Saturday, April 11, 2020
Dismemberment Plan - Emergency & I
This suggestion was sent to me by a 'new, old' acquaintance. I have an amazing anecdote about this friend, but that will have to wait for another time. So, let's just jump right in! It starts off aggressively saccharine in a weird jane’s addiction kind of way. Around the middle of the first track ‘Life of POssibilities,’ there is a change in texture that hints there might be something more to come. The bass transforms into a flapping tire and stays there, fluctuating on the edge of intonation in a pleasant way.
Track 2, “Memory Machine” - immediately detours from any kind of pandering pop with a delicious crystalline structure of guitar noises, distortion and a perfectly placed organ that is often the secret ingredient in a sound like this. And again, at the end, this structure is pushed to its limit with a mantra of driving madness.
By Track 3 - “What Do You Want Me To Say?” I think I understand what to expect from the sound of this record. Typical late 90’s alternative rock melodic hooks dressed up with an aggressive garage punk aesthetic. Notice I did NOT say ‘pop-punk’ because it isn’t exactly punk rock by rhythmic or format definition. But there is a gritty, reckless approach to the arrangements that are dripping with an authentic desire to distance themselves from the established vocabulary of pop-rebel music.
Each track seems to start with an invitation to get comfortable. The melodies are cushy, the guitars and warm and the lyrics are just off-kilter enough to hold your attention. But then as the songs unfold, a collection of ‘other sounds’ begin to invade the space until at some point during a bridge or outro, you find yourself completely encased within a chrysalis of cacophony. Brief respites of this theme such as ‘The Jitters’ only serve to build a stronger more cohesive structure as this precedes ‘I Love A Magician’, which starts out directly in high gear.
There is an element of using competing instrument ‘noises’ as ‘percussion’. That is, less attention is paid to the tonality and harmony of individual parts than is to how they fit together in a rhythmic puzzle. This can be seen in other major avenues of thought emerging around this time from places like Omaha/Saddle Creek and in particular, I’m thinking of a band like Cursive.
I can also see slight parallels with Dubstep which would not emerge for another 10 years or so. Mainly I’m thinking of how noise and distortion are used in polyrhythmic combinations to create undeniable grooves.
‘You Are Invited’ begins with the kind of tension I’ve come to expect from this album already. An almost 80’s drum machine loop punctuated by a single Casio keyboard sound on every other & of 4. This creates a rhythm that is easy to bob your head along to, but unless you are paying attention that little ‘catch’ keeps you on your toes. A swirl of ambiance threatens to overflow into more of that catchy chaos, but this track stays reserved except for a straight-produced pop bridge. For me, the payoff was not here. I could have done without the middle section.
I know that the term ‘emo’ is a trigger word. I’ve seen analyses of the genre that place it’s origins back in the ’80s and there are internet rumors that this style of music still exists today. For me, ‘emo’ became part of the ‘consciousness of music’ sometime around 2000. While I know that there is nothing more dangerous for a critic to do than mislabel any band emo. I’m going to say that this band could be prototypical of the style.
I just did a quick Wikipedia search for a list of emo bands and I see this one is on there. So I feel relatively safe saying that. However, also on this list are Death Cab and Weezer. Both of which I have heard many passionate and near-violent arguments over when it concerns the label of ‘emo’.
It doesn’t matter. I probably should have left the whole emo thing out of it. It’s good music, that’s all. ‘Gyroscope’ has a shimmering vocal effect that made me stop everything and just listen. That’s all I really want out of music, anyway. Do something that forces me to listen. I'm more than willing to give any music my full attention. But only rarely does something DEMAND my attention. And this little vocal effect does just that. Beautiful.
‘The City’ has a vocal line that Brendon Urie would be proud of. ‘Girl O’ Clock’ sounds a little like the Rugburns trying to do Primus. Frantic Performance Art. I approve. And I know that a little record from 1999 is desperately seeking my approval in 2020. But I’m just saying that a track like this that has been around for 20 years and has less than half a million listens on Spotify is disappointing. It doesn’t look like people are digging into the depths of these cuts.
With a project like this, the last tracks are often the best. Remember this was released on a CD. [insert sarcastic description of what a CD is to assert snarky generational authority] - When a band like this hits the groove, They don’t put the ‘worst’ tracks towards the end as most people believe. Some bands did that just to fill out a record back in the days (surely they don’t do that anymore!) but the energy here from the beginning was one of uncorked inspiration. So the last songs are going to be the most adventurous as the band, rightly, assumes that anyone listening this far is on board with the premise and is therefore willing to follow them all the way down the rabbit hole.
As far as rabbit holes go, this band is elbow deep and one can imagine some kind of Napoleonic frenzy of activity below the surface. A fuzzy piranha nest of teeth and fur. When the hand is pulled back, the remaining stump of the arm brings sudden inspiration. Dismemberment Plan. Warm and fuzzy until it isn’t. And then it really isn’t.
So, I just recently learned that Napolean was once set upon by a thundering stampede of violent rabbits, forcing his small army to retreat in terror. Hence that incredibly clever 'Napoleonic frenzy' line. My God, I really am just that good! Check it out!
Friday, April 10, 2020
The Boomswagglers - Bootleg Beginnings
The Boomswagglers
Bootleg Beginnings from the Shack out Back - HillGrass BlueBilly Sessions
2011
Suggested by my cousin, who is currently wrapped fully in that beautiful twilight of hubris that often comes along with a strong jaw, surplus of musical talent, an intimidating vocabulary and a knack for philosophy. A dangerous combination. For the world or for himself, we have yet to see. I recognize his journey as well as seeing that he is closer to the heart of the matter at this point than I was at the same age. This suggestion of his is the case in point. I did not reach the particular guidepost which would allow me to appreciate or create this type of music until late in my 20’s. Also, he has already heard of Jeff Buckley, Conor Oberst, John Prine and Voltaire. I blame YouTube.Why am I'm writing about this album? [CLICK HERE]
During one of the high points of my artist output, my friends and I played a style of music that we called ‘Goo Grass’. A kind of sticky, off-balance bluegrass. The kind of self-assured stylistic choice borne out of an inability to reach a more refined variation of the same sound.
Boomswagglers have moved beyond this primordial soup we called Goo-Grass into what I easily recognize as the mature archetype of our early experiments. Their choices here do not stem from a lack of ability but seem instead to flow from an uninhibited delight of folk-magic.
These are people who have mastered the elements of the hill music. The masters of this magic are free to wield it however they like. This is the dirt-sorcery. They call it HillGrass, BlueBilly music which speaks to the same lexiconic symbolism as our term, ‘Goo Grass’, but garners a more robust structure which is reflected perfectly in this music.
Unabashed loose ends. The record sounds purposefully jagged. Overblown mics. It exists in that narrow seam between naïveté and carelessness. Focus without Attention and Attention without Focus. Easy to do accidentally, difficult to maintain consistently.
‘Why I sleep Alone’ is a perfect concoction rusty production of traditional melodic anchors whiplashing into a jug band jubilee with an unstable and fluctuating tempo. It’s a little squishy, but not ‘Gooey’ This is the sound I was always looking for but never found. It pleases me greatly that this music exists.
If you’ve heard of Avett Brothers. This is what happens if those boys ever get hooked on the methamphetamines. And not in a Trampled-by-Turtles-manic-ethos kind of energy. The sitting-around-an-oil-lamp-in-the-freezing-winter-laughing-so-hard-one-of-your-tooths-falls-out kind of energy. Like the Avetts, Boomswagglers hang vivid contemporary narratives and modern imagery on the hooks of old gospel, country and bluegrass standards. However, If the Avetts are defined by INTIMACY then Boomswagglers are IMMEDIACY. It is an immediacy that is starkly defined by the splintery nature of the recording and reinforced by the name of the band, the record and marketing in toto. Everything about the package tells you to expect something raw, seedy and untamed.
“Jim & Jack” is a profanity-laced blue ballad laid over the bones of Johnny Cash’s ‘A Boy Named Sue’ - Or it could be an ‘R’ rated Ray Stevens song. One is forced to immediately consider whether the rawness and lewdness is meant to be comical or poignant. I believe it’s a bit of both. ‘Mornin’ Pills’ threatens to honestly confront the listener with a serious expression and ‘Wilco Blues’ continues this theme of the earnest confessional in a convincing and fulfilling way.
The final track threw me a little. ‘Run You Down’ starts out with a very upfront kik and guitar in direct contrast with the rest of the record which was very vocal-heavy. At first, I was confused by the drastic change in sound and feared it was a change in production style. Perhaps they were going to lift the curtain and show us a traditionally produced track? But then the vocals came in, still overloaded but buried way back in the back. Scooping the middle out of everything and preserving the continuity of the record as a whole while introducing a small element of shape to the dynamics at the very end. It’s easy to miss that this song seems to be about the singer running a woman over with his car over because she was in love with another man.
Despite the dark themes and contemplative turn towards the end, there is an obvious tongue-planted-firmly-in-cheek approach to the entire endeavor. This often comes as a necessity with production like this because I believe the artist compensates for the inherent balance that the listener needs to appreciate it. The listener's mind must be framed to accept that this is an ‘off the cuff’, ‘work with what we have’, ‘just fucking around’, ‘one-take’ kind of production. The easiest way to do that is to begin with a spat of ‘novelty’ sounding songs that stomp the boots and then turn ever so slightly to face the listener and say ‘can I be real with you for a moment?’. It makes for an enjoyable and powerful moment. Not to belabor the Avett connection but 4 Thieves gone gets right to the heart of this in terms of how production choices affect listener engagement. That record begins with a very raw seedy track that would be at home on this Boomswaggler record and then immediately turns to face the listener and becomes very sincere. Boomswagglers wait just a bit longer and when they do turn to face you, their face is still a bit in the shadow.
If you allow your ears to acclimate to the piercing atmosphere of this record, a lot of depth can be found. From how the percussion and bass get laid into the mix or the flangy/ping-pongy ethereal curtain behind ‘Wilco Blues’ is especially beautiful.
I didn’t do any research so for all I know this is a ‘joke’ band of some kind made up of superheroes. It wouldn’t surprise me. The songwriting is on point, the performances are essentially flawless, and the production is not near as sloppy as it pretends to be. The total effect is that I believe this music is not only completely authentic but also authentically complete. It sounds like 2 or 3 guys and there may have been overdubs, but if you told me it was actually recorded in an open-air shack by a couple of dudes with a 4track, 2 mics, a woodstove and too much beer. I would not doubt you for a second.
That is all that matters.
It's Been A Minute
Continuing the cycle of overextending myself, getting burned out, rising from the ashes as some intoxicated Pheonix to do it all over again I have now returned to this nest of half-thoughts and philosophical introspection disguised as innocent and rambling blog posts.
Last I spent any real time here I was trying to listen to all the new music put out by everyone in the world during a single year. Yeah, it went about as you would expect, but you can explore past posts to see what survived. I'd like to try that again someday. But Believe it or not, there is more music created than can ever be listened to. You can never hear it all. Isn't that strange? In a world where all the music is available, we'll never hear it all.
I am writing to you in the midst of the global crisis of my lifetime. The COVID-19 pandemic. We have been isolated inside our houses for weeks now and there is no clear end in sight. Despite the magic of the internet and constant interactivity over social media and text, there is a real crushing sense of disconnection beginning to set in. Phone calls and Facebook can not replace casual conversation that takes place over coffee, face to face, in a chance meeting or as part of your routine mundane social patterns. There is no exposure to strangers or random encounters with that person who will never see again but has something to say that speaks right to your heart. And everyone is dying.
At least it seems that way. I haven't had any directly related COVID deaths in my life at this point, but celebrities and musicians are dropping like flies and a couple of recent events got me reminiscing on the connections and relationships I've been honored enough to cultivate during my life.
John Prine died this week of COVID. Obviously, such a tremendous loss and I was given cause to examine my relationship with his music. As a budding songwriter, I obviously was exposed to and listened to his work but It took a casual face to face interaction with a dear friend of mine to really drive the power of his songs home to me. It was on Sunday's that my friend Jon (different Jon) would get together and play guitars in my basement in Nebraska. He was of my dad's generation and as we took turns playing songs back and forth he would often play old folk and bluegrass covers. Many of which were the first I had heard them. Without fail he would play a Prine tune that I wasn't familiar with and the power was so potent that it stood out from everything else we were doing. If it wasn't for my friend Jon I may have never truly learned to appreciate Prine.
I also lost a long time friend to cancer this week. The combination of the two events led to different trains of thought but they both met in the same place. My friends are pretty great! I'm not a very communicative person. I don't call a lot, I don't text a lot. I often let friendships lapse for months or even years. But my friends. always seem to still be there when we do reconnect. As if no time has passed. I think this is a special bond and I'm happy to have more than a few.
When I think back to the impact my friends have had on my life, I almost always and immediately go to music. Not just playing music but also listening to it. I surely discovered much great music on my own, but those occasions where someone shared with me a special treasure that they knew about are powerful moments.
Sitting in my friend Chris' garage on two metal folding chairs. A boombox in between us on a milk crate. We light a joint and smoke it down while he plays for me Badmotorfinger for the first time in my life. Unforgettable and transitory.
My friend Mike and I, rummaging through his dad's CD collection to find all the ones that mike had heard the 'F' word on. He said 'check this one out' and puts in NiN Downward Spiral. Yeah, I heard the 'F' word on there for sure and we giggled our stupid little heads off, but I also heard something else. Something that cracked open the veil of perception as cleaning as any hit of LSD or religious epiphany. Taking that entire stack of CDs back to my house and listening to them one by one in headphones on my mom's Boombox/CD player. The sound of 'Once' by Pearl Jam fading in. My first listen through of TEN still burned in my memory and more visceral to me now than the memory of losing my virginity.
Moving to Nebraska and making friends that had been neck-deep in the birth of the Saddle Creek/Omaha music scene. And here's me, having never heard of Conor Oberst, Bright Eyes, Cursive or any of it. Having this treasure trove of experience dumped at my feet as common knowledge was one of the most humbling moments of my life.
The kid who passed me a primus cassette tape in 7th grade. This might have saved my life.
The girl who spelled her name with numbers who passed a cassette mix-tape of all her favorite punk bands. I wish I could find that tape. A firehose introduction to Black Flag, Prong, Minor Threat, Green Jelly and the like. Monumental shifts of perception that still define who I am to this very second. It is the people I associate with and the often the ones who became the best of friends that have turned me onto some of my favorite bands. Music that, in turn, sculpted large parts of my world-view, aesthetics, and personality.
As I sat thinking of these things, staring at a political argument I was having with another friend who has turned me onto some great music, I began wondering what was really important here. I put out a call on my Facebook wall for my friends to comment with a record they think I might have never heard. I'll be listening to these as they come in and write a short post on my initial reactions and see where that takes us.
Last I spent any real time here I was trying to listen to all the new music put out by everyone in the world during a single year. Yeah, it went about as you would expect, but you can explore past posts to see what survived. I'd like to try that again someday. But Believe it or not, there is more music created than can ever be listened to. You can never hear it all. Isn't that strange? In a world where all the music is available, we'll never hear it all.
I am writing to you in the midst of the global crisis of my lifetime. The COVID-19 pandemic. We have been isolated inside our houses for weeks now and there is no clear end in sight. Despite the magic of the internet and constant interactivity over social media and text, there is a real crushing sense of disconnection beginning to set in. Phone calls and Facebook can not replace casual conversation that takes place over coffee, face to face, in a chance meeting or as part of your routine mundane social patterns. There is no exposure to strangers or random encounters with that person who will never see again but has something to say that speaks right to your heart. And everyone is dying.
At least it seems that way. I haven't had any directly related COVID deaths in my life at this point, but celebrities and musicians are dropping like flies and a couple of recent events got me reminiscing on the connections and relationships I've been honored enough to cultivate during my life.
John Prine died this week of COVID. Obviously, such a tremendous loss and I was given cause to examine my relationship with his music. As a budding songwriter, I obviously was exposed to and listened to his work but It took a casual face to face interaction with a dear friend of mine to really drive the power of his songs home to me. It was on Sunday's that my friend Jon (different Jon) would get together and play guitars in my basement in Nebraska. He was of my dad's generation and as we took turns playing songs back and forth he would often play old folk and bluegrass covers. Many of which were the first I had heard them. Without fail he would play a Prine tune that I wasn't familiar with and the power was so potent that it stood out from everything else we were doing. If it wasn't for my friend Jon I may have never truly learned to appreciate Prine.
I also lost a long time friend to cancer this week. The combination of the two events led to different trains of thought but they both met in the same place. My friends are pretty great! I'm not a very communicative person. I don't call a lot, I don't text a lot. I often let friendships lapse for months or even years. But my friends. always seem to still be there when we do reconnect. As if no time has passed. I think this is a special bond and I'm happy to have more than a few.
When I think back to the impact my friends have had on my life, I almost always and immediately go to music. Not just playing music but also listening to it. I surely discovered much great music on my own, but those occasions where someone shared with me a special treasure that they knew about are powerful moments.
Sitting in my friend Chris' garage on two metal folding chairs. A boombox in between us on a milk crate. We light a joint and smoke it down while he plays for me Badmotorfinger for the first time in my life. Unforgettable and transitory.
My friend Mike and I, rummaging through his dad's CD collection to find all the ones that mike had heard the 'F' word on. He said 'check this one out' and puts in NiN Downward Spiral. Yeah, I heard the 'F' word on there for sure and we giggled our stupid little heads off, but I also heard something else. Something that cracked open the veil of perception as cleaning as any hit of LSD or religious epiphany. Taking that entire stack of CDs back to my house and listening to them one by one in headphones on my mom's Boombox/CD player. The sound of 'Once' by Pearl Jam fading in. My first listen through of TEN still burned in my memory and more visceral to me now than the memory of losing my virginity.
Moving to Nebraska and making friends that had been neck-deep in the birth of the Saddle Creek/Omaha music scene. And here's me, having never heard of Conor Oberst, Bright Eyes, Cursive or any of it. Having this treasure trove of experience dumped at my feet as common knowledge was one of the most humbling moments of my life.
The kid who passed me a primus cassette tape in 7th grade. This might have saved my life.
The girl who spelled her name with numbers who passed a cassette mix-tape of all her favorite punk bands. I wish I could find that tape. A firehose introduction to Black Flag, Prong, Minor Threat, Green Jelly and the like. Monumental shifts of perception that still define who I am to this very second. It is the people I associate with and the often the ones who became the best of friends that have turned me onto some of my favorite bands. Music that, in turn, sculpted large parts of my world-view, aesthetics, and personality.
As I sat thinking of these things, staring at a political argument I was having with another friend who has turned me onto some great music, I began wondering what was really important here. I put out a call on my Facebook wall for my friends to comment with a record they think I might have never heard. I'll be listening to these as they come in and write a short post on my initial reactions and see where that takes us.
Wednesday, January 4, 2017
Contemplation
I'm writing to myself. But I'm putting it on the internet. Letters that should be hidden away in a drawer or burned. Instead, mailed out. Return to Sender. Enveloping opines. Wrapping them up in impulsively knitted designs of erudite temperament.
Wednesday, December 28, 2016
2016
It was alright.
I did not make it through the list. Of course. My choices were abysmal by any decent standards. I am thankful for Scientists, in specific Thank You Scientist. Moderat caught my ear. Krizz Kaliko some other stuff was OK. I learned to hate myself and love again and the other way around. I've been upside down. But here we are. For at least one more sentence. Me now. You in the future. This moment, again. See you next time!
I did not make it through the list. Of course. My choices were abysmal by any decent standards. I am thankful for Scientists, in specific Thank You Scientist. Moderat caught my ear. Krizz Kaliko some other stuff was OK. I learned to hate myself and love again and the other way around. I've been upside down. But here we are. For at least one more sentence. Me now. You in the future. This moment, again. See you next time!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)