The festival organisers of Glastonbury have apparently helped to organise a large number of nifty auctions on e-bay in support of the Haiti epidemic. These include things like a turntable touched by the golden hand of DJ Shadow, a guitar from the Arctic Monkeys; you know, cool stuff, but stuff that gets auctioned fairly regularly.
But there was one thing that caught my eye, and I feel inclined to share. Apparently, Damon Albarn will write and record a song for you. Yes, you, my friend. If You are the winning bidder, You will get a song personally written and recorded for You by Damon Albarn, which is pretty special. Honestly. If I had $1,000,000, I would probably bid it on that. Well, I'd certainly bid $50,000, and go up from there. But that's really cool.
Of course, there's no guarantee it will be a good song, or that he will have put any effort into it. And I can't decide if I want this song to leak on the internet, once it's been handed over to You, or if I want it to stay hidden in You's possession, never to be heard. What if it's Damon's masterpiece? The possibilities make me salivate. The good news is I know he's too practical, and if he writes a piece of brilliance, he'll set it aside and write something else. So, then. Cheers.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Transference, Pt. 1
The new Spoon album is out! And I'm listening to it! Spread the word!
I'll have a review in a few days. I have to digest.
Return to your lives.
I'll have a review in a few days. I have to digest.
Return to your lives.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Bitte Orca Orca Bitte
I'm not a professional reviewer. This is obvious, given the amateur venue through which I share what I laughably call my informed opinions. There are upsides and downsides to this. On the downside, I don't get compensated for my time, and few people care about my opinion. This is all done for the love of what I'm reviewing. But that's the first upside. Another is that I don't have to worry about the embarrassment of changing my mind to a broader audience. There is no broader audience, and so I have no issue revising previous statements. There are, after all, few consequences.
So it is with full confidence, and with nary a bit of egg on my face, that I tell you I was wrong about an album I reviewed last year. That's right. I'm fallible. I have moments of weakness. I only ask that you stay with me through them. I'm currently listening through The Dirty Projectors' Bitte Orca, and I was mistaken. This is, truly, a great album, to sit alongside the very best last year had to offer. It is, at times, disarmingly gorgeous, and, at others, such as on the event of the title of this article, seethed over and over again with a backdrop of acerbic guitars, incredibly rough. It is always, without fail, idiosyncratic, but within the function of the form. This is not freaking out because we can, one of the cardinal sins; this is making slightly odd music because we know it is what we were made to do. And it's really brilliant.
So I was wrong. And I couldn't be happier to say so. I've never understood the refusal to be wrong, anyway. You gain knowledge, experience, and, in the case of reevaluating an album or a movie or a book, you gain something new to appreciate. And who doesn't need that?
So it is with full confidence, and with nary a bit of egg on my face, that I tell you I was wrong about an album I reviewed last year. That's right. I'm fallible. I have moments of weakness. I only ask that you stay with me through them. I'm currently listening through The Dirty Projectors' Bitte Orca, and I was mistaken. This is, truly, a great album, to sit alongside the very best last year had to offer. It is, at times, disarmingly gorgeous, and, at others, such as on the event of the title of this article, seethed over and over again with a backdrop of acerbic guitars, incredibly rough. It is always, without fail, idiosyncratic, but within the function of the form. This is not freaking out because we can, one of the cardinal sins; this is making slightly odd music because we know it is what we were made to do. And it's really brilliant.
So I was wrong. And I couldn't be happier to say so. I've never understood the refusal to be wrong, anyway. You gain knowledge, experience, and, in the case of reevaluating an album or a movie or a book, you gain something new to appreciate. And who doesn't need that?
Friday, January 15, 2010
Dear Rush Limbaugh...
I will do my best to avoid inflammatory language here, as that is the scourge which plagues the majority of political discussion these days. Some of you may recall my critically-lauded essay "Glenn Beck: Why Can't I Hate You?" from a few months back; that essay could have easily been called "Rush Limbaugh: Why Can't I Hate You?," with little trouble. Mr. Beck just happened to be on my mind at the time. It really would have been simple to write it about Rush Limbaugh, instead. Both men were equal in their sins, if Limbaugh has been doing it for significantly longer. They were equal in my eyes.
Until this week.
I would like to take a moment now to address Rush Limbaugh.
Rush Limbaugh, sir, you are a genius. You really are. I wish to adulate you, to praise you, to get down on mein knees and pray to Allah (because I know you'd like that) that he should see it fit to bequeath unto me- if, that is, Allah bequeaths- the brilliance with which you have forged your $400 million-dollar career. And that's just one contract! Very impressive, sir.
You know your audience, like any good entertainer. You are able to see the smallest cracks, the most imperceptible flaws, in any argument, and place the appropriate explosives, in the appropriate positions, to destroy any wall an opponent might place before you.
President Barack Obama has asked for Americans to give what they can to help the survivors of the earthquake in Haiti. He has posted a link on the White House website, one that takes you to the Red Cross website, so that people can be easily guided in the process. But you're too smart for his game, and thank Allah for that. You, sir, have said what we were all thinking, what we all, deep down, can't help but believe, that President Obama is secretly misdirecting that money into the pockets of the Democratic party, and that he is taking all the information the Red Cross requests of us so he can add us to mailing lists.
Mr. Limbaugh, I applaud you for having the courage to say it, to be the one to come forward and state, without hesitation, that our President is using a tragedy on the scale of the Haitian earthquake to make money and increase his mailing list. You, sir, are what America is about. The freedom to speak what your heart, and not your $400-million-dollar contract, tells you what must be said. I am, truly, in awe of your intelligence, and the brilliance you must possess to process these ideas so quickly, before the rest of us have the chance to do so. You are a visionary, a luminary, and I hope my children speak of you with the admiration you deserve.
I've noticed that the only difference between Rush Limbaugh and Sir Dr. Stephen T. Colbert, D.F.A., is the audience; Libaugh's audience takes what he says seriously. Sir Dr. Colbert's audience knows better.
Until this week.
I would like to take a moment now to address Rush Limbaugh.
Rush Limbaugh, sir, you are a genius. You really are. I wish to adulate you, to praise you, to get down on mein knees and pray to Allah (because I know you'd like that) that he should see it fit to bequeath unto me- if, that is, Allah bequeaths- the brilliance with which you have forged your $400 million-dollar career. And that's just one contract! Very impressive, sir.
You know your audience, like any good entertainer. You are able to see the smallest cracks, the most imperceptible flaws, in any argument, and place the appropriate explosives, in the appropriate positions, to destroy any wall an opponent might place before you.
President Barack Obama has asked for Americans to give what they can to help the survivors of the earthquake in Haiti. He has posted a link on the White House website, one that takes you to the Red Cross website, so that people can be easily guided in the process. But you're too smart for his game, and thank Allah for that. You, sir, have said what we were all thinking, what we all, deep down, can't help but believe, that President Obama is secretly misdirecting that money into the pockets of the Democratic party, and that he is taking all the information the Red Cross requests of us so he can add us to mailing lists.
Mr. Limbaugh, I applaud you for having the courage to say it, to be the one to come forward and state, without hesitation, that our President is using a tragedy on the scale of the Haitian earthquake to make money and increase his mailing list. You, sir, are what America is about. The freedom to speak what your heart, and not your $400-million-dollar contract, tells you what must be said. I am, truly, in awe of your intelligence, and the brilliance you must possess to process these ideas so quickly, before the rest of us have the chance to do so. You are a visionary, a luminary, and I hope my children speak of you with the admiration you deserve.
I've noticed that the only difference between Rush Limbaugh and Sir Dr. Stephen T. Colbert, D.F.A., is the audience; Libaugh's audience takes what he says seriously. Sir Dr. Colbert's audience knows better.
Friday, January 8, 2010
So I Lied
It seems every trip comes with its own theme song.
If one were to observe me, for a short period of time leading up to a trip (let's say a week), one would find it easy to predict, and with great accuracy, what the song is going to be. Four days prior to leaving for New Jersey in June, I discovered a fan video on Youtube for Phoenix's "Lisztomania," where footage from various John Hughes films was spliced together to create a (very good) alternative video. I believe, though I could be mistaken here, that Phoenix have even commented that the video was better than the one they created themselves. At any rate, the video caused me to fall in love with the song, and in the seventeen hours between Chicago and New Jersey, I listened to it somewhere in the neighbourhood of thirty times. It was enough that it's still the top song on my iTunes Most Played list, where it has remained unchallenged; That is, of course, until now.
On Wednesday, I left for Boston. The train ride, a near-orgasmic twenty-three hour sojourn, was soundtracked by Annie's "Heartbeat." Again, the circumstances were similar. While I did not discover any video on Youtube, I heard the song, for the first time, five days prior. There's something about that temporal proximity, I think, which allows the song to be at just the right amount of familiar; and there's something about a trip that just screams out for a theme.
This didn't used to require a special occasion. Before the invention of the iPod, music was as much a reminder of time and place as it was performing a function unto itself. Bob, for example, doesn't listen to many CDs, and he certainly doesn't own an iPod; because of the aforementioned, he still gets a rush when he listens to his favourite song, Bruce Springsteen's "Born to Run." Don't get me wrong, we all get a rush when we listen to our favourite song; that's part of why it is our favourite. But it's different for Bob than it is for me when I hear "Care of Cell 44," or "No Thugs in Our House." (The jury remains out on which will claim the top prize)
For Bob, listening to "Born to Run" isn't just a great experience because it's his favourite song, but also because it instantly transports him back to when he was seventeen, when he heard that song the most often. There's a fair chance he could even tell you the first time he heard the song. And every time he listens to it, he's reminded of youth, of what he did, of how it felt (The good parts... the bad parts, one can only hope, were assigned to something like Supertramp). I imagine he has that same experience, albeit less intense in most cases, with a lot of songs. That is, of course, why oldies stations work. It's not because they're playing old music, it's because they're playing music that can instantly transport the listener back to the time when they first heard the songs.
Because of the iPod, though, we no longer associate songs with particular times or places. I'm not blaming it for that, but I feel like something is being lost. Of course, it's happening slowly. Bob gets taken back by songs on the radio constantly. I had a young high school teacher with a strong memory attached to "Zombie," and the entirety of that album, by The Cranberries. For myself, there are three songs I know that instantly transport me back to a time or a place, and all of them happened while I was on a vacation: "Home and Dry" by Pet Shop Boys takes me back to New Years 2007, sitting in the guest bedroom of Chris Kopency's house, looking at the freshly fallen snow on the yard through the window. When I listen to it, I can see the room, I can feel the bedspread I was sitting on, I can sense that sense of insulation you always seem to carry around in the deep winter with fresh snow. "Lisztomania" reminds me of that trip, of the sense of excitement and promise (it was my first adult vacation, where I paid for it and everything). "Heartbeat" will, I believe, forever remind me of this trip to Boston.
Now, of course, we'll always attach songs to time periods. "Poker Face" will be attached to my Junior year of college for the rest of my life, or at least to my college years when I get older and start forgetting such details. That's natural. But these songs are going to stop having that immediate, strong connection, that major tie that pulls at you and can literally make you forget where you are. And how magical is that? That's what music is about. Taking us outside of ourselves, to another time, to remember, to experience things we've longed forgotten how to. If you need me for the next four minutes and twenty-one seconds, I'll be on that bedspread. And all I have to do is press play.
If one were to observe me, for a short period of time leading up to a trip (let's say a week), one would find it easy to predict, and with great accuracy, what the song is going to be. Four days prior to leaving for New Jersey in June, I discovered a fan video on Youtube for Phoenix's "Lisztomania," where footage from various John Hughes films was spliced together to create a (very good) alternative video. I believe, though I could be mistaken here, that Phoenix have even commented that the video was better than the one they created themselves. At any rate, the video caused me to fall in love with the song, and in the seventeen hours between Chicago and New Jersey, I listened to it somewhere in the neighbourhood of thirty times. It was enough that it's still the top song on my iTunes Most Played list, where it has remained unchallenged; That is, of course, until now.
On Wednesday, I left for Boston. The train ride, a near-orgasmic twenty-three hour sojourn, was soundtracked by Annie's "Heartbeat." Again, the circumstances were similar. While I did not discover any video on Youtube, I heard the song, for the first time, five days prior. There's something about that temporal proximity, I think, which allows the song to be at just the right amount of familiar; and there's something about a trip that just screams out for a theme.
This didn't used to require a special occasion. Before the invention of the iPod, music was as much a reminder of time and place as it was performing a function unto itself. Bob, for example, doesn't listen to many CDs, and he certainly doesn't own an iPod; because of the aforementioned, he still gets a rush when he listens to his favourite song, Bruce Springsteen's "Born to Run." Don't get me wrong, we all get a rush when we listen to our favourite song; that's part of why it is our favourite. But it's different for Bob than it is for me when I hear "Care of Cell 44," or "No Thugs in Our House." (The jury remains out on which will claim the top prize)
For Bob, listening to "Born to Run" isn't just a great experience because it's his favourite song, but also because it instantly transports him back to when he was seventeen, when he heard that song the most often. There's a fair chance he could even tell you the first time he heard the song. And every time he listens to it, he's reminded of youth, of what he did, of how it felt (The good parts... the bad parts, one can only hope, were assigned to something like Supertramp). I imagine he has that same experience, albeit less intense in most cases, with a lot of songs. That is, of course, why oldies stations work. It's not because they're playing old music, it's because they're playing music that can instantly transport the listener back to the time when they first heard the songs.
Because of the iPod, though, we no longer associate songs with particular times or places. I'm not blaming it for that, but I feel like something is being lost. Of course, it's happening slowly. Bob gets taken back by songs on the radio constantly. I had a young high school teacher with a strong memory attached to "Zombie," and the entirety of that album, by The Cranberries. For myself, there are three songs I know that instantly transport me back to a time or a place, and all of them happened while I was on a vacation: "Home and Dry" by Pet Shop Boys takes me back to New Years 2007, sitting in the guest bedroom of Chris Kopency's house, looking at the freshly fallen snow on the yard through the window. When I listen to it, I can see the room, I can feel the bedspread I was sitting on, I can sense that sense of insulation you always seem to carry around in the deep winter with fresh snow. "Lisztomania" reminds me of that trip, of the sense of excitement and promise (it was my first adult vacation, where I paid for it and everything). "Heartbeat" will, I believe, forever remind me of this trip to Boston.
Now, of course, we'll always attach songs to time periods. "Poker Face" will be attached to my Junior year of college for the rest of my life, or at least to my college years when I get older and start forgetting such details. That's natural. But these songs are going to stop having that immediate, strong connection, that major tie that pulls at you and can literally make you forget where you are. And how magical is that? That's what music is about. Taking us outside of ourselves, to another time, to remember, to experience things we've longed forgotten how to. If you need me for the next four minutes and twenty-one seconds, I'll be on that bedspread. And all I have to do is press play.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Break
Well, faithful reader(s), it's my woeful duty to inform you that I'm going on vacation for two weeks, and I don't expect to so much as look at Thoughts Dowinion in that time. The good news is that I'm taking this break in the dead season, so we likely won't miss out on much as far as entertainment goes.
I know. I'll miss you too.
Stay strong for both of us, okay? You're the man of the house now.
I know. I'll miss you too.
Stay strong for both of us, okay? You're the man of the house now.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Jay-Z: The Remixes
I'm going to take it for granted right now that most of you are familiar with DJ Danger Mouse's The Grey Album, released back in 2004 to questionable legality. For those who aren't, it rather brilliantly mixed the vocals from Jay-Z's The Black Album with music taken from The Beatles. It was masterful, and the uproar over copyright infringement was drowned out by the impulse to acquire a copy. I managed to get one the day before it was pulled off the net. Well, I say "pulled off the net" like that's really possible, but the day before it was "officially" "pulled off the net."
I was in Reckless Records today, flipping through the records, and I came across Jaydiohead, a limited pressing of an album mixing those same vocals from Jay-Z with music by Radiohead. After I recovered from the shock that it was actually pressed, with an actual sleeve, in an actual store, I became skeptical, as to how it would sound. To be in Reckless Records, it had to be legal, so I wasn't worried about that, but... something wasn't right. At least, it didn't feel right.
I had to listen, so I did.
Oh, right, for those not in the know; Jay-Z isn't concerned in any of this, because he released the vocal tracks from The Black Album to the public, specifically so they could do remixes like this. Personally, I think it was a great gesture, and one that should be committed more often. Moving on.
I listened to Jaydiohead, and then I listened to The Grey Album, and it brought me to an interesting question; At what point is the appeal purely in the novelty? What makes one thing art, and another merely a cute idea that was fun the first time, like Feed the Animals by Girl Talk (I kid, but it's a criticism)? This deserved closer inspection.
I listened to Jaydiohead again, and I still walked away from it feeling like nothing that exciting had happened. I mean, don't get me wrong, the concept got me excited enough. I enjoy mashups in concept. There's a video on Youtube of... I want to say it's "Chasing Cars" by Snow Patrol mashed with "Every Breath You Take" by The Police, and it's awesome. Goosebump raising, even. Point here, folks, is that it can be done well. And The Grey Album does. So, what about Jaydiohead left me feeling so empty?
This could have taken years of debate and careful introspection. Fortunately, as both drew from The Black Album's pool of tracks, I was able to do direct comparisons, so it took about an hour instead. If you can, acquire a copy of each, and listen. Particularly if you enjoy DJ-style music. You'll notice, almost right away, the mistakes made on Jaydiohead that were avoided on The Grey Album.
My whole point here can be illustrated by looking at the two respective versions of "99 Problems." The Grey Album offers "99 Problems" mixed with "Helter Skelter." Jaydiohead gives us "99 Anthems," which mixes it with "The National Anthem" from Kid A. Both open rather splendidly; "99 Problems"+"Helter Skelter" opens with an acapella refrain, "If you're having girl problems, I feel bad for you, son. I got 99 problems, but a bitch ain't one," from Jay-Z's original, and then the wall of "WAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH" from "Helter Skelter" roars into life. (Don't give me that look; you know what I mean) The beat is nuanced, and hits all the right points of emphasis. It may not be quite as good as the original "99 Problems," but it's still a thrilling four minutes. "99 Anthems" opens with the bass groove from "The National Anthem," which I think we can all agree is an excellent way to start any song, combined with the siren from Jay-Z's. It's a great start. And then the rapping starts, and it's fine, until you realise that the DJ behind this, Max Tannone, has basically put on "The National Anthem" and "99 Problems," and left the room. The beat's not far off, but it's not right, and the novelty of the idea is only enough to carry you through one listen; trust me. I checked.
What it boils down to is this: With The Grey Album, DJ Danger Mouse spent hours splicing everything. He used the music of The Beatles, but he didn't use their songs. Because of that, The Grey Album is an exciting, exhilarating listen, and well worth your time. With Jaydiohead, DJ Max Tannone had a potentially great idea (One, by the way, I think he may have gotten from "Set It Off" off of Feed the Animals which features Jay-Z's "Roc Boys (And the Winner Is...)" set over the music from Radiohead's "Paranoid Android"), but he didn't follow through on it. Not only did he use Radiohead's music to back up Jay-Z's nuanced and rhythmically sophisticated lyrics, but he used their songs, which are meant for Thom Yorke's keening, not Jay-Z's preening. Listening to Jaydiohead, you can tell what you're hearing is not of one world. Listening to The Grey Album, you'd be forgiven for thinking that The Beatles were parts of the original track. And that, my friends, is the best compliment you can give a remix.
I was in Reckless Records today, flipping through the records, and I came across Jaydiohead, a limited pressing of an album mixing those same vocals from Jay-Z with music by Radiohead. After I recovered from the shock that it was actually pressed, with an actual sleeve, in an actual store, I became skeptical, as to how it would sound. To be in Reckless Records, it had to be legal, so I wasn't worried about that, but... something wasn't right. At least, it didn't feel right.
I had to listen, so I did.
Oh, right, for those not in the know; Jay-Z isn't concerned in any of this, because he released the vocal tracks from The Black Album to the public, specifically so they could do remixes like this. Personally, I think it was a great gesture, and one that should be committed more often. Moving on.
I listened to Jaydiohead, and then I listened to The Grey Album, and it brought me to an interesting question; At what point is the appeal purely in the novelty? What makes one thing art, and another merely a cute idea that was fun the first time, like Feed the Animals by Girl Talk (I kid, but it's a criticism)? This deserved closer inspection.
I listened to Jaydiohead again, and I still walked away from it feeling like nothing that exciting had happened. I mean, don't get me wrong, the concept got me excited enough. I enjoy mashups in concept. There's a video on Youtube of... I want to say it's "Chasing Cars" by Snow Patrol mashed with "Every Breath You Take" by The Police, and it's awesome. Goosebump raising, even. Point here, folks, is that it can be done well. And The Grey Album does. So, what about Jaydiohead left me feeling so empty?
This could have taken years of debate and careful introspection. Fortunately, as both drew from The Black Album's pool of tracks, I was able to do direct comparisons, so it took about an hour instead. If you can, acquire a copy of each, and listen. Particularly if you enjoy DJ-style music. You'll notice, almost right away, the mistakes made on Jaydiohead that were avoided on The Grey Album.
My whole point here can be illustrated by looking at the two respective versions of "99 Problems." The Grey Album offers "99 Problems" mixed with "Helter Skelter." Jaydiohead gives us "99 Anthems," which mixes it with "The National Anthem" from Kid A. Both open rather splendidly; "99 Problems"+"Helter Skelter" opens with an acapella refrain, "If you're having girl problems, I feel bad for you, son. I got 99 problems, but a bitch ain't one," from Jay-Z's original, and then the wall of "WAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH" from "Helter Skelter" roars into life. (Don't give me that look; you know what I mean) The beat is nuanced, and hits all the right points of emphasis. It may not be quite as good as the original "99 Problems," but it's still a thrilling four minutes. "99 Anthems" opens with the bass groove from "The National Anthem," which I think we can all agree is an excellent way to start any song, combined with the siren from Jay-Z's. It's a great start. And then the rapping starts, and it's fine, until you realise that the DJ behind this, Max Tannone, has basically put on "The National Anthem" and "99 Problems," and left the room. The beat's not far off, but it's not right, and the novelty of the idea is only enough to carry you through one listen; trust me. I checked.
What it boils down to is this: With The Grey Album, DJ Danger Mouse spent hours splicing everything. He used the music of The Beatles, but he didn't use their songs. Because of that, The Grey Album is an exciting, exhilarating listen, and well worth your time. With Jaydiohead, DJ Max Tannone had a potentially great idea (One, by the way, I think he may have gotten from "Set It Off" off of Feed the Animals which features Jay-Z's "Roc Boys (And the Winner Is...)" set over the music from Radiohead's "Paranoid Android"), but he didn't follow through on it. Not only did he use Radiohead's music to back up Jay-Z's nuanced and rhythmically sophisticated lyrics, but he used their songs, which are meant for Thom Yorke's keening, not Jay-Z's preening. Listening to Jaydiohead, you can tell what you're hearing is not of one world. Listening to The Grey Album, you'd be forgiven for thinking that The Beatles were parts of the original track. And that, my friends, is the best compliment you can give a remix.
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