You Know This Can't Be Good

Have you ever clicked on something just to prove to yourself you were right?

Turds: "Tommy Gets His Tonsils Out"

Part of my criteria for a great album is that almost all songs on it be really good. There's always some wiggle room, so I'll usually allow for one throwaway track: for example, I don't think "Untitled" adds much to In the Aeroplane Over the Sea. On The Replacements' 1984 Let It Be, the throwaway track is very much "Tommy Gets His Tonsils Out." I love The Replacements' consequences-be-damned, play-whatever-whenever attitude (especially on Let It Be, which is more eclectic and less cohesive than Tim), but this song is very much not The Replacements. Paul Westerberg's charm is his ability to write songs that are either witty and amusing or endearingly blue, and "Tommy" is neither of those. Paul's delivery is oversexed and swagger-y. The lyrical content is unrelatable. The music is "meh." It's a turd.

On Repeat: Wye Oak - "Civilian"

Jenn Wasner from Wye Oak has recently joined Liz Powell (Land of Talk) and Victoria Legrand (Beach House) on the "boss lady singers Chris has a boner for" list. Although these women are all reasonably attractive, I should explain that this list has little to do with physical appearance and everything to do with being an amazing singer-songwriter. Jenn Wasner sings lower than most women do, but her tone's still airy and beautiful, and when you combine that with the intervals and elaborate melodies in this song it's a recipe for orgasm. And then she plays an amazingly distorted, sloppy, raw guitar solo.

If I'm interpreting the lyrics correctly, "Civilian" is about a woman whose insecurities have either ended or prevented her relationship with this Civilian guy. He still "sleeps in the bed with (her)," but as the song goes on the prevalence of past tense makes it clear that he's only metaphorically there. It's an achey-breaky song in general, but the part that really guts me is when she laments how she's "perfectly able to hold my own hand, but I still can't kiss my own neck." I'm gonna go cry now.

The Ghost of What Should Have Been

Sometimes albums are kind of disappointing; it sucks, but it's true. Waiting for You by King Midas sound is sadly one of those for me. When I first started listening to dubstep around early 2008 I could tell it was gonna catch on with people, and I always expected there to be some sort of vocal/pop dubstep album that would blow everyone's collective mind and break into the mainstream. But aside from that one Britney Spears song Rusko did, it never really happened. As far as acclaimed full-length dubstep albums with a vocal focus go, pickings are pretty slim; there's Waiting for You, London Zoo, Kode9's Memories of the Future, and the self-titled James Blake (which I think is genius).

I know I'm coming off as a downer, but it's not all doom and gloom; "Cool Out," "Meltdown," and "Goodbye Girl" are complete bangers. The concept's brilliant, too: a nocturnal, grimy, Portishead-esque, vocal-oriented dubstep album has a lot of potential. But there are some loose ends that hold it back. The songwriting and melodies aren't very strong on a lot of the tracks, and you need those for pop appeal. On top of that, the production feels a little formulaic at times; the first half of the album's almost too cohesive. And "Earth a Kill Ya" and "I Man" deviate thematically from what's obviously meant to be a breakup album by delving into spiritual Rasta bullshit, not to mention those songs are just kind of turds.

Overall, it's certainly not a bad album. I'll admit I'm demanding. But as far as what I was hoping for, I didn't really get it until last year's James Blake LP, and while it's a brilliant album, it's more minimal than what I'm envisioning. Dubstep has undeniable popular appeal (see: Skrillex is nominated for 5 Grammies), so I'm kinda surprised it hasn't been done... well, poppier. I guess there's still time; maybe the next Materielle release.

Dreaming of a Free Music Economy

You've no doubt seen the SOPA/PROTECT IP hubbub raging today on the webs, and as a lover of music (nevermind how I procure it) it seems fitting to let my own political ideas vent a bit. SOPA and PIPA both threaten the free flow of information, supposedly to protect the rights of authors, musicians and creators. But the real purpose of these laws is to guarantee big entertainment (RIAA, MPAA, et al) their price point.

As a musician myself I sometimes find it hard to defend piracy; making great albums takes time, energy, expensive equipment and artistic brilliance. And all of the people involved need to eat. But the reality of current technology is that reproducing digital information takes practically no time, no energy, very cheap equipment and minimal brainpower. So how do we reconcile these two seemingly-conflicting facts?

My vision is something like Kickstarter meets Bandcamp: bands post their material, for free or for a donation, and fans can download music and see how much still needs to be donated to the "keep X alive" fund. A quick glance at Last.fm shows that Grizzly Bear has almost 800,000 listeners. That's just Last.fm users. If each of them donated just $1 yearly, each member of the band would be making (see: raking in) $160k per year before expenses. That's executive-type shit. Drake would be making $2 million. There are obviously hidden expenses and overhead to consider, but compared to buying a $15 CD, that's a really cheap way to support your favorite artists.

I firmly believe that music and musicians have value; that's why I go to as many shows as I can, tell friends about bands I like, and buy albums that I love on vinyl. But I also believe that value should be constructed through a voluntary dialogue, and SOPA would stop just that. The media industry has been misdirecting its energy for years by trying to enforce its profits rather than earn them, and has only recently realized the benefits of making their products freely/cheaply available on services like Spotify and Netflix. The internet is a beautiful thing, and it doesn't have to mean poverty for artists (although it might for high-overhead media conglomerates). Let's keep it free.

In Five Words or Less...

Depsite being a sucker for songs and songwriting, one of my more recent fascinations has been songs with very few words. Songs like "Tequila" "Search for Delicious" by Panda Bear manage to say a lot with very little; rather than dragging on and on, the message is simple: "it's good to be a little scared." "Near Dark," above, is an awesome example too. The repeating "I can't take my eyes off you" usually expresses fascination, but in this dark, emotive context it might equally imply distrust. It's an amazingly complex message conveyed in seven words, and a great subversion of an overplayed trope in love songs. I'll call it "semantically dense" to really bring the academic fuckfacery.

Love/Hate: Toro y Moi

I'm incredibly guilty of having mixed feelings. In one of my darker moments, an ex-bandmate accused me of being "kind of lukewarm on everything." That cut deep. But in the context of dis/liking an artist, I think it's pretty understandable; sometimes even great artists put out shit songs, so it's entirely possible to like half of someone's discography and hate the other. Enter Toro y Moi.

I'll admit to being a chillwave hater when it first started popping up (I still scoff at the name, although the discovery that it's a hipsterrunnoff joke makes it slightly acceptable), and I didn't listen to Toro y Moi for a long time after he broke. Eventually I came around and gave Causers of This a shot, and as my cynical ass often is, I was pleasantly surprised. So when Underneath the Pine came out and got Pitchfork's Best New Music blessing I was optimistic. Torrented that shit in a minute. And was promptly disappointed.

Here's the thing: Chaz Bundick is not a good vocalist, nor is he endearingly bad. He's pretty mediocre. And that's my beef with chillwave in general; aside from some choice singles, it's just kind of boring. Underneath the Pine is a brave album artistically, taking a huge step away from Chaz's older sounds, but it falls flat for me. Whereas Causers had syrupy, reverby production and catchy melodies to make up for the OK vox (see tracks like "Freak Love"), Underneath the Pine just sounds like rehashed late-'70s funk, only without any of the energy that made that music so good. I love "I Can Get Love" (above) which came out as a B-side from Underneath... and executes the retro-funk formula well. But songs like "New Beat," which was supposed to be the lead single, sound completely dead to me. I guess it's got a catchy synth line and some wah'd/flanged guitars, but those aren't enough to carry the rest of the track. Stay spacey Chaz Bundick. Please.

Tropes I: The Break-Up Dialogue

I've had this stuck in my head all day, so I figured it'd be fitting to write about the breakup dialogue. There are a lot of songs that follow this format, and each has its own distinct flavor that no doubt endears it to certain people more than others. And it's that nuance that interests me; the tiny details and subtleties of this otherwise pretty-universal experience that keeps these songs (and those awful, wonderful experiences) from blurring into one another. In "Don't You Want Me," the male dump-ee isn't just hurt and rejected, he's pissed. He shook this girl up and made her happy and now she's leaving him? And she still loves him, she says. But she guesses it's just what she must do.

This is a mile away from "Nothing Better" by The Postal Service. Ben Gibbard plays the mopey, heartbroken lover who won't let go. There are melodramatic images of cracked rib cages and literal broken hearts. He's clinging hard, still infatuated and gargling shit like "my darling, I love you so," trying to tell her how awesome it'd be if they got married. But there's something he's ignoring, namely the huge list of transgressions his ladyfriend alludes to. There's no fondness left on her end. He's had his chance. And again she has to leave.

It seems like she's always leaving (probably because of the relative male dominance in, well, everything), but in Titus Andronicus' "To Old Friends and New", Patrick Stickles seems resigned and apathetic. He's not obsessed, he's not in love; he seems pretty jaded with her, actually, and all he offers is a lukewarm sense of tolerance, letting her know that "it's alright, the way that you live." "To Old Friends..." isn't explicitly a breakup song (and the writer claims it's about family), but that confusion is what makes it so unique. Whereas the above stories have someone who's trying to keep the dream/ruse alive, this ship is pretty sunk. "We could build a nice life together if we don't kill each other first," she says. But everything's a mess; nothing is good. They're overlooking all of the awful things the other does as long as they "keep up (their) part of the deal." This is on some real Tainted Love shit.

It's easy to wax trite about how complicated relationships are, but trite things are often overplayed because everybody feels them. And just because everybody's felt a certain way doesn't make it insignificant; if anything, that's the exact opposite of what the cult of pop professes. Think about the last two relationships you had. Are they the same? (Hopefully the answer is no.) Underneath the surface of "breakup song" or "failed relationship" are myriad spaces to occupy, and that's what keeps tropes like this - and the rest of us - alive.