Review #22: Manic Street Preachers

Note: Alas, I have returned for the first time in over a year! Enjoy this sprawling, brutal review of the new Manics album, my first ever truly mean review. However, as a special new bonus, for reviews from here on out (and perhaps even on some past reviews), I will try to provide downloadable .mp3 links for as many of my Key Tracks as possible! Because although I definetly know what i'm talking about, it takes your own ears to really understand it all.

Manic Street Preachers
Send Away The Tigers
(Red Ink)
4 out of 10



13 years have passed since the disappearance of Manic Street Preachers’ former songwriter Richey James Edwards, the man that defined the image that placed the Welsh band on the map from the beginning. The remaining three members of the band have, at least up till now, done a shining job of honoring his spirit; they issued fantastic treatments of some of his final lyrics on their 1996 album Everything Must Go, and have reserved a quarter of their total royalties in the event that he return to recover them. In addition, they’ve managed to produce material as good as (and in some instances even better than) a lot of their Richey-era work. A few issues seem to have arisen recently with maintaining this healthy equilibrium of rememberance and the Manics’ dynamic as a trio, however, and they appear ostensibly on their eighth (fifth post-Richey) album, Send Away The Tigers.
Before descending into a full scale firebombing upon the legendary band’s efforts, it’s necessary to articulate what the band has done right for the past four albums. The Manics, after losing their sole key to credibility in glam punk circles, most likely knew that they couldn’t carry on the unforgivingly brash sounds and violently macabre themes that their tortured scribe helped foster. So, from then on out, they became a trio largely influenced by power pop and arena rock, surviving on musicality, subtlety, and stark contrast rather than pure anger and misery. Frontman James Dean Bradfield would soon flesh out the full beauty of his elastic aggro howls and keen eye for strategic annunciation, and with more time to focus on working together, him and bassist/lyricist Nicky Wire created stronger songs in melody, at least if not in words. This trio would grow to become an outfit of a whole new scope, crafting masterpieces like 2001’s ultra-eclectic Know Your Enemy and 2005’s gorgeous, twee-tinged Lifeblood. It’s in 2007, with the bandmembers inching nearer towards their 40’s, that the Manics hit the wall by thoughtlessly trying to emulate their Richey-era work. The result, SATT, is not only the worst album of the band’s entire history, it’s also their very first misstep and the only album of theirs that’s truly difficult to enjoy in its entirety.
The most notable fault of the record is its entire aesthetic approach. First, in failing to acknowledge that they’ve been very successful by distancing themselves from their early sound in recent years, they’re attempting something that is plain ignorant rather than artistically adventurous. Secondly, whilst many of their previous albums had their own special small touches that transformed songs from good to beautiful, nearly every track on SATT floods the palette with blaring guitars and the occasional lazy string arrangement made to sound as if it was ripped straight from Metallica’s S&M. The entire record is a blatant exercise in neglect of detail, as if the guys went into the studio like it was Margaritaville, hoping to ignite wet dreams about the olden days whilst failing to look at themselves and realize that they look like complete buffoons. Nicky Wire even admits on the band’s website that, whenever Bradfield recorded one of his acclaimed, skilled, ambitious guitar solos for the album, he would yell at him to “quit wanking”. Perhaps pretension serves them a lot better than leisure.
Imagine my excitement, as a devout Manics fan, at seeing a new Manics track, “Underdogs”, up for free download on their website. Then imagine my subsequent disgust upon hearing its sweaty, post-grunge riffing and its even sweatier pedestrian musings. As if their fanbase hadn’t become a collective smorgasbord of vibrant personalities, “Underdogs” stands as an unnecessary pandering towards youth, as Bradfield unconvincingly croons “This one’s for the freaks” and spontaneously makes the suspect proposition that “People like you need to fuck/Need to fuck people like me”. The only decent part of “Underdogs” is Sean Moore’s workmanlike drumming, an element the band could always rely on. Equally unnecessary is the album’s lead single, the bouncy “Your Love Alone Is Not Enough”. Featuring precious vocals from The Cardigans’ Nina Persson, it’s an admittedly lovable and catchy stab at Motown homage. Although it warrants repeated listens due to the infectious core melodies, the lack of craftsmanship and obnoxious use of strings makes Know Your Enemy’s Motown-influenced track, “So Why So Sad”, seem a whole lot better. The worst part of “YLAINE”, however, is that as a pop song it seems awfully out of place in an album intended to push forward a set of snaggle-toothed ballads stuffed with rock-n-roll fierocity.
So the tracks the band placed forward pre-release to promote the record are both relative throwaways. This is a problem, sure, but wouldn’t that suggest that the rest of the record gets down to business and delivers with gritty, immediate Manics slayers, slicing through racks of clothes at Wal-Mart with eyeliner caked on the face, hammer and sickle in hand, and CCCP carved in the chest? Not at all, really. The post-grunge guitar perspiration mentioned earlier is literally all over this album. In the title track, Bradfield’s guitar is tuned for Giants Stadium, lumbering through a Celtic riff under a thousand layers of clichéd distortion. On “Imperial Bodybags”, a rockabilly feel is embarrassingly composed, once again, under even more distortion. “Autumnsong” starts off with a riff ripped straight out of Slash’s book and launches into a Freddy Mercury-esque harmony a minute later. One could guess that none other than distortion fills in the gaps. A hidden track is tacked onto “Winterlovers”, and it’s a cover of John Lennon’s “Working Class Hero”, which Green Day had also covered almost simultaneously. Fitting, seeing as it is impossible to tell the difference between James Dean Bradfield’s clunky guitar on SATT and Billie Joe Armstrong’s on American Idiot.
The beautiful moments that have garnered the past few Manics albums have now been replaced with embarrassing ones on an almost equal proportion, and the songs as a whole ultimately flounder from a combination of that, Wire’s suddenly uninspiring lyrics and Bradfield’s underwhelming melodies. The only time where songcraft triumphs over these moments is on the heartfelt “The Second Great Depression”, a first-person story of economic turmoil tearing apart personal relationships. Of course the distortion exists on this track just like on all others, but this track serves as respite from the constant focus upon the guitars on the rest of the record. A simple melody drives forward startling emotional ruminations to create a ballad that stands in the realm of your Bon Jovis, Hinders, and Nickelbacks in style without displaying the mindlessly cheesy aesthetics of the aforementioned. Perhaps “The Second Great Depression” is what American rock radio should be giving constant rotation to as opposed to the insipid trash of Daughtry.
It is heartbreaking for a Manics fan to have to say that only one track on one of their albums is worth listening to, but this is the reality with Send Away The Tigers. As talk of this album being the Manics’ last escalates and continued mindless praise from the English music press for this album piles up, the greatest band Wales has ever seen continues to stuff more money into a jar labeled “Richey’s Royalties”. Will they ever stop to think about how insulting their tagging of his legacy onto this album is? It’s difficult to say, but what’s easier to tell is that a spectacle like this certainly won’t influence a reclusive Richey Edwards to rise out of the hippie markets of Goa to return to the public eye.

Key Track: “The Second Great Depression”

Review #21: Phoenix

Note: Here's another Courtney review...a Futureheads review from moi is in the works.

Phoenix-It's Never Been Like That
(Astralwerks)
6 out of 10



Picture links to Phoenix's website

It’s as if it’s human nature: people are attracted to songs that aren’t always of the highest standards. Just look at all the artists that are popular in the music world today. Emo bands where every song sounds the same and is about the same thing. Pop princesses that can neither write a song for the life of them, nor hold a note without a good engineer by their side. People are sucked in by music like this because it sounds nice. Typically the people who listen to such music aren’t looking for a strong musical performance, just something that makes them happy. This is why Phoenix’s recent release, It’s Never Been Like That, is somewhat of a letdown based on standards set by their contemporaries.
The band, originally formed in the mid 90’s, started from humble beginnings, at first playing to small drunken crowds and releasing singles on their private label, Ghettoblaster. Ten years later Phoenix had signed with Astralwerks, and released two albums, including 2005’s album, Alphabetical, which gained them a growing following of fans, and proving they had serious potential as musicians. In 2006 Phoenix released their third studio album, It’s Never Been Like That, which is filled with so many twists and turns, it is hard for one to know exactly what to think about it.
Upon a first listen, one most likely will find It’s Never Been Like That to be fun and refreshing. It has a certain tone to it. It’s peppy, with a good deal of energy. It’s simply easy and enjoyable music, and seems to be one of the finest gems of the year; however, upon a closer listen, the album seems to have lost its charm. What was once enjoyable and peppy has faded into something a bit lackluster and at most mediocre in sound.
Musically, this album was highly disappointing. There’s nothing special about any of it. Throughout most of the songs the same guitar riff is played over and over again, only fluctuating chords between the different songs. Not to mention many of the guitar parts are played with the grace and talent of a 13 year old boy trying to play “Stairway to Heaven” for the first time. It would be easy to forgive such shoddy guitar instrumentation, if only it wasn’t featured on every single song. The guitar riffs are so monotonous and boring that one actually gets excited when he hears actual attempts at plucking during songs such as “North” and “Second to None.” For the record, all the flaws in musicality cannot be blamed on the guitar. Nearly every song featured the same, very simple, very amateur drum part, which was only enjoyable during the first track, but then became dull once “Consolation Prizes” and “Rally” struck up. It’s safe to say that these musical compositions would not survive without the use of lyrics to differentiate each song.
Lyrics, for most artists, are a form of expression; apparently this never came across to the boys of Phoenix. To sum up the lyrics, they are there because they have to be. Yes, they make the songs interesting, but it’s very hard to understand a single word that is being sung. Every word is muddled under the shoddy guitar and drum parts. It’s obvious that they were written without thought or purpose, they just needed to be there or the songs would fail. When one actually goes to look at the lyrics one will find tracks filled with nonsense. There are very few tracks that make sense. Some come off as having possible sexual and racy undertones such as “Napoleon Says”, but it’s hard to say on account of most of the song being jibber jabber. The one song that was easy to understand was “Long Distance Call”, which is a song that is easily loveable. It’s most likely about a man who’s confused, he doesn’t exactly know what direction his life is going, but he’s fed up with waiting. All this is accompanied by some of the finer and more energetic instrumentations of the album. It gives off an intense feeling with throbbing guitars and thrashing symbols; it makes the listener want to jump around. It’s one of the more impressive tracks, and the finest choice for the album’s first single.
It’s Never Been Like That is an album filled with repetitive guitars and drums, accompanied by the same old uncreative lyrics; however, something finally changes by the last song. “Second to None” is the song that proves that Phoenix have the potential of becoming fine musical composers if they work really hard at it. The song has a superb and shocking opening, followed by muffled lyrics, which are carried out by a good range of strong vocals. The instrumentation is far better than the other tracks and almost has a new age vibe to it, in the end the music all swells together for one final climax and ends in a messy manner (while still keeping it consistent). Overall it was the most unique and inspired track on the album. It’s not a track one would usually choose for a closer, but in this case it was probably most appropriate to show off their best work.
To a music aficionado, this album would come nowhere near up to par. There’s absolutely nothing about it that makes it stand out as a great work of musical art. It’s simple, repetitive, and sloppy, but with all seriousness put aside, It’s Never Been Like That can be one kick ass album. The best advice one can give is just to sit back, relax, and don’t think when listening to it. Thinking will only disturb and ruin the fact that this album is one of the most simple pleasures of the year.

KEY TRACKS: “Long Distance Call”, “Napoleon Says”, “Second to None”

-Courtney Coulombe, Useless Opinions Contributor

Review #20: Gnarls Barkley

Gnarls Barkley-St. Elsewhere
(Atlantic)
6 out of 10

Pic links to Gnarls' website. (High bandwidth & Flash vigorously required.)

Dangermouse is obviously a masterful producer. Having production credit for Gorillaz’ Demon Days, Dangerdoom’s The Mouse And The Mask, and, of course, The Grey Album all on one resume would be cause for the gods to hire the man to provide the (super funkay!) soundtrack to the apocalypse. He’s been incredibly talented in this way since the get go, but it seems that a new talent he’s picked up is the art of outlandish bar-raising. Vegas had the over/under on the number of demographics his new project, Gnarls Barkley, would reach at 2,764.5. The sensible option would be to go with the over. C’mon, with Danger twiddling the knobs for former Goodie Mob crooner-turned-R&B-renaissance-man Cee-Lo, what else would you expect? The former’s amassed notoriety from the mainstream crowd, cred from the hip-hop community for his skillz, and a place within the hipster niche for his tendency to veer towards outlandish ideas; and the latter pretty much everything from everyone for his breakthrough sophomore effort, Cee-Lo Green Is The Soul Machine. Then the duo goes out to smash UK chart records with the bumping single “Crazy”, the first song ever to hit No.1 across the pond on download sales alone.
Unlike many chart hits around the world, “Crazy” actually earns its mainstream acclaim. Dangermouse’s shockingly minimalist collage of howling choral voices, a bold, double bass backbone, and subtle precussion matches wonderfully with Cee-Lo’s freeform oh-no-you-di-int finger wagging straight out of a Motown bleeding-heart malt- shop slow-jam (and also provides enough inspiration for 4 mis-hyphenated adjective clauses). It’s at home on virtually any FM-radio playlist you can conceive, and it’s even been placed on most of them. It’s easy to say the bar was set as high as it can possibly go right about there.
Luckily, the duo was able to duplicate the slickness and synchronicity of “Crazy” at certain points of their debut, St. Elsewhere. The album’s opener, “Go-Go Gadget Gospel”, is as hyperactive and warped as its title suggests. Cee-Lo liberates his Smokey (Robinson, for those playing along at home) Smurf voice to a beat that sounds a lot like Kanye’s “Touch The Sky” at 20X speed. On “Just A Thought”, harsh cymbals grit their teeth and swipe at your ears with sharp claws as Mr. Green gets his Morrissey on. In a bush-league Madvillianesque affair, Lo raps about the flow of chi in “Feng Shui”. If all these songs were released on an EP, I’m pretty sure the world would be much more than content with Gnarls Barkley on that alone for at least a year. Unfortunately, the duo just had to fill in an album with goofy conceptual hip-hop that goes several steps too far.
What better place to start on this album’s ills than “Gone Daddy Gone”. Yes, Violent Femmes fans, that DM and Cee-Lo attempting to reincarnate the somewhat forgotten pained snarl of Gordon Gano for 2006. OK Gnarls, go ahead and casio up the iconic xylophone of the original, blare some glossy pop-punk guitar over it, infuse the vocals with all the tackiness of a Kidz Bop cover version, and completely forget how much of a glaring error the very idea was in the first place. Constantly name-dropping the Femmes in your press releases is way more than enough. While we’re talking about really bad ideas, how about an incredibly forthwith ditty called “Necromancer” that starts off by recalling Bone Thugz-N-Harmony’s “1st Of Tha Month”. Not much more really needs to be said about that. How about the silky-smooth baritone trip-hop of…”The Boogie Monster”…within which, apparently, the only thing that can save poor Cee-Lo from said beast is “some good, good head.” Stop it. Please. I haven’t met a boogie monster yet that was at all neutralized by the aura of fellatio in the immediate vicinity. Worry not though, good sir, because I’ve heard many are warded off by artistic geniuses compromising their abilities with absurdist gimmickry.
The sum of the efforts of the beatmaster and the troubadour have been perceived by the public as the next big thing; the token prog-hip-hop artist on a high school freshman girl’s pink iPod, or at the very least, a serious player in the pop music scene. Judging by the sometimes-sophomoric schtick on St. Elsewhere, the most brilliant aspect of the Gnarls Barkley experience is most likely not the music; but the elaborate joke the duo has successfully played on the top-40 crowd by exploiting the masses in selling the snot out of this set of mock profundities. I’d like to speak for said crowd with this: “Touché, Gnarls, touché.”

Key Tracks: "Just A Thought", "Crazy", "Go-Go Gadget Gospel"

Review #19: Prefuse 73

Prefuse 73-Security Screenings
(Warp)
8 out of 10

Pic links to Prefuse's website for the Screenings album, however, Warp's site for his Vocal Studies & Uprock Narratives album is here, their site where you may find a sampler of tunes from his legendary One Word Extinguisher album here, and an official website for his antics circa the Reads The Books EP is here. Don't worry folks, I did the Google searchin' for ya.

Instrumental hip-hop, as it stands today, is a genre that has several Everest-sized speed bumps ahead of it in its quest to become a commercially viable variety of music. One is the mainstream’s tendency to inherently tie hip-hop with rap. To many (even FYE), those two terms are interchangeable, when the truth is rap is a subsection of hip-hop which includes the lyrical technique many are familiar with. Hip-hop itself is the beats you hear in the background of these raps. Of course, instrumental hip-hop itself is somewhat to blame for this confusion due to its frequent inability to stand alone. Madlib’s bumping vintage breakbeats are nice, but they need the skills of a master rhymecrafter like MF Doom to complete them. RJD2’s solo work sometimes has autonomous abilities, but lately he’s confided in Aceyalone and Blueprint for raps to attempt to make his work more accessible.
Instrumental hip-hop does have one hero, however: Guillermo Scott Herren, whose wacky work as Prefuse 73 is so fiercely situated in its own perplexing league, it’s become a sort of taboo to cast rap verses upon it (as the slight critical backlash upon his previous collab-o-rific album Surrounded By Silence has shown). On his latest album, Security Screenings, he melds the spontaneity of glitch and the unmistakable urban bump of hip-hop together to make a sprawling lump of oddly synchronized noise so perplexing on its own, it might make you forget rap ever existed for a second or two.
A perfect example of this Linux-meets-Lil’ Jon motif is on “With Dirt And Two Texts-Afternoon Version”. It starts like a broken radio, jumping frequencies before diving into a synergy of heavily distorted bass and synth that glitters like the sun’s reflection upon a lake. On “No Origin”, snare drums and cymbals battle in the background while brass instruments frenetically flash as if a Wynton Marsalis track was put on a strobe effect. For “Creating Cyclical Headaches”, Herren mashes together a variety of industrial noises as if setting a synthesizer on fire while colleague Kieran Hebden (better known as Four Tet) utilizes his own synth to create a twinkling, blissfully comatose backdrop to this chaos. All these tracks symbolize the feel of the album: the serene crashing head-on with the spontaneous and unsettling.
As would be apparent with any listener, every song on here is somewhat purposefully disjointed, but if you consider the album as a whole, it’s certainly disconnected to a point since this “mini-album” is supposedly, according to Herren, a transition from Surrounded By Silence to whatever project he’s working with next. With that factor in mind, this album is surprisingly tight, as undertones of post-9/11 paranoia are reinforced by interludes demonstrating doubt, loneliness, and schizophrenia.
Granted, it’s still a long shot, but if there’s any one producer to bring instrumental hip-hop to the forefront and bring weaker crunk beatmasters like Mr. Collipark or Scott Storch to shame, it would probably be Guillermo Scott Herren.

Key Tracks: “With Dirt And Two Texts-Afternoon Version”, “No Origin”, “Matrimoniods…”, “Keeping Up With Your Quota”

Review #18: Sondre Lerche

Note: Here's another wonderful review from the lovely Ms. Coulombe! Forthcoming from myself might be a double feature of hip-hop reviews, and maybe a review of last year's Go! Team album, which has been sitting half-finished in oblivion for a while now. Here's Courtney's latest masterwork, further showing that she might have her shite together more than I do. ;)

Sondre Lerche And The Faces Down Quartet-Duper Sessions
(Astralwerks)
8 out of 10

Picture links to Lerche's website

By the time the average person has reached the age of 22, they are graduating from college and just setting out to establish themselves in a career. Luckily for his fans, Sondre Lerche is no average person. By the time he was 19, the seemingly ageless Nordic musician had released his first album, Faces Down, which was followed by the irresistibly catchy 2004 album, Two Way Monologues. Now Lerche is ready to release not one, but two new albums. The first of these is the recently released Duper Sessions, an album sounding as if it takes its name from the childish phrase “super duper”, but in all actuality, it is named for Duper Studios, where Lerche records his addictive material. The album itself has been eagerly awaited by Lerche’s fans for months, and as expected, the wait was well worth it.

Lerche has taken a surprisingly fresh turn this time around. Instead of catchy alt-pop songs, which have been golden for him in the past, Lerche has decided to dabble in the jazz world. With his smooth, melodic, voice and help from the Faces Down Quartet, Lerche was able to create an album of authentic jazz songs; so authentic the average person might think Sondre Lerche is Michael Buble’s strongest rival (even if this was so, Lerche is the better artist because he writes his own music).

The album starts off with the finger-snapping “Everyone’s Rooting For You”. At first it sounds like the kind of song you might here at some cheesy holiday office party, but after a few good listens, the song becomes irresistible. It’s a quintessential picker-upper that would rid anyone of any self-loathing. From there the album settles into the mood of a chic jazz club. Many of the songs to follow, such as “Minor Detail” and “(You Knocked Me) Off My Feet”, are of a slower tempo with a smooth electric guitar part, inspired jazz piano, and light snare mixed with hi-hat percussion. Many of the piano compositions, featured on this album, are inspired by those of Vince Guaraldi, formerly of Peanuts fame. The sweet lyrics of love mixed with a smooth musicality displayed in the mid section of the album provides for a very mellow, melodic feel, which is very relaxing at times and sets a good atmosphere for the album. The atmosphere is so believable that all the listener would have to do is close his eyes and instantly he could imagine being in a low key club with the lights dimmed, candles on the tables, and the suave Mr. Lerche on stage with his hair slicked back, bass player at his side, singing these sweet melodies.

In the midst of these cool jazz tunes is a song that is entirely different from any other song on the album, and resembles some of Lerche’s older pieces. “(I Wanna) Call It Love” is easily one of the best and most infectious songs on the entire album. Oddly enough, it has a very show-tune feel to it; you’d most likely expect to hear it in something like My Fair Lady or Kiss Me Kate, but nevertheless it is an exceptional song. It starts out slowly and adds on little by little, ultimately swelling at its peak when the chorus of “Can we dance/ instead of walking?” kicks in. The lyrics are adorable and are carried out incredibly by Lerche. You can really tell he was pulling out all the stops with this one, just so he could compose a creative way to describe what exactly that amazing feeling of love is. This enchanting song is so persuasive and infectious it makes you want to get up and dance; it’s fun in the form of music and verse! What could be better than that?

Aside from creating melodic jazz and lovey-dovey show tunes, Lerche did something that many people may call risky. Along with ten original compositions, three covers were included in Duper Sessions: Cole Porter’s “Night and Day”, Elvis Costello’s “Human Hands”, and Paddy McAloon’s “Nightingales”. The first of these covers, “Night and Day”, may be familiar to some of the more hardcore Sondre Lerche fans, on account of it being on his Don’t Be Shallow EP in a live form. All three of these covers are brilliantly performed, and Lerche was sure to bring something of his own to each of them. The fans and original artists of each song would be pleased with Lerche’s efforts.

Whether you are a die-hard Sondre Lerche fan, a die-hard jazz fan, or are just looking for something new to listen to, it’s hard to go wrong with Duper Sessions. It is jazz to perfection and will make anyone a swinging hipster for an hour or two.

Key Tracks: “(I Wanna) Call It Love”, “Human Hands” “Lulu Vise (Hidden Track)”, “Everyone’s Rooting For You”

- Courtney Coulombe (Useless Opinions contributor)

Review #17: We Are Scientists

We Are Scientists-With Love And Squalor
(Virgin)
7 out of 10

Picture links to W.A.S.' FREAKIN' HILARIOUS website!

We know many of you young people may have liked mall-punk (Good Charlotte, Simple Plan et al.) in middle school. That’s alright. We’re here for you. We hope many of you have found your way out of this dark crevasse in the vast tundra that is music. If you’re still stuck there, however, your first step towards rehabilitation is listening to We Are Scientists.

We Are Scientists, a sharp, witty, and hyperactive pop-punk trio hailing from New York City (like many other suave rock bands do), are the ideal transition from the mainstream into the weirder and wackier brands of rock and roll music. The lyrics are quirky, the tunes are catchy, and the instrumentation is simple and inoffensive.

Their debut album, With Love And Squalor, is a set of earwig pop tunes arranged with the utmost of affability and brevity in mind. In today’s music scene, it’s hard to find a band having more fun with the verse-chorus-verse-guitar solo-chorus format of pop music than in this album.

W.A.S. is at its best when they put as much energy into their songs as they do hamming it up in their music videos. “Inaction”, a slice of snappy contemporary punk rock, uses blaring, fuzzy bass to accentuate the panic in vocalist Keith Murray’s voice. The guitar and bass meld together for the chorus in what becomes a testament to the ferocity of laziness.
The band gets a little less garage-punk and a little more Franz Ferdinand on the album’s opener/lead single “Nobody Move, Nobody Get Hurt”. Guitars rotate and whirl as Murray plays the role of either doppelganger, subservient lover, or both. The bulk of the album possesses certain slapstick underneath a guise of conventional pop. “The Scene Is Dead” and “Can’t Lose” are songs about parties that echo Jimmy Eat World’s uptempo stuff, and “The Great Escape” sounds like…you guessed it…an escape that’s pretty darn great. The most contemplative song on the album, the down tempo “Textbook”, is intended to convey irony and similar quasi-emotional things in a more somber tone, but you can still tell the band is struggling to keep a straight face. These overtones by no means make the songs particularly bad, they just dig the band into a hole where it would be quite difficult to tug at any heartstrings anytime soon.
Nonetheless, W.A.S. definitely has the capacity to be a really goofy and fun band. Their biggest hurdle is the fact that it seems the three of them can only play 3 instruments collectively. Until they can broaden their sonic horizons, We Are Scientists will remain the cult favorite built for the masses.

Key Tracks: “Inaction”, “The Scene Is Dead”, “The Great Escape”

Review #16: The Strokes

The Strokes-First Impressions Of Earth
(RCA)
5 out of 10

Picture links to The Strokes' website

If it were any earlier in the millennium right now, it would be hard not to consider anything Julian Casablancas touched to be pure gold. Backed by a crew of 4 garage musicians to form a collective called The Strokes, his sharp, yet so obviously nonchalant vocals ushered the band’s 2001 debut, Is This It?, to international success and critical acclaim. Since then, legions of Converse-sporting post-punkers have held his rebel yell (or rather, rebel half-moan) to the utmost of idolatry and swoonworthiness. The legacy carried on through the band’s enjoyable follow-up, 2003’s Room On Fire. Many may be familiar with the adage “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” However, The Strokes may have forgotten this fact of life while recording their third LP, First Impressions Of Earth.

Early indications of this album’s validity were undoubtedly troubling. From the revealing of the album’s self-righteous, proggy title, to the employment of David Kahne (formerly known for his work with Sublime, Sugar Ray, and Tony Bennett if that tells you anything) as the album’s primary producer (although longtime producer Gordon Raphael sticks around for a couple tracks), there was plenty bleak foreshadowing abound. Then the album’s first single, the over-produced, lyrically pretentious, bassline-swiping “Juicebox” was released; although it was still somewhat enjoyable as a pop song, it further aroused suspicion that this album would be more garish than The Strokes’ past works.

The remainder of the album mostly fails to counteract this assumption. Surprisingly, the album’s nearly constant theme of tacky pomp is not to be laid upon the producer. In fact, Kahne’s knob-twiddling actually adds a bit of resonance to the album. The real problem lies within the band’s newfound powder-puff approach to songwriting and recording. If the band were to keep their past rough-n-tumble production methods, the album’s most utterly goofy songs would decrease in musical value at least tenfold.

The most apparent change in the Strokes’ music here is the exertion of real, genuine effort on behalf of Casablancas. Previously known for effortlessly delivering perfect vocals, he seems to all of a sudden get a kick out of straining his vocal chords and exploiting his daunting lack of range. Shockingly, in the role of blind dart player, Julian nails a bull’s eye using this technique on the album’s spectacular opener, “You Only Live Once”. For the verses, Casablancas plays the wise man, speaking as if teaching a child the basic lessons of life, as the band maintains a tight, razor-sharp composition until the “chorus”, per se, when the instrumentals unravel into elastic chord progressions as Casablancas tears up his vocal chords. Unbridled energy is shown throughout this track that is so well utilized that it makes this ditty impossible to hate. However, other times Julian’s not so lucky. On “Vision Of Division”, his unnecessary screaming evokes pain while the band fruitlessly shreds without any feasible tune in mind. During the blah-fest that is “Ize Of The World”, he tries to get excessively nasal, and is apparently so bored by this motif that he decides to entertain himself by spontaneously working his way up the musical scale in the middle of the song, which essentially grabs the listener’s ear and twists it till Julian decides he wants to stop the tomfoolery. He even decides to try a stupid accent vaguely resembling Irish on “15 Minutes”. It’s hard to imagine Julian Casablancas trying to outdo himself and failing, but here it is on this album.

Throughout the entire album, the band seems to jump back and forth between boring mush and loopy ambitiousness. “Ask Me Anything” is the Cinderella story from the latter side. Containing no instrumentation whatsoever aside from a Casio-like cello, it wears the appearance of a ballad; when rather it’s songwriters Casablancas and guitarist Nick Valensi letting their hair down and writing a quirky set of unrelated one-liners. The sound of the lead singer muttering “Don’t be a coconut/God is trying to talk to you” and the complete dumping of the efforts of 4/5ths of the band is a measure so drastic it deserves truckloads of recognition. On the flipside, faux pop-metal anthem “Heart In A Cage” and monotonous foot-stomper “On The Other Side” equally plod and stumble like a mopey wallflower at a frat party. In rebuttal to that rebuttal, “Razorblade” shocks by actually implementing elements of both previous albums. Room On Fire is demonstrated by a catchy riff cranked out by a synth-like guitar a’ la “12:51”, and Is This It? is characterized by playful, bar-hopper lyrics.

All in all, The Strokes inevitably fail at eclecticism. Although many bands sustain long careers via fruitful musical development, experimentation, and growth, The Strokes gained fast-track success through an infectious sound and quickly ruled the post-punk roost. Either they can return to taking bold strides through their domain and continue to be one of music’s foremost groups, or they can keep tooling around like in First Impressions Of Earth and end up spending the rest of their career making shaky, feeble music. Is this it? Let’s all hope it isn’t.

Key Tracks: “You Only Live Once”, “Razorblade”, “Ask Me Anything”

Review #15: Tarkio

Note: Here we have the UO debut of miss Courtney Coulombe; who, you must admit, has done extraordinarily well on this review, especially for a first-timer. Welcome to the (albeit small) Useless Opinions family, Courtney!

Tarkio-Omnibus
(Kill Rock Stars)
5 out of 10

To his fans, Colin Meloy is the nasally-voiced front-man of the Decemberists. He is a man not afraid to adorn himself in the garb of a vengeful mariner, a wily model-UN ambassador, or an omnipotent fortune-teller, nor is he afraid to tell whimsical tales of cattle raids, peasants, odalisques, and royalty. He is the camber-pop revolutionary, who has captured the hearts of many. But before his days of joining up with the “Youth and Beauty Brigade,” Meloy was a college student with minor music aspirations. From those aspirations, Meloy along with Gibson Hartwell (guitar and banjo), Louis Stein (bass), and Brian Collins (percussion) formed Tarkio: a college band based in the Missoula, Montana area, which soon became the biggest rage of the Montana college rock scene.

Nearly a decade after they were recorded, Kill Rock Stars has reissued the entire catalog of Tarkio songs in a single compilation, appropriately titled: Omnibus. The songs themselves show the early working of Meloy’s lyrical genius that would later be thrust forward into the Decemberists. Despite this, Decemberists fans should not expect cheery songs of chimney sweeps, or young Spanish princesses. Many of the songs found on Omnibus lack the musical creativity that Meloy is best known for. The album all-together lacks direction. This could be because Omnibus is a compilation album, but none of the songs are consistent in musicality or even genre. One minute it’s the very relaxed and folk-inspired “Keeping Me Awake”, a few songs later it’s Beatlesesque (circa Rubber Soul) 60’s keyboard jam “Neapolitan Bridesmaid”, encouraging the listener to get up and dance like a cage dancer at Whiskey A Go-Go. A little later some songs even resort to the melodies of elevator music, and some even sounding like Death Cab For Cutie should be playing them. The fluctuation in genre can be a bit arduous at times, but it’s interesting to see the different lengths of musical experimentation the band went through trying to find a sound of their own.

One can overlook the lack of genre consistency but the fact that many of the songs are lacking an impressive use of language can be a bit of a disappointment. In order to listen to this album you don’t need to have that cumbersome tome of a dictionary by your side. The wording is simplistic; the common man off the street can understand every word sung in this compilation, a drastic swing for Decemberists fans that were expecting to increase their vocabulary by another 50 words. One need not worry too much, there are a few gems such as Brigadoon and hackneyed, but that’s all the learning the listener will get out of this album.

Not only is Omnibus lacking creative language, it also lacks concept. Many are used to expecting a good session of story telling from the previously heard works of Meloy; however, these songs are very pedestrian. Story telling was clearly not thought of in Mr. Meloy’s mind when he sat down to write these songs. They’re very normal. There’s nothing special that attracts the listener. There were two brief shining moments, which were preludes to future Decemberists’ songs. The first of which is a song familiar to the hardcore Decemberist fan. “My Mother Was A Chinese Trapeze Artist” appears on Omnibus at its earliest workings. The song still tells the tale of a boy born of a circus act mother and a Russian spy father; it still has, for the most part, the same music. The only thing that makes this song worse is the electric guitar part. Sadly it was shoddily played and sounds like Colin got a garage band together three minutes before hitting up the recording studio. The true gem of this album is hidden in the middle of the second disc.

“Tristan and Iseult” is by far the most promising track on this whole compilation. It has the musicality, the language, and the story that makes it the song closest to the future works of Meloy. The song tells a story of two young lovers who’s relationship is slowly on the decline as they go out for a film and ice cream. The guitar part is played out by a soft acoustic, and the lyrics are welcoming and adorable. Anyone would love them.

For hardcore Colin Meloy fans this will be a welcome addition to their collection; however, I wouldn’t suggest it for the lighter Decemberists fan. It was too much of a disappointment. A noble and impressive collection for a college band, but still a disappointment after hearing the wonder of what Colin Meloy can really create.

-Courtney Coulombe (Useless Opinions contributor)

Key Tracks: “Tristan and Iseult”, “Devils Elbow”, “Keeping Me Awake”, “Eva Luna”

The Good, The Bad, and the Meh 2005

BEST ALBUMS OF 2005

ALBUM OF THE YEAR

Aqueduct-I Sold Gold

2. Graham Coxon-Happiness In Magazines
3. The Decemberists-Picaresque
4. Of Montreal-The Sunlandic Twins
5. The Go! Team- Thunder, Lightning, Strike
6. My Morning Jacket-Z
7. Kanye West-Late Registration
8. Sigur Rós-Takk
9. Dangerdoom-The Mouse and The Mask
10. Gorillaz-Demon Days

----------------------------------------

ok albums of 2005 (aka best of '05 cont.)

11. The Chemical Brothers- Push the Button
12. Sufjan Stevens-Illinois
13. Common-Be
14. Kaiser Chiefs-Employment
15. Broken Social Scene-Broken Social Scene
16. Supergrass-Road To Rouen
17. Maximo Park-A Certain Trigger
18. Dredg-Catch Without Arms
19. Devendra Banhart-Cripple Crow
20. Shout Out Louds- Howl Howl Gaff Gaff
21. Spoon-Gimme Fiction
22. Wolf Parade-Apologies To The Queen Mary
23. Grandaddy-Excerpts From The Diary Of Todd Zilla EP
24. Nada Surf-The Weight Is A Gift
25. British Sea Power-Open Season
26. Atmosphere-You Can't Imagine How Much Fun We're Having
27. Royksopp-The Understanding

-------------------------------

WORST ALBUMS (that i've heard from beginning to end)OF 2005

MOST DREADFUL MOSTROSITY OF 2005

Cursive-The Difference Between Houses And Homes

2. Death Cab For Cutie-Plans
3. Odd Nosdam-Burner
4. Daft Punk-Human After All
5. Kings Of Leon-Aha Shake Heartbreak
6. Coldplay-X&Y
7. Bloc Party-Silent Alarm
8. Franz Ferdinand-You Could Have It So Much Better
9. Coheed & Cambria-Good Apollo I'm Burning Star IV Volume One: From Fear Through The Eyes Of Madness
10. Feist-Let It Die

Review #14: Sigur Rós

Note: Sorry for the long hiatus folks, I got VERY lazy at the end of 2005. I finished the year with a queue of roughly 20 albums that I hadn't reviewed that will all be included on my year-end list, which you will see next. First, here's the "director's cut", so to speak, of my review for the new Sigur Ros album, the abridged version of which was published in the January 2006 issue of The Lancer Spirit, of which I am the A&E editor. It's also because of this fact that reviews will not go on the blog until they are published in the newspaper. So, in short, look out for my Best, Worst, and OK List of 2005, and new reviews of The Strokes, We Are Scientists, Cat Power, and Test Icicles, among others. Here's the review! ;)

Sigur Rós-Takk…
(Geffen)
8 out of 10

Picture links to Sigur Ros' website

Book me an Icelandair flight to Reykyavík or Seydhisfjōrdhur or something. I feel like I need to experience this odd little “Takk…” album the way it was meant to be intended. I need to pop this baby into my Walkman, walk across the vast fields, fjords, and icecaps of Iceland, and jump off a cliff into the frigid waters of the North Atlantic Ocean. Not because the fourth-full length from Sigur Rós depresses me, in fact, quite the opposite is the case. I want to witness the majesty of Iceland’s icy, simple, yet inexplicably beautiful landscape, peer over a rock-solid perch to watch endless droves of ever-changing waves, and feel the sudden blast of cold air against my face followed by the hard splash of water sending a jolt through my body.

Unfortunately, I don’t have time for such shenanigans. Luckily for me, “Takk…” has many of these effects within the confines of its shiny plastic disc. The Icelandic landscape is characterized by the lack of direct emotional warmth within it’s arrangements compensated by involuntary yet totally sincere vulnerability not only in sound but also in the fact that unforgiving minds may label the album as utter rubbish at one listen. The visible fusion of stone and water is synonymous with the band’s immaculate melding of static, memorable melodies with wavering, soaring string sections. And with various unexpected changes in candor and mood, it’s hard not to feel blown away by the atmospheric quartet’s seminal sound.

Save for a few minute details, such as the lyrics being sung in Icelandic rather than the fictional Hopelandic or the songs actually having titles this time around, “Takk…” is not so different from the band’s previous outing, 2002’s “( )”. Both albums are vast and cinematic in attitude, both have songs that are (for the most part) wonderfully repetitive; both have the eerie falsetto vocal stylings of frontman Jónsi Birgisson, both utilize the fantastical string instrumentals of collaborators Amina, and both are simply wonderful. But Sigur Rós created “Takk…” with one new factor in mind: Some people have actually heard of them.

With a batch of new fans, mostly stemming from “( )”’s lead single, “Untitled 1 (Vaka)”, and the song’s subsequent breakthrough music video featuring the now iconic gasmask-sporting schoolchildren, the band probably realized they had to step up their game a bit and make some more “Untitled 1”s to please the new fans without abandoning the ambient post-rock roots they developed upon. And, like all truly great musicians, this is just what Sigur Rós does.

“Takk...”s foremost opus is the immaculate “Saeglópur”, a precious parade of chimes, playful creaking sounds, piano that seems to run in slow motion, and childlike vocals that transforms at the snap of a finger into a blistering, accusatory death threat, changing that very same piano into a wrathful beast, bringing kamikaze drum attacks, towering bass, and squealing strings with it. After such an unrestrained and unwarranted outcry of anger, the song begins to return to reclusion, weeping a sincere apology to the listener. It’s dramatic, and the rapidly morphing stream of emotions only becomes more and more daunting with each spin.

Also adding a notch to Sigur Rós’ belt of should-be hits is the anthemic “Glósóli”, witch rides a catchy, syrup-like bassline and what seems to be the sound of marching soldiers through a verse that slowly escalates towards the song’s climax. Channeling the band’s oft-obscured heavy metal influences, the entire ensemble dives into a thumping thrashfest which, oddly enough, becomes more graceful than the song’s seemingly quiet beginning.

“Hoppípolla”, which plays like one big four-minute chorus, achieves similar stature, but through melody rather than mood swings. The song’s twinking piano melody dances intimately with Birgisson’s saintlike howl. The climax is, once again, louder than the rest of the song, but rather than changing the mood, it joins the song in a cavalcade of open-ended praise.

It’s safe to say that the entire album is quite sufficient as ear candy, but some tracks do have drawbacks. After “Saeglópur”, the remainder of the album tends to be drawn out and plodding, “Andvari” being the most troubling. “Andvari” echoes Mazzy Star in that it strives to comfort, but Sigur Rós’ tendency to remain on the frigid side makes this fireplace a smoldering, lukewarm pile of embers that’s quite hard to cozy up to. “Mílano” and “Gong” try to duplicate the bell-curve pattern of turbulence that the album’s best songs utilize perfectly, except with more instrumental expertise being demonstrated than emotional connectivity. Such long dirges make relatively normal-sized songs like the title track and “Meo Blódnasir” feel like interludes. Fortunately, “Heysátan” ends the album on a contemplative note. For the first time, it’s purposely stoic, but with bass, piano, and horns melting together to form a nurturing sundrop of sound each few seconds, it sends a feeling of satisfaction through the listener’s mind, which should be received easily after over an hour of stream-of-consciousness mindgames that are quite fun to play.

Many people may wonder what “Takk…”’s Icelandic lyrics translate to in English, but it becomes evident after the first listen that the lyrics really don’t need to be understood at all. Sigur Rós communicate solely through the universal language of music. I did, however, look up the English translation of the album’s title. The word emblazoned on the back of this album’s rustic packaging translates to “Thank You…”. These four sullen Icelandic men read my mind perfectly.

Key Tracks: “Saeglópur”, “Glósóli”, “Hoppípolla”, “Heysátan”