12 Gracious Melodies

Hey, hey, what do you know? 

My older brother, as I've written before, has been directly responsible for introducing me to most of the music that I love. By either overhearing his stereo around the house or simply pilfering his collection I was exposed to a great deal of choice music. Had it not been for his influence I would have no doubt been cast adrift into a sea of mediocre pop punk with no context for anything and no appreciation for anything that came before my time. Granted I say this with the knowledge that he is just barely two years older than me, but there was a bit of a generational divide, as well as an understanding of what we were just coming out on the other side of in the 1990s. While we both endured the ubiquity of Alanis Morissette and Hootie & the Blowfish at their respective career highs, he was savvy enough to have picked up on, say, Faith No More's sadly forgotten but nonetheless monster tune 'Epic'. Right there is an example of a song that throngs of people adore, yet no one really had heard when I was off at college. It was one of those songs that, when it would play on my ipod, people would cock their heads and grin a little bit, like they knew the song but were only then realizing how awesome it was. That was the kind of thing I was constantly witnessing due to the influence of the older brother. 


As we grew older and he eventually went to college while I finished high school, we found we had similar but divergent tastes. We both were all about the single 'Got You Where I Want You' by The Flys, but he couldn't stand when I got into the likes of The Deftones and Fenix Tx. He loved Guster, I loved Method Man, we both loved The Living End. There was so little rhyme or reason to it. One band that has always been an easy call for the both of us, though? Stone Temple Pilots. As much as we both love guitar driven alterna-rock from the mid 90s, this band was a special highlight, a group that just wrote songs a certain way with which we both clicked. 

While the dreary grunge of Core is energizing and the experimentation of Tiny Music... is boundary pushing, the sweet spot, the creme de la creme, has to be their sophomore effort, which was initially untitled. Eventually dubbed Purple, due to the Mandarin character featured on the cover, the album saw Stone Temple Pilots realizing what would become viewed as their sound, the signature style of writing and delivery. There's a mix of the heavy riffage of Core, but only the best elements and citations. There are hints of the out-there experiments from Tiny Music..., but reigned in just enough to be engaging and unique. Tying these elements together is the fact that, while notoriously troubled frontman Scott Weiland may have been under the influence of heroin at the time of writing, the music created by the band was fantastically hooky and capturing. The guitar and bass players, brothers Dean and Rob Deleo, are chiefly responsible for the actual music, with Weiland supplying lyrics and melodies. What the band created here within that dynamic is fantastic. 

You almost wouldn't know it was happening, though, from the dirge of an opener that is 'Meatplow'. It's a powerful riff and a decent song, but melodically there's not much indication that the band would be doing new things here. It's only when the next track kicks in, the insanely syncopated 'Vaseline', that we get a sense of what the band is capable of. All behind-the-beat rhythms and off-kilter swing notes, the riff is an instant head bobber, while Weiland sings an infectious melody over the top. It's here you realize that Core was the band finding their feet, this album was them finding their voice. 'Lounge Fly' splits the difference of the first two tracks - the verses are fairly rote but the chorus is moving and heavy, with Weiland's vocals driving the song alongside Dean Deleo's expressive guitar accents. The stand out of the album by far, though, is obviously the mega hit 'Interstate Love Song', a song whose feeling and atmosphere conjures different things for different people. I've always found the melody and chord changes to be a bit sad and melancholic, with a hint of nostalgia balancing the equation. For others it seems to be more upbeat, for some it's about the end of a relationship. I can't put my finger on what it is, but I know that it is a phenomenally written song with a killer hook. If one knows the words, its almost impossible not to sing along. The guitar lick that drives the song is memorable and instantly recognizable, a sure sign of a great riff. 

The rest of the album continues to be excellent like the first half. 'Still Remains' is a shimmering, rolling piece of music that washes out of your speakers in waves. The band, having seen unanticipated success with their Unplugged show, tried their hand at an acoustic number, the gorgeously haunting and simple 'Pretty Penny'. The juggernaut riff that lies central to the massive 'Silvergun Superman' is a heavy, driving affair. Showing their talent and knack for writing, the band balances out the metal of the verses with a poppy, wistful chorus that would feel mismatched by any other band. A proven hit from their unplugged performance, 'Big Empty' is another piece of superb, somber music balanced out by dynamic shifts. The verses are almost morose bits, with bluesy steel guitars sliding over Em and C7 chords. The chorus, though, is a lovely set of chords that shifts the tone of the song to a more uplifting key but maintains the same underlying sense of sadness. 'Kitchenware & Candybars' closes the album with an intriguing acoustic riff that amps up when plugged in (no pun intended). 

I really can't tell you enough how great this album is. It's one of my favorite 'albums', not just a couple singles but rather how the whole thing plays together, the complete structure as opposed to peaks and valleys. To boot, it always makes me think of my older brother and what a great influence he's been. I'm lucky to have him in my life.

Microcosms

It's Monday, kids.

I woke up to a raging thunderstorm. Kind of a cool way to start the day, but only really great if you get to spend the remainder of the day in bed. It's dark out when it shouldn't be, and the rain is so soothing that you just want to curl up and turn over while sighing the peaceful sigh of someone falling back to sleep. Unfortunately like most Mondays, I was not able to do this. Instead, I simply got on with the day, making espresso and a couple of eggs, tying my tie and seeing the better half off to her car. I put my music on shuffle and headed out to work, umbrella threatening to fly out of my hand at any moment. The key part of today's post, though, is not the storm but the shuffling of the music, because it was through this shuffle that I heard a great song that I had forgotten about, and isn't that what this blog is really all about?

Total pop music confessional mode, here. If you've been following along with the blog thus far, you have more than an inkling about my not-secret-in-any-way love of pop music. This song, 'Your Woman' by one-man act White Town, was a sign post of my youth, a song that hit the charts one summer, then pretty much disappeared without a trace. For one summer this song was everywhere, then nowhere, almost like it never existed. That's really quite a shame, as it's actually a funky little dance-able number that holds up very well. Through both sunshine and summer storms I heard this song everywhere. I completely forgot about it for about ten years. Thanks to merging my iTunes with my those of my better half's, I once again have stumble upon a bit of nostalgic pop heaven.

Released in 1997, the song was the reworking and sampling of an old Bing Crosby song called 'My Woman' which featured in the movie Pennies From Heaven. Tweaked by one man under the name of his musical nom-de-plume White Town, Jyoti Prakash Mishra took the old classic and created a whole new number around it. According to Mishra the song was written with multiple viewpoints in mind, both being spoken from and to a man and woman, a woman and a man, two women, two men, or even people with differing political views. Mishra has never pulled any punches with regard to his personal politics, even in his music, but I won't dig into his lyrics in that sense. I'd rather focus on the sound of the song, the nature of the music itself.

I could have sworn, when I was younger (alright, even now) that the trumpet loop in this song is somehow a nod to The Imperial March from Star Wars. It's most likely, though, that it's a bit of contextual referentiality that just tickles the same part of my simple mind. That muted trumpet is a fantastic, underused musical trick for modern pop. Sure, Adele could pull it off, but in a dance track on some Top 40 business? No way. Anyway, this song is great. It's got this thumping little bass line, a bit of synth that feels like a vivisected piece of 1997, right from the part when Spice Girls were still big and Smash Mouth was making it waves. See how I took you back there? 

Right. 

Point is, this song is a compact little bit of dance music. There's something intrinsic in the arrangement that feels like a single serving dance party wrapped in plastic. The way the synth bubbles and creeps over the drum loop feels a bit dark and dangerous, yet somehow distinctly European to my Middle West ears. I can't quite put my finger on it, but there is something just a bit off kilter to 'Your Woman' that really intrigues me, like the pieces not quite lining up perfectly but fitting close enough that it works anyway. The progression, the song structure, the understated way the vocals are sung - all of these...off...elements add up to a discordant whole that I love, all these years later.

Give me flack if you want, but just know that if you see me nodding my head a bit and smirking to myself as I walk through Uptown, I may very well be rocking out to the sweet, sweet sounds of 1997. Just another bit of guilty pleasure pop, courtesy of the shuffle feature.

Ups/Downs

Alright, Sunday night is come and gone.

I sit here typing this with a long weekend's worth of errands behind me and very little unwinding to my credit. Frankly, I could use a good drink. Instead of that, though, I had a lot of good food, including the cook-out I mentioned in yesterday's post. I also finished off my peanut butter pretzels this morning, as I was walking out the door. But enough about me! Do you guys remember Blondie? 

Blondie, you guys!

Blondie.

I totally stumbled upon this amazing group back when I was a freshman in high school, a year which I will not cite for reasons of vanity. Somehow I discovered them while in a cultural vacuum - what use could my brain have for a New Wave/Punk band from the late 1970s while I was living in rural Middle West, circa 199x? Rather, to my brain's credit, what use couldn't I have for them? Like any teenager who listened to Blondie, I was required to be smitten by Debbie Harry. But what really hooked me, beyond her beguiling and dangerous beauty, was the amazing songs. In particular, the album Parallel Lines still sounds fantastic today.

Released in late 1978, the album was the biggest breakthrough for the band in their entire collected careers. Some of the band's biggest and most iconic hits came from this phenomenal, influential album. I had heard a couple songs before, really only picking up on the novelty hit 'Rapture' via VH1's Pop-Up Video, but that wasn't even from this album. What really hooked me on Blondie and this album was the ...ugh... disco single 'Heart of Glass'. I know that gets a fair bit of eye rolling and cultural poo-pooing, but I really dig that song. It's a four-on-the-floor, pumping single, one that feels more New Wave than disco. But you know what? I don't really care about the dreaded D-word. A good song's a good song. It's a lilting, alluring track that is catchy and hooky all the way through.

Other tracks are just as good, like the urgent, edgy 'Hangin On The Telephone'. I love the squealing, descending guitar lick the verses revolve around. The churning and fuzzy guitars that propel 'One Way or Another' are just as infectious. I feel like so many people today dismiss Blondie as an old pop band while they clearly were a driving, vital New Wave group that danced along the punk edge. They were fantastically vibrant and influential - countless groups have played with the format they forged. I won't name check bands that have aped their style or form, but we all know more than a handful of huge acts that could use a little asterix besides their name. 

Additionally, I feel like of all people, hipsters should be head-over-heels for this group. Doesn't the sound of the guitars and drums, the fashionable yet bizarre style of the group, the hot-as-hell lead singer, all seem to fit right into the hipster verve? But alas, mass appeal and familiarity are the antithesis of the hipster, so they remain free for all to love. Oh, well. Such is life. I'll have to continue living knowing that millions of people still love Blondie.

Music By Numbers

Saturday evening post, again.


Here I sit, freshly stuffed full of peanut butter pretzels, an off kilter end to a mini grill-session that involved one too many brats. Family came into town last week to hit the Dakota Jazz Club and we got to talking about jazz we knew and loved. A consensus among my generation of the family was a love of Minneapolis natives The Bad Plus. 


To my chagrin I had no idea they originated here. I simply stumbled across the album These Are The Vistas when my younger brother left it in his CD player he kept in the bathroom at my parents house. I was home on holiday from college and thought I'd play some tunes while getting ready for the day. Two tracks into the album and I had to pop open the tray to see who it was that sounded so good. Just a burned CD with Rudiger's handwriting scrawled across it, the name of the band and title of the album. While I had been more into punk and emo at the time, Rudiger was a big jazz fan, playing drums in his school's top rated jazz ensembles and flat-out being the best drummer I've ever had the fortune of playing with (sorry, Dan Olson, Rudiger wields more ferocity). Later that day I pestered him into burning me a copy to take back to my apartment in the Twin Cities. 

The Bad Plus are a trio of talented and unconventional musicians from the Twin Cities who had known each other and played together for years but only formally formed the group in 2000. After a well received debut album, they released my favorite of their albums, These Are The Vistas, in 2003. Since then they've gone on to release five more albums, each one receiving more critical and commercial acclaim. They command top dollar on tour, they've played atypical forums such as (the now defunct) Late Night with Conan O'Brien and have pretty much established a rocknroll reputation for what outsiders perceive as too intellectual or too stiff and stuffy. The Bad Plus are highly, highly regarded for their intelligence and insight in the music world, which might put off your more casual listener who'd rather listen to mindless, indulgent drivel. Believe me, I can get behind drivel - just look at some of my old posts. But a lot of people dismiss jazz like this for being to in-its-own-head to be enjoyed.


Nuts to that.


These guys are phenomenal. They swing. They hammer. In essence, they rock. This particular album features not only a gorgeous version of Aphex Twin's 'Flim', a hurtling, frenetic take on the Blondie single 'Heart of Glass' but also a bizarre, brooding take on Nirvana's 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' that actually is pretty interesting to hear. As great as these tongue-in-cheek covers are, though, their real meat is their original material. I am absolutely enamored to this day with the first track on the album, the ominous and dark 'Big Eater'. I love the dynamics, the ups-and-downs of it, the back and forth verve of the whole song. They're in great form here. 

Other albums have great things to offer, as well. More brooding and off kilter energy. Pixies covers. An album all about Prog Rock. You name it. I think as far as jazz goes, these guys are my far-and-away favorites, especially of this modern day. Give a listen and see if it doesn't hook you.

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.