material on CD or digitally? Your Shrimper cassettes and the first Nothing Painted Blue LP in particular...

I'm more interested in my current projects (see your later question), so it isn't a priority. There are also practical problems: I've never been a good archivist, and there may not be "master" versions of the material from the Shrimper tapes, in particular, that would merit digital release without a lot of clean-up work. We still have the half-inch masters and multi-track tapes for the first ØPB album (all-analog as matter of necessity, not ideology), but that record was pretty under-realized owing to our lack of studio experience. It's a document of where we, and I, started, but I'm not sure I'd make people spend money to hear it. (The other side of this is that I don't object if that material is distributed, ahem, unofficially.) All that said, there's probably a CDs worth of post-Emotional Discipline ØPB singles/compilation tracks/unmixed songs dropped from other records that I wouldn't mind assembling at some point -- we were fairly prolific in out day, and there are some buried songs that (perhaps) deserve a wider hearing.

I've always found your music criticism and analysis fascinating but I wonder, does the penchant for thinking so deeply about music have an adverse effect on your ability to listen for pleasure? Can you turn it off?

I don't find that it's a matter of "turning it off." I don't experience myself as having any trouble marveling at the music that I love, whether that's realized in composition (songwriting) or performance or both, and I think it's possible that my analytical side opens me to an appreciation of craft and structure, which I think have as much aesthetic potential as, say, "intensity." (I suppose I'm often looking for the place where mere craft and skill transcend themselves, if that makes any sense.) Generally, I've never held with the idea that critical analysis "destroys" what's valuable in aesthetic experience. First of all, I'm not sure what the metaphor is supposed to convey. I mean, what's there is still there whether someone purports to account for it or not, so I don't see what's actually "destroyed." And also, if you truly believe that there's something genuinely ineffable or inexpressible about how a piece of music (or poetry or film or what have you) works, then all the language in the world won't touch that. (I'm sorry if this is the kind of "intellectual" sounding answer that people might expect from me, but there you go. Trust me, this answer could be longer.) On the other hand, having been around for a while does probably make it harder for me to be enthusiastic about some new bands -- a revival of some style (neo-psych-folk or angular dance-rock or whatever) is less exciting when you were around for what's being revived. (Though there are always individual remarkable exceptions.) None of that is a function of being a critic as such -- it's just a matter of age.

Do you put the same thought into your own music, or rather, do you become your own harshest critic? Does that ever limit what you are willing to release?

These are tough questions, John. Given some of what I've seen written about myself, I'm pretty sure I'm not my own harshest critic! And, while I'm certainly aware of the failures of craft or execution on just about everything I've released, I can't believe that most artists don't feel the same way, and what I find dissatisfying in my own work is probably not the same as what outside listeners, critically inclined or not, might find lacking. As for "thought," I do sometimes have critical or mildly theoretical ideas that guide a particular recording. For example, on the Human Hearts album I'm working on now, I've decided not to use any strings (even though I'm friends with some wonderful players and arrangers), as a kind of push-back against the tendency in indiedom to use "orchestral" instruments as a signal that something is to be taken more seriously than a "mere" rock band. (I find the implied hierarchy here a bit undemocratic, or undemotic -- even though I have this rep as "brainy" or "quirky" or whatever, I'm still much more interested in music that retains some tie to vernacular traditions.) I could go on (I'm more interested in horns), but it's just an example.

I do think that being a critic, or at least trying to be a widely-informed listener, does make it harder to be a "true believer" about one's own music. When you're, say, 20 and involved in a tight-knit local scene, as I was, it's easy to have the conviction that you and your friends have found the way, and to reject other possibilities out of hand. (Consider the asceticism of Fugazi, which wouldn't really be possible if they had been "open-minded.")

Lastly, while I certainly drop songs or recordings for various reasons (like, they suck, or they're too evidently derivative), I'm not a perfectionist -- no one working in any artistic medium who actually intends to put something into the world more than once a decade can afford to be. (Okay, I'm a perfectionist, or nearly so, about one thing -- though it works when the Minutemen or Stereolab do it, I mostly can't abide lyrics that violently distort the conventional syllabic stress of a word in order to fit a melody, and avoid this at all costs.)

Are the people in the academia side of your life aware of your musical career (and vice versa) and what is the reaction from those who are?

My sense is that the criticism and journalism puzzles academics more than the music does. And I suspect other musicians may not care one way or another what I do outside of that realm. But, ultimately, you'd have to ask them.

Your entry in Continuum's 33 1/3 series is on Elvis Costello's Armed Forces. Could you imagine a book-length look at one of your own releases, and if so, what might be the approach?

It would be flattering, but I'm too close to the records to imagine how (or why) someone would do this. What made it possible for me to do the EC book was my interest in connecting the record to the political context of its moment (Rock Against Racism, the National Front, the run-up to Thatcherism) and some of its deeper roots in earlier British fascist movements, and also as a way of working through - though not to any kind of final conclusion - some of the thorny issues around, well, rock and race, using the so-called "Columbus incident" and EC's subsequent career as a case study. I hope all that gives the book a richness that wouldn't be there if it were all just formal commentary on the song-structures and performances. It's not clear that any of my records could be convincingly tied to their social context in a similar way -- but then again, it's not clear that they couldn't. From my own perspective, the second Nothing Painted Blue album, Power Trips Down Lovers Lane, was very much affected by being in Southern California at the time of the uprising following the Rodney King case, and by reading Situationist polemic (especially Raoul Vaneigem on the earlier Watts riots -- he's quoted on the back of the "Swivelchair" sleeve) while watching the riots go down. (I recognize that it's perverse to filter all that through a musical vocabulary that rests more on the dB's and the Go-Betweens than on, say, Public Enemy.) And then those concerns were connected in vaguer ways to ideas about architecture, the suburbs, and my own experiences doing white-collar temp work. (And, yes, all of these things recur on later records.) But how someone should go about writing about these connections, or how they relate to their musical realizations, isn't for me to say.

What is the status of your various projects (Nothing Painted Blue, Extra Glenns, Human Hearts and your solo work)?

Nothing Painted Blue: We're all still friends, so there's never been an official breakup, but we're geographically dispersed, so there's nothing on the horizon. I've played with both Kyle and Peter separately in the last few months -- Peter is on the Human Hearts album-in-progress, and I played a duo show with Kyle in L.A. last November. Never say never.

The Human Hearts: I'm playing under this name around New York, usually with drummer Matt Houser, and whoever I can rope in for a few songs for a given show. (We've also gone to Boston and D.C.) I wouldn't mind finding a more permanent bass player, but it's intended to be more of a fluid "project" than a stable band. There will be a 7" on Fayettenam later this year, and I'm about halfway through recording a new album with various guests, which will be done when it's done. I'd say the next record after that is at least half-written already.

The Extra Glenns: John Darnielle and I have changed the name to The Extra Lens (for private reasons I won't go into), and we've finished a new album that should come out late 2010/2011. That will probably be the next thing to see the light of day. Pretty sure we'll tour a bit -- possibly just John, myself, and Peter Hughes (who's releasing his first solo record in years soon). I'm excited -- John and I sometimes manage to be more than the sum of our parts.

Solo -- Well, I still play under my own name when it's genuinely just me and a guitar, but I don't really plan to release new material "as" Franklin Bruno anymore. As much as I admire many artists who use "bandonyms" for their one-person projects, I've always felt uncomfortable with the practice, probably because I don't attempt to construct a performing persona distinct from the one I project in day-to-day life.

I should also mention two other projects: My partner/spousal equivalent/squeeze Bree Benton performs a cabaret/theater act as "Poor Baby Bree," doing vaudeville and parlor songs from the late 19th c. through the 30s, and I'm the pianist/arranger ("musical director," in theater parlance) for that. We just did our first shows with additional musicians, a fantastic violist and trombonist, and we should be doing more later in the year. Also, Jenny Toomey and I have just started talking about doing something new in the vein of Tempting -- that record had her covering some old and new songs of mine, but this one we'll probably co-write.

Labels: books, Monday Interview, music

For any number of reasons, I'm not a big fan of memoirs. Take your pick: too much information about childhood, too little insight to leaven the recounting of exploits or tales simply too tall to be true. In the case of Patti Smith, add in the flake factor, as well as my lack of knowledge (or, I'll admit, interest) in Robert Mapplethorpe and his work, and the result is a curious but reluctant reader.

All of this is by way of saying that Smith had a considerable barrier to scale when it came to winning over this reader. But win she did. Just Kids is a fantastic, fascinating book. While the hook for most will be the recounting of Smith's relationship with Mapplethorpe -- it began as a romance and then, after Mapplethorpe discovered he was gay, an intense friendship and artistic partnership -- the way she chronicles the creation, nearly from the ground up, of two of the late-20th century's most enduring artists, is the real draw.

Smith's fans likely know some of the story already, and anyone who watched the illuminating documentary Dream of Life, has seen Smith tell some of these stories. But the bulk of this was new to me, and it was conveyed in such a clear-eyed, detailed and passionate way that it inspired at the same time it informed. Smith and Mapplethorpe were ambitious kids who had the fortune to run into each other in 1967 New York, and the tenacity to hook up with and cultivate the right people to push their dreams forward. Each ended up somewhere they didn't expect -- Smith as a rock 'n' roll star and Mapplethorpe as a revered photographer -- and without each other, it's unlikely either would have been more than a footnote.

The reader has the value of hindsight, knowing that Smith would be a star, that Mapplethorpe would die before his time from AIDS, that some of those they rubbed shoulders with would soar and others would fade. Smith knows this too, of course, but it rarely intrudes on her story. It's clear that the William Burroughs in the book is the William Burroughs, for example, but elsewhere, casually mentioned acquaintances like Janis Joplin or Sam Shepherd are rendered contemporaneously, their eventual starpower not overshadowing their pre-stardom selves.

While the focus is on Mapplethorpe, a thread running through the book is how Smith aligns herself with men that help propel her forward. There is never the sense that she is an Eliza Doolittle with a series of Henry Higginses, but rather that each man teases out something within and sends her further along her journey. It begins with Mapplethorpe, but Shepherd, Blue Oyster Cult's Allen Lanier, Todd Rundgren and others each seem to give Smith a valuable nudge.

Speaking of the men in her life, it's fitting, given that Smith writes often in the book about his influence, that her's is the best book about the creation of art since Bob Dylan's Chronicles vol. 1. Writing about the debut of the Patti Smith Group with drummer Jay Dee Daugherty, she says of learning that Dylan was at the show, "It seemed for me a night of initiation, where I had to become fully myself in the presence of the one I had modeled myself after."

In the end, the book made me want to listen to all of Smith's music, read all of her poems, look at all of her sketches and watch ever frame of film taken of her. The same goes for others in the book. I long to read Burroughs and Gregory Corso, thumb through Mapplethorpe's work and even listen to Joplin. For what Smith has done with Just Kids is to make art come alive, to give it a pulse. Hers was a life lived immersed in art. Late in the book, she writes about Mapplethorpe on his deathbed, asking, "'Patti, did art get us?' I looked away, not wanting to think about it. 'I don't know, Robert. I don't know.' Perhaps it did, but no one could regret that. Only a fool would regret being had by art."

Labels: books, music

OK, I'm going to pull together some disparate thoughts about Autechre, the Album Leaf and Midlake to make a bigger point about the validity (or lack thereof) of album reviews.

I'll start with Midlake because this whole thing started with Pitchfork's trashing of the band's new album, The Courage of Others, saying it "is a step down on songcraft, atmosphere, and apparently, even self-awareness." Writer Paul Thompson said the album "just feels so monochromatic, so flatlined, even the tiniest signs of life have no power to resuscitate."

I had heard the album early, finding a download back in December that I was eager to cue up. I liked it a lot, the songs reminding me of what I liked best about The Trials of Van Occupanter, the band's breakthrough sophomore disc. The review surprised me. I was expecting the typical fawning Pitchfork "best new music" tag, but instead found a dismissive 3.6 rating.

The review made headlines elsewhere. Stereogum commented on it, saying "Forget what you've heard: The '60s Brit folk-nodding The Courage Of Others is a beautifully downcast, pleasingly oddball trip." Of course, the only thing a Stereogum reader would have "heard" about the album was the Pitchfork review posted earlier in the day.

So, who is right? No one and everyone, of course. Music appreciation is subjective. That's clear even within the confines of Pitchfork. While one reviewer can't get past Midlake's consistency and monochromatic sound, another is willing to tolerate it in the Album Leaf. A day after the Midlake takedown, Ian Cohen gives Album Leaf's new A Chorus of Storytellers a 6.3. This despite the fact that "the beauty LaValle conjures is effortless but ultimately less impressive for not having any sort of contrast" (that's another way of saying "monochromatic, kids) and that "Album Leaf should never have to apologize for not rocking enough" (could that be something akin to "flatlined?").

Pitchfork can't even agree with itself on Midlake. Van Occupanther, the album that The Courage of Others is seen as a step down from, earned a 6.8 upon its release. Does that mean that Courage is only half as good as Van Occupanther? Of course not.

This brings me to Autechre. I have been getting into some electronica (or IDM or whatever else it's called), and have been grabbing everything the local library has in a bid to make up for a lot of lost time. I've read a lot of praise for Autechre, including comparisons between its work and that of Radiohead at its glitchiest. OK, I'm in. So, I picked up Quaristice, the band's latest album. I'll admit, the 7.5 rating on Pitchfork intrigued me. What would I give it? Maybe a 3.6. It just did nothing for me. And I can't fault anything more than the rating in Mark Richardson's review, for he was spot on: "Even while Quaristice is in some ways the most listenable album they've created in a decade, it's ultimately no easier to parse, and can be very rough going indeed if you're not in the mood for their peculiar world." Count me among those not in the mood.

So, what's the point? If you've read reviews at all, you already know it: They're the opinion of one listener, nothing more. A handful of people were disappointed by the Midlake album, giving it a negative review in part, it seems, because they expected a leap forward instead of a look back. Others of us really like it because it's more of what drew us to the group in the first place. My worry is that the negative reviews are shouted much more effectively than the praise. There is value in reviews all along the spectrum, no question. Here's hoping that people are savvy enough to take them as one input in the decision-making process and not ascribe them the power of arbiter.

Labels: criticism, music

A member of the Iowa legislature has proposed a bill that would make it unlawful to advertise or produce a concert by an act claiming to be a classic group if it didn't have at least one original member.

Bob Dvorsky said he introduced the legislation after talking about the idea with Jon "Bowzer" Bauman, a former member of Sha Na Na, during a recent tour stop.

Similar bills have passed in 33 other states. The bills differentiate between "performing groups" and "recording groups," with the latter being seen as legitimate because at least one member appeared on a recording under the group's name. All bets are off if the performing group has a right to the name through trademark.

The Iowa bill would block performances that don't meet the standard and administer a civil penalty of up to $40,000 per incident.

That's all well and good, and from a legal standpoint it makes sense. But it in no way ensures a level of quality even in groups that pass that test. There are many bands on the road with just one original member, or even less in the case of some, where a latter day drummer or bassist carries on under the name. Having covered my share of fairs, holiday celebrations and such as a newspaper critic, I can assure you that plenty of acts would be deemed legal but yet be criminal in the court of taste.

One of the worst offenders I have witnessed is Creedence Clearwater Revisited (pictured above). Yes, they altered the name to indicate their "tribute"status, but original CCR drummer and bassist Doug Clifford and Stu Cook give the group a cachet that leads listeners to expect something special. It's not just that the group's singer does a sorry impersonation of John Fogerty, but that the band doesn't understand its own music. Introducing Fogerty's poignant anti-war song, "Who'll Stop the Rain," Clifford said, "This is one that goes down smooth, like a good brewski." Such cluelessness ought to be against the law, but sadly, it's not.

Then again, if these acts were forced off the road, every county fair in the country would be left with little more than karaoke as an entertainment option (unless, of course they ponied up for the real thing... highly unlikely). So, we're destined for festivals with marquee acts anchored by the third drummer or second bassist of an act we once knew and loved, pale imitations of the real thing.

Still this bill and those like it already on the books are a start.

Labels: concert, legal, music

While I love checking out the hundreds of best of the year lists (and Largehearted Boy is the best aggregator I've found), all of that pales in comparison to the rush afforded by release of the Village Voice's annual Pazz & Jop poll. I have voted in the poll the past couple of years, and find it interesting to see where my pick fall on the overall list, and what kind of support my favorites garnered from other critics.

This year's list was topped by -- surprise, surprise -- Animal Collective's Merriwether Post Pavilion. The disc seemed to top everyone's list... but mine. It didn't even make my top 20, mostly because initial listens did little for me and I never spent much time with it. Lately, spurred by its appearance on so many other lists, I decided to listen more carefully to see what I was missing. This time, it clicked, and would definitely have found a place in my top 10 (though I'm not sure what I would displace to get it there).

My ballot can be found here; it is identical to the top 10 I selected back in December here at TIRBD (so read that post if you're curious why I picked what I did).

Much of my ballot aligns with those of the rest of the critics. My No. 2 disc, Neko Case's Middle Cyclone, was No. 3 overall, while six of my picks were in the Top 20 of the P&J list. The rest of my picks were somewhat spread out. U2's No Line on the Horizon came in at No. 32, while the rest were in the lower reaches. Deer Tick's Born on Flag Day, which topped my list, was at 188 (only seven other critics picked it at all, and only a few of those put it in their top 5). Nirvana's Live at Reading placed at No. 111, while DJ Spooky's The Secret Song, was all the way down at 1,586 (I was the only one who voted for it).

Seeing the cluster of groupthink at the top of the list, it's amazing that 1,934 albums could be nominated. But for every Animal Collective or Neko Case that caught so many ears, there are albums like DJ Spooky's that caught only one or two. With 697 critics participating, if each has a pet favorite or two, that expands the list significantly very quickly, allowing for mass consensus at one end and complete diffusion at the other.

It's a great way to learn about what might have been overlooked (or in the case of Animal Collective, avoided) during the year. When I see an artist on other ballots that include albums that I loved, it makes me want to seek them out. Am I missing something? There's no better time to find out.

Labels: lists, music, Pazz and Jop

I'm not a fan of OK Go. That's not backlash against the band's impossible-to-avoid videos from a few years back, but rather a reaction to the band's music, which I find cloying, and it's stage presence, which is annoying. A slot opening for Fountains of Wayne several years back left me aggressively hostile toward the band.

But this week it offers another of those benchmark moments in the shift from tangible plastic to intangible bits in the world of popular music. This might not hit the history books the way Radiohead's pay what you want model did (or even OK Go's viral marketing model did), but it's certainly instructive.

In an open letter on the band's message board, singer Damian Kulash explained why the band's new video for the song "This Too Shall Pass" is not embeddable on blogs and other web sites. At least, why the version on YouTube is not. That's strange, given that the very act of embedding YouTube videos for "A Million Ways" (the backyard dance) and "Here it Goes Again" (the treadmill dance) is what made the band big enough to deserve making a third album in the first place.

It comes down to money, of course. The band's label, EMI, has a deal with YouTube, as do other labels, to pay a fee each time one of its videos is played. The catch? The plays aren't tabulated on embeds, so EMI wants everyone to watch on YouTube. Kulash understands, enumerating the various ways the label has funded his band's efforts, but also is frustrated because its success is largely predicated on the band's own actions and the way fans spread those actions around the globe.

Kulash finds a workable solution that does undercut YouTube and EMI, but adheres in principle to what both parties want: He sends fans to Vimeo, where they can find a legit embed code. So, they end up with a higher-res version that cuts YouTube out all together, and the whole thing might just help the band to duplicate -- on a much smaller scale -- its success with the previous two videos.

You can see the video below. The song is catchy, showing the band making some real strides (literally, as you'll see, and figuratively). The problem is that the video version of the song is altered to mesh with the marching band theme, and that version is significantly better than what the band came up with for its album. The marching band drums, the swelling horn section... it's an inventive tune. On record, it feels like the same old thing.

Labels: label woes, music, video

Surprise, surprise: album sales continue to drop in the U.S. Industry folks will blame illegal digital downloads, and there is certainly a case to be made. But the real culprit is likely the abundance of free and legal ways to hear music coupled with the disposable nature of what is produced. When you can hear a bad song once, you've no need to drop money on the right to hear it again and again.

According to industry figures, album sales dropped for the eighth time in nine years, falling 12.7 percent to 373.0 million units in 2009. Want to know why? Michael Jackson, whose sole appeal during the year was that he died, was the top selling artist. He didn't release new music during the year, which means the rest of the world's artists couldn't compete with someone whose music is already in many, many collections. Taylor Swift and Susan Boyle also were in the upper reaches. I'm sure Swift is a nice girl, but I haven't heard a note of her music and can't say I feel any detriment from that lack. And Boyle is a novelty who was guaranteed to sell. No one else singing that kind of material will ever sell like she did, so that's an anomalous blip and nothing more.

While Internet piracy is blamed, it's interesting to see that in a recessionary year, spending on concerts actually increased. Could it be true, as often stated, that getting music into peoples' hands, however it is done, can create fans willing to spend money on other experiences? That seems to be the case.

Legal downloads continue to climb, with sales rising 8.3 percent to 1.16 billion tracks. Most amazingly, some tracks sold more than 4 million digital copies. That's an amazing statistic that shows people are engaged with music, they're just choosing to get it in different ways. Has a single in any past format -- 7" vinyl, cassette or CD -- ever come to 4 million in sales? It seems as if the era of ubiquity in pop singles is over, but I'm probably wrong, chalking it up to the fact that I'm old and haven't listened to anything but NPR on the radio in a decade.

One report on the sales figures from the Chicago Tribune's Gret Kot points out "one of the more delightful oddities of the digital era, vinyl album sales continued their recent resurgence. Though representing only a small fraction of the overall market, vinyl is the one physical product that continues to defy trends, with sales up a whopping 33 percent to 2.5 million."

That's no surprise, however. People willing to spend money on music are passionate about it. The most passionate are those willing to spend money on vinyl. While a digital download is an afterthought, a vinyl purchase is a declaration of intent: I like this artist and want the most permanent artifact I can acquire to cement that fact. There is more great music being made than ever before, it's just not selling worth a darn.

Labels: commerce, music

A new Spoon album is a big event, so I carved out time to give the stream up on NPR this week a listen. The verdict? I'd say it's not what I expected, but with Spoon, it's difficult to know what to expect. It feels like both a logical progression from the last two albums and a retrenchment of sorts to the sound of the two before that. Somehow, it is all of those things, and yet what it most resembles is the new Spoon record. How's that for circular logic?

Here is a track-by-track first impression. Listen for yourself here.

1. Before Destruction - A keyboard that sounds like something lifted from Yo La Tengo's Ira Kaplan anchors the beginning of this track, with that giving way to rather lo-fi vocals from Britt Daniel as the song builds (or rather, deconstructs). This sounds like a demo that was used as the base of a finished track. Given Daniel's acumen and the fact that the band produced itself for the first time here, that's entirely possible. It's a slightly odd opening track, because it isn't immediately gripping, but as a scene setter, it may very well be the perfect introduction. Some nice backing vocal effects as the song progresses add some beneficial texture. I may be humming this a couple of weeks from now after a few spins, but for now I'll file it in the "grower" category.

2. Is Love Forever - Ah, much more Spoon-like, with Daniel's stabbing guitar chords driving things from the get-go. A slightly out-of-sync doubled vocal track gives this a spacey, out of focus vibe. I keep waiting for the drums to fully kick in and propel the song into a more dynamic chorus, but so far, no go. Again, not much to latch onto here. It'll click eventually, but Daniel's typical sticky melodies are absent here.

3. The Mystery Zone - Even more Spoonesque. If you seek a first single, this could suffice. The beat is more traditional, the melody more conventional and the sound more fleshed out. This could easily appear on any of the band's last three albums, though it does hark back more specifically to Kill the Moonlight. That's the dilemma, however; because this sounds most familiar, it has the most appeal now yet will probably be one of the tracks that wearies most readily. There's a nice long unadorned Jim Eno drumbeat that would make a nice sample for a future rap single. Heads up, Kanye.

4. Who Makes Your Money - This is a strange one with an odd little keyboard line driving it before Daniel starts singing in a restrained, almost pained way: "Japanese John, his slight face fur/Still just as confused, still just as sure.” The chorus finds Daniel singing the title in a phased way that brings to mind the old hit "Crimson and Clover." Then, about half way through, a slight guitar riff pushes the song, both rhythmically and sonically before fading to let the keyboard figure back to the surface. After a couple of albums where Spoon added layers back to its sound after the spartan Kill the Moonlight, this feels like an about-face back toward the stripped-down aesthetic.

5. Written in Reverse - The first song made available as a stream (not counting "Got Nuffin," which anchored an EP last year) has a bit of a Paul McCartney vibe, with the 4/4 drums and a pounding piano as a complementary rhythm instrument. It, too, recalls past Spoon albums, but this time out it's Girls Can Tell, the album that found the band's reach and grasp aligning to produce a clutch of wonderfully off-kilter pop songs. Daniel sings with conviction here while the guitars slash and dive. It has a nice false ending, too.

6. I Saw the Light - The tempo doesn't shift much between these two tracks, with the beginning of "I Saw the Light" almost feeling like an extension of "Written in Reverse." Then, about halfway through. The song morphs into a double-time instrumental propelled by piano and bass. Guitars again slash through as the song builds, but it never feels like a part of the same song.

7. Trouble Comes Running - Lowest of the lo-fi, at least for the first few second, with a creaky strum replaced by full-on rock. Daniel sings what sounds like "I was in a functional way, I had my brown sound jacket, queen of call collect on my arm." While the backing continues to sound lo-fi, as if cut on a four-track, the vocals and guitars sound hi-fi, giving them prominence in the speakers. The song is a kick, with some nice mid-60s Who backing vocals on the chorus and a generally ramshackle stumble of an arrangement.

8. Goodnight Laura - If memory serves, the first true Spoon ballad. Over nothing more than a piano, Daniel sings what amounts to a lullaby. There is nothing crafty or obtuse about the lyric; it's simply telling Laura, whoever she may be, that everything will be all right and that it's OK to go to sleep. A sweet song that shows more range than Daniel has revealed previously.

9. Out Go the Lights - A bit of normalcy after some more challenging (by mainstream standards, of course) tunes. This is the most straight-forward song on the album, though it is still spare and, thanks to its mid-tempo beat, will rely on multiple listens to reveal its charms. Daniel seems to be doing more with backing vocals on this album, and the oohs and ahhs that buttress his main vocal here are a good example of their effective use. This staggers to a close more than ends, with instruments falling away to leave only Eno's drums to carry things to the conclusion.

10. Got Nuffin - This is the oldest track here, and it fits well with the album. Given Spoon's penchant for non-LP releases, I'd have preferred leaving it to its namesake EP to make way for another new song here, but it does give the album a needed boost of energy in the penultimate spot. Along with "The Mystery Zone," this is the most Spoon-like track on the album, a propulsive rocker with a solid hook and well-placed guitar lines. It's also the only track that makes use of Daniel's unique spelling, with past song titles like "Don't You Evah" and "Rhthm & Soul" earning the scorn of English teachers.

11. Nobody Gets Me But You - The burbling bass and drum machine make this sound like an outtake from a 1980s DeBarge record, but Daniel clearly makes the song his own in short order. Could this be a paean to the listener: "No one else gets what I'm doing," he sings. Of course, given the band's rising profile and growing commercial footprint, that's not such an exclusive club. This is a strange closer, but, like much of the album, that obtuse nature makes me want to listen again to figure out all of the angles, and that's not a bad trait for an album to possess.

All told, this isn't the album I expected from Spoon, nor is it necessarily the one I wanted. But Spoon has succeeded and thrived precisely by delivering the unexpected, and Transference will likely be no different. If this feels like a retrenchment of sorts, it's at least a return to a time when Daniel and his band found very fertile ground to explore. While certain tracks could be considered growers, the entire album feels that way when one takes a step back. While "The Mystery Zone" and "Got Nuffin" offer immediate rewards, tracks like "Who Makes Your Money" and "Nobody Gets Me But You" surely will offer the highest yields over the long term. Transference is a good record that, with enough dedicated listening, promises to be a great one.

Labels: first listen, music, Spoon

2009 was the year that I "got" the Knife, thanks to the marvelous solo debut of Karin Dreijer Andersson under the name Fever Ray. That led me back to 2006's Silent Shout, which placed high on many best-of lists that year but which eluded my ears.

With that background, I'm primed for whatever the duo has to offer from here on out, and it seems as if I'll be handsomely rewarded with their next effort. The pair, in collaboration with performance artist Mt. Sims and and musician/visual artist Planningtorock, will release the Tomorrow, In A Year, a work commissioned by Danish performance group Hotel Pro Forma for its opera based on Charles Darwin's On the Origin of the Species. It will be available by digital download on Feb. 2, and in stores March 9.


There are certainly elements of opera in the first track released from the set, the 11-minute "Colouring of Pigeons," but it is even more interesting for the revelation it provides about the Knife and where it is capable of traveling. There is more warmth and space in the music than on past work from the duo, easily absorbing the operatic elements to create a unique and captivating hybrid. The learning curve to get there was steep, according to Dreijer:

"We’d never been to one. I didn’t even know what the word libretto meant. But after some studying, and just getting used to opera’s essence of pretentious and dramatic gestures, I found that there is a lot to learn and play with. In fact, our ignorance gave us a positive respectless approach to making opera. It took me about a year to become emotionally moved by an opera singer and now I really do."

To hear "Colouring of Pigeons," visit the band's web site.

Labels: music, opera, the Knife

Is a pending greatest hits disc from Pavement the final sign that indie rock is all grown up or that it's dead? However you see it, Quarantine the Past will signal that event upon its March 9 release.

The obvious thing for a blogger to do at this point is to nitpick and/or parse the tracklisting. Alas, the folks at Matador have turned that exercise into a game. Or rather, a contest. The collection will feature 23 tracks, the first of which is "Gold Soundz." If you're the entrant who comes closest to picking the correct order, you'll win a pair of tickets, with flights and hotel rooms, to see Pavement at Central Park Summerstage on Sept. 21. Not a bad prize. A few more hints, via the Matablog: "3 pre-Matador tracks are included, plus one song that originally came out on a compilation. Every Matador album is represented, plus Watery, Domestic."

That means "Box Elder" and two more from the Westing (By Musket and Sextant) collection, as well as a smattering of "hits." I'll certainly give the contest a shot. How much might that package net on eBay?

In other news, Matador reports that it's biannual release of a deluxe version of one of the band's albums will culminate this fall with the band's swan song, Terror Twilight.

Labels: greatest hits, music, Pavement

2009 was a very good year to be a Big Star fan. Rhino graced us with a boxed set that gathered up seemingly every stray sound recorded by the band, while a limited-edition two-CD version of Chris Bell's lone solo album (the posthumous I Am the Cosmos) rescued every scrap he laid down.

But, strangely enough, the best Big Star-related thing wasn't something you could listen to, but rather something you read. Bruce Eaton's entry in Continuum's excellent 33 1/3 book series dealt with Big Star's Radio City, the band's sophomore outing. In the book, Eaton offers not only the most complete history of Big Star during that period, but he actually gets the notoriously difficult Alex Chilton to talk about that era. He places the album in its proper context both in terms of the work of the musicians involved and its place on the music continuum in general. In doing so, he does what the best 33 1/3 books do: He gives new life to an album that rabid fans likely thought they had completely absorbed. I came away with a much better understanding and appreciation of a favorite album, hearing it in a completely different -- and superior -- way.

Eaton knows of what he writes. He backed Chilton on some concert dates in 1979, has promoted concerts and written about music. All of this experience is brought to bear on his subject. Any Big Star fan worthy of the name has or soon will acquire the boxed set and the Bell release. But to really appreciate what you're hearing, getting a copy of Eaton's book is essential.

By the way, that's Eaton in the photo above, performing with Chilton on June 23, 1979, at McVan's nightclub in Buffalo, N.Y. Eaton keeps a great blog where he writes about the book, the band and his other experiences in the world of music.

TIRBD: Why Radio City and not #1 Record or Third?

BE: A few reasons. It's the Big Star record I heard first and spent about six months absorbing it before I could track down a copy of #1 Record. Also, given that I could only write about one record, Radio City encompasses the range of Big Star the most of the three records. You can relate #1 Record to Radio City and Radio City to Third, but Third doesn't really connect to #1 Record unless you're familiar with Radio City. I thought it would provide the broadest platform for the living central members to discuss. It would be hard to write about #1 Record without Chris, and Third wouldn't include John Fry much, let alone Andy Hummel (or even promo man John King). So it was the best of the three to explore Big Star and tell a good tale in the process.

You spend a lot of time with John Fry, which was illuminating. Why do you think other analyses of Big Star's sound have given him short shrift, and how important is he to that sound?

John was everything to the classic power pop Big Star sound. He built the studio, chose the equipment, taught everyone how to use it, gave them the time and space to experiment, and laid down the standards for how things were recorded at Ardent. And he by all accounts was an exacting genius at recording and mixing. Listen to a Raspberries album back to back with Radio City. The difference is 99% Fry. And as Richard Rosebrough said, Radio City was his zenith.

I think John has been overlooked for a few reasons. First off, he retired from working behind the board fairly soon after Big Star so he didn't really build up a significant body of work over decades. A lot of what he did wasn't really high profile in terms of big credits on albums (Stax) or big hit records. You really have to read the fine print on albums to pull together his resume. It happened over a relatively short period of time over 35 years ago. Also, John doesn't fit the image of a rock and roll guy. He looks and dresses like an engineer working in the business world. He's a fascinating, down-to-earth guy. I thought his personal story was really fascinating. Those teens in the 50s doing all those grown-up things -- recording, broadcasting, setting up businesses, flying planes... really amazing. Getting to know him a bit was for me a major highlight in writing the book.

Listening to #1 Record, Radio City, Third and some early Chilton albums, I'm struck by how clear the evolutionary line of his sound is. Why is the common story that he radically changed, and why is Radio City seen as being of a piece with #1 Record when it's clearly a transitional record between chiming power pop and atmospheric oddity?

I think the main reason for this is the change in producer/engineer from Radio City to Third. I've sometimes tried to listen to Third imagining what it would have sounded like with Fry behind the board and doing the mix I think then that the three albums would have seemed more to be part of continuum rather than Third being a sharp left turn.

You got more out of Chilton than anyone else in a long time. Do you think you understand his motivations and goals for Radio City now in a way you perhaps didn't before?

Great question and, yes, I do see it all a bit differently. I think that Radio City represented at the time a natural progression for him. He had been in the Box Tops, a band over which he had little creative control, if any. He had fooled around with solo material and recordings but probably realized he had a way to go. He had joined Big Star as an already existing artistic platform and a step up from the Box Tops as they were a "real rock band" and he would be allowed to contribute freely. So when the suggestion was made to make another record (Radio City), my guess would be it seemed like a natural and easy progression. When he joined Big Star, he was a co-pilot to Chris's vision. Now he would be the pilot more or less and free to follow his muse in terms of experimenting with song structures and recording. I think he probably saw it as yet another way to grow as an artist within a band and environment that he felt comfortable with. He liked all the people involved, it's all right around the corner from where you live: why not give it another try?

I also think it was probably the last time he allowed himself to be optimistic about the commercial potential for a project in any serious way. After the failure of Radio City, I think he makes records as musical statements and moves on. I doubt he's ever looked at a copy of Billboard or any sales chart for any record he's made since then.

There have been a lot of bands over the past couple of decades that are compared to Big Star or cite the band as an influence. Is there anyone who really captures Big Star, either in sound, attitude, songwriting or in some other way?

I think there are bands who are reminiscent of Big Star (or obviously imitative) but, as with any great band or artist, there isn't anyone who really captures them because that's really close to impossible. Everyone has influences. But the great bands are able to transcend their influences and become something unique, usually fairly early in their careers. When someone tells me that a band sounds like "X meets Y with a little bit of Z" I'm not really that intrigued. I'm far more interested in bands that sound totally like themselves (if that makes any sense). Think of any number of great bands from the 60s or early 70s. Whether it's the Stooges or Santana (and you could spend all evening making a list), they started almost right off with a fully formed sound that transcended their influences. So while there are a number of really good bands that are influenced by Big Star that I can appreciate and who can even make for enjoyable listen or night out hearing live music, in the end I don't think anyone captures the band. And I think that's sort of the nature of the beast...

Labels: Big Star, books, Monday Interview, music

Perhaps it's the fact that I turned 40 this year, or that my job was busier than ever, or that playing with my kids takes up a lot of the time I used to devote to music. Whatever the case, I found my tolerance for challenging music that required multiple listens before I would "get it" was limited. At the same time, I probably listened to more albums all the way through than I have in years. It was a case of constantly seeking out the new thing and being disappointed. So many bands were hyped this year (which is, of course, nothing new) that were good but nowhere near as great as promised. Woods, Dan Deacon, Fuck Buttons, Memory Tapes, Real Estate... the list goes on and on. I liked something on all of these, but none were anywhere near the best thing I've heard all year.

I found that what it came down to, the thing that put something on this list more than anything else, is that I enjoyed listening to it. Now, that may seem obvious, but any look at a usual end-of-the-year list proves that it is far from it. People often populate their lists with challenging music, either because they want to impress readers, or because they truly spent the time to figure out what was going on and want a pat on the back. I have certainly been guilty of that in the past.

Not this year. In 2009, if you didn't captivate me right out of the gate, you were tossed on the one-and-done pile. That's not to say there isn't challenging fare on the following list, but rather that even the most perplexing albums at least had something that immediately grabbed me and made subsequent spins seem worthwhile.

With that, I present the Things I'd Rather Be Doing list of the best music of 2009. Following is a short list of great reissues and collections.

1. Deer Tick - Born on Flag Day - If fun and enjoyment are the bellwether's of a great disc, then Deer Tick wins hands down. Born on Flag Day is the most rousing, irreverent goodtimin' disc I've heard in a long time. John J. McCauley III succeeds despite the fact that his reach does not exceed his grasp; one feels like he has much better stuff in him, but what he's doing now is still awfully good. Live, the band puts on the most entertaining show I've seen in years, and you can just tell that as good as songs like "Easy" and "Smith Hill" are, this is only the beginning.

2. Neko Case - Middle Cyclone - Neko Case has such an identifiable sound that one fears she'll run out of ways to excel. No such worries yet, however. Middle Cyclone may well be her best album (and that's saying something), because it finds ways to push her sound forward while making it clear that we're still listening to Neko Case. Her songwriting, a pleasant surprise on Fox Confessor Brings the Flood, is in full bloom here, proving Case to be a formidable multi-talented performer.

3. Fever Ray - s/t - I never really saw the appeal of the Knife, the band of Fever Ray's Karin Dreijer Andersson, but for some reason her similar solo work smacked me upside the head and forced me to listen. Where Silent Shout seemed unremittingly cold, the Fever Ray disc used that icy tone as simply one of many tools. The songs seemed more fully formed, and despite the chill, they were still a pleasure to listen to. Andersson's gimmick of altering the pitch of her voice to add menace to the proceedings, deployed on the Knife's music, worked even better here. The most revelatory thing I heard all year.

4. Flaming Lips - Embryonic - The F'lips last, At War with the Mystics, was awful, one of the worst albums from a beloved band I've ever heard. I had hoped Wayne Coyne and Co. would retreat somewhat, but never expected they would regress so far. Had this album come after the majesty of Zaireeka, no one would have been surprised. That this swirling cloud of cacophony and blissed-out beauty followed the band's first true dud was the most pleasant surprise of 2009. There were no real singles, and it essentially stopped the band's commercial momentum in its tracks. But it proved that the band has much more up its sleeve, and makes the future seem very bright indeed.

5. Grizzly Bear - Vekatemist - The Grizzly Bear backlash has begun, and it is not without merit. The band, while making gorgeous music, does so in a largely soulless, rather mechanical way. Vekatemist has its share of absolutely stunning music ("Two Weeks" is among the five best songs of the year without question), but it is music made seemingly without passion. That missing ingredient kept this disc away from the upper reaches of this list. Here's hoping they find it in years to come.

6. The Pains of Being Pure at Heart - s/t - Ah, sweet nostalgia. Had this been issued in the late 1980s on Sarah Records or K, it would be seen as a classic of the college rock era. Instead, it comes 20 years later, proving that at least someone who was listening to their big brother's record collection was absorbing the lessons on display. This is a fun, raucous disc that sounds a bit like Belle and Sebastian had that band been formed in a garage instead of a college rec room.

7. St. Vincent - Actor - Annie Clark is a wildly talented woman: a singer, songwriter and guitarist who puts all of those skills to work on her sophomore outing to create a bracing rock album. It's hard to point out any one thing and say, "this is St. Vincent." Instead, Clark has (not so) simply assembled a disc of great songs that make the best use of her strengths.

8. Nirvana - Live at Reading - Truth told, this may be the best album of the year. It's hard to award a nearly 20-year-old live album from a band that stopped making music more than 15 years ago the title of album of the year, however, so instead it sits here in the bottom of the top 10. There's little that can be said that hasn't been said before. This is one of the best bands of its generation playing its strongest songs in a take-no-prisoners performance before a powerful, adoring crowd.

9. DJ Spooky - The Secret Song - When I first popped this in, I was intrigued. As it continued to play, I was continually blindsided. Is that a cover of Led Zeppelin's "Dazed and Confused"? At times this sounds like the great lost Beastie Boys album, at others it rivals the best of DJ Shadow or the Jurassic 5 or Springheel Jack. Translation: this is a little something of everything. By the end of its 20 tracks, you feel spent, but it isn't long before the desire to cue this up again takes over. That's a good thing, because it'll take several spins before it all sinks in.

10. U2 - No Line on the Horizon - This pick will surely earn me some catcalls, but hear me out. "Get On Your Boots" is a fairly awful retread. "I'll Go Crazy if I Don't Go Crazy Tonight" is Bono the old man trying so hard to connect with the kids and failing so miserably. "Unknown Caller"'s lyrics peppered with computer terminology are inane. That would be enough to sink most albums, but not this one, for the rest of it is as accomplished and flat out stunning as anything U2 has made since Achtung, Baby 20 years ago. "Magnificent" is the kind of anthem you wished the band had cranked out instead of by-the-numbers tunes like "Vertigo" and "Beautiful Day," while the title track is a perfect blend of the band's pomp and producer Brian Eno's circumstance. And for the band to be able to craft something as beautiful as "What as Snow" at this point is remarkable.

11. Love Language - s/t
12. Yo La Tengo - Popular Songs
13. The xx - s/t
14. Joe Henry - Blood from Stars
15. Bonnie Prince Billy - Beware
16. Gomez - A New Tide
17. John Wesley Harding - Who Was Changed and Who Was Dead
18. Ike Reilly - Hardluck Stories
19. The Dead Weather - Horehound
20. Boston Spaceships - The Planets are Blasted


Reissues/Collections

Nick Lowe - Quiet Please
Emitt Rhodes - The Emitt Rhodes Recordings 1969-1973
Tin Huey - Before Obscurity
The Jayhawks - Music from the North Country
Big Star - Keep an Eye on the Sky
Richard Hell - Destiny Street Repaired
Close Lobsters - Forever Until Victory

Labels: lists, music

It's a shame that it took Chris Knox having a stroke to lead to this, but the new 2-CD tribute to Knox, Stroke, is a fantastic collection of songs from the New Zealand songwriter performed by 34 simpatico artists. The proceeds from the set go to help Knox, who suffered a life-altering stroke on June 11 of this year.

Albums like these are usually a bit spotty, but the participating artists all seem to not only understand Knox and his music, but are able to approach it with the same wild and wooly spirit he brought to his songs.

The disc is a who's who of New Zealand pop, with luminaries like the Chills, Peter Gutteridge, Shayne Carter (Straightjacket Fits), Alec Bathgate, the Bats, David and Hamish Kilgour and others in the fold. Several U.S. indie acts also contribute, from Bonnie "Prince" Billy to Bill Callahan to, most marketably, Jeff Magnum.

You can purchase the set right now digitally from Merge Records for just $11.99 ($14.99 for FLAC files) or spring for the limited-edition 2-CD set for $19.99. That one will be mailed in late February, but you'll get the MP3 version right away. Do the right thing and spring for this. All of the money goes to help Knox with his recovery.


I saw Knox perform a solo show in the mid '90s, and it was one of the most captivating, enjoyable shows I've seen. His energy made it all but impossible to remain passive, and his knack for strong hooks made each song a singalong despite my never having heard some of them before. To know that this energy was bottled up because of the stroke and the resulting health woes is saddening; to know that Knox seems hell-bent on recovery and that this 2-disc set might help in some small way to speed that process, makes it doubly good.

To learn more about the disc, go to its web site, which features information about each track and contributing artist.

Disc 1:
1. Jay Reatard – Pull Down The Shades
2. The Checks – Rebel
3. The Bleeding Allstars – Ain’t It Nice
4. Peter Gutteridge – Don’t Catch Fire
5. The Chills – Luck Or Loveliness
6. David Kilgour – Nothing’s Going To Happen
7. The Crying Wolfs – All My Hollowness To You
8. Stephin Merritt – Beauty
9. Portastatic – Nostalgia’s No Excuse
10. The Mint Chicks – Crush
11. Jay & Sam Clarkson – I’ve Left Memories Behind
12. Sky Green Leopards – Burning Blue
13. Shayne Carter – The Slide
14. Pumice – Grand Mal
15. Hamish Kilgour – Knoxed Out

Disc 2:
1. Boh Runga – Not Given Lightly
2. Red & Zeke (Feat. Bill Doss and Neil Cleary) – Bodies
3. Jeff Mangum – Sign The Dotted Line
4. Bill Callahan – Lapse
5. Genghis Smith – Growth Spurt
6. Yo La Tengo – Coloured
7. AC Newman – Dunno Much About Life But I Know How To Breathe
8. Alec Bathgate – Glide
9. Don McGlashan – Inside Story
10. Sean Donnelly – The Outer Skin
11. Lambchop – What Goes Up
12. The Mountain Goats – Brave
13. The Tokey Tones (and friends) – Round These Walls
14. The Bats – Just Do It
15. Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy – My Only Friend
16. The Finn Family – It’s Love
17. Jordan Luck – Becoming Something Other
18. The Verlaines – Driftwood
19. Lou Barlow – Song Of The Tall Poppy
20. The Nothing – Napping In Lapland
21. Tall Dwarfs – Sunday Son

Labels: Chris Knox, music

I'm not sure why I first picked up Anders Parker's music. The first time I heard him was on a Space Needle album, but that's about as far from indicative of his sound as you could get. Perhaps it was the appeal of that disc, however, that led me to the debut of Parker's other band, Varnaline's 1996 album Man of Sin. The disc was appealing, but because it was essentially four-track demos, it didn't feel like the unadulterated voice of the artist. Not yet. That came soon enough, however, with the band's self-titled sophomore album and the contemporaneous A Shot and a Beer EP. From then on, it was clear that Parker was someone I was going to follow as long as he kept making music.

Varnaline kept cranking out good-to-great music through the '90s, capped by 2001's Songs in a Northern Key. After that, Parker transitioned to releasing music under his own name, and now has three solo LPs and an EP to go with the four Varnaline LPs and EP. All of it blends elements of alt-country, rock and folk, with Parker's expressive vocals and cinematic lyrics atop it all. His discography is rounded out by Death Songs for the Living, a collaboration with Jay Farrar under the name Gob Iron.

With that recap, we're up to the boldest move in Parker's career, Skyscraper Crow. The double album gathers two of four new collections of songs Parker has completed. He recorded a quiet folk album, an all-electronic album, an atmospheric instrumental guitar record and a full-band rock album. The Skyscraper part of the new album is the electronic album, the Crow part is the folk record. Together, the represent poles in Parker's sound. While Skyscraper is the most jarring, it is also the more interesting of the two. Anyone doubting Parker's songwriting chops need look no further, because despite the fact that he limited himself to sounds he could make on his laptop, the result is an organic, beautiful collection of songs. There are a couple that sound a bit forced because of those constraints, but by and large it is a collection of good Anders Parker songs that just happen to have been made on a computer.

Crow, on the other hand, is of a piece with much of his back catalog. Perhaps a bit quieter, but solid top to bottom.

The other two discs in this four-album burst of creativity await release. Parker says he hopes to release the instrumental album digitally sometime in early 2010, while there are no concrete plans for the other.

If you're a fan, you'll happily add these to your collection. If you're new to Parker, this might not be the best place to start, but you'll certainly find some gems that will hook you and lead you deeper into his catalog. Sample two of the new tracks below:

"72nd St. Horses" from Crow
"Calling Out to You" from Skyscraper

TIRBD: You've recorded four albums that all are very different from one another, and chose to release these two first. What was the thinking behind putting out a stark acoustic album and a wholly electronic record at the same time?

AP: The short answer is that I thought that they made interesting companions. They're different, but complimentary. I'd been meaning to do a very stripped down acoustic record for a long time, but circumstances were not ripe for working on that record in my old apartment in Queens, so I started fiddling around with various programs that I had on my computer and the seeds of Skyscraper were sown. Crow was written and recorded last of the four, and it was kind of way to wind down from all the work that preceded it, if that makes sense... low-tech and intimate after all sorts things that weren't.

I didn't really envision Skyscraper Crow as a sprawling Beatles White Album type of double record, but more as two extremes of things that I do. The tether between the two is my voice and songwriting.

Do you envision a similar pairing for the improv guitar instrumental album and the "rock band barn burner" record?

No. The so-called "band" record is on the shelf right now. I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do with it yet.

The instrumental guitar record is entitled Cross Latitudes. I'm releasing that as a digital download record via iTunes, Amazon, etc. soon. I may do a very limited run of hard copies next year.

I imagine you seeing these albums as the components of an exploded view of your sound. Is there any accuracy to that, in that these are the isolated components that comprise the whole found in your past work?

Yes, generally speaking I'd say that's accurate. If anything I'd say that these are even more distilled elements of things that I do. (Although Skyscraper doesn't really relate to anything that I've done before as far as using technology to that extent in the creating of the music.)

The idea for the parameters of the projects evolved as I was working on them. There's something about creating strict guidelines that can be freeing... Counterintuitive, but true, in my experience. The reduced possibilities forces you to be creative within the structure.

Was there a shift in your songwriting or recording process when you dropped the Varnaline name and started working under your own name?

I don't think there was a conscious shift in my songwriting... more of an evolution (hopefully!). The decision to drop the Varnaline name was more about the dissolving of the touring band and wanting to mark the change.

How has geography played a part in your music, particularly these new collections of songs?

Geography always plays a part in the songs I think. Consciously or unconsciously. And after I move to a new place I always seem to write a whole lot.

Are there things you'll take away from this process that will affect the way you make music from here on?

Well, I think the next project/album will be totally boundless... But I don't know what it's going to be. I'm just writing with no agenda right now. I wrote a lot this summer and in the past weeks I've been writing a lot again.

I think learning different recording programs that I used for Skyscraper will be helpful in the recording process. It's always good to have different tools. And each album is a learning experience unto itself.

Labels: Anders Parker, Monday Interview, music