Morning Commute Soundtrack: Weezer
Posted: 08.08.2011 Filed under: Morning Commute Soundtrack, Weezer Leave a comment »While being domestic and running some errands yesterday, an alternate take of Weezer’s ‘Butterfly’ came on my iPod’s shuffle, and after it finished, Meredith turned to me and said, “You know we have to listen to Weezer on our way up to your mom’s tonight, right?”
Of course I knew; Weezer, for all their current day problems (namely, putting out shitty albums), was once upon a time a great pop rock band, and even though I missed the boat initially when they were popular – for I still believed that Queen was the paragon of rock’n'roll, and to my 11-year-old self, I just couldn’t be dissuaded by “current” or “popular” or even “other” bands – I did finally catch on in 2002 with Maladroit, which still holds a place in my heart as one of their better albums, simply because of the memories associated with it. I had to do a quick backtrack and purchased both the Blue album and Pinkerton along with Maladroit, and over the course of a few months became well-acquainted with all three. But as with most fleeting interests, Weezer fell by the wayside, and it wasn’t until Raditude in 2009 that I became interested again, due simply to an overenthusiastic friend and morbid curiosity.
So I was glad to listen to Pinkerton and Maladroit yesterday, so much so that I did it all again this morning on my ride into work. I’m torn over which song to use as my MCS, so I’ll go with ‘Pink Triangle’, just because.
Best of 2010 … The Rest
Posted: 05.13.2011 Filed under: 2011, Belle and Sebastian, Eels, Elton John, Elvis Costello, Jenny Lewis, Leon Russell, Neil Young, Nick Cave and Grinderman, Ray LaMontagne, Robert Plant, Steven Page, Weezer Leave a comment »Having felt some pangs of guilt of putting off my Best Of 2010 … So Far for so long, I’ve made a personal vow to publish this one relatively quickly. But make no mistake – it’s not just down to personal goals and any kind of misguided guilt I may have! The albums released in the latter half of 2010 have, unlike 2009′s vice versa, been strong and of excellent quality, so the challenge was more difficult for me this time. And though the first half of 2010 was deservedly overrun with some more indie choices, it’s the old wave/well-established acts that really pulled out some heavy hitters for the second half; while the #1 result may be predictable to anyone who follows this blog (or, hell, anyone who knows me), it should be mentioned that there was some seriously stiff competition, and that every album in the Top 10 could have easily been #1.
So, I guess in a roundabout way, this is like me taking the easy way out and saying that you’re all winners.
Honorable mentions:
Weezer, Hurley and Death To False Metal
It seems like every new Weezer album should be placed not in “Honorable mentions”, but “Comedy option mentions”. Having long decided against returning to the halcyon days of Pinkerton (or even Maladroit – hey, it’s a good album, haters gonna hate!), Rivers Cuomo and company have instead fallen into self-parody after self-parody, leaving the listener unsure if they’re fully in on the joke or not. Hurley is the quickly-released update to Ratitude, though, surprisingly, there’s not much in the way of memorable melodies or hooks that were evident on its predecessor. Still, it’s a good-not-great album, not entirely worthy of the lashing it may have received, but not worthy of any overlavished praise, with only closer ‘Time Flies’ following in the footsteps of other memorable closers making any kind of emotional impact. Two months after the release of Hurley came Death To False Metal, an “odds and ends” compilation album composed of outtakes and studio cast-offs that has been officially classified as the logical follow-up to Hurley. And it’s a more engaging listen than that album, but, to paraphrase Oscar Wilde, to have one Weezer album on a best-of list may be regarded as genuine appreciation; to have two Weezer albums looks like a grab for pity. So, they are both here, because the combination of both constitutes a relatively decent release.
Defining song: Time Flies
Steven Page, Page One
Just like his former bandmates’ All In Good Time graced the “Honorable mentions” section for the first half of 2010, so too does erstwhile Barenaked Lady Steven Page’s first post-arrest/departure album Page One. He sounds more comfortable here than he did on BNL’s recent albums, where he sounded like he was sleepwalking through some truly half-assed songs; now, he’s awake, alert, and ready to prove himself. The arrangements are unique, the songwriting is good, and the performances are all strong, with a range of ballads and quirky pop-rock tunes gracing the relatively brief, 45-minute album. Page One is his By Numbers, but where Pete Townshend found cynical bitterness with his lot in life, Page looks back over the darkest period of his life and confidently regains control, emerging humbler, if not wiser.
Defining song: Over Joy
Top 10 Albums of 2010 … The Rest:
10. Ray LaMontagne and the Pariah Dogs, God Willin’ & the Creek Don’t Rise
I have a love/hate relationship with Ray LaMontagne. It doesn’t help that his thunder was stolen by the Low Anthem at a concert I saw in April 2009, but I find his shyness and lack of interaction with the audience to be way off-putting. However, his songs are so damn good that I’m willing to forgive his awkwardness. God Willin’ & the Creek Don’t Rise is marketed as a LaMontagne-plus-band album, though I can’t find any distinguishing factors between being “in a band” and his last three singer-songwriter albums, but when it comes to albums that are just perfect for putting on in the car and driving around the country on a warm and beautiful spring or summer evening, God Willin’ & the Creek Don’t Rise might as well have been designed just for that. There’s barnstorming rompers (‘Repo Man’, ‘Devil’s In The Jukebox’), mid-tempo shuffles (‘Beg Steal or Borrow’, ‘Old Before Your Time’) and sad country weepers (‘New York Is Killing Me’, ‘This Love Is Over’), and LaMontaigne’s raspy voice is best suited for all of them. It doesn’t so much progress as it does maintain the status quo, but when the status quo is this good, sometimes it’s best not to stray too far from the norm.
Defining song: Devil’s In The Jukebox
9. Neil Young, Le Noise
I so desperately wanted to put Neil Young’s Fork In The Road on the 2009 Best Of list, but it didn’t capture my attention quite as much as I’d hoped it would. The same can’t be said of Le Noise, a true solo album with Young, an arsenal of guitars, and Daniel Lenois’ trademark swampy effects to captive and capture my attention. The first listen is incredibly difficult, for Young’s disembodied voice, already so off-putting for many first-time listeners, hovers listlessly among the sonic noise, only occasionally bursting into passion, but pulling back the onion peels reveals a complicated and rewarding album. The electric guitar is in full blast on six of the eight songs, but it’s the weighty issue of a doomed America that makes the acoustic ‘Peaceful Valley Boulevard’ the heaviest – and best – song not only on the album, but perhaps in the last decade of Young’s career.
Defining song: Peaceful Valley Boulevard
8. Belle and Sebastian, Belle and Sebastian Write About Love
I love Belle and Sebastian, but I have a hard time listening to their albums for extended periods of time before their charmingly twee sound starts to test my patience. But, like allergies, it helps to be exposed to them in small doses to really get a true appreciation for them, and when my girlfriend fell madly in love with Write About Love, she played it non-stop in my car on lengthy drives. Because I had nothing else to do, I listened, and I too was guiled by its charms. The distinct mid-60s feel of the production and the adorable lyrics make this less surprising a release and more comforting that Belle and Sebastian are still delivering the goods, and among a list of musicians who are constantly redefining themselves, it’s good to have some familiarity. There isn’t much to distinguish this album from any of B&S’s others, but it’s a good, solid album, and a worthy addition to their discography.
Defining song: Come On Sister
7. Robert Plant, Band Of Joy
If there’s one thing that Robert Plant enjoys, it’s reinventing himself. Not content with being stuck with the “former vocalist of Led Zeppelin” tag, he’s consistently put out strong and engaging records, blending his love of English black country with Americana and folk, a sound he combined with 2002′s Dreamland and which peaked with Mighty Rearranger. Like 2007′s duet with Allison Krauss, Raising Sand, Band Of Joy (so named as a nod to his pre-Led Zep band) relies on covers, but this time there’s more of a contemporary slant, with Los Lobos’ infectious ‘Angel Dance’ leading off the proceedings, while two selections from Low – ‘Silver Lining’ and ‘Monkey’ – are ethereal and haunting. This time, Plant’s female foil is Patty Griffin, who provides prominent backing vocals on most of the songs, but it’s their emotional duet on Richard Thompson’s ‘House Of Cards’ that steals the show.
Defining song: House Of Cards
6. Eels, Tomorrow Morning
Following up his End Times, also released in early 2010 and an intimate (sometimes too intimate), heartbreaking work of staggering romantic failure, Tomorrow Morning is the morning-after chaser. Emerging with his pride bruised but not broken, E delivers a cautiously optimistic post mortem, and instead of sparse, acoustic songs, as on End Times, the optimism is underscored with loops, synthesized orchestras, and programmed drums. That’s not to say the entire album is a rush of guitars and happiness – there’s still quieter, acoustic moments – but the joy balances out the pleasure, and by the time ‘I Like The Way This Is Going’ comes around, wherein the shadow of a past, bitter relationship is completely forgotten in favor of a new, happier one, the mood is positively exuberant.
Defining song: I Like The Way This Is Going
5. Jenny and Johnny, I’m Having Fun Now
This almost-follow-up to Jenny Lewis’s wonderful Acid Tongue was entirely self-performed and recorded with her beau, Johnathan Rice (both, I might add, guested on Elvis Costello’s Momofuku). If it’s her shot at trying on the shoes of Zooey Deschanel and M. Ward as a hip, SoCal alternative to She & Him, then I’m Having Fun Now succeeds: it’s a rowdy, rambunctious record, with moments of ebullience that live up to its title. Lewis is a perfect counterpart to Rice’s muted vocal delivery, while Rice’s adds some slickness to Lewis’s ramshackle, out-of-control wild ride. Acid Tongue it isn’t, but where that album was a star-studded treat, I’m Having Fun Now is just two talented musicians letting their hair down.
Defining song: Scissor Runner
4. Cee-Lo, The Lady Killer
Try to find a review of this album that doesn’t immediately mention ‘Fuck You!’ (I’m aware of the coincidence.) It’s unfortunate that that song – amazing as it is – has taken on a life of its own, because it overshadows what is a genuinely excellent album, full of sweetly-sung tracks fusing soul and pop with funk and hip-hop. Cee-Lo is a masterful performer and entertainer, equating himself to a spy (of love? of lust? of fame? or maybe all three?) with the bookending ‘Lady Killer Theme’, and it’s the margins of The Lady Killer that make the listen worthwhile: ‘Bright Lights, Bigger City’ is a sleek and sexy ode to New York City, while ‘I Want You’ is an anguished ode to a romantic spark long since diminished. In which case, ‘Fuck You!’ might be a suitable reply.
Defining song: Fuck You!
3. Nick Cave and Grinderman, Grinderman 2
The primal and carnivorous sexual aural assault that was Grinderman was a raw and alarming experience for me. Just as I was getting into Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds in 2008, my coworker (and fellow music appreciator) Sean said to me, “Hey, if you like the Bad Seeds, check out Grinderman – it’s on my iTunes.” At the time I was able to slip on headphones and rock out while working, and I wasn’t prepared for the onslaught that followed. Compared to Abattoir Blues / The Lyre Of Orpheus, my introduction to the Bad Seeds, this Grinderman was a different beast altogether. Frankly, I loved it. The lecherous old man feel continues on the follow-up, an equally primal and carnivorous album to its predecessor, albeit with a little more spit and polish. That’s where the album falters; it’s a bit slicker, sure, but there’s not enough to distinguish this from its debut. But hearing Cave croon such would-be awful lines as “My baby calls me the Loch Ness monster / Two great big humps and then I’m gone” and “I stick my fingers in your biscuit jar” with perverted glee as all the more worth it. And the slickness works on the delicate shuffle of ‘Palaces Of Montezuma’, which combines all of the raunch of Grinderman with the poetic beauty of the Bad Seeds.
Defining song: Palaces Of Montezuma
2. Elton John and Leon Russell, The Union
Having been more than a casual fan of Elton John, but not fanatical enough to know every facet about his discography, I’ve often found myself thinking, “When’s Elton John gonna put out his next album?” I was surprised to see on my last.fm page a recommendation for a song called ‘If It Wasn’t For Bad’, and so I promptly checked it out and liked what I heard. Further surprise came when it was a duet with Leon Russell, a legend in his own right, but a legend that I haven’t checked out that much. (That has since been rectified.) So I waited with anticipation for their album The Union, and upon its release fell madly in love with it. I’ve always considered Tumbleweed Connection to be John’s best album, so this cultural crossover between the true southern Americana of Russell and the British equivalent of John and songwriting partner Bernie Taupin sat just right with me. (The production by T-Bone Burnett didn’t hurt, either – he sure has been busy in 2010!) Astonishingly, unlike prior John albums, there isn’t any real hit single to be heard here, which falls in line with his assertion that he wants to concentrate on making proper albums again; The Union, then, is a proper album. The songwriting is strong, the interplay between Russell and John is superb, and the performances are wonderful. Not to mention the guests – Neil Young, Brian Wilson, and Booker T. Jones all make appearances, with Young contributing a gorgeous vocal to ‘Gone To Shiloh’; coincidentally, my favorite song of the bunch. Although this partnership is undoubtedly a one-off (Russell was always a musical hero to John, who instigated the union as a means to thank his mentor) I can only hope we’ll get some equally strong separate releases from both in the future.
Defining song: Gone To Shiloh
1. Elvis Costello, National Ransom
As a perpetual Elvis Costello fanboy, I can’t overstate my appreciation of this album enough. It’s a follow-up to 2009′s Secret, Profane & Sugarcane, which was a good-not-great first album with his new ad hoc string band, the Sugarcanes. While Secret falters with its muted approach, National Ransom shines, for not only are the Sugarcanes a well-oiled machine by now, but Costello does the smart thing and integrates members of his “other” band, the Imposters. Drummer Pete Thomas provides a huge shot to the arm, while Steve Nieve’s colorful keyboard accompaniments add much-needed variety to the songs. There are some weaker songs – Leon Russell flies in aimlessly for ‘My Lovely Jezebel’, and ‘I Lost You’, ‘The Spell That You Cast’, and the title track are all samey-sounding – but the gems here are exceptional: ‘Jimmie Standing In The Rain’, ‘A Slow Drag With Josephine’, and ‘A Voice In The Dark’ are playful character stories with an old-timey feel, while ‘Bullets For The New-Born King’ and ‘All These Strangers’ are serious, politically-charged songs, with simple but powerful arrangements. But to this fan, it’s ‘That’s Not The Part Of Him You’re Leaving’, a heartbreaking adieu to a friend who’s made her non-romantic intentions absolutely clear, that resonates the most. Costello can sing of unscrupulous politicians and bankers and ’30s-era caricatures, but it’s when he goes straight for the heartstrings that he really makes a profound mark.
Defining song: That’s Not The Part Of Him You’re Leaving
Weezer: Hurley
Posted: 11.02.2010 Filed under: 2010, Weezer Leave a comment »
Less than a year after the bizarrely enjoyable Raditude, Weezer returns with Hurley, a surprisingly solid collection of songs graced by one of the most disturbing cover images I’ve ever laid my astigmatic eyes upon: a closely-cropped image of Jorge Garcia, whose character from Lost, Hurley, provided the band with a title. (Speaking as someone who never got into Lost, I’m completely nonplussed by the title and the image. It just screams gimmick, but not in the kind of way that the flying dog from Raditude did. It makes me happier that I don’t have the album as a physical release, so that I don’t have to look at the cover.)
Hurley has been hailed as a return to form for Weezer, especially after Raditude, the Red Album, and Make Believe; however, the problem is that, unlike those albums, there isn’t anything as instantly catchy as, say, ‘(If You’re Wondering If I Want You To) I Want You To’, ‘Pork And Beans’, or ‘Beverly Hills’. Instead, we get a return to the power pop of the first four Weezer albums, and while there’s a lack of immediately accessible and irritatingly melodic earworms, we’re spared the indignity of utter shit like ‘Can’t Stop Partying’ and ‘In The Mall’.
Apart from a few songs on this album, though, I’m having difficulty appreciating it as much as I did Raditude. Perhaps part of the reason is that my enthusiasm stemmed from an exuberant Weezer fan, who worked me into something of a frenzy with Raditude, while this time, I stumbled upon this by myself, and it’s just not the same. Or perhaps part of the reason is that all of the songs, while good and are a decent return to form, are just too samey for my tastes. I like when a band branches beyond their comfort zone and tries something new and interesting – even if the results are painful (seriously, ‘Can’t Stop Partying’ and ‘In The Mall’ suck – I can’t stress this enough) – so for Weezer to be returning to the songwriting approach of their formative years, seems regressive to me. It’s kind of like the popular kid in high school, who everyone looks up to and wants to be friends with, and then when you catch up with him 16 years later, you find that he’d peaked in his senior year and is still trying to milk that for all it’s worth.
This is evident with the nostalgia-laced ‘Memories’, the lead single that’s surprisingly unremarkable. The sentiments are nice – Cuomos is looking back on Weezer’s history, and concludes that they’re still pretty awesome – but there’s not much here to make it sound like a Weezer song. Cuomos speak-sings the lyrics while synthesized blasts of noise help push the melody in the chorus, but it’s a pretty lackluster start. ‘Ruling Me’ is much more familiar territory, with chunky, distorted guitar riffs and Cuomos actually attempting to sing the lyrics. This would have been a much better lead single, as it’s much more Weezer-esque (though some of the lyrics, such as “We met in the lunch room / My ocular nerve went pop zoom”, induces both cringes and a roll of the, um, oculars) and harks back to the glory days of the Blue/Green albums.
An orchestra drifts in and out pointlessly on ‘Trainwrecks’, though it turns into a surprisingly solid ensemble performance, with a thick bass propelling the song. There’s an anthemic air about the song, and that probably has something to do with its co-songwriter, Desmond Child, a professional tunesmith who helped resuscitate the careers of the likes of Aerosmith, Bon Jovi, Ricky Martin, and, most notably, Kiss. (It’s this professional sheen, however, that makes it one of the most memorable songs on the album, so mission accomplished, I guess.) ‘Unspoken’ starts off with a sweet acoustic guitar intro, with a double-tracked Cuomos duetting with himself, and continues to build in intensity, with various instruments being introduced one by one, until nearly two minutes in, when the song kicks into a higher gear, and the full band are allowed to, ahh, rock out. (This and ‘Memories’ are the only two songs written solely by Cuomos.)
‘Where’s My Sex?’ recalls the simplicity of Talking Heads’ ‘Stay Up Late’ and ‘Creatures Of Love’ (“I’ve seen sex and I think it’s OK”), though it initially started life as ‘Where’s My Socks?’, making such lines as “Mom made my sex, she knitted it with her hands / Sex-making is a family tradition” not quite as eyebrow-raising as at first. Despite the downright stupidity of the lyrics, this is still a fun tune, and Cuomos’ childlike approach to sex is refreshing in an awkward, geeky kinda way (as opposed to older men singing about it, which makes it seem just a tad perverted).
‘Run Away’, written with Ryan Adams, is fairly bland, with Cuomos writing as if he was reciting his feelings to a diary; “When I’m looking at the night sky, I can see my soul” is rote and trite, but “I thought you would always be my friend / But everything must end / And so the world moves on” strikes a heavy chord with me, and the dejected acceptance of the inevitable end of a friendship is especially moving. ‘Hang On’ is an oddball performance, with the addition of Michael Cera on backing vocals, mandolin, and hurdy-gurdy. It continues the long line of chunky guitar/power pop chorus songs that are dominating the album, and by this time it’s starting to get a little old. ‘Smart Girls’, meanwhile, is remarkably dumb, and the fact that it took three people to write this drivel is astonishing. The penultimate song, ‘Brave New World’, is much like the previous songs on the album, and neither adds nor subtracts anything to the overall atmosphere; in other words, it’s simple a space filler.
Much like ‘I Don’t Want To Let You Go’ from Raditude, Hurley ends with its best song, the deliberately lo-fi ‘Time Flies’, which is a poignant and occasionally self-deprecating nod to Cuomos’ advancing age and the fact that’s no longer the young buck he once was. It sounds like it was recorded entirely by himself and in one take, as if he was just singing and playing the first things that popped into his head, and is similar to his Alone demo recordings, exposing an intimacy that is absent on the remainder of the album. Perhaps the biggest payoff is where Cuomos addresses his critics and fans who hypocritically rag on his newer stuff while pining for the simplicity of his older stuff:
Some sad day, they’ll be taking me away
But I won’t be dead
Cause even when I’m gone, this stupid dance song
Will be in your head
I’ll be looking down with a twinkle in my eyes
As I’ve pointed out elsewhere, the problem with Hurley is its sameness; there’s little to differentiate between songs, and the better moments can be found in the more experimental (or, more precisely, less orthodox) songs on the album. As much as fans hope for Pinkerton II to be written, it’s time to accept that it’ll never happen, and that Cuomos and co. are content with trotting out disc after disc of Weezer-type tunes. Which is a sad thing, because as fun as mindless power pop can be, Cuomos has more potential as a songwriter than he probably gives himself credit.
Essential listening: Ruling Me, Trainwrecks, Unspoken, Run Away, Time Flies
Best of 2009 … The Rest
Posted: 03.30.2010 Filed under: 2009, Air, Levon Helm, Mark Knopfler, Modest Mouse, Pearl Jam, Tegan and Sara, The Avett Brothers, The Black Crowes, The Flaming Lips, The Heavy, Them Crooked Vultures, Weezer 3 Comments »Where the hell did last year go? It seems like the latter half of 2009 wasn’t quite as memorable, music-wise, as the first half, in terms of new releases. Sure, we got the entire Beatles catalog remastered, but that doesn’t count as a new release – or at least, I won’t count it in this list, the defining, end-all be-all of music-related “best of” lists on music-related blogs that begin with “S” and end with “ound Round”.
Still, we got some pretty damn good music, and while I would rate only the top three albums against the list I came up with in the first half, they provide some serious competition, so watch out Regina Spektor and Neko Case – your gold and silver medals are in danger!
(Something I should clarify, even though they have nothing to do with this review: there was something confusing me about the Low Anthem’s Oh My God, Charlie Darwin, which would have been on any Best Of list if I’d heard it at the time. I kept seeing mentions of its 2009 release, even though I explicitly recall reading it had been released in 2008. I checked it out, and it turns out it was released first in 2008, and then re-released in 2009; despite my obvious love of the album, I’m going to consider it a 2008 release. Sorry, Low Anthem; knock me out with your new album, and you’ll be on this year’s Best Of list!)
Honorable mentions:
Weezer, Raditude
At this point in their career, Weezer can be expected to deliver a bouncy set of dumb and enjoyable pop-rock songs, and they do so with gusto on their newest album, the ridiculously titled Raditude. The Blue Album or Pinkerton it ain’t, but by that same token, The Red Album or Make Believe it ain’t, either; where else can you hear Rivers Cuomo sing earnestly of going on a date to see Titanic, or breaking out some mosh pit moves at a Kiki Dee concert? There’s little sincerity, and it contains two of the worst songs I’ve heard in a long, long while (‘Can’t Stop Partying’ and ‘In The Mall’), but it’s offset by loud guitars, crisp production, and a large dose of enthusiasm; still, the best song is the closer, ‘I Don’t Want To Let You Go’, a heartfelt ballad with more meaning in three minutes than the album displays in forty.
Defining song: I Don’t Want To Let You Go
Mark Knopfler, Get Lucky
To me, Mark Knopfler peaked with 2006′s All The Roadrunning, and he’s been milking a formula – no matter how winning it may be – since then. There’s little to differentiate Get Lucky from 2007′s Kill To Get Crimson, but he does what he does well, and that’s to write enjoyable Americana rock songs that allow his famed Stratocaster to sing more excitedly than his weathered baritone. The abundance of pennywhistle is a little overwhelming at first, but it’s the simpler songs – the bluesy growl of ‘You Can’t Beat The House’ or the delicate ‘Remembrance Day’ – that are the most effective.
Defining song: Remembrance Day
Top 10 Albums of 2009 … The Rest
10. The Flaming Lips, Embryonic
When the frontman of Flaming Lips, Wayne Coyne, says that their newest album is going to be their most experimental album to date, you know you’re in for a weird ride. (Zaireeka, anyone?) Embryonic is a sprawling, paradoxical double album, a song cycle without a narrative, a musical ejaculation without a real climax; self-contained weirdness while remaining uncontrollably familiar. It’s more advanced than Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots, and while there’s nothing as immediately accessible as ‘Do You Realize???’, it’s the kind of impenetrable musical statement that makes Sandinista! more exciting than London Calling. This isn’t an album that should be listened to in pieces, but as one continuous listen; perhaps the best song here is ‘I Can Be A Frog’, with Karen O literally phoning in her vocal performance, adding appropriate giggles and animal noises to Coyne’s lilting tremble.
Defining song: I Can Be A Frog
9. Modest Mouse, No One’s First and You’re Next
Anyone expecting these patented weirdos – I honestly believe Issac Brock to be the rightful heir to David Byrne’s lyrical weirdness – to reprise the commercial success of Good News For People Who Love Bad News are probably in for a disappointment with their latest album, an eight-track mini-album comprised of polished-up outtakes and B-sides. (It’s essentially a Tattoo You for the ’00s.) Polished-up outtakes and B-sides regardless, it’s still a great little collection of songs, and with me being the modest (heh) Modest Mouse fan that I am, it’s nice to get these songs on an album collection. I would give ‘King Rat’ the edge here, because of the awesome music video directed by the late Heath Ledger, or maybe ‘Autumn Beds’ because of its catchy banjo hook, but it’s the boozy brass band of ‘Perpetual Motion Machine’ that gets my most attention.
Defining song: Perpetual Motion Machine
8. Air, Love 2
I love a good bit of atmosphere in music, and in order to break up the tedium of some of the other albums on this list, I gave Air’s Love 2 a spin, and was refreshingly delighted with it. There aren’t any lyrics of any worth to focus on – any words are more murmured or chanted quietly – and the listener is rewarded with a truly airy (forgive the pun) experience. There’s plenty of synthesized swoops, swirls, buzzes, and warbles, and the beauty of the album is that it can be listened to as background music or with headphones on, and the result will be different either time.
Defining song: Sing Sang Sung
7. The Heavy, The House That Dirt Built
Why have I not heard of these guys before? The obvious classic song is ‘How You Like Me Now’, which has achieved a great deal of exposure in commercials and on Community (I’ll take full credit for exposing the world to the band), and with good reason. The Heavy is vintage rock revival at its finest, with enough riffs and fills to remind the casual listener of many of the better rock bands of the 60s and 70s. ‘What You Want Me To Do’ crawls with a Led Zeppelin crunch, and ‘Oh No! Not You Again!’ resurrects Jimi Hendrix for two minutes, but it’s delicate closer ‘Stuck’ that is the most affecting, with a country-tinged drawl and piano melody reminiscent of ‘You Can’t Always Get What You Want’. The words are pretty painful, detailing the purgatory of being caught in limbo “til you make your mind up”. After a half hour of good-time rock and funk, this is pretty honest stuff.
Defining song: Stuck
6. Levon Helm, Electric Dirt
There’s nothing I love more than Americana on a warm spring/summer/autumn day, and, despite ill-advised traces of misogyny and Confederate pride in their songs, the Band is the ultimate Americana band. So it’s no surprise that Band drummer and vocalist Levon Helm has produced a Band-like album, full of twangy – but not overbearing – guitars, and a nasally drawl that is distinctly his. The selection of songs is especially inspired, including opener ‘Tennessee Jed’ (written and first recorded by my nemeses, the Grateful Dead) and Muddy Waters’ ‘Stuff You Gotta Watch’ and ‘You Can’t Lose What You Ain’t Never Had’. But it’s the original composition ‘Growin’ Trade’, about a farmer who grows marijuana, and the gospel-tinged ‘I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel To Be Free’ that are particularly effective.
Defining song: Growin’ Trade
5. The Black Crowes, Before the Frost…Until the Freeze
When was the last time a rock band wrote and recorded a double album of new material in front of a live studio audience? I’ll give you some time to think, but the answer is “a really, really long time”. It could have gone badly, but Before The Frost…Until The Freeze is energetic, and an artistic triumph for these good-time southern rockers. If you have an hour and forty minutes to devote to this album, it’s certainly an essential listen; they still wear their influences on their sleeves, with the glory days of Rolling Stones embodied in the ‘Can’t You Hear Me Knocking?’-esque ‘Been A Long Time (Waiting On Love)’ and the four-to-the-floor disco thump of ‘I Ain’t Hiding’, but I still have a hard time getting beyond ‘Good Morning Captain’ and not hitting the repeat button. So what should be an hour and forty minutes of listening pleasure turns into nearly three hours – and I’m alright with that.
Defining song: Good Morning Captain
4. Tegan and Sara, Sainthood
I still think Under Feet Like Ours is their best album, but Sainthood is a refreshing departure from the more “mellow” indie rock of their debut. There’s an obvious debt to electronic rockers like the Yeah Yeah Yeahs here, but Tegan and Sara aren’t as confrontational singers as Karen O., and there’s more depth to the lyrics, as should be expected from this duo. What I like about this album is the contrast between the two writing styles: Sara is a little more introspective, while Tegan delivers upbeat, poppy tunes like ‘The Cure’ and ‘Northshore’. The relative brevity – 36 minutes – of the album is beneficial in these days of expansive, multi-disc albums, and Sainthood closes with the joyous ‘Someday’, a defiant cry of moving on after the end of a relationship: “Mark my words, I might be something someday”.
Defining song: Someday
3. Pearl Jam, Backspacer
In the grand scheme of Pearl Jam’s discography, this isn’t as revelatory or earth-shattering as their first couple albums; as far as latter-day releases go, it’s miles above their eponymous 2006 album, which was already pretty damn good. Eddie Vedder and co. all sound like they’re having a blast, and with nine upbeat and loud rockers, juxtaposed by two slower ballads, the listener would be forgiven for thinking there’s no diversity. Even though the guitars are cranked to 11, there’s enough here to maintain interest, and with a running time of just over 30 minutes, it’s the perfect soundtrack for an early morning pick-me-up on the drive to the office.
Defining song: Just Breathe
2. The Avett Brothers, I And Love And You
Having discovered the Avett Brothers on the seventh instead of the ground floor, I And Love And You is the kind of album that I’d been longing to hear at that moment: it was the beginning of September, and fall was just about to turn the leaves red, orange, and yellow. At times like that, my mind shifts from good-time summer music to restrained autumnal music, and I And Love And You filled that void perfectly. Rollicking rockers are counterbalanced by delicate, acoustic- and piano-tinged ballads, with the Avetts’ trademark rough-hewn harmonies still well intact. ‘Kick Drum Heart’ is a dumb bit of fun, much like ‘Squeeze Box’ on The Who By Numbers, but it’s the heartfelt title track, the muted ‘Ten Thousand Words’, and the swaggering ‘Head Full Of Doubt/Road Full Of Promise’ that are the standouts. The production, by noted jack-of-all-trades Rick Rubin, is stellar, and while it doesn’t have the same joyousness as their earlier albums, I And Love And You is still an excellent major label debut.
Defining song: Head Full Of Doubt/Road Full Of Promise
1. Them Crooked Vultures, Them Crooked Vultures
The year’s most-hyped supergroup delivers in spades. To be honest, it was a tough call between this and the Avetts, but this serious ass-kicking album barely, BARELY nudges the gentler I And Love And You from the top spot. There’s loads of riffs and loads of personality in these tunes, and the rag-tag trio of Josh Hamme, Dave Grohl, and John Paul Jones sound like they’re having the time of their life, but if you get to the halfway point of ‘No One Loves Me & Neither Do I’ – where the song stops briefly and kicks into a slower, grungier riff – and you don’t instinctively start nodding your head wildly and playing air guitar/drums, then you might want to invest in some Air Supply or Kenny G.
Defining song: No One Loves Me & Neither Do I
Weezer: Raditude
Posted: 11.12.2009 Filed under: 2009, new release, Weezer 1 Comment »
I like to think that I have good taste in music, and that I’m able to weed out the crap from the good. But sometimes my tastes slip, and I’m drawn to bad music like a moth to a flame – or, for a less clichéd cliché, like a movie buff to Ed Wood or Coleman Francis films. It’s why I once had t.A.t.U.’s 200Km/h In The Wrong Lane in my collection, and while the novelty of Russian not-really-lesbians quickly wore off, the ‘All The Things She Said’ single is still damn good.
Once upon a time, for a brief period of time, I really liked Weezer. I still maintain that Pinkerton is their best album, and Maladroit is severely underrated; for anyone who read my “Rages In Raditude” entry a few months ago, you may remember that their new album, Raditude (we have Rainn Wilson to thank for that title), was on the cards for an October release, while first single ‘(If You’re Wondering If I Want You To) I Want You To’ was about to hit the airwaves. Reviews I read on the Internet were cautiously positive, although when the tracklist of the album was released, the Internet collectively hid laughter behind its sleeve. I was ready to write the album off, based entirely on the fact that Rivers Cuomo was singing songs titled ‘In The Mall’ and ‘I’m Your Daddy’. Even the samples on iTunes didn’t inspire much hope, and I was sharpening my knives, almost delighting in trashing the album.
The thing is… it’s not that bad. I know – I’m surprised, too. I think at this point in Weezer’s history, the only thing they can put out is summery, breezy pop songs, songs with no lyrical depth, but are catchy and lightweight enough to be radio-friendly without offending or alienating anyone. The paradox, though, is that to longtime Weezer fans, the kind of album that Raditude is is offensive and potentially alienating, but that may be because they’re expecting their heroes to write Pinkerton II with each passing album, while Cuomo has stated, without a trace of irony or humor, that his most-played musicians nowadays are Hannah Montana, Katy Perry, and Tim McGraw. Hm.
Raditude starts with the most accessible tune, ‘(If You’re Wondering If I Want You To) I Want You To’, an almost dementedly enjoyable song that makes good use of the ‘You Can’t Hurry Love’ riff and is so singalongable that it’ll be stuck in your head for days. ‘I’m Your Daddy’ has the potential to be creepy, but its infectiously upbeat tempo and loud guitars transcend it to shades of earlier Weezer. (Not Blue Album era, but certainly Green Album/Maladroit era.) ‘The Girl Got Hot’, despite its shockingly laughable lyrics of Cuomo bopping along to a moshpit-turned-Kiki Dee rave-up at the local club, is another surprisingly powerful song, again with loud guitars and kick-ass drums. (The latter is courtesy of Josh Freese, who, readers may recall, recently released a solo album for $75,000 a pop.)
Cuomo’s fascination with rap and hip hop (or at least his perception/understanding of it) comes to a head with ‘Can’t Stop Partying’, which sounds like something that would be played in a club and is almost entirely devoid of anything remotely Weezer-esque: robotic drum beats, synthesized blasts of noise, Auto-Tuned vocals, and an interjection from Lil’ Wayne. (Yes, there is a “Weezer/Weezy” reference.) It’s one of two songs on the album that I find entirely unlistenable, the other being Patrick Wilson’s ‘In The Mall’, a puerile and profoundly stupid song about… being in the mall. You’d expect this from the likes of whatever young muppet Disney Channel or Nickelodeon is hyping these days, but not from Weezer. ‘Love Is The Answer’ is another embarrassing tune, and can be taken as Cuomos’ “mystical revelation”, in that it’s bathed with droning sitars, galloping tablas, and a vocal interjection from Amrita Sen; however, the vocal melody is a check in the “pro” column, so it’s docked only half a point for the completely unnecessary Indian stuff. (There’s a time and place for Indian music in pop/rock music, but when it feels forced like it does here, then it’s just unbearable.)
‘Put Me Back Together’ and ‘Tripping Down The Freeway’ are both pure power pop songs that sound like they’ve been done before by a million faceless one-hit-wonders from the late 1990s – bands like Goo Goo Dolls, Fastball, and the like – but they somehow manage to hit my emotional core, and maybe it’s just me, but there’s something about a song starting off slow and building in intensity until those drums and guitars hit full-force. Likewise, ‘Let It All Hang Out’, with its squealing lead guitar and gritty power chords, has been done before by other bands, and feels like it was made with the explicit intent of catering to the Rock Band generation, but it’s also the kind of song that is perfect for blasting while speeding down an open highway.
The album ends with ‘I Don’t Want To Let You Go’, and is the only song on the album I like for its musical and lyrical quality, whereas the other songs that I like are enjoyable because they’re dumb and catchy. It’s another song that builds in intensity, starting off with a thumping drum machine and sparse keyboards, but Cuomo’s vocals really make the song here, and it serves as a fitting conclusion[1] to an album that fans are going to write off simply because it’s Weezer and not as good as the Blue Album or Pinkerton. And that’s really too bad, because the key to enjoying Raditude is to not take it all that seriously, and take it for what it is: a dumb little pop record that isn’t meant to change the world or be some kind of major musical statement. It’s not perfect by a long-shot, but it’s not the abomination that many Weezer fans will have everyone believe; simply put, it’s on a par with any other Weezer album since 2001. My only legitimate lament was that it wasn’t released in late May, because this is perfect music for driving around in the summer with the windows down.
[1]A handful of bonus tracks mean that this isn’t the actual real end of the album, but as is the rule with Sound Round, only the original album tracks are discussed. If it makes any difference, you can make the album a whole lot better by dumping the two worst songs – ‘Can’t Stop Partying’ and ‘In The Mall’ – and replace them with ‘The Prettiest Girl In The Whole Wide World’ and ‘Run Over By A Truck’. The former song will make you wonder what the fuck the band was thinking in not giving that song more attention[2].
[2]Hey footnotes!
Essential listening: (If You’re Wondering If I Want You To) I Want You To, I’m Your Daddy, The Girl Got Hot, I Don’t Want To Let You Go
Rages In Raditudes: New Weezer Album Imminent
Posted: 08.19.2009 Filed under: 2009, new release, Weezer Leave a comment »In an apparent attempt to make themselves either the most tongue-in-cheek power pop band ever, or the lamest “What! We’re still hip, guys!” power pop band ever, Weezer’s newest album is titled Raditude.
Or, to quote their official MySpace blog:
…MEANWHILE, the album that the new single is drawn from, Weezer’s 7th Album due out on October 27, DOES INDEED have a title, and the title is “Raditude”! “Raditude”?? WHAT is “Raditude”? WHO is “Raditude”? WHERE is “Raditude”? WHEN is “Raditude”? HOW is “Raditude”? DONDE ES “Raditude”? QUIERO “Raditude”? Là où “Raditude”? Pourquoi “Raditude”? Quand “Raditiude”? Quel “Raditude”? Waar “Raditude”? Waarom “Raditude”? Wanneer “Raditude”? Welke “Raditude”? Wo “Raditude”? Warum “Raditude”? Wenn “Raditude”? Welches “Raditude”? Dove “Raditude”? Perché “Raditude”? Quando “Raditude”? Quale “Raditude”? Raditude “Raditude”? ….”Raditude”?
Raditude”. Out 10/27 from Weezer. Produced by Jacknife Lee and Butch Walker. That’s how/when/why/where/who/which/at what time, holmes!
Having stopped paying attention to Weezer since the autumn of 2002, when ‘Keep Fishin” was perpetually stuck in my head, I can only muster up the most basic of interest; given that I got some enjoyment out of their last few singles (‘Pork and Beans’ and ‘Beverly Hills’, namely), I have no real opinion one way or another about this news, except that given the evidence of the first single, ‘(If You’re Wondering If I Want You To) I Want You To’, is inoffensive and even fun.
I’ll still maintain that, even though I’m only an average Weezer fan, Pinkerton was their best album ever, followed by the Blue Album. And screw you all, Maladroit is awesome.
