Egan & Napster Reunited

Dog days of summer. It's like 134 degrees outside and my IPod shuffle broke, eliminating my ability to provide a soundtrack for everything I do...and therefore my basic functionality. I need some new damn music. Unfortunately: money's tight; none of my record stores (or the music library) seem to have anything on my "wish list" [see right]; I'm tired of nickel-and-diming myself on MP3s that don't...in the words of P. Diddy, "preserve the sexy" of my music collection; and ITunes killed Lala.

What's a music lover to do?

I never thought I'd say this, but it's time to consider a subscription music service.

In some twisted proof that we don't have control over our own destiny, I've essentially become the target audience for these enterprises. My summer job keeps me tethered to a computer all day, so hooking up the headphones is a plus. And, as I proved to myself with Lala, when given access to a massive library of music I basically go insane like Augustus Gloop in Willy Wonka's Chocolate Room.

Of course, with Lala--a free service--the catch was that you could only listen to any song or album once while deciding to download. With the paysites, you pay a monthly fee and have the right to download, along with unlimited streaming (assuming it's available). Turns out the prices are pretty reasonable. Rhapsody, the first site I checked out, costs $10 a month; Napster--that's right, Napster--is cheaper, based on different "tiers" of commitment.

It really wasn't a hard sell for me to go with Napster. I was in undergrad during Napster's glory days, when you could download virtually anything in about 5 seconds. In retrospect it makes no sense that this was possible, but it caught the music industry so off guard that by the time they were able to control it, people had come to view free access to music as a right. Kind of like when people started having sex for fun instead of just for procreation in the late 1960s.

Anyways, the death of the original Napster always saddened me, so after checking out the service and being convinced that the subscription version's got the biggest library, I decided to blow $15 for a 3-month subscription. So far, I'm pleased. The web interface is solid, and the one for Google Chrome is retro 2002-style, which of course pleases me to no end. If anyone out there is like me, and slaves away at a desk, pissing away valuable minutes to Pandora's bogus music genome robot, I would highly recommend checking out the new Napster.

We'll have to see whether my work computer, which struggles to automatically update GMail, can ultimately handle the sweetness, but I'm already a happier man, now that I've got thousands of new tunes at my disposal.

Now it's time to dive in:

First listens today were Miles Kurosky's (Buelah) awesome 2009 solo album, The Desert of Shallow Effects, and a little Outkast Stankonia...just cuz I needed some.

Bullets

• Summer albums column on the way soon, I promise; along with some more Rock Doc Summer reflections.
• R.I.P. lala.com -- if you were a lala user, you know what a loss it was when Apple shut it down on May 31. Basically, as a subscriber you could listen to any album or song once for free, then you had several options of buying--as a web album for when you're on the 'net, regular mp3, album download, etc. The prices were all below ITunes, as well. It also had way more functionality as a social networking platform for music, with user-generated playlists and recommendations/reviews. I think I listened to about 100 new albums on there, and it made me a more active buyer...call me crazy, but I think it looked a little bit like a happy future for online music. But, since the future is already owned and branded by Apple, they snatched it up, halfheartedly tinkered with it and then shut it down. Bollocks.
• Highly recommend checking out the new Ratatat album, LP4, available for free listenin' at NPR. Electro-rock is really not my thing, and my previous exposure to Ratatat was confined to video games (true, really), but the production and vibe on this album is really engaging. Dig.

That's all for now, stay tuned for more coherent thoughts.

Summer Babes (not like that)

As I mentioned in a tweet last week, I'm currently assembling a list of my top-5 summer albums for a column [a follow up to my 2009 piece on Egan's top-5 spring albums, where I explained my premise that all good albums should pair with seasons, much like wine with food]. If you know me, it goes without saying that Pavement makes this list...but which record? My first thought was Slanted and Enchanted, given the anthemic weight of the first track, "Summer Babe (Winter Version)," along with its general sense of careless artistic expression.

But what about Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain? My favorite album, it bears mentioning, but also the most angsty in Pavement's catalog. "Gold Soundz" is summer love ("so drunk in the August sun/ and you're the kind of girl I like/ because you're empty, and I'm empty/ and you can never quarantine the past)" and the epic "Range Life" is guiltless summer apathy: hopping turnstyles, riding aimlessly on skateboards, sniping at the Smashing Pumpkins..."school's out/what did you expect?!"

But wait! Then I gave Wowee Zowee a fresh listen, and I'll be damned if I didn't come away thinking that the album's sprawling ebb and flow made it Pavement's most dynamic document. There's blistering heat on there ("Rattled by the Rush") and sad, rainy days (the alt-countryesque "Motion Suggests" and "Father to a Sister of a Thought")...and isn't that what summer is all about?

Sure...but then there's Brighten the Corners, widely considered Pavement's attempt to find musical maturity rooted in a more classic rock sound. Tell me that "Shady Lane" isn't about innocent summer romance. I mean, who has oysters and dry lancers in Winter? And Terror Twilight? You mean the album that basically defined my first summer in Boston, 1999?

You see where I'm going with this. I've basically come to the conclusion that Pavement is a summer band. To see if my wistfulness had carried me too far, I decided to test my hunch by looking at recording and release dates for each of their major albums:

Slanted and Enchanted: Recorded Dec-Jan 90-91/ Released Apr 91

Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain:......Aug-Sept 93/ February 94

Wowee Zowee:...................................Nov 94/April 95

Brighten the Corners:............................Jul 96/ Feb 97

Terror Twilight.....................................Jun-Dec 98/Jun 99

Three out of five ain't bad. Even if the evidence isn't conclusive, I swear there's something there. Maybe it has something to do with that too-cool-to-care Northern CA identity. It just seems fitting that Pavement got back together after a ten year hiatus this summer...right?*

None of this, of course, helps me with my decision. Which of these albums best embodies the summer essence? I'd be interested to hear some thoughts. I think I've made up my mind, but you'll have to stay tuned to see which album best fits my summer bill.

Rock Doc Summer: The Clash, Westway to the World

One of my several musical tonics for an idle summer in Charlottesville is the "Rock Doc Summer" project. On a regular basis, I'll be raiding the UVA library's healthy collection of music documentaries and, when so provoked, posting my thoughts on Silver Soundz. I call it a "project" because I've learned better than to make these things into commitments.

Last night I took on Westway to the World, Don Letts' 2000 documentary on The Clash. Unlike the Townes Van Zandt doc that I watched last week--and am still digesting--this film won't blow you away. Most of the footage is canned material from the band's personal collection, interspersed with snippets from one session's worth of interviews. I suspect you won't discover anything groundbreaking that you didn't already know about the Clash, nor will you come away thinking that the group is some forgotten artistic force in the pantheon of 20th century music.


That being said, if you dig the Clash, Westway will give you a much deeper appreciation for the sound and fury that comprised their "moment" from the late 70's until their breakup in 1983.

Part way through the documentary, Clash manager Bernie Rhodes is describing his attraction to the band's sound, and uses a word that resonates through the rest of the documentary: "Vital." It's dead on. Above everything else, the Clash had a tremendous amount of life. You see it in the concert footage, where--whether the crowd is in a frenzy or not--the center of gravity is always on the stage. This was helped, as bassist Paul Simonon points out, by the fact that none of them knew how to play their instruments very well. Half the fun of being in a band was the opportunity to jump around on stage, and they took advantage. Even in their swan song, as the band was deteriorating during a bruising residency New York in 1982, their music and their presence is so full of sneer and swagger. It's intimidating and inspiring at the same time.

But sure, I thought to myself, that's the punk trope: 4 guys with no money and no skills realize that you can move a crowd by wailing on your instruments, spitting into the crowd, and cursing the man. So what?

There's a few things beyond that going on with the Clash, though, and even though they take credit for none of it (that wouldn't be very punk of them, after all), the evidence is all on display Westway. First of all is ambition. Without sacrificing their credibility as a "ga-rage band," from the moment the Clash began gaining momentum with Joe Strummer's addition in 1977, they had direction. You can hear it in the way Strummer talks about their record deal, which unexpectedly put them on the hook for 10 albums. Rather than hand-wringing over the question of selling out, Strummer and Simonon immediately looked beyond England to figure out how they were going to use the opportunity to "go global."

None of this is to dispute the Clash's very serious, radical socialist politics. However, not many punk bands would cop to such pretension, and it's indicative of a second aspect to the Clash that went deeper than their "Stalinist" identity: musicality. Don't get me wrong, the Clash were just as technically bad as advertised when they formed, and their contributions did not exactly move musicianship forward to some glorious aesthete. But what the Clash excelled at was creating a definitive sound, which is all the more impressive given their individual musical handicaps. Mick Jones, who learned guitar by playing along with punk and reggae records in his room, ends up being the master arranger for the band, according to Joe Strummer. Paul Simonon, who joined the band with the express purpose of acting like Pete Townshend on stage, says he forced himself to write "Guns of Brixton" because he realized that you didn't make money in a band unless you could write. Finally, it's impossible to ignore Joe Strummer's own emphasis on the drumming of Topper Headon, who was so technically skilled that he allowed the band to explore different forms of music at will. That's where Strummer (and Jones) come in--synthesizing 1970's West Indian Reggae with blue collar British Punk; fat-chord American punk a la the Ramones with emerging hip hop--writing and arranging songs that sound like nothing really before or since.

The documentary also gives due credit to Guy Stevens, who produced the Clash masterpiece London Calling. As any good producer must do, he succeeded in eliciting and amplifying the band's emotions and personalities in the studio. The result is undeniably good--London Calling is, for me anyway, the White album of punk rock. So many styles, so much range, and the band's confidence (skill or no skill) bleeds through every song from the title track to the punk-ballad standard "Train in Vain." Strummer admits that the album represents the band's "finest hour." Their rise from a group of derelicts to really (for lack of a better word) professional musicians by 1979 is stunning.

It's equally jarring, then, to see the group fall apart by 1983. The documentary recounts all the reasons--overtouring, drug addiction, internecine hatred [Jones and Simonon would only communicate through Strummer]--but the end was somewhat anticlimactic. After a bitter show in 1983, the band simply made a decision to call it quits. A few of the members wonder on camera how things might have played out if they stayed together, but the implicit answer is that it doesn't matter. The Clash embodied the dilemma at the heart of the term "punk rock": they pulled themselves up from nothing, proving that the D.I.Y. punk ethic didn't have to limit a band, but could actually shape the development of something musically ambitious. Their rock n' roll was vital, but ultimately it was about just living for a moment. When challenged, the moment fell apart, and so did the band.

They left it all on stage. And what's more punk rock than that?

**Note: Much of the documentary is on youtube, but rather than give the links to a pirated version (of which I'm sure the Clash would approve), I've embedded some links to relevant clips.

Just Because: Badass Live Videos

Resurfacing after months of silence; the slog of the school semester is over, and I'm feeling free. Thoughts on summer music coming soon, but for now, some badass live performances. Just because.

Pearl Jam- Animal (Indio, CA-1993)

Led Zeppelin- Immigrant Song (1972)

AC/DC- Shot Down in Flames (??)

Free Dios Leaks from Buddyhead

One of my favorite under-the-radar groups, Dios (previously/alternately known as Dios Malos) is due to release their third album "We are Dios" in early February on West Coast record label/rock n roll tastemaker Buddyhead. At the end of 2009 they dropped a 4th quarter single, "Puttin it Down" via free download. Very solid stuff. This week they've given us one more appetizer; the 2010 1st quarter single, "Feather in Yr Cap," also free. I'm about to check it out, and you should follow my lead. Songs, some cool artwork, and some news on the upcoming release from Buddyhead--links below:

1st Quarter Single 2010

2009 4th Quarter Single

Resolution Rock

Mea Culpa: I suck.

6 months ago, I moved from Washington, DC to Charlottesville, VA. At the time, I expressed optimism that the change of music scenery would invigorate my writing and jumpstart this blog. That was not the case.

In fact, the life change proved fairly overwhelming and, despite my best intentions, I completely dropped off the map. I know how devastating this was to my loyal readership. I feel like a bad parent. Not, like, Leland Palmer-bad, but my trail of broken promises is a major let-down to the great ideas that inspired me to start this project.

And yet, we rock on. It's a (relatively) new year still, and in 2010 my resolution is to pick up right where I left off and bring it all back home. No more hand-wringing, no more apologies, no playing catch-up. Just a clean slate and Egan Caufield going full tweed ahead.

My informal sabbatical might not have been the worst thing in the world. I have been catching up on some old music that I've unjustly ignored, including Sunny Day Real Estate and Wilco's back catalog. Now that I'm a bit more settled in, I should have more regular time to write, not to mention a massive backlog of ideas on how to make the blog cooler for you guys. Shorter pieces, more C-Ville scene stuff, more links to good/new/unheard music, and maybe even a constructive use of the Twitter medium. Believe Dat!!!

Skeptical? I don't blame you. But the proof, they say, is in the pudding. So, stay tuned to this space for a solid helping of music...pudding.

Dig!

(Belated) First Listen: Pheonix, Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix

First of 3-part series catching up on Egan's Silver Summer

The first time I ever heard Phoenix, it was Spring 2002, and I was coming back from an all-night party outside of Boston. I had scored a ride back into town thanks to a friend who knew the band that played that night, and we squeezed into the back of the BMW with their gear. It was 5 a.m. when we left, starving, and stopped at McDonalds for some breakfast sandwiches. As we raced back toward the city, the sun began to rise over the Charles River, and the driver turned on the stereo, whence the first notes of Phoenix's "If I Ever feel Better" trickled out. The beat started thumping; he pumped up the volume to full blast. One of the catchiest songs of the past 10 years [seriously, click on that link!] oozed out of the speakers. I munched on my Egg McMuffin, crammed in between to amps and a bass guitar, let the wind blow through the open window, and took it all in.

It's a romantic memory, yes. But that's what Phoenix was built for. Their European electro-pop-rock sound is like some type of scientifically engineered emotional response generator. Set the dial to nostalgia! Crank up the pining! Tweak the sadness! More hipster! Less human emotion! It's Alive!!

But it’s 2009 and things have changed. I’m older for one; no longer finding myself in cars in racing through the suburbs at 5 in the morning. We've grown more closed in, I think, as I come home and settle in to dig in to Phoenix’s new Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix. I have said it before and I'll say it again: one of the coolest album titles in recent memory. Cover art not bad either:


As the first notes of the opening track Lisztomania play, I am inexplicably compelled to open the door, and next the shades; opening up the apartment to let the fresh air and light into this cave. The beat pumps, and polished, dancy guitars and bass bounce over the pulsing of the drum samples—I can see the dust lifting off my things with every drumkick. The music is expansive—it immediately fills my apartment, and Thomas Mars’ voice cries out over the catchy swell: “So sentimental/ Not sentimental, no!/ Romantic not disgusting yet/ Darling I’m down and I’m lonely/ When with the fortunate only/ I’ve been looking for something else.”



It’s an exclamation—of protest, passion, and persuasion—as all Phoenix lyrics seem to be. They come in short bursts, often repeating themselves insistently, as if engineered to invade your brain and make you into an indie pop dance zombie (the best kind). Lisztomania is a call to arms—“Think less but see it grow/ Like a riot, like a riot, oh!/ I’m not easily offended/ it’s not hard to let it go/ from a mess to the masses.” The lyrics plead, like a bored lover insistent on existential awakening, and the music begs the same of the listener. It’s a beautiful expression of feeling, with true energy. Ultimately, it is pop music. But this is what pop music should be.

The listener has no time to recover from the disarming first track before they are hit with the bombastic synthesizers opening the second song; the clear-cut standout, “1901.” This is an interesting strategy in terms of album design, leading with two obvious singles up front. The last Phoenix album, the defensively titled It’s Never Been Like That followed a similar strategy but left the listener disappointed with several indistinguishable tracks and an unfocused back end of the album. In this case, the 1-2 punch is stunning. 1901 is a work of art. High-pitched keyboards alternate with big, warm synths that absorb the listener. Guitar and bass stake out the middle ground while the drum beat pulses indefatigably, like an engine pushing some top-notch race automobile.

Phoenix has had great singles before. I mentioned “If I ever Feel Better”; there was also "Long Distance Call" from the previous album. These gems are usually the core of the album. But something feels different here, in the music, in the lyrics, the sound. There’s a confidence pervading the approach, not just the product. “I’ll be anything you ask and more/ going hey hey hey hey…/ It’s not a miracle we needed/ you know I wouldn’t let you think so.” It’s as if Phoenix senses an opportunity--their time--and are stepping forward to seize it. "1901" also explicitly states the setting implied elsewhere on the album: Summer. “it’s twenty seconds till the last call/ you’re going hey hey hey…/ lie down you know it’s easy/ like we did it all summer long.” I’ve spoken on this blog before on the convergence of seasons and music, and here it is.

The stellar “1901” is followed up by the slick, dancy “Fences” which seems to consciously reign itself in from the explosive poppyness of the leadoff songs. Then the album retreats subtly into a mostly-instrumental that spans two tracks, on “Love Like a Sunset.” Not only are the two parts of this composition complex and catchy enough to engage the listener, but they serve as a strategic breakup of the album, and reveal a seriousness that wasn’t there on previous Phoenix efforts.

Refreshed by track 5, the listener is roped in—get it?—by “Lasso,” quite possibly the third best song on the album. In reality, it’s hard to say: on Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix, the band has created a wall-to-wall solid effort that exemplifies what good pop rock should be. That’s not to say every song is superb. “Rome” sounds like a generic song Phoenix has done before, demonstrating the dangers that face a band so intimately tied to a specific sound. But for the most part, Phoenix has mastered the art of fine-tuning that trademark sound—crisply sampled beats, giant synthesizers, longing vocals—crafting it into something that does not wholly depart from what came before, but undeniably improves it.

In the process, Phoenix has laid a strong claim of musical rights to Summer 2009.

Up/Down: Industry Accoutrements

I'm back to my even-handed and judicious self this week, though I have noticed that these Up/Down columns tend to focus heavily on my opinion of new music. So this week I'm handing out disses and approvals for an assortment of things related to tunes, but not directly:

Big Ups

1. Yep Roc Records "Fun in the Summer Sun" Sale- One of my favorite means of finding new music is to identify a record label that has put out something I like, then scavenge their website for bands I haven't heard of. I urge you to try this. Set aside about an hour, check out all links, devour every sound clip, and hoard free downloads. If nothing else it should give you some tracks to use on mixes for loved ones. I did this with a small North Carolina-based label, Yep Roc Records, a few months ago, and signed up for their newsletter. This week got an email about a great sale they've got going on: 50 of their best Summer CDs on sale for $10 (+s&h), and they throw in a free sampler of Summer tunes for free. Check it out here; sale ends June 26th. Lots to choose from on the list, much of it Alt-Country. I went with Cities, who sounded like a good honest rock band. If you're at a loss, you can't go wrong with the Apples in Stereo, who are also on the list. Dig!

2. Rolling Stone- De La Soul feature. RS is featuring a track-by-track retrospective on De La Soul's 1993 debut album, 3 Feet High and Rising. I could go on and on and on about the genius and significance of De La, but that would do no justice--just read the piece. One of the most innovative groups in hip-hop, and one of the few crews in that genre to grow and mature like a band. I have mixed feelings about RS covering this album in isolation, since at the time coverage like this made De La Soul feel so pigeonholed as "Rap Hippies" that they moved away from it on their next album, De La Soul is Dead. But, breakthroughs are breakthroughs, and it's great to see magazines doing this type of retrospective coverage that really digs into the music, especially Rolling Stone, which can't be bothered to write about music lately. You'll remember I posted about a similar piece on Nas' Illmatic featured in XXL a few months ago. This is music journalism!

3. Amoeba Music's "Music we Like"- My roommate just came back from a trip to the West Coast, where he paid a visit to one of the best record stores in the country, Amoeba Music. I've only been once: during a drive through L.A. in 2003, we stopped in and I dropped about $80 of my road trip budget on one of the best collections of new and used music I had ever seen. Literally, the money was just pouring out of my pocket, and I walked away with one of the best single-day music hauls in my life. At any rate, my roommate came back from the Amoeba in San Francisco with Amoeba's "Music We Like" guide, a self-published biannual 100 page, 'zine-style guide to their staff's favorite new music and movies. As someone who worked in a music store (Sam Goody! Yes!) this is the kind of power every staffmember covets, and the ultimate testament to Amoeba's independence. If you're in Cali, make it a point to go. If you see someone wearing an Amoeba Music t-shirt, give them a hug.


Big Downs

1. Pearl Jam's Accoustics on Conan- The L.A. Times were all over Pearl Jam's performance on the inaugural Late Show with Conan O'Brien, and the lead-up was definitely compelling. But did anyone else catch the first show last week? The song wasn't horrible, but the acoustics definitely were. Specifically the drums, which sounded like tupperware. Not sure who takes the blame for this one, but somebody's A-game was lacking.

2. Phish is Back- Hide your wares.

















3. One-off Festivals- I was checking out the lineups for Lollapaloza and Bonnaroo this week, both of which are formidably awesome. Trust me, no one's happier than me that Lollapalooza still exists. But when I read about these festivals, I get sappy nostalgic for the days when festivals were more than static events where artists come together for a weekend and then disipate. It used to be that bands would sign on for the entire slate of shows, and the festivals would snake through the country like old fashioned circuses, stopping off in your town to raise hell for a weekend and then disappearing into the night. Back then, festivals were really the embodiment of a scene--where artists of all different stripes essentially toured together, and played together week in and week out, in love and hatred (I'm thinking of the infamous Breeders/Pumpkins dynamics from Lollapalooza '94). Nowadays there's no such drama, emotion, or competition--there's no scene--and static festivals reflect it. Now allow me to pour out some liquor in the form of Pavement's "Range Life" video, filmed during Lollapalooza '95. Isn's it glorious:

Up/Down: High on Summer

The DC heat must be softening my typically judicious taste. Lots of good things this week, and not a lot of bad. So I've got six in a grabbag for you, but they're mostly up. I'll be back to cranky form next week.

Big Ups

1. Raekwon the Chef, "The New Wu" / Cuban Linx II- Almost two years ago, I stood in the crowd of the Virgin Music Festival at Pimlico race track in Baltimore, watching Wu-Tang Clan absolutely tear down the house. That day, RZA wore a shirt advertising the long-awaited and highly anticipated Raekwon solo album, Only Built for Cuban Linx II. For those not in the know, the original Cuban Linx (1994) was one of the original Wu-Tang solo albums that fortified the Wu empire via a series of groundbreaking platinum albums/satellite republics to include GZA’s Liquid Swords and Method Man’s Tical. Since then, Raekwon albums have come an gone, but when word leaked that Raekwon was harkening back to the spirit of Cuban Linx, heads flipped. Furthermore, early rumors swirled that production of the album would be split between Dr. Dre and RZA. Are you kidding me?

Only problem: two years have passed since RZA promised the crowd at Pimlico a November 2007 release, and we’ve got nothing.

That might be about to change. Raekwon’s Myspace page heralds an August 11th release date—“Witness the Rebirth.”

Me? I’ll believe it when I see it. But in the meantime, we skeptics can bite our tongues and feast on the new Raekwon single, “The New Wu” featuring Method and Ghostface. It's listed as "WU Ooh" on the Myspace playlist, but check the Itunes Link. Like RZA’s 08 single, "You Can't Stop Me Now," it’s smooth, soulful, and ultra-refined. These guys are masters of the hip hop craft. Everything points to rebirth. This could be huge. So huge.

2. Z-Trip at Movement/Paxahau- Was reading up on Summer festivals and came across some press on the Detroit electronic music festival Movement, put on by Paxahau Events. Not exactly my scene, but I have spent some time in the dance tent in my day, and I find the Detroit music scene pretty awesome. For a city widely considered to be down on its luck, it seems to have a massive wellspring of creative energy, not unlike what you find in Baltimore. This article on Z-Trip’s Detroit-flavored mash-up set was especially dig-inspiring. I couldn’t find the audio for it, but I’ve added his “Motown Breakdown” to my mixtape below, an it should give you some of that Detroit flavor. Girl Talk fans take heed.

3. THE BEASTIE BOYS NEW ALBUM IS GOING TO BE CALLED HOT SAUCE COMMITTEE.
3a. Their "impromptu" performance with the Roots on Jimmy Fallon was excellent. Mike D looks so fly. Shout out to And-Rock for the heads-up!



More Big Ups

4. Weezer and Blink 182 on tour -The Summer tour bill to end all Summer tour bills? I'll be there, potentially incognito. And while we're at it...
4a. Weezer Snuggies- "It's a totally legit Snuggie."

5. Email from someone I trust-
Subject: oh my goodness
new grizzly bear album is absolutely incredible

check it here.

Big Down

1. Jay-Z and Def Jam
Jay-Z splits but still owes them an album. Will he record? Do I care? The most interesting thing about Jay-Z at this point is whether he'll be able to fulfill the absurd terms of the contract he signed with Live Nation last year, before Live Nation goes the way of pets.com. Plus, didn't he retire?

Maybe Hov should take a cue from Beastie Boys' Mike D, who levied a nice shot at Def Jam on 2007's To the Five Buroughs: "I see that Def Jam doesn't recognize me/ I'm Mike D: the one that put the satin in your panties."

Up/Down: Blame it on the Videos

I'm turning last week's up-or-down referendum into a weekly feature on my latest loves and hates. And as promised, no more self-justifying diatribes. This week I've got some music videos for you. The slow transmutation of the music video over the past 15 years has been absolutely fascinating, and at the same time depressing. On the one hand, few are made and now they mostly suck; on the other, MTV has made up for this by making it possible to watch whatever music video you want, whenever...and embed it in my blog (I love you MTV!)...with an obligatory 15 second commercial (I hate you MTV!). It's an unhealthy relationship, me and the MTV.

Big Ups
1. "Blame It"- Jamie Foxx feat. T-Pain: Jamie Foxx's music career has been one long "is he serious?" awkward moment. This song is an excellent balance of the humor and the R&B, umm, talent. "Fill another cup up/feelin' on your butt, what"...I mean, that's a joke, right? Got to be. I get it.

Jamie Foxx - New Music - More Music Videos

2. "Magnificent"-U2: Someone pointed out to me recently that no U2 member has ever released a solo album, and that this commitment to the core band is what has kept them around. Hard to argue with that, especially watching this latest video. Nothing groundbreaking, but the music is solid, the sound is good, and the shots of the band playing together are a simple way of conveying that power. Also, there's the sheets.

U2 - New Music - More Music Videos

3. "Love Sex Magic"-Ciara feat. Justin Timberlake: As long as Ciara keeps making music and videos like this, I can do without Beyonce. Sexy, sexy song. Video speaks for itself.

Ciara featuring Justin Timberlake - New Music - More Music Videos

Big Downs

1. "Sugar" - Flo Rida: there was a time when Hip-Hop was music's most innovative genre, in no small part because it's protagonists are by nature aggressively competitive (As Boogie Down Productions told it in 1988, the point of rapping is to be #1--it's a battle). If you stole someone else's style--or didn't have your own--you simply wouldn't survive. Unfortunately The borrowing, theft, and outright lack of creativity in rap today says alot about what's happened as a result of the "mainstreaming" of hip hop. Case in point: Flo Rida taking the "remix-a-slightly-obscure-song-that-people-will-drunkenly-recognize-on the-dancefloor-and-rap-blandly-over-that" model to unforeseen lows with a sample from Eiffel 65's willfully forgotten techno hit "Blue." When will it stop? He even butchers the sample...how is that possible?!?!? Hopefully this is what jumping the shark looks like.

Flo Rida - New Music - More Music Videos

2. "Know Your Enemy"- Greenday: Anyone else find it weird that Greenday "discovered their punk roots" and got political right when it paid to be lefty? Go back to Dookie.

Green Day - New Music - More Music Videos

3. "I Never Knew You"-Cage: Shia Labouf directed this. Strike 8. Emo+rap=extra big downs.

Cage (Rap) - New Music - More Music Videos

Up/Down: Shiny and New

When I unveiled Silversoundz last year, I led with a poetic waxing in defense of music writing that was not fixated on novelty--on being the first to go on record with an opinion on new song X or album Y. It sounded like a crotchety attempt at high-mindedness, but it was also founded in practicality. With the multiplication of music media, and the ease and speed of production, it's inherently futile to try and stay on top of everything at once. Let's face it: for most, the internet has become THE portal for accessing new, if not all, music. Yet the internet has also screwed with our decision making as music consumers by making it easier to publish and access opinions...not necessarily to form them.

As we try desperately to keep up with the volume of music available, we devour more and digest less. Meanwhile, every download comes with stigma--be it an offhand review, blog comments, even the street cred of the site you're pulling music from. These are new shades of old problems, of course. But instead of reviews in a limited number of music mags, what we heard on the radio or from friends, now we have about 5,000 inputs to consider. Not to mention bands' increased ability to promote themselves.

I'm not complaining. After all, you're reading this, right? But what concerns me about the music/information overload is the way we play it off as if the mere access to it is enough to make us, for lack of a better word, cool. The internet tempts us to think less about why we like certain music, and trades us unlimited access to affirmation by knowing what virtually everyone else is listening to. In my view, this has led to a really bizarre set of collective tastes and music fads over the past few years. Not all bad, of course, but bizarre in the sense that for about 4 years running, I can't remember the last time I listened to what was generally considered good music, and thought to myself without any irony: "this is clearly good music." I think we may look back on this period as the digital music equivalent of the early 1970's. We never quite recovered from the free-love days of Napster, but until some of the looming questions about the music industry vs. digital distro get figured out, we are simply saturated in music. We will look back and applaud ourselves for the Led Zeppelins of our times, laugh about the Supertramps, and cry about our version of disco (I'll leave the analogies to you). Put simply, distinguishing the good from the bad has gotten hard.

Of course, we try. What's new is fresh and what's fresh is powerful, and what's powerful bears mentioning. So here's my contribution to the heaping pile of new music opinion.

Big Ups

1. Phoenix- Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix/"1901". This album, due out on the 26th (already leaked on the interweb), has one of the coolest fucking names in recent memory. "1901" is one of the catchiest fucking songs in recent memory. I'm all over this.

2. Iran- Dissolver. I'm not a big TV on the Radio fan, so the hubbub over this band featuring Kyp Malone on guitar nearly deterred me from buying Dissolver. But I went for it and was pleased to find the songwriting of lead singer Aaron Aites is far less consciously serious (but not any less dark) than TVoTR. Most importantly, Iran can rock. AND THEN I find out they're touring with destroyer this Summer? Dig!!!

3. Kidz in the Hall- "I Got it Made 09 (Reebok Classic)". Can you say "summer anthem"? Love the beat, love the flow, love the video, love the vibe, love that they're one letter away from a Canadian Comedy troupe. If anyone knows why I can't download this on Itunes, please explain it to me.

Big Downs

1. Dinosaur Jr.- "I Want you to Know". Not necessarily the song. The song is fine, I guess. But see this pitchfork review for an illustration of my moral dilemma above. "...Even at their most triumphant, Dinosaur Jr. come off as shy and introspective; when Mascis usually lets fly with another rebar-melting guitar solo, it's like an overcompensating apology for his lyrical and vocal sad-sackery." Come on, it's Dinosaur Jr. Isn't it the whole point to say less?

2. Ween- Quebec. I know, it's not new. But I finally got around to buying this 2003 album and resuming my fascination with Ween last week. It's disappointing. Gene & Dean do all the old Ween things, but it's just not doing it for me. This could potentially change based on how many times I listen to the song "Zoloft" so stay tuned.

3. Asher Roth- Despicable. This guy makes Snow look like Talib Kweli. If I read one more magazine article in which this guy advertises his own rap credentials, mark my words I will barf all over the magazine, right there in the store. #1 sign that you don't deserve street cred? Repeated reminders that you want it.

Tell me yours! No more diatribes next time!!!

Egan's Five Albums for Spring

Every good album should correspond to a season. It's an immutable fact of life, and if you don't agree, it's either because you haven't thought about it, or because you're listening to bad albums.

After all, the essence of the album is its expression of a coherent set of ideas, feelings, and powers in a roughly 60-120 minute timeframe. Albums matter. That's why since time immemorial, bands have talked about the writing process in terms of the album; gushed excitedly about "going into the studio"; and mused about "recording cycles." That's why musicians care about cover art and liner notes--because the album is a medium for the message. We often take for granted that musicians (at least the good ones) are real people, and that their music is an expression of the joys and pains (and in many sad pop examples, the vacuity) of life. Well, life happens episodically, and so does music (compare Weezer's Pinkerton to the Blue Album and tell me that doesn't represent two different phases of Rivers Cuomo's career).

If albums didn't matter, then bands would be content releasing disconnected one-off digital singles with no accompanying art. This might be the Brave New World of Music that Apple Corp. and the Obama administration see when it sleeps, but it will never come to pass. Take heart. When the musical Armageddon is upon us, me and the other heretics will strap on armor of old CDs and LPs, arm ourselves with the raw power of Led Zeppelin II, Beck's Midnite Vultures, and some Fugazi Album. And we shall turn back the tide of .99 cent downloads!

Wait, what was I saying?

Ah yes, life is episodic. Music is episodic. And what's more, our connections to albums are subject to the same random tumult of our own lives. When did you first hear an album? Did someone give it to you? Who? Where were you at the time? Did you have reason to revisit it? How did it make you feel? On and on with questions we never consciously ask ourselves, but that abound when we really dig into an album.

Which brings me to seasons. I could probably group albums in an infinite number of ways, but something just feels right about seasons. Not only are they a reasonable size, but like albums they all have their own characteristics that we tend to associate with certain feelings and ideas-- some unique, some abstract--in a very personal, subjective way. Spring for instance is a time of renaissance. We emerge from our winter cocoons charged with energy and ideas; older and wiser but naive and hopeful. We find music that matches this wave of fresh air. But our enthusiasm is ripe to be dampened. As I write this, the skies have unceremoniously opened up to drench Washington, DC. Meanwhile, the temperatures have surged above 60, and the humidity has coaxed the tulips out only to wash their petals into storm drains.

Without further adieu, here are 5 albums that, for me, are forever tied to Spring. In memory, in experience, and in spirit.


1. Zwan- Mary Star of the Sea

A controversial pick, I know. I am a card-carrying disciple of the temple of Corgan, but hear me out: MSotS came out in the first week of February, 2003, almost three years after the Pumpkins broke up. After listening to months of dirty rumors swirl about what Corgan had up his sleeve, he delivered a payoff-pitch curveball. Zwan was a supergroup for musicheads, featuring Matt Sweeney (Skunk, Chavez), Paz Lenchantintin (Babe/bassist from A Perfect Circle), and David Pajo (Papa M, Slint and Tortoise), along with formerly disgraced Pumpkins drummer Jimmy Chamberlin. Billy Corgan tapping someone from Tortoise was a veritable collision of worlds, and it gave currency to Corgan's renaissance.

And that's what Mary Star of the Sea is about: rebirth; both for Corgan, and his listeners. Arguably no living band/musician of my time (90's on basically) has had a more tumultuous and public career than the Pumpkins. Think about it. There's actually some very deep similarities between Corgan and Axl Rose that I won't pursue now, but they're there. In 2003, memories of the Pumpkins' demise was fresh in every fan's mind, along with the band's last album, the grand, dark and narcissisitic opus Machina: the Machines of God. When Zwan unveiled MSoTS in 2003, (I still remember buying it at Newbury Comics) all we wanted was something to believe in.

And that Spring, we got it. Happiness and hope lived in Zwan. The three-guitar ensemble rocked, Chamberlin was in top form, and even Corgan's voice sounded rejuvenated. The first single, "Honestly" was a bouncy, emotive rock love song. When was the last time we were gifted one of those on the radio? Well-known Pumpkins-haters started approaching me to sheepishly admit tht they loved the single. We even found out what Billy looks like when he smiles (strange). Corgan's songwriting was thriving on a sense of spiritual certainty that had been absent in the Pumpkins' final years (though never explicitly religious, Corgan's "spirituality" could not be ignored on MSotS, or in the press surrounding Zwan). The music was fresh and unique--it was hard not to think big. The most direct statement of the album's spirit is first track, "Lyric." Watch the video and you'll see exactly what I mean. Marching through the streets of Chicago behind Billy Corgan? Yes we can!

It seems dubious in retrospect, but at the time, MSotS was a powerful and inspiring album. Even though it was released in Winter, it was a staple in my rotation throughout my final Spring semester of college. It also helped that Zwan came to Boston in April, and played one of the best shows I've ever seen to sold-out Orpheum. What better soundtrack for times of such importance? Listening to this album could literally make make a trip to the grocery store seem like an existential experience. My personal favorite: on "Ride a Black Swan" Corgan preaches the refrain, "Remove my spirit from darkness / love become my hammer" over a cresting tidal wave of guitars and drums. Music can have great power, and Zwan harnessed it, albeit briefly. This album is every promise--realistic and unrealistic--you make to yourself on the first sunny day in April.


2. Richard Hawley- Cole's Corner

It's Spring, 2006, and I've taken up residence in the gothic fortress of solitude that is Yale's graduate dormitory. Richard Hawley is a regular on 2005 year-end top ten lists, so I buy the album on an impulse. I know what to expect: lush sound, emotionalism, and Hawley's throwback crooning. After all, that is his calling card. I listen; I like. Over time, I am slowly conquered by the feeling of the album. Taken in pieces, it's easy to marvel at Hawley's talent for simply writing good love songs. Not songs expressing love per se, but songs inspired by love. Taken together, the songs on this album suggest something far more powerful--a longing that exists in and out of our relationships with loved ones. New Haven thaws and blossoms and I open the window, despite the biblical rains pouring into the concrete gutter outside. We long for the those we have left, and despite ourselves we long for the ones we have at hand. It's a persistent loneliness of society, and a deteremination to defeat it. Hawley's songs weave in and out of physical and emotional confines: wandering the street at Cole's Corner, eager to encounter love or something; inside a Hotel Room, locked in arms with an old friend and lover; down by the ocean; watching the city lights from a car on the hill, trying to forget someone. Hawley seeks and seeks, unable to escape his romantic hex, finding no refuge, and leaving us only with a reassuring lullaby: "Papa's gonna shoe your pretty little feet/ mama's gonna glove your little hand/ I'm gonna kiss your ruby red lips/ mmm hmm hmmm." I walk the streets of New Haven, my own Cole's Corner, and reacquaint myself with the evening.

3. Destroyer- Your Blues

Interestingly, this abstract (some might say inaccessible) album was my first exposure to Destroyer. I still remember listening to the opening song, "Notorious Lightning" for the first time, looking out the back window of a lonely Georgetown apartment in Spring 2004. It was trial by fire--that first track, "Notorious Lightning", is everything audaciously good and bad about Daniel Bejar's music in one 7 minute opus. It starts with graceful acoustic guitars draped in true poetry ("I lay myself down to observe your gilded jeans hit the ground and still haven't grown from this worship"), and then crescendos into a crashing, synthesizer-laden, flamboyant refrain in which Bejar caws "someone has to fall before someone goes free!" It is the beautiful but awkward emotional climax of the album, five minutes into the first song. But it sets the tone.

Afterwards, Bejar goes about his business exploring all sorts of unfamiliar people and places: Oakland, Warsaw, fops on the terrace, actors seeking revenge, inviting army sluts, lovers stealing gondolas to sea. All orchestrated around a synth, accoustic guitar, light drums, and that piercing voice. There are moments of light and happiness in this effortlessly imagined world, but all of it is imbued with a vague sense of foreboding, of collapse; of a weight that hangs on even the most mystical images. That unnamed feeling is of course, sadness, and Destroyer's music about that feeling is, by artful definition, the blues. His blues. Your Blues. Think about that for a second.

Your Blues is every rainy day in April that you decide to walk instead of taking the subway. It is, as he sings in "Certain Things You Ought to Know," when we reflect on our "springtime on the barricades/our Springtime charades." And it is the peace of the evening after an April shower, in "What Roads?", when Bejar chants, "Tonight we work large, we aim high, pillars stare at a sky designed to come down upon everyone at once."




4. The Clientele- Suburban Light // Preston School of Industry- All this Sounds Gas-
I'm cheating. These two go together because I bought them together in Spring, 2002 at a 2-for$20 sale at newbury Comics in Boston. These are two niche albums that I can't explain my love for. The former is a collection of Clientele B-Sides (I don't even own any A-Sides!!!) that feels like a Sunday evening with friends (or a lover) outside on a freshly cut lawn. The second--the underrated solo project by Spiral Stairs from Pavement--is just plain good. It's about traveling, and understanding home-neither especially deep subjects but pertinent ones at that time in my life. More importantly, the songwriting and recording embodies a spirit of adventurism and ambition that Spring dutifully renews every year.



5. Modest Mouse- We Were Dead before the Ship Even Sank
Another controversial pick. This one generally goes down like ballast water with most Modest Mouse fans, who decided that the band sold out long, long ago. Longer ago, in fact, than you even realize. So goes the predominant hipster narrative, anyway.

These days, wringing your hands over the fate of Isaac Brock and compatriots is strongly discouraged, if not passé. The mainstream commercial success or 2003’s Good News for People who Love Bad News betrayed the band's trademark gritty esotericism, which now appeared to be bordering on the trite. Even Brock’s trademark guttural screams were starting to sound more like polished growls. As the band picked up legions of new fans (I cannot forget one local homeboy in a Redskins jersey and sideways cap, flailing around to "Float On" like a Kanye West song at Constitution Hall in DC), those more heavily invested in one of the best rock acts of the late millennium began to feel a distance from the band. This is the point at which we generally project on others as "selling out." The seeds had been sewn—many were quick to remind themselves—in 2000, when Modest Mouse left Up Records for Epic. [never mind that the album, LP and side project that followed were blisteringly good]. What came after that was just fait accompli. First there was Good News, with "Float On" in heavy rotation on Clear Channel adult contemporary radio stations [Say it ain't so!]. We Were Dead was just a followup. Same label, same sound...why even bother?

There's just one problem with this revisionist history: it forgets what it means to be involved with a band; to root for them. If you listen to WWDBTSES in search of reasons to dismiss it, you'll find them. There's no denying that Isaac Brock's poetic psychosis has ebbed, and taken his lyrical edge with it. The band has expanded from a 3-piece crew with a larger-than-life sound to a 5+ member well-produced collective. The addition of former Smiths' guitarist Johnny Marr (a major press point leading up to the album's release) produced riffs that hang like repetitive ornamentation on songs throughout the album. And do we really know what that second drummer is for?

On the other hand, if you listen to the album with a forgiving ear, an entirely different experience emerges. From the very first chords and lines of the first song, "March Into the Sea," the album rolls and pitches like a cutter lost in the straits of Magellan, with Isaac Brock as the grizzled, and generally insane, Captain. "March into the Sea" swells like a storm around choruses that featuring Isaac's self-mocking laughter: "Bang your head like a gong/ Because it's filled with all wrong/ A-ha-ha!/ Clang, clang, clang!" It sounds weird--maybe even a little contrived--and no doubt the Modest Mouse longingly cry to themselves,"what have you done with the REAL Isaac Brock?!" Then, in the eye of the storm, we hear a voice that resembles something real: "If you think you know enough/ To know you know we've had enough/ And if you think you don't, you probably will/ Our tails wagged and then fell off/ But we just turned back, marched into the sea." Sounds like he's sending a message... Then the raging sea is back, slamming your eardrums to the climax of the song: "Cut me down like the trees/ Like the lumber or weeds/ Drag me out of the sea and then teach me to breathe/ Give me forced health till I wish death on myself/ Give me forced health till I wish death on myself/ [more maniacal laughter]."

Egan Caufield contrarian opinion here: "March into the Sea" masterfully sets the stage for one of the most poignant inward-looking concept albums I have ever heard. This album is a posthumous death-knell from a watery grave. Isaac Brock doesn't give a fuck that you think he's sold out. In fact, you might be to blame; you and all the other fickle bastards that unceremoniously marked the band for dead the minute it was cool to do so. You know what? He doesn't care about you either, because even death, it turns out, makes for good music. The album is painted on a canvas of perpetual motion--boats, dashboards, marches, rickshaws, even carbon --and Modest Mouse is the hapless band of travelers, always moving, never settled; never arriving. Death is prominent on the album, as are bugs; it's lovely. But it's the marine motif ties the album together (see the brilliant video for Dashboard for more of the marine motif). The sea: that normally hopeful, infinite expanse on which Modest Mouse once sailed, has now swallowed the band and turned them into another one of Indie Rock's coral reefs.

I'll admit, it's dangerous to interpret albums so simply, but here it's impossible to escape the notion that this is an album about the band; marching, wailing, touring, growing, recording more albums in the face of death (perceived) with a healthy sense of cynicism and even some moments of apologetic hope (at the end of the boisterous "Spitting Venom" when Isaac sings reassuringly "Cheer up baby, it wasn't always quite so bad/ for every little venom that came out, the antidote was had," it kills me). It is art mocking life; theatre within film within music. And when it's all over, we are surprised to learn that no one has drowned after all. Modest Mouse is still alive and breathing, though perhaps amphibiously. Now there's a concept album for you.

The fact that so many Modest Mouse fans write this one off will never make sense to me. There's so much depth [no pun intended] to this album, so much of their gritty spirit, but most seem deaf to it. Unfortunately I don't think the new fans totally get it either. But I'll stand down. What does this have to do with Spring, anyway? Everything. This album is a string of April defeats: getting shafted on tax day, rejected from graduate school, betrayed by a best friend...and keeping on. Dig?

"That shit is a science of everything ill."

Last month, XXL Magazine ran two pieces on the making of Nas’ 1994 major label debut, Illmatic. Those of you who know me, aside from knowing that I read XXL magazine religiously, know that I have a serious crush on Illmatic. While you won’t find me singing Nas’ praises in the general sense (he is an excellent rapper, but his body of work is just not consistently great), this album was born a classic. If you don't own it, don't have an opinion on Nas and, oh I don't know, consider Jay-Z's reign over hip-hop to be undisputed, then do yourself a favor and buy the album. From Nas' gravelly voice to the sparingly funky production; his poetic flow to the sinister but dreamlike vibe that runs through all 10 songs...Illmatic is the wormhole that connects the violent rap culture ascendant from the mid-80's to the early 90's East Coast hip-hop movement that thrived on lyricism and creativity. It's like the two sides of the force, and Nas balances them like a prophesied Jedi. I just wish there was a word for how awesome this is. Oh wait, there is: Illmatic.

As Nasir tells it: "Illmatic is supreme ill. It’s as ill as ill
gets. That shit is a science of everything ill."

Yeah, what he said.

Anyways, be sure to check out the XXL articles, which recount some of the stories involved in the recording and production of the album. It will make you nostalgic for a time and place that you have no connection to...as all classic albums do.

XXL: Still Ill
XXL: Nas, The Genesis

First Listen: Ben Kweller, Changing Horses

When I picked up Ben Kweller’s latest disc, Changing Horses, the first thing that struck me was the packaging. It’s in a slim-folding soft case—which, I might adroitly observe, are becoming massively popular these days—that is all black, adorned with an elaborate white design and lettering. The font is an old-timey script, draped in white vines which curl around an acoustic guitar and culminate in two roses at the top of the album. My first thought was that this album design reminded me of one of those rodeo shirts which have become immensely popular with hipster types.

This turns out to be quite a poignant observation. When I slide the disk in to stereo, instead of Kweller’s typical grunge rock, I am greeted with the sparse twang of steel guitar and soft bass. The first track, “Gypsy Rose,” is defined by this simplicity. Over the gentle back-and-forth of the strings, and an even gentler kick-and-snare drum rhythm, Kweller croons to his lady muse. the song is praising, yet it is also longing and sad. I consult the lyrics sheet: "Bring ya food, money, shoes just to lye here with ya 'neith yer sheets / I see hope in your life / it's the world that makes me cry." [verbatim]

I take a look back at the album cover, and think: Rodeo shirt.

Wait a minute….is this a country album?

The affirmative comes on track 2, “Old Hat.” Slide guitar laces through a slow, plodding drum rhythm while Kweller proclaims, “I never wanna be/that old hat you put on your [whoops! yer] pretty head.” The song builds into a modest crescendo, while Kweller sings the refrain in a higher register. Make no mistake, this is a country ballad.

Now, I'll be honest: I didn’t read anything about Ben Kweller’s upcoming album before buying it, nor did I see him when he came through DC, so I wasn't expecting a country album. But maybe it’s not all that shocking. After all, Ben Kweller’s talent centers on in his effortless sense of harmony, songwriting ability, and versatile voice—something like a hip version of a young Paul McCartney, or a simple man's Elton John—so branching out into new kinds of music was never out of the question. Nor is there any debate regarding Kweller's chops.

Most importantly, it’s not like the decision to produce a country album is anything novel. Three examples come to mind: Bob Dylan’s Nashville Skyline, Ween’s 12 Country Hits, and Beck’s Sea Change. Not to mention hundreds of individual songs ("Rocky Racoon"). Artists of all stripes love to co-opt the county & western style, either to explore it musically (Dylan), to mock it (Ween—see “Piss up a Rope”), or to mine its natural power in telling stories of love lost and sadness (Beck). Where will Ben Kweller fit?

In any case, it will be a tough sell, since so much of Kweller’s appeal is based on his stature as an indie rock figure of note. An understated wunderkind and a rock songwriter on his own terms, Kweller is (in my opinon) an unsung successor to the post-90’s rock mess. [Not to mention, the album cover for On My Way was one of my favorites in recent memory] His songs and albums are never groundbreaking, but they're determined, quirky, and independent in the literal sense. As a result, his music has always been an anthemic alternative for a generation that kills itself trying too hard to be cool. Which begs the question: can Ben Kweller change horses with his standard aplomb?

“Fight” and “Hurtin' You” are unsettling answers to this question. In the former, Kweller oddly juxtaposes cliche country motifs of lonely truckers and playing cards with the more urban image of an intern, frustrated by love. The song rallies to a boot-stomping chorus (“You gotta set yourself on the lord in your life/ you gotta fight til your dyin’ day”), but it seems forced and kitschy. In “Hurtin' You,” Kweller tries to cheer up an old friend whose “pretty point of view” has been dampened by generic sadness. Kweller speaks the right language, and plays the right notes, but on songs like these, he seems most like a rodeo-shirt wearing indie kid attempting to paying homage.

The strongest song by far is the album's first single, “Sawdust Man.” Laid over a piano riff that would make young Billy Joel and Elton John proud, Kweller belts out a song to a returning love from the top of a Greyhound Station. Here, Kweller finds his country groove: he is unpolished, energetic, quirky, and very endearing. It's ironic that amongst all the standard country themes on this album, it’s when Kweller puts himself back in his peculiar environs (on top of a bus station) that the listener finds his act the most authentic.

The second half of the album surges on this peculiarity. “Things I Like To Do,” a song in which the singer literally lists the things that make him happy ("I like talkin' in the diner 'stead of screamin' in the noisy bar"), wouldn't pass muster in Branson or Nashville. But when Kweller drops the pretense and just lets it flow, listeners find a pleasant marriage of his trustworthy talent and country ambitions.

Ultimately, Changing Horses is an inconsistent but harmless foray into country music, which will leave most fans hopeful that Kweller’s horse change is a temporary one. If that sounds harsh, it's useful to remember that Kweller remains in good company. Bob Dylan adopted a country voice to record Nashville Skyline that was nothing short of awkward. And Ween...well, they wrote a country song called “Help me Scrape the Mucous off my Brain.” Beck’s Sea Change is the most authentic example--in part because Beck fuses elements of the genre with his own musical style, and in part because the album is just so goddamned sad. Kweller gets this, and he certainly has his moments when form and function align, but by all measures this horse change is no sea change.

...but then again, there’s never been harm in having a little country fun.

First Listen: Guns N' Roses, Chinese Democracy

Guns N’ Roses




Chinese Democracy





What the fuck?


Fifteen years of false starts, artistic differences, internal warfare, delayed releases, canceled tour dates, million-dollar payoffs from Geffen, Axl’s dreads, Slash’s Snakepit…it all comes down to this: me buying the first Guns N’ Roses studio album in over a decade at a suburban Best Buy, while the Mom in front of me drops $100 on Wii equipment. Best Buy didn’t even carry DVDs until 1997, let alone VR gaming equipment—that was pure fantasy in 1993, the year GNR released their last studio album, The Spaghetti Incident? In a way, the reappearance of GNR on shelves of music stores feels a complete anachronism. It’s an event at the crossroads of time, like Encino Man being unfrozen; Dinosaurs being recreated in Jurassic Park; King Kong coming back to New York. We’re out-of-our-head excited over this, but everyone is aware it could be a complete disaster.

I should admit outright that I was 12 years old when Spaghetti was released (though Appetite for Destruction was one of the first tapes I owned, in 3rd grade). So even though I understand that Guns n’ Roses exists as some sort of unanimously shared American cultural experience, I have always felt somewhat aloof from it. The music has always been there, and obviously brilliant. But as a child of 90’s, I was behind the curve on Axl & co. For people even one or two years older than me, the rise and fall of the band was something personal that they lived through. Meanwhile I was left scratching my head, trying to connect the dots between the naked woman on the cover of my Appetite tape (a formative experience), the beauty of “November Rain,” and, well, Spaghetti.

In other words, Guns N’ Roses has never made great sense to me.

This is not a bad thing. When I heard several years back that Axl was going to (eventually) release an album under the name "Chinese Democracy," I wondered aloud what every reasonable person should have: “What the fuck?” GNR was never particularly political. So if Axl was turning that corner, he sure picked one hell of a stand to make. If it wasn’t political, well, then Axl was treading in some of the most irreverent (and therefore awesome) territory in recent memory. Either way it’s a win.

Now add to that what we knew about Chinese Democracy [basically, very little]: fifteen years in the making, multiple rumored collaborators (including Sebastian Bach), a constantly changing release date, and production shrouded in utter secrecy, not to mention controversy. Earlier this year, a blogger much more serious than me was arrested—but ultimately avoided jail time—for uploading the album’s tracks. To cap it off, when the album was released this week, it received immediate castigation from the Chinese government.

That’s when it hit me that maybe I’m not so far behind the ball. In all likelihood, no one understands Guns n’ Roses. Not even the Chinese government. It’s time to stop thinking, and buy the album. I’m ready for the event. Bring on King Kong.

The album cover is quaint, black & white, with an old bike with a large basket in the foreground. Behind it, on a wall, is tagged “GUNS N’ ROSES.” This is, no doubt, the mark of the burgeoning Chinese Democratic groundswell. The album starts off equally quaint on the first track, with high pitch squeaks and low grumblings (a Chinese city?) surfacing from the background, simmering and ready to blow. The effect is poignant, and a minute and a half in, we get our eardums scorched by the first of Buckethead’s torrential riffs. Then, making the only appropriate entrance that one can make after a 15-year absence, Axl’s voice slides in like the Death Star laser, and blows our quaint little world to pieces.

There is no time to collect your thoughts. I’m sorry, time? You’ve had 15 years to second guess Axl. So let’s get it straight: this is Mr, Rose’s world we’re living in. He wastes no time destroying any lingering doubt, with his trademark scowling voice over thunderous accompaniment: “It don’t really matter/ Gonna find out for yourself/ No it don’t really matter/ Gonna leave this thing to/ Somebody else.” Nice.

...and then it gets slightly weird. “If they were missionaries/ Real time visionaries/ Sittin’ in a Chinese stew/ to view my disinfatuation.” What? I think this is political (song goes on to mention the Falun Gong), but more certainly, I know it is not a complete thought.

I move along. By the end of song 3, “Better” (a standout track) I am awe-struck by what I’m hearing. The lyrics have subdued themselves to simpler, but still poignant, rendering of Axl’s lingering angst. The music is not only great' it’s fresh and complex. There’s a layering of guitars, beats, and background vocals in this song which makes one think of Korn or Linkin Park. Not to suggest that GNR is stealing from the detestable late 90’s rock scene. More like giving a nod to their wayward disciples, and then sounding the rallying cry to reminds us who rules.

The honeymoon is not constant, of course. Track 4, “Street of Dreams” reaches for GNR ballads of the past, but doesn’t get further than some clichés (“So now I wander through my days/And try to find my ways/To the feelings that I felt.”) and—gulp—a hint of voice modulation. Axl’s voice continues to play tricks on the mind for several songs, and the album briefly loses its way in this early middle portion.

This type of meandering is especially unfamiliar to us because albums of this length are so uncommon these days. Only 2 of the 14 tracks are shorter than 4 minutes, and there are no intentional throwaways. I can’t figure out just yet if this is a concept album, but it’s no surprise that after 15 years, every song has been produced in grandiose fashion, with a deliberate attention to detail. It can be exhausting, but this is where Chinese Democracy (the album) lives and dies. Even though Axl is just a voice to the listener, it’s clear that this album represents his powerful vision. The songs are intricately arranged and extremely polished. When they hit the mark, Axl appears a towering figure returning to claim his rightful throne. When songs falter in the slightest way, they appear overproduced and mechanical. Songs on the first half of the album war inconclusively for the listener's sympathy.

The album finds its way again on several understated and well-written songs, including the thoughtful “Catcher in the Rye,” the guitar-blazed “Scraped,” and the chaotic/operatic “Riad N’ the Bedouins” (“Riad N’ the Bedouins/ had a plan and thought they’d win/ But I don’t give a fuck ‘bout them/ Cause I am crazy”).

The album then surges into an improbable climax on the tracks “Sorry” and “I.R.S.” The former, a simple and effective ballad, typifies Axl’s generic emotion on Chinese Democracy: powerful but impersonal. We don’t know who exactly has wronged him, but we’re not inclined to ask. If we heard it alone, this song would be a castoff. Instead, it crystallizes the tone that runs through the rest of the album—an uneasy sadness, an anger, a desire for revenge. Hanging on the final note of "Sorry," we plunge into “I.R.S.” all-in-all the best song on the album. It rides on the shoulders of the best of Guns n’ Roses’ catalog, loud and soft, ear-splitting power chords, crushing rhythm, and Axl sounding 100% vintage for the first time. The lyrics (like most on the album) are unintelligible, but it’s the feeling that speaks most coherently. The solos are even Slash-worthy (gasp). If 15 years was all leading up to this, it seems worth it.

The rest is just dénouement. 71 minutes later, I’m tired, exhausted, beat up, beat down. I didn’t just listen to an album…I feel like I survived something.

And what, exactly? I have no clue. I do know this: the album is absolutely tremendous. It matches its hype and anticipation in both scale and force. I also know this: the album is over-produced, overambitious, and conceptually absurd. But it is unmistakably the work of a genius.