TV Time

Well, well, well. Look at what we have here.

Another Friday afternoon. How nice.

Instead of haranguing you about some album you absolutely must listen to or complaining about Minnesota's Worst Spring, I thought I'd give a bit of advice in case your Friday night isn't as kind, weather wise, as mine is. If you're stuck inside or unable to go out and cause a ruckus why not unwind with one of the funniest shows to come from my home state? You see, kids, I was raised in the pre-millennial era, a heady time of unchecked cultural development that some are quick to dismiss as a painful, awkward time in the life of modern thinking. Many cringe when they think back to things that were popular at the time - Blossom, Milli Vanilli, Family Matters. It's okay, you don't have to feel bad, I was there too. I watched Captain Planet and American Gladiators. But while there were the shows about which we all have a wince and a laugh, there was one show I laughed at then and still do today.

Cable was a vast, untamed landscape that exposed my pre-adolescent mind to all sorts of things, from the dreary (or so I thought) PBS to the debauched (so I thought) MTV. A little fledgling network, though, laid the groundwork for the development of my sense of humor almost as much as The Simpsons did. Comedy Central was, at the time, just a random, insignificant channel on the spectrum. Instead of the force of nature it is today, back then it was a lot of British imports like Absolutely Fabulous and Whose Line Is It Anyway interspersed with stand-up specials and reruns of Dr. Katz. What stood out, though, what really hooked me, was a strange show that seemed to show a lot of bad science fiction. Like, the worst they could find. And they just bagged on it.

It was sublime. 

It was Mystery Science Theater 3000, hailing from my home state of Minnesota's cable access channel.

Joel, a sleepy maintenance man for Gizmonic Institute, had been kidnapped by his evil bosses Dr. Forrester and TV's Frank and shot into space to be a prisoner aboard the Satellite of Love. The extent of the experiments being performed on Joel amounted to being shown cheesy sci-fi movie as the terrible twosome monitored his mind. Joel, wanting some company if he had to endure such terrible films, ended up using the parts that control when the movies start and stop to construct some robot friends. Gypsy, Tom Servo and Crow all coexisted with Joel, providing his only emotional support as they sat through film after film of absolute schlock. That sound too absurd? Here, maybe it's more palatable as a theme song. 

Having no access to the burgeoning internet, I basically stumbled onto the show and was initially puzzled. What was this? Why the silhouettes on the bottom of the screen? Soon, though, I was in love. This show was genius! As the trio riffed on the movies and just made jokes over bad films, my sense of humor (and snark) came to form. Pithy, witty banter, all at the sake of someone's hard (but poorly executed) work. Awful science fiction movies from the 50s through the modern era, just piled up and mocked, along with the occasional short to pad out an hour. This is the show that made Manos, The Hands of Fate famous! While the movies were train-wreck affairs, the kind of stuff you just couldn't look away from, the shorts were my favorite - often they were the hopelessly dated and out of touch educational films from the 50s and 60s, the kind of stuff with a family of characters all referred to as "Mother", "Father", "Sister" and "Brother". I may not have gotten all the jokes, not even being in my teens at the time, but I was constantly in stitches, absorbing every wise-crack and non-sequiter.

 What makes these fond recollections even better for me is that they still hold up as hysterical. I had *ahem*...downloaded...a few in college and my friends and I watched them obsessively. Having found them on Netflix is even better, knowing there's no danger of viruses or bad files. There's an insane amount of content available and this way you don't have to shell out quite as much as if you bought the whole DVD collection. Even though the show ended years ago, two different factions of cast and crew have been continuing in the riffing tradition, skewering modern and classic selections. Check out the sites for Cinematic Titantic and Rifftrax to see what is available - you just download the track, sync it up with your TV and voila! New material! As I said, if you're trapped inside tonight check out the joys of skewering bad content. Hopefully you're as amused as I continue to be! 

Knowns & Unknowns

Generic intro!

In comparison to yesterday, there are no gimmicks to accompany this post, no wistful recollections of times gone by or stand-out moments that shine brightly from the deepest recesses of my memories. Nope, nothing funny here - just one solid album that is shamefully under appreciated today. The album in question? Superunknown by Soundgarden.

Some of you may actually have at least a passing familiarity with Soundgarden. Unfortunately it may only be due to the pale shadow of the band that exists in the alleged super group Audioslave. While that band has a decent following today, with a few marginal hits, the real gold came from the originators, not the successors. Both Rage Against the Machine and Soundgarden were such ground breakind path-makers that for either group to want to continue on seems obvious. However nothing really can hold a candle to what each group had done in their prime. Today we focus on the weird pseudo-metal and grunge stylings of Soundgarden and their mainstream breakthrough album. Released in early 1994, the album saw Soundgarden finally gaining mainstream press beyond articles on the grunge wave along with Alice In Chains, Nirvana and Pearl Jam. Radio friendly hits were turning on people who otherwise would not have given the oddball band a chance. Primarily known at this point for their intricate guitar noodling and frontman Chris Cornell's over-the-top vocals, the band struck out in a new direction for this album while adhering to their established sensibilities. 

If grunge was a marriage of sorts between punk and heavy metal, Soundgarden found themselves on the metal end of the spectrum. Nirvana, for example, were on the punk end of things. Soundgarden had made a name for themselves with Kim Thayil's heavy, yet intricate and melodic guitar playing, with the band grinding along behind Cornell's wailing and screaming. Over the top stuff, but it was popular at the time, with hits like Outshined and Rusty Cage showing real signs of the talented band to the mainstream public. So when it came time for them to record the follow up to their biggest album yet, Badmotorfinger, they decided to engage their potential, to not be limited by the constraints of expectation or role-fulfillment. What we received, as a result, was an album with heavy metal roots but the quirks of intelligent people not taking themselves too seriously. Where as Pearl Jam were all anguished introspection and railng against an unjust society, Soundgarden would write songs like they were being dared to. Case in point - the excellent whirling and weighty track 'Spoonman' was written when Chris Cornell was making a cameo in the movie 'Singles' and saw a setlist for the fictional band Citizen Dick. Spoonman was one of the song titles and he thought he'd write the song just for the sake of fun. The power pop of the shining and sparkling 'My Wave' is twisted around a riff written in the mentally taxing 5/4 time, something with which I can't quite fall into synch. It messes with my head and it's only about surfing - light-hearted and weird, but fun stuff. This isn't the only case of curious time signatures, either - the bleak yet enticing 'Day I Tried To Live' features a bass line that somehow repeats after a pattern of repeating 7/4 and 4/4 times, all while Cornell's amazingly rich voice croons about giving up.

 There are more conventional tracks on this awesome record, as well. 'Kickstand' is one of the most straight-forward songs here, but they do even the most conventional songs with vigor and unparalleled finesse. The resolving chords in the verses feel so smooth and locked in, it's no wonder they like to experiment with odd time signatures. 'Mailman' is ostensibly just a grinding, growling riff that descends into a mire, but the little flairs on the fret board and (again) Cornell's voice sell what would otherwise be middling material by any other band. 'Fresh Tendrils', with its octave-based eastern-tinged riffs, feels as vibrant and relevant as anything else released in recent times. Of course we would be remiss if we didn't speak of the stand-out single, the massive and mind-meltingly unreal 'Black Hole Sun'. Beneath the surface of this masterpiece of grunge is a fantastic tune, a sure sign of quality songwriting. What I'm trying to say is if one would strip away all the elements but vocals and a guitar part, you'd still have a phenomenal bit of music. It's an absolutely amazing song, one that people still know and love 15+ years later. How many grunge bands can say that?

 Really, this album is tops. I was given it almost as an afterthought by my older brother when I was about 12 and even now I find myself flipping through it and thinking about how great the whole thing is. It's a shame Audioslave can't hold a candle to Soundgarden, but then again how could they? A band is a sum of it's parts, not just one man's ego. Nine Inch Nails, for example, has really only been Trent Reznor. The Smashing Pumpkins is just Billy Corgan and Jimmy Chamberlin. Hell, The Doors was mostly just Jim Morrison. Soundgarden was a band where everyone had their day in the sun, and this album shows what they were capable of doing when they really let themselves shine. 

Unknown Elements

Sun's out.

Went for a walk during my lunch break today. Felt good to have sunshine and warmth. I barely even needed my jacket. Had headphones in while I strolled aimlessly around the city, letting my mind wander. A song came on that got me thinking about bit players, the people that step into our lives to do something important and then disappear back into the eaves with little or no warning. Such a thing has happened to me as much as anyone else, but there is a specific time I think of that always makes me wonder - about how much we know ourselves or how we come across to others.

I hated living in the dorms in college. Anyone who has met me can attest to the fact that I am a neurotic creature who needs an inordinate amount of solitude. Part of the reason my better half and I work so well is that we know when to give each other time to be ourselves and not feel crowded. A dormitory crammed with dudes, though? Drove me insane. Almost insane. But darn close. Not everything about it was bad, just the relentless social atmosphere that constantly threatened to overload my brain. I met almost all of my friends during this time, including the friend who introduced me to my better half. But while I was connecting with these people, trying to not lose my mind in the new-found freedom/strife of dorm life, there was one person who I not only clicked with but drew a bead on me that was remarkably accurate for how little we hung out. I guess he just got a good read on me in that short time, because I never really saw him after freshman year - I moved into an apartment and I think he transferred. How sad is that, that I don't even know what became of this guy? Maybe I'm selfish. I know there were a lot of loose associations due to confined living spaces, but I wish I had possessed stronger character enough to reconnect. Regardless of my own shortcomings, every time I listen to this album he gave me, I think "how did he know I would love this album so much?" 

The album came with no notice or fanfare, just him stopping by on his way to class and tossing me a burned CD (again, just before the proliferation of iPods and flash drives). I think he just said "Hey man, thought you'd like this" when he handed me the CD, on which he had hand-drawn some artwork and all the tracks. It was dredg's album El Cielo. Surprised by the spontaneous gesture, I thanked him and said I'd give it a listen, and promised to burn him a reciprocal CD. Nothing more, he just headed off and I set the disk on my desk. Here's the dumb thing: I didn't listen to it right away. I totally should have. I don't remember how long it was that I waited, but when I did it seemed okay, but not anything crazy. So in return I burned him a disk of stuff I was into at the time, I think there was a lot of the Get Up Kids on there. Anyway, some time later, after we had parted ways, I listened to the album, really listened to it.

It blew me away.

While I struggle to pull out specific reasons that would elucidate just what it is that resonates with me so much, I can tell you it felt like this CD was hitting closer to home than anything I was listening to at the time. I was on a long, contemplative drive when I first heard the album and I vividly remember thinking "Oh man, you were a genius! How did I never listen to this!? I wish I could tell him how good this is!" It was eerie, haunting, somber. Conversely it was an album with churning guitars and gorgeously written piano and string arrangements. Honestly, I can't tell you why I love this album so much, it just reverberates with something in my head. There's a darkness but it exists side by side with a melancholic joie de vivre - does that make any sense? It's a kind of joy in sorrow. Dredg created something amazing here, and I had sat on it for too long before realizing it. It even had an effect on others, proving to me there was something powerful about this album. Playing it for the same friend who introduced me to Lagwagon, he remarked that it was weird and "trippy" yet at the same time conventional. Maybe that's what fascinates me about 'El Cielo' - on the surface it's a fairly normal alterna-prog album but the trained ear can sense unconventional chord patterns and slightly uncanny melodies. There is something just slightly askew here, and it's amazing.

 I've never had a chance to reconnect with this friend from my freshman year of college. I've heard from other people that he's well, but that's all I know. Just friending him on Facebook would feel cheap and hollow, and I don't even use it (which is a whole other arguement that I'm not delving into here). But every time I hear a track from this album by dredge I think back to how either he must have really loved to advocate for it or he just knew it was up my alley. Hey, for all I know it was a shot in the dark and he thought I might just dig it. I wish I had listened to it sooner. The guy was right. It is fantastic. 

Mind Digging In

Let's get weird, shall we?

I loved the movie Inception. No question about it - I recall with great joy the feeling of giddy befuddlement I had while sitting in the Lagoon theater, watching Dom Cobb and his band of thieves traipsing through the dreams of corporate heirs. It was director Christopher Nolan at his best, having constructed a twisting tale of espionage and international intrigue through a meta-referential script and some of the best (if underrated) actors of my generation. Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Tom Hardy, Cillian Murphy and Ellen Page all turned in superb performances that made an outlandish concept and serious nature surprisingly compatible. Yes, yes, Leonardo was great, we all know it. But the secret star of the movie? Hans Zimmer and his relentless score.

Much has been written about the use of sound in this movie. From the inspired move of creating the booming, throbbing action score from the 'kick' music 'Non, je ne regrette rien', sung by Edith Piaf, or the effect a continuous score has on the audience when it is suddenly removed from the scene, the score is omnipresent and ever-changing. It's no wonder the film entrances viewers the way it does - it manipulates them so deftly with the soundscape that they don't consciously register what's happening. I was completely enthralled by the movie and I didn't even see it in one of the Imax theaters like my friends. It was pretty crazy for a 2nd viewing on a Blu Ray player with some nice headphones and about a half of a bottle of Cab. As I've written before, I much prefer watching movies at home now, as compared to the theater experience. 

I loved the movie, not just for the story or the actors or the sounds, but for the whole feel of the thing. There's an intangible quality (duh) that I find so enchanting but elusive, something so mysterious about the not-quite-real worlds constructed by the architects and how they feel in my mind. I was naturally curious, then, when I saw that there was to be some sort of Inception App released for IOS devices. What would it be? Just some humdrum clips and pics? A couple games with poor production values? That's what was typically offered, I'd found. To my wonderment, what was released still entrances me to this day, over six months later.

The brain child of Michael Breidenbrücker, the app is a fascinating and clever use of the mic/headset combo for either iPhone or iPod. Essentially what happens is this: you plug in your headset, fire up the app and press a button to induce dreaming. The code in the app then takes the sounds of the world around you and warps them while playing them almost instantly into your earbuds along with snippets of the movie's score. On the surface it sounds like a fairly simple, if novel, use of a mic and headphones. As an experience, though, it can be amazingly transcendent.

Pedestrian tasks like riding an elevator down to the basement become surreal, otherworldly experiences. The whole world takes on a slightly ethereal quality and you become ever so slightly out of step with reality. When you boil it down to the essence it really is just a gimmick, a fun twist on sensory feedback, but the effect it has on daily life is astounding. On the right day you can create something epic out of boarding a bus or locking a door. It was winter here in Minnesota (big shock) when the app was released, and I had more than a few strange and amusing experiences walking home in the snow with Hans Zimmer's soundtrack playing along, the crunch of the snow beneath my feet becoming a series of endless, descending echoes. If you open up your mind it's fun to see what can happen. A little sense of wonder never hurt anyone. It's a bit of fun, just some harmless novelty for passing mundane tasks, but if your mind is open it can be crazy.

The way the sound and music augment reality in this app brings to light what is potentially a new wave in sound design and musical creation. There is a world of possibility here - I can picture artists making albums meant to be experienced, not just listened to. Or maybe video game designers bring the experience into the world around you. In the meantime, I have a small window into the other-worldy feeling one of my favorite movies in recent years created. Being able to crawl into it in just the slightest sense is such a fun, strange thing. Give a look see if you have a compatible piece of hardware. 

Glossed Over

Monday. 

Obviously big things have been happening. Not being a big person, I feel I have no authority with which to comment on the situation with anything of consequence. All I will say is that the last 10 years have been very long and strange. I remember where I was then and I'll remember where I was last night. 

Moving on. 

I the interest of being as light and fluffy as possible, how's about we take a look even farther back than everyone else today? Let's shoot some fish in a barrel. Let's go back beyond the beginning, into an untouched part of the 90s that I obsess over while the media continues covering the last 10 years. To cut to the chase, I was a huge Weezer fan. Their debut album will always be a slice of solid gold to me, the very definition of a Desert Island disc. But while that album has been on the receiving end of endless praise and adoration, ever more hipster love has been thrown at the damaged and raw follow up, Pinkerton. Absolutely all of it is deserved as well. While I love the Blue Album for its flawless songs, it's this intriguing and flawed record of emotional discord that fascinates me more with its broken edges and fuzzy instruments. I was out with friends this weekend and the establishment where we ended the night played the album in its entirety, which got me thinking about just how good this album is and how amazing it was that the world at large rejected it outright. Let's go in for a closer look, shall we? 

Released in 1996, Pinkerton shows the emotional turmoil lead singer and guitarist Rivers Cuomo was enduring at the time of its production. While the debut album by the band was a series of tightly crafted pop songs encased in warm distortion with insane hooks, here we saw the sweet and harmless band become frayed and aggressive. It was a surprising move. Not to say they completely broke their mold (they could have done death metal or hip hop) but it was certainly in stark contrast to the cheery, if self-deprecating, tunes with which they made names for themselves. Over fifteen years later, you either know the story at this point or don't' - Rivers was an unhappy mess and his songs reflected this head state. In the past he as described releasing this album as spilling your guts out at a party after having too much to drink, thinking its a great idea at the time but then waking in the morning to the embarrassing reality of spilling one's guts to a crowded room. The rest of the anecdote should include, though, that your friends contact you later to say that whatever dirty laundry you aired was revelatory and insightful and endearing. Basically Rivers needed a hug and was too upset to realize it. So while he was living down the repercussions of making an incredibly personal record that (at the time) was a commercial flop, the rest of the world slowly but inevitably warmed up to it. 

I remember vividly the day I sat in a friends car, realizing she was listening to Pinkerton. It was shocking, not only for this particular friend to break out of her jam-band comfort zone, but that it was with this particular album. What was most shocking, though, was realizing just how amazingly good the album was, coming back to it. In the intervening years my own sense of musical appreciation had grown, my expectations and tastes had changed. I could see not only the reason for the distortion but the amazing quality of the songs hidden beneath it. The songs themselves were raucous, honest songs about heartache, loneliness and feeling old before your time. Not only are the songs well constructed compositions, but their specific elements elevate them to greater heights. There are so many great little parts of each song! The breakdown at the end of 'Tired of Sex' where the drums switch to half-time, the middle eight of 'Getchoo' where the whole band begins a pulsing, juggernaut march, the chunky & stuttering last chorus of 'Pink Triangle' or the way Rivers sings the word "me" in the first line of 'Across The Sea' - these are all little moments that happen just once per song but it makes the song. They stand out for their special, unique flavors they add. I can totally see why this album was so detested upon its initial release but it's so painfully obvious, listening to it now, why it's so fantastic.

I know this is the defining album for the center of the hipster/Weezer Venn diagram - I really don't care. I kinda dug a couple songs when it first came out but quickly dismissed it for not sounding like the first album. Like everyone else my age, I came rushing back to it right after the millennium. It's funny to think it was ahead of its time, yet there's nothing particularly futuristic or avant-garde about it, so what was the problem? Was it too raw for their fan base at the time? Who knows. What matters is we realized we missed it the first time around and came back to it. It's phenomenal, but you probably already knew that, didn't you?

In Between

So ends another weekend, cold and gray in Minnesota's May.


How is this even possible? Tomorrow is supposed to be nicer, but it's May 1st today and there's green grass out there, yet its still barely breaking 40 degrees in the sun. Oh well. Such is our station in life, living in the heart of North America. Someday, though. Someday we'll sit in the sun on our little patio overlooking Uptown and grill some fish and veg, having a celebratory cocktail while shaking our heads in disbelief about our seasons. 


But enough pining over the clouds! The weekend is over and there is another week of life to be seized! Cherished! Noses to be put to grindstones, axes to grind and grinds to get done! Until then, I'll fill in a little gap that was created inadvertently.


A little over a week ago I wrote about the peaceful solo work of Joey Cape. The day after I wrote about his fast-paced and energetic career as the singer for Lagwagon. Between those two extremes lies the work of Bad Astronaut, a group Cape helmed during a hiatus in his punk career. Drawing members from related acts, Bad Astronaut served as a way for Cape to try some more experimental or deviating ideas rather than stay in the established veins of his career. Unfortunately due to the suicide of Bad Astronaut drummer Derrick Plourde the group has effectively disbanded, giving way to the resurgence of Lagwagon and Cape's solo work. In their short career the band put out three albums and a split EP. Among the best of their work was their final album, Twelve Small Steps, One Giant Disappointment. 

The album, released on Fat Wreck Chords in 2006, showed what the band was capable of when given free reign on their material. As I mentioned earlier, Bad Astronaut was filling a gap of sorts in Cape's musical range. While Lagwagon was more relentless and his solo work soft and introspective, here we have Cape delving into his poppier, groovier side while flexing his songwriter's muscle. There are straight pop-rock songs like 'Good Morning Night' and summery, wistful drivers like 'Stillwater, California' and 'Best Western'. Tracks like 'Ghostwrite' and 'Beat' run smoothly, tucked into tight pockets by their rhythm. In particular, I love the way 'Beat' creates this moody, sparse and almost broken atmosphere in quieter parts of the intro and verses. Cape and the group do a great job of working in their space, really rounding out their sound across the spectrum.


The highlight of the album by far, though, is the track 'Minus'. A somber tale of what the world could be without certain things, the song is a moving, powerful peace that show what Cape can do when not confined to the likes of pop-punk. It's a slow, sad affair, but one that shows excellent song craft and a finesse of the creative process. The way the melody plays over the chords and the resolutions the chords create in their cycles show Cape really is a talented writer. This a fantastic song that I wish could get more exposure than it has, it absolutely deserves acclaim.

I suppose the fact that Bad Astronaut is no more only heightens my appreciation of the group - scarcity drives up demand, right? I always thought that worked with creative content, too. I'm glad to know Cape is still writing, recording and performing after this phase in his career. There are honestly points on this album that I hear the tinges of Kurt Cobain in there, echoed in the poppy yet gravely songs. Cape shared a similar nature with Cobain in that sense, I think, when you look at the respective musician's secret love of pop. While there's no much of Bad Astronaut to go around, I'm sure glad to have what we do. Listen to 'Minus'. It's good.

New Model

Weekend, week end.

I'm good and pissed. Tried going for a short run today after having little success last week. After cleaning my apartment all day, some slow and diligent stretching and walking for a warm up, I tried to get into it. I got about three blocks before I had to limp home. I hate my knee. So in search for something cathartic and contrarian I thought I'd extol the virtues of a furious young man. Sadly that man is young, no longer. 

That man?

Elvis Costello ( & The Attractions).

Shamefully, I knew little to almost nothing about Elvis Costello until I was almost 18. I know, right? But I take solace in the deep seated appreciation I hold for his music now, which compensates for me only slightly. At some point during my senior year of high school (yeah, I was old for my class - it made me popular for the sole purpose of purchasing contraband, though) I was watching a retrospective on Saturday Night Live's musical acts. One of the highlights playing on the show pertained to the controversies and banning of artists from NBC. While we're all familiar with the Sinead O'Connor incident, a lesser known, earlier example is the run in with Mr. Costello and his Attractions. Having been brought on the show to fill in for the (potentially worse) Sex Pistols, Costello stopped his band in the intro to 'Less Than Zero', saying there was no reason to play it. He then counted his band off and they all launched into the defiant 'Radio, Radio', a screed about the stale nature of commercial radio. To wit, there are lines in the song stating specifically "I wanna bite the hand that feeds me." Furious with Costello for the outburst of spontaneity and brash attitude, he was banned from the network for around 25 years.

Seeing this as a conniving little 18 year old, I was enthralled. 

On a night out with some friends I picked up a couple albums I had been looking for, including an older Alkaline Trio album and Never Mind The Bollocks, Here's The Sex Pistols.  In the same section of the store I found the album by Costello with that song, This Year's Model. Curious about his attitude yet aware of its age, I said "what the hell" and plunked down too much money for a CD, when I'm sure it would be less than 10 now, or 'free' in college. It was fantastic.

Full of the youthful vigor and undiluted passion of an artist with a clear vision of the world, the album is a personal favorite of mine. Starting in with Costello singing "I don't wanna kiss you, I don't wanna touch, I don't wanna see you cause I don't miss you that much", 'No Action' is a sign of things to come. A propulsive song that moves forward on rolling drums and the vibration of the keys, it shows Costello's emotional momentum as well as the band's. 'Pump It Up' has a similar frantic energy, pounding forward on a relentless rhythm and chunky bass line. The songs themselves display the power of The Attractions, working as a cohesive unit and delivering with intensity and detail. Other tracks maintain that same energy even if the tempo isn't the same - 'Little Triggers' is a slow burning throwback to doo-wop records, while '(I Don't Wanna Go To) Chelsea' has an almost reggae feel, slipping in just behind the beat in a head bobbing groove. 'Running Out Of Angels' sees Costello beating on his acoustic through chagrined false starts. 'Greenshirt' has no false starts but feels just as well crafted as a tight little acoustic number. The highlight for me, though, will always be 'Radio Radio'. I love everything about it - the chord progression, the lyrics, the melody and the attitude. Everything comes together so well and it feels so raw and ahead of its time. Does that make sense? Maybe not.

Whether or not that did make sense, I love this album. It was almost an accident that I came across it the way I did. I'm sure I would have discovered it eventually, but to have just the smallest nudges lead me to it at the point it did makes me appreciate it's forgotten beauty. It's only slightly forgotten for some, but for an entire generation it's completely unheard of. Either way, you should give it a spin - it's a phenomenally energetic, frenetic album showing an artist and band at the tipping point for passion.

End Of The Rope

Hello there!


Here I sit, exhausted and thoughtless after a week of shining my lights at their brightest. New job, new pressures, new sense of fatigue. Like I wrote yesterday, doing the same sort of thing for more than a year brings about a mental complacency. Doing new things, consistently, breaks that mental rut. It also fatigues the mind. Being on your toes and trying to adapt and be on your best behavior is tiring after an hour, let alone 50. For example, you have no idea how many insignificant yet telling spelling errors I've made in just this paragraph. Thank goodness for the little red line beneath my mistakes. Since I am clearly at the end of my rope I'll just write a bit about someone else's before I flop into bed.


I've certainly written before about my love of the Foo Fighters and the earnest, unpretentious music they make. As a modern band they've done an amazing thing - they've continued to make album after phenomenal album, a continuous streak of amazing rock music. While I certainly dug their last outing, the sprawling and diverse 'Echoes, Silence, Patience + Grace', my better half loved it even more. It was all I could do to pry the actual, physical CD out of her car and sneak it up to my hard drive. As much as I enjoyed it, though, I was kind of hoping they'd get back to form on their next record. To my pleasant surprise it turned out that's what the band had set out to do on their next endeavor. 

While I would love to tell you more about 'Wasting Light' in its entirety, I once again am succumbing to the fact that my better half is so in love with this band that I haven't been able to weasel the CD (again, physical copies!) out of her car. Due to our separate commutes (me bus, she car) I haven't had a chance to really take the whole thing in. Side note - physicality seems to be a theme on this album, as it not only was recorded on tape in Grohl's garage, but her copy of the CD came with an actual section of the master tapes it was recorded on. A nice touch.




The lead single, though? Fantastic.


'Rope' is a slice of pure, guitar driven rocknroll. It's an interesting move on the band's part, as well. The first time I heard the single on the radio I honestly didn't think it was them. From the jangly, spacey chords that open the track, it barely even sounds like the Foo Fighters we all know and love. I had almost tuned the song out, my mind somehow associating it with 80s New Wave like Flock of Seagulls or something. Like, GTA: Vice City popped into my head and I don't quite know why. Anyway, the song builds from there, piece by piece, until the verses are a series of overlapping, rhythmically complicated dynamics. The melody is both infectious and a bit hard to listen to, like a sour candy, if that makes any sense. As the tune builds into the chorus it shifts from the 80s to the 90s, becoming an insanely catchy bit of guitars and wailing the post-grunge rockers do so well. I'm sure you'd recognize it the moment you hear it, Dave Grohl wailing "Gimme some rope, I'm coming loose - I'm hanging on you!"

I'm willing to bet there are some fantastic cuts on this album, if only I could hear them. Someday I'll snatch the album out of my better half's car and secret it away to my headphones to study in earnest. Until then I'll have to to keep myself content with this excellent, hard driving tune. It's good to know that after 15 years a band like this can keep pushing themselves to be creative and energetic. I look forward to hearing more from them.

All Left Feet

Word.


Whole bunch of 'em. 


So it's been a massively busy week. I got a promotion at work, which is fantastic. However, as with any new position there are fresh new responsibilities. Turns out this new gig has quite a few. Like, pages of stuff. Whole lists of things I'm responsible for. I assume my last position was the same way but after time you don't think of it as a list of things to do, it's just your job. It's still in that new phase for me, where it feels overwhelming but is approaching manageable. I'm excited - it's fantastic and so are my new coworkers. Still, it wears a body out, trying to take everything in. The one small respite in the face of this change? The simple joy of finishing a book while riding the bus home.

After a day spent taking in as much as possible, trying to put my best foot forward for 9 hours, slouching down on the back of the 6 and pulling a book out of my bag to open it near the end is a gratifying feeling. It's a silly, base thing to take such happiness from but it doesn't mean I can't savor it. Having poked away at the book over lunch breaks and bus rides over the last month, I was glad to put it to bed but sad to see it end. Another of the multitude I was given for the holidays, I am only now approaching the end of the line in my small collection of Murakami's canon.

Dance, Dance, Dance is another of the surreal, bizarre pieces of fiction by the Japanese author. Not only is it a wonderfully bemusing novel, it's also a sort of sequel to his last book I read, A Wild Sheep Chase. Having enjoyed that supernatural gumshoe story, I was excited to read this, knowing that it follows some of the same characters after a somewhat abrupt ending. The same nameless protagonist tells us the story, his astoundingly-eared girlfriend factors in, as well as the strange and mysterious Sheep Man. 


Another of Murakami's musings on the nature of loss and forlornness, the book spends a great deal of time introducing and subsequently killing off characters. Those readers paying rapt attention may spot it coming, but I found myself to be pleasantly surprised by some of the twists and turns the narrative took. Once again we have the protagonist joking his way through a seemingly humdrum existence, writing copy for ads, a process of dismisses as "shoveling cultural snow". That description is actually one of the better things to come from the book, a succinct way of summing up many lives. When he feels something beyond this world calling out to him from the Dolphin Hotel, the penultimate setting of the previous book, his life heads straight down a rabbit hole of high-class call girls, inconsolable movie stars and psychic teenagers. Disparate elements that end of tying together quite nicely in the end. I recall getting within 60 pages of the end and thinking "All right, how the hell does this all tie together?" The answer came pretty shortly after. 

Dance, Dance, Dance is not a book with simple, hit-you-over-the-head action and romance. In fact there was quite a bit that befuddled me and took me out of my comfort zone. Yet, I kept on reading it for the simple enjoyment of Murakami's understated voice. The pleasure of slowly meandering through this book helped me offset the stress I was riding into my inaugural period at my job. I would definitely recommend picking up this novel, but do so only after having read A Wild Sheep Chase. Turn the page, kids. See you on the weekend.

Pakt Tite

Evening, one and all.

After having a good feeling yesterday from writing about how fantastic G-Stone Records' artist repertoire is, I thought I would take a similar route for today's (only tangentially) related post.

You see, sometimes the best way to discover something is to just branch out. It also helps to have nothing to lose, as well. Relevant to both of these conditions is the fact that last summer (or maybe it was two summers ago...can that be right? Have I been running that long?) the kind people at Apple decided to not only offer their typical Single of the Week and Discovery Download, they also had a free sampler available from German electronik label Kompakt. Being a sucker for both music of both the free and electronic types, I immediately downloaded the 2009 Family Label Sampler. I have to admit I had very low expectations for the thing, assuming there would be a lot of heavy-handed four-on-the-floor techno music of the tritest variety, perhaps one or two decent songs in the collection.

To my surprise and delight I was completely wrong.

It turns out that the artists at Kompakt not only make fantastic music but do so with perspective and nuance I had frankly never encountered in electronic music before! Instead of mindless, stupid rave music I found myself zoning out to surreal, quiet little numbers that lasted longer than I could even hope. That's one of the secret bonuses to not working in conventional song structure - you don't have to limit yourself to three and a half minutes. There was a great deal of minimalist, barely expressed tones - from the churning and beeping of 'Kenton' by Mikkel Metal to the ambient atmospherics of 'America' by Dusty Kid. This was music with a refreshingly unique perspective. While I had been growing bored with my usual fare of indie rap and guilty pleasure pop songs, here was a collection of intelligent, subtly expressed electronic/techno music that came completely out of left field. On top of that it was free! What more could a guy ask for? Let me explain a little more accurately by quoting Grooves magazine: 


"Kompakt’s chief aesthetic objective has always been the perfect marriage of ambient texture and linear 4x4 structure—blending deep, granular sound design with the 4-bar rhythmic intensity and patterning that makes house and techno so club-effective"

 Around this same time I had begun running for fitness, after years of poor health and eating habits. While there was no shortage of guitar-and-screaming aggro music to motivate me in the beginning, after a while I had burned out on the same songs. I was enjoying the running very much but wanted to get out of my own head during the process. This collection was the perfect answer to that problem. The steady slap of rubber on pavement paired wonderfully with the soft synths and samples of beats. There was a zen element, an unconscious mantra  of "Don't think, just breathe, one foot in front of the other" that I found myself slipping into. Unfortunately I have a habit of repetition and obsession. This collection was no exception. To be blunt, I was listening to the mix to the point of wearing it out on my ears.

Time passed and summer was coming again (and therein establishes my time frame!). A family member had kindly bestowed the simple joy that is an iTunes gift card to me. While many scoff at the idea of what they perceive to be a throw-away gift or an empty gesture, I am always thrilled to receive one. It means freedom to roll up your sleeves and dig in, really look for something left field. You can buy something on which you normally wouldn't risk the scratch. Recalling the joy of running accompanied by Kompakt, I searched around on the store to see what was available. Sure, I could have picked a specific artist and gone hogwild. Instead I decided to roll the dice again, purchasing one of the label's collections, this one titled Total 10. 

I once again hit pay dirt.

Twenty tracks this time, all of them solid examples of the artists at their best. The weather was improving, bad bout of Illiotibial Band Syndrome was fading away and I had all the heady, zoning out music I could want. Having a total of 30 tracks from this excellent label has proved to be just the right amount for the time being - I have yet to tire of this combined grouping, still spinning the playlist when heading out for a run. By mixing these two compilations I created a monster of a playlist that serves as a  surreal and dreamlike induction into a different headspace, all courtesy of this amazing German label. Head over to thier site or look them up on itunes, you'll find something you like, I know it.