Thursday, August 24, 2006
It's hard to think of a better encapsulation of the differences between 90s indie and 00s indie than the Go! Team covering "Bull in the Heather."[1] The most obvious thing, of course, is the vocals: instead of one woman cooing at you in a voice that alternates between lifelessly detached and sounding like something is pounding into her nether regions every time she lets out a line (and she is enjoying it, in a detached and beautiful way), you have a bunch of girls (even though it is probably only one) yelling at you, turning the fucking into a cheer, a rousing chorus of pep. The 90s version is intimate, with maybe a confused mariachi band playing in the closet, but very one-on-one, very whispery--and very adult. The 00s version sounds like it's in a gym, with a steaming hurdy-gurdy lurching along under the basketball hoop while a troupe of teens pom-pom it up while you sit in the bleachers, so oddly enough, it ends up being more detached than the Sonic Youth version, though in a different way. Now you are not being whispered to, you are part of a crowd, all feeling the same thing. It's depersonalized. But so is indie. There are more subtle differences, too. In SY's version, Steve Shelly is trying to play something close to a breakbeat, but you can hear the clatter in the room, even with Butch smoothing things out. But the Go! Team literalize that breakbeat and mechanize it, and it flows smooth as a monorail. The guitar harmonics that serve as the hook (imagine!) that were very present and organic are now sequenced and chopped-up, sounding less like explorations and more like little bombs of intentionality. Also, there are handclaps, which I'm almost certain there weren't before. Partially all this is related to Carl Wilson's point about indie kid sexuality, and the lack thereof. But I think it's interestingly related to the overall direction this sort of music has taken recently. I wrote a review yesterday of Ice Cream Socialists (who are alternately great and cringe-inducing) I talked about the differences between golden-age twee (K Records) and silver-age twee (Decembrists, Athsmatic Kitty). Used to be, twee was more or less explicitly 20-somethings self-consciously pretending to be children; now, it's people actually acting like nerdy middle schoolers, and the one good thing that got lost in this equation is the creepy sexuality that Calvin Johnson was so ickily good at.[2] Interestingly--and confusingly--this seems to have been lost overall, as the twee aesthetic is diluted and thus spread throughout indiedom. And I think the reasoning (albeit unconscious reasoning) works a little like this: "We are tired of all this dour music. We want to have happy fun dancy music again! But ingrained in our souls is the idea that dour music is mature and happy music is childish. So we will be childish!" Indie has cleaned up its act and is now wholly suitable for children, and while I do like this, I also like fucking; it's notable that the acts Carl cites as exceptions to the no-fucking rule in his post ("KoTV, the Hidden Cameras, Spank Rock, Xiu Xiu") have almost all gotten a lot of flack for this sexuality, although I guess in fairness Xiu Xiu's sexuality would get some flack regardless of the era, one hopes. But that, too, is indicative: the acts with sexuality take it really far so it's almost cartoonish, which is, again, kind of childish. So is it possible to be fun/dancy/yay, sexual, and, um, good? You wouldn't think it would be too hard, but it seems to be. [1] aka "The song that got me into Sonic Youth," I must admit. [2] Those former nerdy middle schoolers in my reading audience--which I'm sure is a minute portion of you--may recall those years as not being particularly sexual, especially compared to the rumored antics of their peers. ADDENDUM: I am reminded (via my referrer log) of a post I wrote two years ago in which I discussed how the currently disreputable electroclash boom directly presaged/influenced a lot of the music we see today. It's interesting that electroclash was highly sexual (and also, actually, very unskilled--how twee!), although arguably it was a specifically gay or cartoonish sexuality. There's probably an interesting connection in there somewhere. Current indie as taking electroclash's spirit but totally changing the content (i.e. fucking + amateurism + artificiality)? Hmm.
posted by Mike B. at 11:50 AM
12 comments
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
I have two pieces in Flagpole this week: a generous but mainly negative review of the Ratatat album (currently listed as "Beggars") and a definitely negative review of The Knife that I think I meant to come out more persuasive than it actually did. That album is really fucking annoying, though, the two singles aside.
posted by Mike B. at 12:12 PM
0 comments
Thursday, August 17, 2006
A breakdown of why this clip is so amazingly awesome: 1) Kelly's reaction to the guitarist suggesting she show her boobs: horrified but amused, conveying the message "I am not going to do that not because I am a prude but because flashing your tits on stage is like lame X 100. But har har." 2) Then later she flashes her sweater vest. Sweater vest! What famous person wears a sweater vest out in public? And then makes a boob joke involving it? 3) Then later she takes off the sweater vest, but only in order to acheive a "performance look." She would clearly rather be wearing it, but OK, she thinks, I'm on stage now, better look put together. 4) After taking off her sweater vest, she then ducks behind her male companion, the Dude From Yellowcard, and pretends to play with his nipples. This is emo but with a sense of humor. (Remember, emo + girls = tolerable!) 5) The suggestion (only half-serious I think) that she is there to "put some edge" on her image. No rational person would consider going to see a band called "Metal Skool" if they wanted to seem edgier, though if anything this is a point in Metal Skool's favor. They would go into rehab, or punch the shit out of Carson Daily, or something. Plus, Kelly Clarkson is like 75% of the way toward being the coolest white person alive, she doesn't really need help at this point. Correspondingly, she nods sarcastically. And then licks her fingers and pretends to play with her nipples. Very thematic! 6) It is simply unwise to have Kelly Clarkson singing immediately after anyone else. Normally she just sounds great; in direct comparison to other people, it's like, oh, that's what good singing sounds like. Poor Dude From Yellowcard. 7) She clearly doesn't entirely remember the song but sings harmony. 8) The headbang! That's a pretty good headbang. 9) In light of the previous rock people discussion, I think it's fair to take this not as an indication, as it usually would be, of either metal's relevence to pop, or of Kelly Clarkson being awesome, although it is both of those. Primarily it indicates how rock is now just another tool in pop's bag, illustrated best by the Metal Skool people never breaking face but Kelly laughing her head off. It's all a laugh because it is all a laugh--none of this shit's real anymore. Rock people are already halfway to this conclusion, but part of their particular viewpoint is pretending like they're not, like it's serious and it matters, while also wanting to party. Kelly just thinks it's hilarious, and from an outside perspective, hers is the one to make the most sense. An American Idol winner comes to an ostensible metal concert and doesn't feel out-of-place--indeed, feels so comfortable that she actually gets up on stage and starts singing? This does not seem to be particularly indicative of the genre's vitality, or of the ostensible trueness that its more serious-minded boosters posit. It's in the spirit of Metal Skool itself: not parodic, but certainly tongue-in-cheek.
posted by Mike B. at 4:47 PM
3 comments
My Interior Monologue: Snakes on a Plane Trailer Edition"Wait, why are there ninjas?...Oh, right, that's a stupid question." Always a stupid question: "Why are there ninjas?" (Also: "Why is there bacon on this?")
posted by Mike B. at 12:06 AM
0 comments
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Oh hello there. I have three reviews in Flagpole this week: Casper & the Cookies, CSS, and Mr. Lif. All, or at least the last two, are probably worth your time, and you know how highly I value your time. The Casper album is the one I mentioned some time ago about talking myself into liking it, and it has actually really grown on me. I feel I need to be a little less jumpy in my music-listening habits. In totally unrelated matters: - Has anyone pointed out that the singer from Man Man sounds almost exactly like Rob Zombie? He's just farther back in the mix. - I think Nelly Furtado is going to be this year's Gwen Stefani in the sense that I loved loved loved it at first but slowly grow to absolutely despise it. I'm pretty disgusted with "Maneater" now. And I can't tell you how happy I was to hear the Stefani diss on the Puffy album. - Speaking of, is there something sonicly particular about teenpop albums that makes them sound better on headphones, presumably the chosen medium for the chosen audience? The Puffy album sounded pretty meh on the home stereo, but on headphones this morning it really popped.
posted by Mike B. at 11:39 AM
5 comments
Friday, August 11, 2006
A Perhaps Unkind DefinitionBased on this: That’s how bohemia worked, as a mesh of interconnections, immediate and remote.Outsider Artist: One who has failed to penetrate the social networks of bohemia but, due to mental instablity, presses on regardless.
posted by Mike B. at 11:06 AM
2 comments
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Uh, given that the ratio of comments I have received on recent posts via the blog's commenting sytem to comments I have received about recent posts via other avenues is something like 1:10, I am assuming people are having problems with the commenting system here, specifically the number verification thing. So I have turned that off and turned moderation on, and you should give commenting a try again, if you would like.
posted by Mike B. at 1:52 PM
0 comments
Monday, August 07, 2006
Last night I saw The Devil Wears Prada, and yes, I am attempting to transition from a death notice about a political philosopher to commenting on a blog about a movie about working at a fashion magazine, based on a thinly-veiled roman-a-chicklit. (Now I understand how hard it is to be a local news anchor!) Anyway, I won't share my general impression with you, since when I shared it with my moviegoing companions the reaction seemed to be the sort of awkward silence that crops up so frequently in my day-to-day life. Instead, I will say that my reaction had a lot in common with Jeffrey and Jack Lewis' "Williamsburg Will Oldham Horror," which you can find at Fluxblog. (You can, and should, read the lyrics here.) Matthew mentioned that he immediately thought of me upon hearing it, and indeed, those two of you familiar with my complete musical works may notice that the instrumental componant here is fairly similar to that of one of my speaky-speaky solo songs, and one of the verses is remarkably similar to one of the verses of the title track on my band's last CD. I point this out not to be self-aggrandizing or to conjure dark intimations of plagarism (since, among other things, the verse of mine that a verse of "WWOH" resembles is actually something I stole from Alanis Morissette, so even if I wanted to complain I couldn't), but merely to point out that this sort of thing is out there, in the air, etc. etc., although as evidenced by the fact that I'm referring you to other people rather than actually talking about it myself, I think it's something we're all a bit embarassed to be thinking and talking about. ("WWOH" deals with this conflict in a satisfying way--it's a great song--which is not surprising given that Jeffrey Lewis and Kimya Dawson are BFF and share a remarkable ability to talk about fears in a self-aware way, to be emotional without being emo.) This relates to something else and its cousin (yay more links, yay less talking about me!), the main thrust of which is sort of questionable given the author but does seem to represent a viewpoint that is, again, Out There. And it does raise some interesting questions: are bands actually more careerist now, or are the receptacles for bands (publicists, labels, bookers, audiences) just dealing with them in a different way? Is the problem that bands should, like Pavement, pretend to be more untouchable, or that bands and critics and listeners remain too concerned with shame? Has indie's bubble status concealed the fact that, if it were to break wide, the most mediocre acts would in fact triumph, since an indie breakthrough, no matter how much we want indie to be otherwise, is really just chomping into the demographic that likes Dave Matthews and KoRn? And are we really expected to feel shame both for failing and for not failing enough? Anyhoo, there's one point in Devil Wears Prada (remember that?) where Anne Hathaway is in the townhouse of the Anna Wintour character, looks up, and sees faux-Wintour's twin girls leaning over the bannister, looking down at her. In the midst of all that opulence and luxury, it's clearly intended as a sort of Hallmark image, but it struck me as a reference to The Shining or Children of the Corn. It's interesting to think of this movie not as a modern-day descendent of Breakfast at Tiffany's but as an alternate way for Americans to make a Japanese-style horror film: jam-packed with grostesqueries and tension, but with the promised bloodbath failing to come, for reasons that are never really explained. Maybe the ritual sacrafice of an unpublished Harry Potter book put it off; maybe the two scenes where Hathaway sees, in essence, Grendel without his monster-face on somehow deflate the threat. But ideally, they would put out a Final Destination 3-style DVD where, at this juncture, you could press a button and choose instead to have Hathaway climb the stairs and intrude upon the Wintour character feasting on the entrails of a chubby pre-teen girl, surrounded by blood-smeared models with hairlips, and would spend the remainder of the movie scurrying around the darkened, steam-shrouded streets of Manhattan, her every respite interrupted by the heart-rending sound of stilettos on cobblestones, with a final shot of the sun rising on the meatpacking district, animal blood mingling with old women's blood in the gutter and splashing the tires of a towncar heading down the West Side Highway to Wall Street, filled with old men in suits, laughing and laughing.
posted by Mike B. at 3:42 PM
2 comments
R.I.P., Iris Marion Young, far too soon. She was probably the greatest living political philosopher, a position based in part on her critique of the previous holder of that position, John Rawls. The classroom classic is Justice and the Politics of Difference but Throwing Like a Girl and Other Essays is probably the more accessible work. She was just ridiculously smart and, unlike a lot of other political philosophers, a fairly readable writer, and was brilliant at integrating feminist ideas into wider questions of justice--questions which tie directly into the global issues that dominate our political discourse today. I'm not writing this very well and not really doing justice to her ideas (the obit above does it far better), but suffice to say that it's really important to have read her if you want to talk about justice, I think. She was one of those people that I always figured I would meet one day and have a nice conversation with. I guess that's kind of a self-centered thing to say, but there it is. Philosophers shouldn't die at 57.
posted by Mike B. at 11:10 AM
0 comments
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
I will have a fuller Rock Star update in a bit, but for now, go on ahead and watch Toby singing "Pennyroyal Tea." You know, I always thought it was one of those songs you couldn't ruin, but I was wrong. God but I was wrong. The reasons will be clear, but in sum, a) he does not do the loud parts loud (?!?!?), b) he sings it like Nickelback, and c) he sings "give me Leonard Cohen afterglow / so I can die eventually." I pictured Courtney Love charging into the studio afterwards and kicking him repeatedly in the shins. And I'm not even going to subject you to the dude who sang "Losing My Religion" like it was an epic Coldplay ballad and Michael Stipe was straight as the day is long. Just deal with "Pennyroyal Tea" for now.
posted by Mike B. at 11:17 AM
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