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December 30, 2003
Woo-Hoo
"Britain's Beagle 2 spacecraft apparently landed on Mars, though it failed to transmit its nine-note homing signal, which was composed by a pop band called Blur." (from Harper's Magazine weekly update, 12/30/03)
December 26, 2003
SUBVERTING THE AVANT-GARDE WITH A SIDE OF HASH BROWNS, AFTERWARDS A BRISK WALK
(Possible alternate names: I Can't NOT Believe It's Butter I Could Be Made To Believe It's Butter I Can't But Believe It's Butter I Shan't Believe It's Butter) A review of the new record by The Books. This is what it originally looked like, but I didn't have the space for it: Musique concrete is one of the wild conundrums of twentieth-century art. You get a bunch of tape machines and make music from recordings of everyday sounds. Fun for kids of all ages, and not too far a cry from cubism or dada. But it's a sensible idea that's generally disappointed everyone involved, as well as deprived the sleep of thinkers from Walter Benjamin (what happens to the 'aura' of an artwork in the age of mechanical reproduction?) to Flavor Flav (who stole the soul?) Musique concrete was pretty alien and unlikable to the average mid-20th century pud, as is the case with avant-garde movements. The difference, though, is that it -still- sucks even now. Pierre Schaeffer and John Cage are -boring-. Twelve-tone music--as rarified as its audience was when the genre was marginally hip back in the 1930s--is still blue-chip among contemporary composers compared to this airy-fairy stuff. But the more interesting paradox is how the premise of musique concrete--for a long time a free-floating, impractical, unpalatable idea--eventually landed in the hands and ears of American sample freaks like Public Enemy and became redefined as the fin de siecle popular music paradigm. What didn’t quite work as art music worked great as pop. The 20th century is full of mysteries like this, but the Books are the blind spot between mysteries, the fable that never was: deft avant-gardists who steal the sounds of the modern world in the guise of entertainment. The Lemon of Pink sounds like a string quartet equipped with Laurie Anderson's magnetic-tape-bows, more of them than Sonic Youth ever had guitars or guitar tunings. A continent-sized quiver of violin bows for every displaced soul-sound in Walter Benjamin's aesthetic limbo, now given a second chance at life, for which they sound desperately grateful. Strings and samples and sounds percolate with the rhythm of speech, rather than the hegemonic drum beats which normally organize sample-based music like hip-hop or electronica. In fact, calling the Books "sample-based" is selling the band (and yourself) criminally short. Wouldn't it be more worthwhile to think about the way your own life is sample-based? You draw back the curtains, put on the Books, and listen to the sound of the dishes moaning as you wash them. A low-drawn bow over the bridge of a cello exhales pillow breath. Strings hopscotch in and out without pretense of being "organic"--the digital bubble-pops of their entrance become the counter-rhythm of conversation. The pragmatics of party-talk collapse entirely on the last song ("ps"), where the violins fall down dead and the human voices gather themselves around a Ouija board or in a failed orgy--or maybe it's the suspended studio moment right before musicians become musical. The song is followed by nothing and then the sound of the CD player clicking off, punctuating sentences you didn’t know you were hearing. Ever talk to yourself and find no one’s listening? Ever been punched in the gut by silence? The Books play these moments as giddy chamber music. JMN
December 07, 2003
MY ONLY PAL IS PAYPAL AND I HAVE TO PAY HIM
Alright, since everybody else is doing it (and since I was asked), here's my two cents re: 2003. This is not coming as a critic but as an ordinary citizen with v. non-catholic tastes. I'd concede that there probably were "better" records released this past year. But I'm not really sure what "better" means. Here, I've simply compiled a list of the records that most closely mirror my own psychology and temperament ca. the past twelve months. I can't make any other claims beyond that. In fact, even this simple criterion falls into the same grey area to me as the quixotic attempts to identify the most "significant" or "meaningful" music of the year or era or whatever when it comes down to quantifying it all. Because even the most basic cognitive/aesthetic considerations about how people listen to music -- even, say, the most "popular" music; or your own, for that matter -- are completely muddy and undetermined (for an excellent examination of this, see P. Kivy, Sound Sentiment, 1989). So, putting aside the greased goose of aesthetics, and also market capitalism (another sack o' worms), it seems like we're left with two choices. Either "enjoyment" is the main consideration -- in which case criticism (e.g. list-making) is completely irrelevant -- or base enjoyment is somehow less -meaningful- than other considerations -- in which case, talking publicly about music becomes prescriptive, partisan, and fucking depressing. The end result of the latter case? For critics (or "music journalists"), it means commodifying your aesthetics. For fans, it means aestheticizing your pathology. This all speaks to some major problems I have with the whole idea of music criticism, but that's a blog for another day. In the meantime keep your checkbooks where I can't see them, and please don't tell me I need to start listening to more hip-hop. Or music for parallel parking, more parking lot music for living rooms, dance floor parking. My car, incidentally, has some kind of mental midrange to rattle the Dumpster lids when I pump "Threnody for the Victims of Hiroshima," the partystarter, when I start it up, incidentally, my car. Weak pigeons drop dead, ostrich condos bury heads, garbage trucks back it up w/ beep-beep-beep and dust falls off violins, the incessant tapping, the newspaper arrives on time, covered with pigeon shit, the incessant, the streetlights buzz blink & snap off TOP 10 1. The Russian Futurists, Let’s Get Ready to Crumble (Upper Crust) 2. various artists, The American Song-Poem Anthology (Bar/None) 3. Metric, Old World Underground, Where Are You Now? (Enjoy) 4. Blur, Think Tank (Virgin) 5. Pernice Brothers, Yours, Mine & Ours (Ashmont) 6. The Books, The Lemon of Pink (Tomlab) 7. Howard Hello, Don’t Drink His Blood (Temporary Residence) 8. Baby Dodds, Talking and Drum Solos (Atavistic) 9. The Hidden Cameras, The Smell of Our Own (Rough Trade) 10. Currituck Co., Ghost Man on First (Lexicon Devil) ANOTHER 10 British Sea Power, The Decline of… (Rough Trade) Mates of State, Team Boo (Polyvinyl) Wire, Send (Pink Flag) The Natural History, Beat Beat Heartbeat (Startime) Deerhoof, Apple ‘O (Kill Rock Stars) Drive-By Truckers, Decoration Day (New West) The Raveonettes, The Chain Gang of Love (Columbia) The Strokes, Room on Fire (RCA) The Incredible Moses Leroy, …become the Soft.Lightes (Ultimatum) The Stills, Logic Will Break Your Heart (Vice) TK/O The Organ, Sinking Hearts EP (Global Symphonic) Blue Orchids, The Greatest Hit (LTM)
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