So, Mel Gibson has recently done something outrageous. Again. And this time, it seems as his fans have finally given up on him. It took quite a lot of his shit to get people to actually acknowledge how crazy he is, but now the damage is done.
This drama has got me thinking again of a general question, that more often than not takes place in the Music World: What are the acceptable relationships between Artist and Fan? Or more specifically, What will it take to make a Fan stop loving an Artist’s work, or refrain from investing in the first place? The answer will obviously differ from person to person, but I’m not sure I would know how to answer for myself.
Michael Jackson, John Phillips (of the Mamas & the Papas), James Brown, Phil Spector. All of these artists have legions of devoted fans, as well as armies of scornful critics and protesters. Some people refuse to indulge in the pleasures of paltry pop songs that support, or are even associated with, a creep or a criminal. Others, such as myself, don’t mind separating the art from the artist—at least to some extent.
Is Michael Jackson creepy? I think most people agree that he was far from normal. His infamous fascination with children and youth in general definitely set off alarm bells, my own included. Even if one concedes (as I do) that he was twice found not guilty of sexual acts with children, due to a lack of convincing evidence, it’s nonetheless clear that any adult even innocently having sleepovers with young kids has got some problems.
Still, I don’t think the bizarre details of his later life in any way tarnishes his earlier contributions to the entertainment world. His songs recorded with the Jackson 5 just burst with jubilant energy; Off the Wall is a pitch-perfect pop album; and Thriller, with its exciting fusion of disparate styles, and its immaculate fashioning of pop iconography, rightly turned him into a superstar. I don’t think there’s an ounce of lyrical or emotional depth to his craft, but he made simple into something sublime. If anything, his later story is a cautionary tale against the lure of celebrity, which often destroys the lives of talented people who are hungry for any kind of acceptance they can get.
Of course, if Michael had released singles like “Don’t Stop til You Get Enough Preschoolers,” or “Dirty Diana (A Diaper Story),” a line would have been crossed. I can appreciate the art of someone whose personal life I disagree with, but only if there’s something in the art that I can relate to (and condone), which requires a song not triggering my moral disgust.
I must admit, though, that I sometimes even let this criterion slide. Perhaps because there’s some historical relevance to it, but also because it’s an admirable challenge to humanize someone you’d love to hate, I decided to buy some films by legendary filmmaker D.W. Griffith, whose “Birth of a Nation” boasts some openly racist depictions of blacks, and even incited racially motivated attacks when the film was released. The imagery is troubling, as is Griffith’s worldview, but the film is also expressive in style, and quite revolutionary in its technique. Similarly, I am constantly irritated and turned off by the casual misogyny and homophobia of gangsta rap, yet the honest rage and anxiety that fuel the best works of Public Enemy and Ice Cube are enough to keep me coming back, if grudgingly.
I guess if the main topic of a song (or any piece of art) is something I’m against, I’m likely to avoid it. This is why I don’t play “Homosexual” by the Angry Samoans, “Blow Bubbles” by Bad Brains (even though the members later apologized for the homophobia of their youth), “Treat Her Like a Prostitute” by Slick Rick, or “Support Our Troops, Oh!” by Xiu Xiu, even though I like other songs by those groups. Or maybe it’s like there’s a tug-of-war battle between my emotions for approach and withdrawal: sometimes, despite some feelings of distaste, I am still drawn in; other times, despite a fondness for some musical or expressive element, my dignity gets the better of me, and I am compelled to get the song far, far away from me, and then I go take a shower. Still others I easily label as unlistenable or abhorrent, due to repulsive moral content and a complete lack of saving graces. Examples, thy names are Eminem and Guns ‘n’ Roses.
I like to be consistent with my evaluations, and yet it’s hard to be consistent (or rational) when emotions run high. Not surprisingly, many people who indignantly condemn a particular musician or artist for moral failings are often forgiving of others who have done terrible things. Many people who can’t even think of listening to Michael Jackson songs anymore have no problem jamming out to “I Feel Good” (performed by a wife beater) or “Be My Baby” (produced by a wife murderer). I won’t even begin to try to understand the logic of it. Such stances definitely seem hypocritical to me, or at least unintentionally contradictory. Still, as much as I may strive for consistency and coherence in my own opinions and evaluations, ultimately I can only act upon what I “feel” is right. And if I righteously condemn these folks for being slaves to their feelings, then I’d be a hypocrite too.
Well, dammit, I do condemn them, hypocrisy be damned. I can’t help it! They’re just so unreasonable! My emotions won’t just let it slide. So I willfully fall into my own trap of hypocrisy and incoherence, all in the name of consistency and a regard for reason.
...
… Perhaps I should cut off this line of thought, lest I go the route of a certain unsavory Australian actor, and sever my ties with my friends and professional connections. I should stop all of this emoting and evaluating. I feel it in my guts…
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Sunday, July 11, 2010
As if Born to Them
*Some thoughts have a certain sound, thought being equivalent to a form. Through sound and motion, you will be able to paralyze nerves, shatter bones, set fires, suffocate an enemy or burst his organs.*
So I was writing earlier about how artists from the mid-80’s on who identify with hip hop and R&B scenes value street toughness over tender emotions, and how this limits the expressive range of the music.
Well, that still holds for most everyone, but a notable exception has emerged. Urban pop music has found a potential savior: her name is Janelle Monae.
She may never get the acclaim she deserves. It just might not be the right time for her grandiose, left-of-center approach to pop. Her new album, Archandroid, is getting glowing reviews from critics, and faring pretty well in sales, but so far she’s not grabbing the public’s attention like, say, Lady Gaga. And she really deserves that spotlight, because unlike Gaga (and most pop of the past 20 years), she’s the complete package.
She can sing, she can move, she can write, she can play, she’s got command of her image, she’s got videos to excite and challenge, and she’s got loads of ambition to make Music that Matters (think Stevie Wonder rather than Bono and Scott Stapp). She’s definitely sexy too, but that’s incidental; what really attracts is the magnetic force of her multimedia visions for pop entertainment.
Most importantly, she anchors her dizzying, genre-hopping Concept album with earnest emotions, grounded in her concerns for a real world. There’s irony and detachment to her schtick, but unlike so many other icons today, including her friend Big Boi from Outkast, the saccharine rush of her pop mannerisms masks the joys and frustrations of an average human being. It’s catchy and glamorous, yes, but intelligent and expressive, and not afraid to seem a little different.
I’m hoping she becomes the sensation she deserves to be. She’s got the magic of Thriller-era Michael Jackson, but she’s also got substance to her material. She knows that Walt Disney and Broadway can’t magically wash away the world’s problems, and so she uses her songs and her showmanship to provoke her audience into thinking about the world around them.
At worst, she’ll succumb to the pressures of our cynical media culture and cash in on easy exploitations of her artistic vision. At best, she’ll transform the pop universe, paving the way for creative and expressive entertainers, and encouraging urban black musicians to unabashedly reclaim the full range of the emotional spectrum in their deliveries beyond anger and cool bemusement. Most likely though, she’ll be a cult sensation, but that’s not so bad.
At least we have an exciting new artistic personality with a whole career to look forward to, even if she’s not the Kwisatz Haderach of urban pop music. She may have some eventual missteps (it's almost inevitable), but it will be a pleasure to follow Janelle Monae as she dons her various cloaks of style and concept.
The Sleeper Has Awakened!
So I was writing earlier about how artists from the mid-80’s on who identify with hip hop and R&B scenes value street toughness over tender emotions, and how this limits the expressive range of the music.
Well, that still holds for most everyone, but a notable exception has emerged. Urban pop music has found a potential savior: her name is Janelle Monae.
She may never get the acclaim she deserves. It just might not be the right time for her grandiose, left-of-center approach to pop. Her new album, Archandroid, is getting glowing reviews from critics, and faring pretty well in sales, but so far she’s not grabbing the public’s attention like, say, Lady Gaga. And she really deserves that spotlight, because unlike Gaga (and most pop of the past 20 years), she’s the complete package.
She can sing, she can move, she can write, she can play, she’s got command of her image, she’s got videos to excite and challenge, and she’s got loads of ambition to make Music that Matters (think Stevie Wonder rather than Bono and Scott Stapp). She’s definitely sexy too, but that’s incidental; what really attracts is the magnetic force of her multimedia visions for pop entertainment.
Most importantly, she anchors her dizzying, genre-hopping Concept album with earnest emotions, grounded in her concerns for a real world. There’s irony and detachment to her schtick, but unlike so many other icons today, including her friend Big Boi from Outkast, the saccharine rush of her pop mannerisms masks the joys and frustrations of an average human being. It’s catchy and glamorous, yes, but intelligent and expressive, and not afraid to seem a little different.
I’m hoping she becomes the sensation she deserves to be. She’s got the magic of Thriller-era Michael Jackson, but she’s also got substance to her material. She knows that Walt Disney and Broadway can’t magically wash away the world’s problems, and so she uses her songs and her showmanship to provoke her audience into thinking about the world around them.
At worst, she’ll succumb to the pressures of our cynical media culture and cash in on easy exploitations of her artistic vision. At best, she’ll transform the pop universe, paving the way for creative and expressive entertainers, and encouraging urban black musicians to unabashedly reclaim the full range of the emotional spectrum in their deliveries beyond anger and cool bemusement. Most likely though, she’ll be a cult sensation, but that’s not so bad.
At least we have an exciting new artistic personality with a whole career to look forward to, even if she’s not the Kwisatz Haderach of urban pop music. She may have some eventual missteps (it's almost inevitable), but it will be a pleasure to follow Janelle Monae as she dons her various cloaks of style and concept.
The Sleeper Has Awakened!
Friday, July 9, 2010
New Pleasures
One thing I can’t stand—and it’s something that I used to do, so I can’t be too judgmental—is when someone sweepingly dismisses a band as simply being a rip-off of some other band.
I once played a few tracks from My Bloody Valentine’s “Loveless” for a co-worker, and he actually claimed that they were just clones of The Velvet Underground.
...Huh??!!!
This idea of originality is an interesting criterion of musical preference; People can get downright righteous about it, and yet no one’s all that steadfast in applying it to their own tastes. Think about it, if you have ever written off a band that you claim defiles some ideal of artistic innovation (and who hasn’t?), and you have one album in your collection that’s derivative of another sound, guess what? You’re a hypocrite.
If I’m gonna rag on the Yeah Yeah Yeahs for copping the Kill Rock Stars sound, it should be assumed that I also hate Clinic, who openly borrow from Suicide and the Silver Apples. And Modest Mouse for mashing Pavement and the Pixies. And Stereolab for sounding like Sergio Mendes and Neu!.
Ad infinitum.
I know, I know, everyone takes from some other artist. Music doesn’t exist in a vacuum, and everyone acknowledges that every artist has inspirations. And notions of innovation and imitation sometimes do seem really clearly distinct, at least for certain exemplar bands. For instance, take Led Zeppelin and the Raveonettes. Led Zeppelin outright stole old blues songs, yes, but they altered them almost beyond recognition, and made a signature sound that was both complex and visceral. So even if they were dicks for slighting the original artists in their songwriting credits, they still can be seen as innovators. In contrast, the Raveonettes just sound like the Jesus & Mary Chain. Melodies, beats, riffs, distortion effects, vocal style, even lyrical content. Pretty much a carbon copy, with no discernible idiosyncrasies. It’s easy to see that they’re imitators.
But it’s not always so clear a distinction. When is it an homage, and when is it just a lazy copy? The Cramps are considered the pioneers of “psychobilly,” which is just rockabilly with a ghoulish image and a slightly more aggressive sound. But the rhythms, the chords, and the vocal affectations are all knowingly taken from pre-established sounds. The Gun Club is another highly respected psychobilly band, but they just repeat the Cramps’ stylistic homages, with a little more speed. The White Stripes are a band clearly influenced by these groups, and interestingly they’ve gotten flack as being imitators. But what’s the real difference from the Gun Club and the White Stripes, aside from about twenty years? Not much, in that both wear their influences on their sleeves, and are content to belt out a fast and dirty hybrid of their favorite rock sounds. There is a bit of the arbitrary, here, yes?
People who are fans of a certain genre or genres (i.e., most music fans) have many artists who aren’t that different from each other stylistically, especially to an outsider’s ear. Are the Dead Boys that different from Johnny Thunders and the Heartbreakers? Is State of Alert radically different from Minor Threat? Dissection from Darkthrone? Frontline Assembly from Skinny Puppy? King Tubby from the Upsetters? Alan Jackson from Kenny Chesney?
No, but the fans can’t get enough bands within these narrow stylistic ranges. They appreciate the subtle differences between the bands, and balk at people who say it all sounds the same. Excuse me? The Birthday Party and the Pop Group are the same? Preposterous! The Pop Group obviously have a funkier, spacier sound, while the Birthday Party etc etc etc. This is something that almost everyone does. When you are really receptive to a sound, you care enough to specialize in all of its details. Which is another way to say that you listen to a bunch of bands that sound really similar, and you don’t mind it.
I think when most people do the tossed off “They Just Sound Like X” dismissal, they are simply not receptive to new sounds at the moment. Sometimes you’re in the mood to absorb new bands, and sometimes you’re not.
Not to rag on my brother in law, but he does this all the time to me. He told me once that Nirvana's "In Utero" album was ripping off Sonic Youth, and that the Feelies just sound like the Velvet Underground.
First off, come on: would you ever confuse these bands? To me, the most valid evidence for brazen imitation is if I can actually mistake a song or general sound as belonging to an older group. If so, I can confidently dismiss the newer group as a mere copy. The aforementioned Raveonettes sound so much like the Jesus & Mary Chain that I actually have confused them before. If someone told me that Interpol’s “Obstacle 1” was a long-lost Joy Division track, I could probably be persuaded.
But no one would ever confuse any song off "In Utero" with a Sonic Youth song. Period (Unless you only listen to Jazz vocalists from the 40s and refer to all rock music as “that racket”). The influence is certainly there, but Nirvana has its own sound, and it’s unmistakable. Glenn Mercer of the Feelies does have a voice that recalls Lou Reed, but you could never, ever mistake a Feelies song for a VU song. There’s more to their sound than a vocal tic (not to mention that Reed’s own vocal affectation was an open nod to Bob Dylan).
Second, when said Dismisser also likes the Strokes, who have Lou Reed vocals as well as guitars that sound like the Feelies, can’t we just admit that there’s something other than originality that’s keeping you from connecting with “Crazy Rhythms?”
In the past, when I criticized a band as being derivative, I was often oversimplifying what I really felt. For instance, I don’t actually mind when bands conjure up the spirit of Ian Curtis (Xiu Xiu’s Jamie Stewart does it to great effect in “I Love the Valley Oh!”), but when Interpol does it, it usually comes off as a forced affectation. More generally, bands who merely borrow the aesthetics of an influence rather than an expressive component risk being obscured by the large, looming shadow of their references. It’s not that Interpol sounds too much like Joy Division for me, it’s that they don’t get it quite right. They remind me of Joy Division, but they also remind me that I should be listening to Joy Division instead of Interpol.
But this instance of the Feelies vs. The Velvet Underground vs. the Strokes is a different matter. This just screams: “Sorry dude, Nothin doin. I will end this encounter with an attack on your band’s credibility, and you will bring it up no more.”
I try not to make these sweeping dismissals anymore. Nowadays, I’ll simply say, “I’m not really into it” and leave it at that. I also try to be less stringent in my criteria for originality. I don’t think I’ll ever get a Raveonettes album, but hey, if people like the Jesus & Mary Chain sound, and want more of it, who am I to judge?
I’m hoping for a day when people are a little more honest about their personal, subjective biases rather than turn the matter into some argument for objective good taste. And admit that originality is in the eye of the beholder.
Otherwise Nirvana's just a Sonic Youth ripoff, Sonic Youth (and My Bloody Valentine) just aped the Velvet Underground, the Velvets listened to too much Dylan, Dylan was just a Woody Guthrie wannabe, Woody was a John Jacob Niles clone, and John Jacob Niles is really derivative of that 8 year old girl in the Appalachians who sang for him one day in the '20s, that girl stole lyrics from Irish Immigrants, who learned them on an English trade ship, ad infinitum.
I once played a few tracks from My Bloody Valentine’s “Loveless” for a co-worker, and he actually claimed that they were just clones of The Velvet Underground.
...Huh??!!!
This idea of originality is an interesting criterion of musical preference; People can get downright righteous about it, and yet no one’s all that steadfast in applying it to their own tastes. Think about it, if you have ever written off a band that you claim defiles some ideal of artistic innovation (and who hasn’t?), and you have one album in your collection that’s derivative of another sound, guess what? You’re a hypocrite.
If I’m gonna rag on the Yeah Yeah Yeahs for copping the Kill Rock Stars sound, it should be assumed that I also hate Clinic, who openly borrow from Suicide and the Silver Apples. And Modest Mouse for mashing Pavement and the Pixies. And Stereolab for sounding like Sergio Mendes and Neu!.
Ad infinitum.
I know, I know, everyone takes from some other artist. Music doesn’t exist in a vacuum, and everyone acknowledges that every artist has inspirations. And notions of innovation and imitation sometimes do seem really clearly distinct, at least for certain exemplar bands. For instance, take Led Zeppelin and the Raveonettes. Led Zeppelin outright stole old blues songs, yes, but they altered them almost beyond recognition, and made a signature sound that was both complex and visceral. So even if they were dicks for slighting the original artists in their songwriting credits, they still can be seen as innovators. In contrast, the Raveonettes just sound like the Jesus & Mary Chain. Melodies, beats, riffs, distortion effects, vocal style, even lyrical content. Pretty much a carbon copy, with no discernible idiosyncrasies. It’s easy to see that they’re imitators.
But it’s not always so clear a distinction. When is it an homage, and when is it just a lazy copy? The Cramps are considered the pioneers of “psychobilly,” which is just rockabilly with a ghoulish image and a slightly more aggressive sound. But the rhythms, the chords, and the vocal affectations are all knowingly taken from pre-established sounds. The Gun Club is another highly respected psychobilly band, but they just repeat the Cramps’ stylistic homages, with a little more speed. The White Stripes are a band clearly influenced by these groups, and interestingly they’ve gotten flack as being imitators. But what’s the real difference from the Gun Club and the White Stripes, aside from about twenty years? Not much, in that both wear their influences on their sleeves, and are content to belt out a fast and dirty hybrid of their favorite rock sounds. There is a bit of the arbitrary, here, yes?
People who are fans of a certain genre or genres (i.e., most music fans) have many artists who aren’t that different from each other stylistically, especially to an outsider’s ear. Are the Dead Boys that different from Johnny Thunders and the Heartbreakers? Is State of Alert radically different from Minor Threat? Dissection from Darkthrone? Frontline Assembly from Skinny Puppy? King Tubby from the Upsetters? Alan Jackson from Kenny Chesney?
No, but the fans can’t get enough bands within these narrow stylistic ranges. They appreciate the subtle differences between the bands, and balk at people who say it all sounds the same. Excuse me? The Birthday Party and the Pop Group are the same? Preposterous! The Pop Group obviously have a funkier, spacier sound, while the Birthday Party etc etc etc. This is something that almost everyone does. When you are really receptive to a sound, you care enough to specialize in all of its details. Which is another way to say that you listen to a bunch of bands that sound really similar, and you don’t mind it.
I think when most people do the tossed off “They Just Sound Like X” dismissal, they are simply not receptive to new sounds at the moment. Sometimes you’re in the mood to absorb new bands, and sometimes you’re not.
Not to rag on my brother in law, but he does this all the time to me. He told me once that Nirvana's "In Utero" album was ripping off Sonic Youth, and that the Feelies just sound like the Velvet Underground.
First off, come on: would you ever confuse these bands? To me, the most valid evidence for brazen imitation is if I can actually mistake a song or general sound as belonging to an older group. If so, I can confidently dismiss the newer group as a mere copy. The aforementioned Raveonettes sound so much like the Jesus & Mary Chain that I actually have confused them before. If someone told me that Interpol’s “Obstacle 1” was a long-lost Joy Division track, I could probably be persuaded.
But no one would ever confuse any song off "In Utero" with a Sonic Youth song. Period (Unless you only listen to Jazz vocalists from the 40s and refer to all rock music as “that racket”). The influence is certainly there, but Nirvana has its own sound, and it’s unmistakable. Glenn Mercer of the Feelies does have a voice that recalls Lou Reed, but you could never, ever mistake a Feelies song for a VU song. There’s more to their sound than a vocal tic (not to mention that Reed’s own vocal affectation was an open nod to Bob Dylan).
Second, when said Dismisser also likes the Strokes, who have Lou Reed vocals as well as guitars that sound like the Feelies, can’t we just admit that there’s something other than originality that’s keeping you from connecting with “Crazy Rhythms?”
In the past, when I criticized a band as being derivative, I was often oversimplifying what I really felt. For instance, I don’t actually mind when bands conjure up the spirit of Ian Curtis (Xiu Xiu’s Jamie Stewart does it to great effect in “I Love the Valley Oh!”), but when Interpol does it, it usually comes off as a forced affectation. More generally, bands who merely borrow the aesthetics of an influence rather than an expressive component risk being obscured by the large, looming shadow of their references. It’s not that Interpol sounds too much like Joy Division for me, it’s that they don’t get it quite right. They remind me of Joy Division, but they also remind me that I should be listening to Joy Division instead of Interpol.
But this instance of the Feelies vs. The Velvet Underground vs. the Strokes is a different matter. This just screams: “Sorry dude, Nothin doin. I will end this encounter with an attack on your band’s credibility, and you will bring it up no more.”
I try not to make these sweeping dismissals anymore. Nowadays, I’ll simply say, “I’m not really into it” and leave it at that. I also try to be less stringent in my criteria for originality. I don’t think I’ll ever get a Raveonettes album, but hey, if people like the Jesus & Mary Chain sound, and want more of it, who am I to judge?
I’m hoping for a day when people are a little more honest about their personal, subjective biases rather than turn the matter into some argument for objective good taste. And admit that originality is in the eye of the beholder.
Otherwise Nirvana's just a Sonic Youth ripoff, Sonic Youth (and My Bloody Valentine) just aped the Velvet Underground, the Velvets listened to too much Dylan, Dylan was just a Woody Guthrie wannabe, Woody was a John Jacob Niles clone, and John Jacob Niles is really derivative of that 8 year old girl in the Appalachians who sang for him one day in the '20s, that girl stole lyrics from Irish Immigrants, who learned them on an English trade ship, ad infinitum.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
The Fame Chimera
I’ve recently been wrestling with Lady Gaga’s place in music, art and media culture.
When I first heard “Just Dance” on the radio, she just sounded of a piece with a slew of other dance and R&B acts bringing back the sounds of electroclash and anthemic trance. Akon was doing it; Britney, Fergie, Rihanna and Kanye too, so why were people touting her as the Next Big Thing?
Well, fast forward a year or so, and she really is everywhere. She’s now a sensation; not just another pop star, either, but an icon. An Artist. She now commands droves of faithful followers who have found expression and validation in her songs and videos.
Of course, it’s still too early to really get a hold on Gaga’s impact on our culture; she’s only released one LP and one EP so far. She could either grow and develop her art, or rapidly disappear into “Where Are They Now?” specials.
But critics and tastemakers, not just the fickle masses, seem to think that she’s already added something important to our lives, and this is what I’ve been trying to figure out.
Her impact as a sort of folk sensation is pretty obvious. There are people who are largely ignorant of the contributions of past icons (like Bowie, Madonna, Grace Jones, even Marilyn Manson) to the cause of gender-fuckery, for whom Lady Gaga is a vital realization of their own socio-erotic truths. There are even people who are aware of Gaga’s visual and musical antecedents, and who laud her appropriations as reviving something they just really enjoy. They don’t mind that “Alejandro” sounds like a fusion of “Don’t Turn Around” by Ace of Base and “La Isla Bonita” by Madonna. In fact, they like it, since they were fans of those songs to begin with.
And she does bring some worthwhile conversations to mainstream attention, even if they have been culled from others’ past efforts. Unlike pretty much any pop star getting press today, Gaga consistently incorporates gay iconography into her art. The Alejandro video, while riddled with stale art film clichés, does present male eroticism and unconventional dynamics of sexual dominance to an audience whose exposure to this stuff is otherwise limited to Katy Perry’s “Ur So Gay” and “I Kissed a Girl.” So that’s something to be said.
But what about the crowd that isn’t ignorant of the past few decades? It’s fine to say that Gaga is a new medium to spread (revive) ideas of postmodernism and subversion to the larger public. But isn’t that more opportunism on her part than creating something new? Or not even new—creating something expressive, rather than something strategized and calculated?
For me, that opportunism really does stand out. Gaga talks a lot about her music as being purely for expression, and also how it’s deeply informed by her love of the avant-garde. Her most-cited heroes are Warhol and Bowie, which makes her sound pretty enticing, at least in writing. So if this is the case, why is her music so smooth and readily digestible?
Bowie took sounds from various underground sources and fashioned songs that were both subversive and accessible, while Gaga is taking sounds from early 90’s Euro Pop, Alice DeeJay, and Madonna. If she wants to use Bowie as an influence, she should try harder. There are plenty of other acts to take inspiration from, both pop (Bat for Lashes, Patrick Wolf, Cocorosie, Antony & the Johnsons, the Knife, Crystal Castles) and avant-garde (Matmos, Xiu Xiu, Soap&Skin, Scott Walker, Animal Collective). Get cracking, Ga.
As for Warhol, he completely restructured the ideals of the art world to exalt the banal and the ephemeral alongside works of complexity and sophistication. Maybe there’s more to it, but I’m guessing that this has mainly served to inform her assertion that Pop Music can be Important Art. Or maybe this very blog entry is feeding into her ulterior motive: to have the world wrestle with the meaning of her art, and of contemporary art in general. But to me, that’s just cheap. Such talk comes with any pop star who is labeled (by themselves or others) as Important. See Eminem, Marilyn Manson, Kanye West and, yes, Madonna, for similar conversations.
Perhaps, then, it’s not her form that’s important, it’s her content. Which sounds true, if you ever hear her explanations of her songs (Pokerface is apparently about her imagining sex with a woman while mounting her man). This approach would be a lot more powerful if the meanings could be extracted without her explanations, though. Left alone, they just sound like vapidly opaque pop song lyrics. Perhaps a particularly vigilant sophisto can glean some of these “true” intentions, but there’s no way a typical pop fan is gonna catch that stuff. And that severely undercuts any subversive potential of her songs.
No, I think as she stands, Lady Gaga is perhaps subversive in image only. Smooth, friendly sounds supporting videos and photos that startle and titillate the uninitiated, and perhaps reassure the already-initiated that wider acceptance is just around the corner. Perhaps her sound will eventually evolve into something more challenging, but I’m pretty sure that when Gaga mentions the avant-garde, she’s referring only to fashion, and not to music. Her earliest videos (two years before The Fame) show her immersed in the sounds of Norah Jones and Vanessa Carlton. Something tells me that Madonna and Alice DeeJay is about as edgy as she’ll be able to conjure.
I’d love to be proven wrong, though. I may be a skeptic, but I’m certainly not a hater. I wish all the best for the Lady. May she eventually turn her fame into a monster that actually wreaks some havoc upon our culture.
Or at least find some more interesting artists to copy.
When I first heard “Just Dance” on the radio, she just sounded of a piece with a slew of other dance and R&B acts bringing back the sounds of electroclash and anthemic trance. Akon was doing it; Britney, Fergie, Rihanna and Kanye too, so why were people touting her as the Next Big Thing?
Well, fast forward a year or so, and she really is everywhere. She’s now a sensation; not just another pop star, either, but an icon. An Artist. She now commands droves of faithful followers who have found expression and validation in her songs and videos.
Of course, it’s still too early to really get a hold on Gaga’s impact on our culture; she’s only released one LP and one EP so far. She could either grow and develop her art, or rapidly disappear into “Where Are They Now?” specials.
But critics and tastemakers, not just the fickle masses, seem to think that she’s already added something important to our lives, and this is what I’ve been trying to figure out.
Her impact as a sort of folk sensation is pretty obvious. There are people who are largely ignorant of the contributions of past icons (like Bowie, Madonna, Grace Jones, even Marilyn Manson) to the cause of gender-fuckery, for whom Lady Gaga is a vital realization of their own socio-erotic truths. There are even people who are aware of Gaga’s visual and musical antecedents, and who laud her appropriations as reviving something they just really enjoy. They don’t mind that “Alejandro” sounds like a fusion of “Don’t Turn Around” by Ace of Base and “La Isla Bonita” by Madonna. In fact, they like it, since they were fans of those songs to begin with.
And she does bring some worthwhile conversations to mainstream attention, even if they have been culled from others’ past efforts. Unlike pretty much any pop star getting press today, Gaga consistently incorporates gay iconography into her art. The Alejandro video, while riddled with stale art film clichés, does present male eroticism and unconventional dynamics of sexual dominance to an audience whose exposure to this stuff is otherwise limited to Katy Perry’s “Ur So Gay” and “I Kissed a Girl.” So that’s something to be said.
But what about the crowd that isn’t ignorant of the past few decades? It’s fine to say that Gaga is a new medium to spread (revive) ideas of postmodernism and subversion to the larger public. But isn’t that more opportunism on her part than creating something new? Or not even new—creating something expressive, rather than something strategized and calculated?
For me, that opportunism really does stand out. Gaga talks a lot about her music as being purely for expression, and also how it’s deeply informed by her love of the avant-garde. Her most-cited heroes are Warhol and Bowie, which makes her sound pretty enticing, at least in writing. So if this is the case, why is her music so smooth and readily digestible?
Bowie took sounds from various underground sources and fashioned songs that were both subversive and accessible, while Gaga is taking sounds from early 90’s Euro Pop, Alice DeeJay, and Madonna. If she wants to use Bowie as an influence, she should try harder. There are plenty of other acts to take inspiration from, both pop (Bat for Lashes, Patrick Wolf, Cocorosie, Antony & the Johnsons, the Knife, Crystal Castles) and avant-garde (Matmos, Xiu Xiu, Soap&Skin, Scott Walker, Animal Collective). Get cracking, Ga.
As for Warhol, he completely restructured the ideals of the art world to exalt the banal and the ephemeral alongside works of complexity and sophistication. Maybe there’s more to it, but I’m guessing that this has mainly served to inform her assertion that Pop Music can be Important Art. Or maybe this very blog entry is feeding into her ulterior motive: to have the world wrestle with the meaning of her art, and of contemporary art in general. But to me, that’s just cheap. Such talk comes with any pop star who is labeled (by themselves or others) as Important. See Eminem, Marilyn Manson, Kanye West and, yes, Madonna, for similar conversations.
Perhaps, then, it’s not her form that’s important, it’s her content. Which sounds true, if you ever hear her explanations of her songs (Pokerface is apparently about her imagining sex with a woman while mounting her man). This approach would be a lot more powerful if the meanings could be extracted without her explanations, though. Left alone, they just sound like vapidly opaque pop song lyrics. Perhaps a particularly vigilant sophisto can glean some of these “true” intentions, but there’s no way a typical pop fan is gonna catch that stuff. And that severely undercuts any subversive potential of her songs.
No, I think as she stands, Lady Gaga is perhaps subversive in image only. Smooth, friendly sounds supporting videos and photos that startle and titillate the uninitiated, and perhaps reassure the already-initiated that wider acceptance is just around the corner. Perhaps her sound will eventually evolve into something more challenging, but I’m pretty sure that when Gaga mentions the avant-garde, she’s referring only to fashion, and not to music. Her earliest videos (two years before The Fame) show her immersed in the sounds of Norah Jones and Vanessa Carlton. Something tells me that Madonna and Alice DeeJay is about as edgy as she’ll be able to conjure.
I’d love to be proven wrong, though. I may be a skeptic, but I’m certainly not a hater. I wish all the best for the Lady. May she eventually turn her fame into a monster that actually wreaks some havoc upon our culture.
Or at least find some more interesting artists to copy.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
The Hate of Politics
My sister once mentioned that she thought music and politics shouldn’t mix. Me, I couldn’t disagree more. Of course, I know what she really meant: her love of a band wan’t based on politics, and so when she found them to support a cause she was against, it really turned her off. The fact that my political inclinations lean nicely to the left means that I have to worry about this a lot less than she does, since most artistic types are of a liberal persuasion (although I was pretty sad to have lost the Nuge. ...Ha! ).
Now, mind you, they don’t always go well together. Patriotic propaganda is rarely inspiring in an artistic sense (have you forgotten Darryl Worley?). And even well meaning truth-to-power anthems can fall flat if there’s no feeling behind them.
From 2002-2008, I was desperately searching for political music to validate the feelings of dread, paranoia, and powerlessness that permeated the atmosphere at the time. And you know, for all of the ill will that is associated with George W. Bush and his administration, there was hardly any political music that did real justice to the era. Most attacks were too obvious, topical, and lacking passion. Really, it was mostly limited to Warped Tour pop punk bands, Eddie Vedder, and eventually the Flaming Lips, who made the worst album of their career trying to bash Bush.
Of course, there was Radiohead’s Hail to the Thief, which actually was a powerful evocation of those troubled times. A good deal of its power lay in the fact that it’s not an overtly political album (even though its title led some conservatives to write off the band without even hearing the thing). Thematically, it’s pretty consistent with Radiohead’s past albums: dread, paranoia, and powerlessness. But the War on Terror certainly informed Thom and the gang on the songs of Thief; the lyrics fuse cracked storybook imagery with phrases that belie a group of adults worried about the future of the world (“I will lay me down in a bunker underground. I won’t let this happen to my children.”), rather than about buzzing fridges and Hitler hairdos.
But, aside from Radiohead, I looked to the past for my musical validation. Naturally, the 60’s have some great songs, especially Dylan’s “Masters of War,” the Beatles “Strawberry Fields” (again, not explicitly political, but evoking a feeling of the times), and Simon & Garfunkel’s “Sound of Silence.” The 70’s gave me John Lennon’s “Imagine” and Randy Newman’s “Political Science.”
The 80’s, though, that was the gold mine. The Thatcher and Reagan years, forever etched into our eardums in indignant shouts and despairing howls from the musical underground. There was plenty of punk and hardcore railing against moral majorities and feared lapses into fascism. The Dead Kennedys were the most articulate of the bunch, but mention must also go to Gang of Four, Minutemen, and Reagan Youth.
But really, the most evocative 80’s stuff wasn’t punk; it was a lot of the stuff lumped into the post-punk and no wave scenes. Bands like This Heat, Pop Group, Einsturzende Neubauten, the Swans, Diamanda Galas, the Jerks, early Sonic Youth, Nurse With Wound. To me, this is music that is soaked in the blood of the era, even though most of them were mum on the specifics of their political views. Remember: expressive, not didactic.
Perhaps my two most played albums during trying political times, aside from Radiohead’s Hail to the Thief, are now This Heat’s “Deceit” and Diamanda Galas’ “The Litanies of Satan.” Deceit is almost a grandfather to Hail to the Thief. Despite more radical, experimental arrangements, the songs conjured the same sense of detached dread, like a defeated, hollow shell of a human reciting empty platitudes to keep themselves distracted from an impending nuclear holocaust. It’s powerful, sobering stuff, and their haunted chant of “History repeats itself, a war to end all wars” struck a particularly deep chord within me.
The Litanies of Satan was much less specific in content, but no less of a magical weapon for it. And this one does summon up an army of daggers. Diamanda’s vocal performances are truly astounding...and frightening to experience. Her music mainly consists of her moans, caterwauls and glossolalia, sometimes treated by filters and delays, but most of the chaos that emanates from your speakers comes straight from the singer herself. Her art is brutal, tortured, defiant, and even righteous. This is the sound of an idealist whose dreams and values are being stripped away, and she doesn’t take it lightly. If Jello Biafra offered some of the most pointed satirical attacks against Reagan and his cronies, Diamanda offered the most visceral attack upon the hypocrisy of the time, and the most vivid expression of an idealist’s fear for the future of their world.
Well, the political situation has changed; and while there’s certainly still lots of crazy in the world, the majority of America seems to have shifted to a more reasonable expectation of their country and its policies. Still, there’s plenty to be anxious and frustrated about; there’s still plenty of fodder for artistic release, right?
Or is it most effective to make politically informed art when railing against the party in power? I realize that one does not always agree with their party, even if they’re in power, and so one could make music informed by issues that are getting the short shrift by their own party. But does the really potent stuff come from the sorrow, rage and indignation of the dethroned and dispossessed?
And if so, does this mean that the Tea Party is going to release an album soon to rival the the folkies, the hippies, the punks, and the no-wavers?
Food for thought.
Now, mind you, they don’t always go well together. Patriotic propaganda is rarely inspiring in an artistic sense (have you forgotten Darryl Worley?). And even well meaning truth-to-power anthems can fall flat if there’s no feeling behind them.
From 2002-2008, I was desperately searching for political music to validate the feelings of dread, paranoia, and powerlessness that permeated the atmosphere at the time. And you know, for all of the ill will that is associated with George W. Bush and his administration, there was hardly any political music that did real justice to the era. Most attacks were too obvious, topical, and lacking passion. Really, it was mostly limited to Warped Tour pop punk bands, Eddie Vedder, and eventually the Flaming Lips, who made the worst album of their career trying to bash Bush.
Of course, there was Radiohead’s Hail to the Thief, which actually was a powerful evocation of those troubled times. A good deal of its power lay in the fact that it’s not an overtly political album (even though its title led some conservatives to write off the band without even hearing the thing). Thematically, it’s pretty consistent with Radiohead’s past albums: dread, paranoia, and powerlessness. But the War on Terror certainly informed Thom and the gang on the songs of Thief; the lyrics fuse cracked storybook imagery with phrases that belie a group of adults worried about the future of the world (“I will lay me down in a bunker underground. I won’t let this happen to my children.”), rather than about buzzing fridges and Hitler hairdos.
But, aside from Radiohead, I looked to the past for my musical validation. Naturally, the 60’s have some great songs, especially Dylan’s “Masters of War,” the Beatles “Strawberry Fields” (again, not explicitly political, but evoking a feeling of the times), and Simon & Garfunkel’s “Sound of Silence.” The 70’s gave me John Lennon’s “Imagine” and Randy Newman’s “Political Science.”
The 80’s, though, that was the gold mine. The Thatcher and Reagan years, forever etched into our eardums in indignant shouts and despairing howls from the musical underground. There was plenty of punk and hardcore railing against moral majorities and feared lapses into fascism. The Dead Kennedys were the most articulate of the bunch, but mention must also go to Gang of Four, Minutemen, and Reagan Youth.
But really, the most evocative 80’s stuff wasn’t punk; it was a lot of the stuff lumped into the post-punk and no wave scenes. Bands like This Heat, Pop Group, Einsturzende Neubauten, the Swans, Diamanda Galas, the Jerks, early Sonic Youth, Nurse With Wound. To me, this is music that is soaked in the blood of the era, even though most of them were mum on the specifics of their political views. Remember: expressive, not didactic.
Perhaps my two most played albums during trying political times, aside from Radiohead’s Hail to the Thief, are now This Heat’s “Deceit” and Diamanda Galas’ “The Litanies of Satan.” Deceit is almost a grandfather to Hail to the Thief. Despite more radical, experimental arrangements, the songs conjured the same sense of detached dread, like a defeated, hollow shell of a human reciting empty platitudes to keep themselves distracted from an impending nuclear holocaust. It’s powerful, sobering stuff, and their haunted chant of “History repeats itself, a war to end all wars” struck a particularly deep chord within me.
The Litanies of Satan was much less specific in content, but no less of a magical weapon for it. And this one does summon up an army of daggers. Diamanda’s vocal performances are truly astounding...and frightening to experience. Her music mainly consists of her moans, caterwauls and glossolalia, sometimes treated by filters and delays, but most of the chaos that emanates from your speakers comes straight from the singer herself. Her art is brutal, tortured, defiant, and even righteous. This is the sound of an idealist whose dreams and values are being stripped away, and she doesn’t take it lightly. If Jello Biafra offered some of the most pointed satirical attacks against Reagan and his cronies, Diamanda offered the most visceral attack upon the hypocrisy of the time, and the most vivid expression of an idealist’s fear for the future of their world.
Well, the political situation has changed; and while there’s certainly still lots of crazy in the world, the majority of America seems to have shifted to a more reasonable expectation of their country and its policies. Still, there’s plenty to be anxious and frustrated about; there’s still plenty of fodder for artistic release, right?
Or is it most effective to make politically informed art when railing against the party in power? I realize that one does not always agree with their party, even if they’re in power, and so one could make music informed by issues that are getting the short shrift by their own party. But does the really potent stuff come from the sorrow, rage and indignation of the dethroned and dispossessed?
And if so, does this mean that the Tea Party is going to release an album soon to rival the the folkies, the hippies, the punks, and the no-wavers?
Food for thought.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Analog Dreams of a Digital Age
These past few months I’ve been listening to a lot of synth pop. And when I say synth-pop, I mean the classic groups from the late 70’s and early 80’s: Kraftwerk, Human League, OMD, Tubeway Army, Soft Cell, Depeche Mode, John Foxx, Yazoo, New Order. Wonderful, beautiful stuff.
I’ve also been listening to Depeche Mode’s later albums. I’ve been ignorant of everything post-Violator, so I figured I’d give them a fair chance. And while I like most of the material (I don’t think DM has yet to release a bad album—pretty good track record for a band 30 years old), what's particularly striking to me is their progression throughout the years. From Kraftwerk-inspired robot pop, to industrial-tinged dance tracks, to massive arena-friendly synth rock, to an eventual embrace of 90’s “electronica” and glitch pop. Then, coming full circle, their latest album, “Sounds of the Universe,” incorporates 80’s era analog equipment to fashion songs by a band now aged and seasoned. From the futurism of the 80’s, to digital evolution in the 90’s, to a nostalgia for those bygone days of futurism.
Even aside from DM, though, this return to the analog synth sound is fairly common nowadays. Kanye’s 808 & Heartbreak, the Knife, Crystal Castles, Cut Copy, to name but a few examples. It’s so ubiquitous that charges of synth pop sounding “dated” are themselves out of date; the synth pop sound most associated with the 80’s has now achieved a “classic” status, not unlike 60’s Wall of Sound production effects.
While the textures and tones of classic synth pop live on, almost none of the recent groups or artists labeled as synth pop really have the same essence, the same spirit as the innovators who have haunted my speakers for the past few months. Goldfrapp, Ladytron, Darkel, Cut Copy, Postal Service, La Roux, Lady Gaga. Some I like, some I dislike, but none of them are really synth pop to me. It’s kind of like hearing that Jimmy Eat World is an “emo” band, when the original usage of the term was for bands that actually had earnest emotional conviction in their music. Yes, the 80's synth pop acts used synthesizers (but let's not forget that other instruments were used too; tasteful insertions of guitar were quite common), but more importantly, they forged a philosophy from synthesizers. Dashboard Confessional might reference emotional states (and so did the Beatles!), but the music does not seem emotive enough to warrant the emo label. Similarly, Postal Service might use synths to make their songs, but they don’t labor over those tones and textures like the old bands did. Their bleeps and bloops lack the blood and guts drawn from a group who exalts the synthesizer as the de facto medium of their artistic personalities.
It is true that, like Depeche, many of the old groups are marked by an outmoded pursuit of futurism. This perhaps adds to the charge of synth pop being dated. But it’s no more dated than the blissed-out idealism of late 60’s psychedelia. In truth, the groups’ embrace of new technology as the sound of the future granted them an exciting energy that many of their contemporaries lacked. In the music is the sense that anything is possible. Even if the songs are cold, detached prophesies of a dystopian future, they are performed with the relish of artists fully immersed in the narrative of their new sound. To me, this electric, naïve grandeur is akin to the freewheeling energy of 1950’s rock’n’roll tracks. Sonically, the styles are miles apart, but both contain a vitality that is almost primordial.
To that end, the only band currently labeled "synth pop" who I feel is worthy of inheriting the throne is the Knife. They don't sound like any particular classic synth act (although Gary Numan sometimes comes out in their textured drones), but they have that same spark, that total committment to the philosophy of their sound, that made synth pop more than just a gimmick. Others, such as Patrick Wolf and Bat for Lashes, don't showcase synths enough to warrant the label, but they have an approach to their art that belies a reverence to the classic synth pop pantheon, and so I give them honorable mention.
These other bands can use all the synths they want, analog or digital samples, and Lady Gaga can talk all she wants about celebrating "plastic." But unless they can take that shit to new, unexplored terrains of expression, they're just like the 90's swing revivalists--a stiff historical reinactment of a happening that was once dangerous, thrilling, and alive.
I’ve also been listening to Depeche Mode’s later albums. I’ve been ignorant of everything post-Violator, so I figured I’d give them a fair chance. And while I like most of the material (I don’t think DM has yet to release a bad album—pretty good track record for a band 30 years old), what's particularly striking to me is their progression throughout the years. From Kraftwerk-inspired robot pop, to industrial-tinged dance tracks, to massive arena-friendly synth rock, to an eventual embrace of 90’s “electronica” and glitch pop. Then, coming full circle, their latest album, “Sounds of the Universe,” incorporates 80’s era analog equipment to fashion songs by a band now aged and seasoned. From the futurism of the 80’s, to digital evolution in the 90’s, to a nostalgia for those bygone days of futurism.
Even aside from DM, though, this return to the analog synth sound is fairly common nowadays. Kanye’s 808 & Heartbreak, the Knife, Crystal Castles, Cut Copy, to name but a few examples. It’s so ubiquitous that charges of synth pop sounding “dated” are themselves out of date; the synth pop sound most associated with the 80’s has now achieved a “classic” status, not unlike 60’s Wall of Sound production effects.
While the textures and tones of classic synth pop live on, almost none of the recent groups or artists labeled as synth pop really have the same essence, the same spirit as the innovators who have haunted my speakers for the past few months. Goldfrapp, Ladytron, Darkel, Cut Copy, Postal Service, La Roux, Lady Gaga. Some I like, some I dislike, but none of them are really synth pop to me. It’s kind of like hearing that Jimmy Eat World is an “emo” band, when the original usage of the term was for bands that actually had earnest emotional conviction in their music. Yes, the 80's synth pop acts used synthesizers (but let's not forget that other instruments were used too; tasteful insertions of guitar were quite common), but more importantly, they forged a philosophy from synthesizers. Dashboard Confessional might reference emotional states (and so did the Beatles!), but the music does not seem emotive enough to warrant the emo label. Similarly, Postal Service might use synths to make their songs, but they don’t labor over those tones and textures like the old bands did. Their bleeps and bloops lack the blood and guts drawn from a group who exalts the synthesizer as the de facto medium of their artistic personalities.
It is true that, like Depeche, many of the old groups are marked by an outmoded pursuit of futurism. This perhaps adds to the charge of synth pop being dated. But it’s no more dated than the blissed-out idealism of late 60’s psychedelia. In truth, the groups’ embrace of new technology as the sound of the future granted them an exciting energy that many of their contemporaries lacked. In the music is the sense that anything is possible. Even if the songs are cold, detached prophesies of a dystopian future, they are performed with the relish of artists fully immersed in the narrative of their new sound. To me, this electric, naïve grandeur is akin to the freewheeling energy of 1950’s rock’n’roll tracks. Sonically, the styles are miles apart, but both contain a vitality that is almost primordial.
To that end, the only band currently labeled "synth pop" who I feel is worthy of inheriting the throne is the Knife. They don't sound like any particular classic synth act (although Gary Numan sometimes comes out in their textured drones), but they have that same spark, that total committment to the philosophy of their sound, that made synth pop more than just a gimmick. Others, such as Patrick Wolf and Bat for Lashes, don't showcase synths enough to warrant the label, but they have an approach to their art that belies a reverence to the classic synth pop pantheon, and so I give them honorable mention.
These other bands can use all the synths they want, analog or digital samples, and Lady Gaga can talk all she wants about celebrating "plastic." But unless they can take that shit to new, unexplored terrains of expression, they're just like the 90's swing revivalists--a stiff historical reinactment of a happening that was once dangerous, thrilling, and alive.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
A Toast to Better Times
I think most people tuned to sounds beyond those in the corporate spotlight would acknowledge that the mid-00’s signaled a surge of new, exciting music suddenly getting attention. Of course, some critics credit 2001 as the year rock was reborn, since the emergence of bands like the Strokes, Interpol, the White Stripes, the Vines, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and others was a somewhat refreshing change from the soulless dreck that had dominated since 1999 (some competing hits in 2001: Pink’s Like a Pill, Staind’s On the Outside, and Linkin Park’s In the End). But I hope that, nowadays, people can admit that most of these bands were just a quick fix—a shot of something mildly respectable to hold us over until some really inspiring music came our way. Then it came. True, a bunch of these bands had been around a few years before, but in 2004 they were finally getting the exposure and recognition they deserved. It was a renaissance, of sorts.
There was freak folk: a catch-all term that seemed appropriate for some bands and ridiculous for others, but nonetheless represents an emergence of acts, many of them friends and collaborators, boasting new quirky sounds. Devendra Banhart and Joanna Newsome were the freak-folkiest of the bunch—especially Devendra, whose warm, inviting voice offered imagery that was totally cracked. Both were whimsical spins on 60’s folk sounds, yet both reveled in an eccentricity that was more reflective of Daniel Johnston and Kate Bush. Animal Collective’s Sung Tongs seemed of the moment as well, with its blasted, blissful fragments of acoustic strums and coos making the perfect soundtrack for many a drug-fueled pagan romp. Sufjan Stevens had some folksy trappings, too, with his fondness for banjos and regional lore, but really he sounded more like a cross between Elliot Smith and Stereolab. Regardless, his earnest delivery and pretty harmonies had their charms.
Lumping in Cocorosie, Xiu Xiu, and Antony & the Johnsons with these acts is when the freak-folk label starts to bust. Cocorosie played an intriguingly demented take on children’s lullabies married to hip hop beats, ghostly vocals and animal noises. The sound of Xiu Xiu almost defied description, let alone categorization, but it was challenging, frustrating and exciting. And Antony’s “I Am a Bird Now” was art cabaret that completely shook you with its pure, powerful expression of isolation, loneliness, despair, resignation, and perseverance.
There was also a rise of indie music that fused edgy arrangements and experiments with a bigger, accessible sound—yielding the enticing prospect of eventually having mainstream stars that were actually making interesting music, like the Beatles, David Bowie, and Kate Bush used to. There was the Arcade Fire, who channeled Heroes-era Bowie and Talking Heads into urgent anthems of high passion. There was TV on the Radio, who also took Bowie—as well as Peter Gabriel, 70’s Soul, A.R. Kane, and more—and fashioned a giant, forward-thinking sound that was powerfully emotive, and also sounded great in a stadium. Sufjan Stevens was also one such hopeful, his planned 50-States project being a salient example of his ambition to become an Important Artist. A little later on, there was Patrick Wolf, who had the ramshackle energy of Arcade Fire, the sensuous strings of English folk, the charismatic whimsy of Kate Bush, the dark drama of Echo & the Bunnymen, and the decadent pulse of disco and classic synth pop: which seemed to me like a dynamite recipe for a leftfield artist to capture the attention of the mainstream. There was also M.I.A., whose initial fusion of UK grime, Dirty South and Baile Funk was pretty interesting, but whose second album “Kala” took the fusion approach to wondrous new heights; it was innovative, intelligent, and really damn fun to blast through your speakers.
There were other artists, like the Liars, the Decemberists, the Fiery Furnaces, the Knife, ad infinitum, but writing about them all would take forever! Suffice it to say, there was a glut of good sounds to be heard, and the hopes of many music fans had been restored.
Six years after that initial surge, it now seems as if the renaissance has waned. Devendra decided to front a rock band, a move that has wiped away his unique charms in favor of boring genre clichés. Cocorosie makes the same three songs over and over again. The drama of the Arcade Fire has since morphed into maudlin, world-weary arena rock. It seems that Antony can’t seem to move beyond the sound of his masterpiece, and is in danger of becoming a parody of his former self. Even Animal Collective disappoints! People used to throw around a few bands (Mercury Rev, the Holy Modal Rounders) to describe AC’s general spirit, but their sound was damn unique; now, though, their albums are growing into increasingly more streamlined, non-descript indie, the latest sounding like Brian Wilson at the disco. And for me, the charms of Sufjan, the Decemberists, and the Fiery Furnaces actually proved to be short-lived, with each act’s attempts at cutesy cleverness eventually wearing thin.
Not all hope is lost, though. There’s still some great music coming out. It’s just more of a trickle than a gushing geyser. Xiu Xiu still does what they do best. Joanna Newsome has developed a fuller, mature version of her earlier sound. The Knife just keeps getting better, with their last album, “Tomorrow In a Year” being my favorite album of the year so far. Patrick Wolf may have faltered on his last album, but Bat for Lashes nicely filled in last year’s requirement of inspired dark fairy pop. Similarly, Antony’s spark may have faded, but Soap&Skin is a kindred spirit worth your time.
It’s just that, recently, upon hearing two advance singles from M.I.A.’s new album that is scheduled to come out next month, I felt...well, disappointed.
Again.
It’s been so much fun following the trajectories of these budding and rising artists; am I about to lose yet another one? Is inspiration so ephemeral? Will the Flaming Lips and Radiohead be the only bands who possess both integrity AND staying power?
There’s no real good, clean break to signify an end to this moment in music history (admittedly, many elements of it being a moment at all are probably illusory narrative manipulations from sentimental asses like me), so now seems like a good a time as any.
Let us all raise our glasses and toast to the memory of the 00’s indie boom, the time that jolted life back into the music world.
Cheers to you, dwindling excitement.
There was freak folk: a catch-all term that seemed appropriate for some bands and ridiculous for others, but nonetheless represents an emergence of acts, many of them friends and collaborators, boasting new quirky sounds. Devendra Banhart and Joanna Newsome were the freak-folkiest of the bunch—especially Devendra, whose warm, inviting voice offered imagery that was totally cracked. Both were whimsical spins on 60’s folk sounds, yet both reveled in an eccentricity that was more reflective of Daniel Johnston and Kate Bush. Animal Collective’s Sung Tongs seemed of the moment as well, with its blasted, blissful fragments of acoustic strums and coos making the perfect soundtrack for many a drug-fueled pagan romp. Sufjan Stevens had some folksy trappings, too, with his fondness for banjos and regional lore, but really he sounded more like a cross between Elliot Smith and Stereolab. Regardless, his earnest delivery and pretty harmonies had their charms.
Lumping in Cocorosie, Xiu Xiu, and Antony & the Johnsons with these acts is when the freak-folk label starts to bust. Cocorosie played an intriguingly demented take on children’s lullabies married to hip hop beats, ghostly vocals and animal noises. The sound of Xiu Xiu almost defied description, let alone categorization, but it was challenging, frustrating and exciting. And Antony’s “I Am a Bird Now” was art cabaret that completely shook you with its pure, powerful expression of isolation, loneliness, despair, resignation, and perseverance.
There was also a rise of indie music that fused edgy arrangements and experiments with a bigger, accessible sound—yielding the enticing prospect of eventually having mainstream stars that were actually making interesting music, like the Beatles, David Bowie, and Kate Bush used to. There was the Arcade Fire, who channeled Heroes-era Bowie and Talking Heads into urgent anthems of high passion. There was TV on the Radio, who also took Bowie—as well as Peter Gabriel, 70’s Soul, A.R. Kane, and more—and fashioned a giant, forward-thinking sound that was powerfully emotive, and also sounded great in a stadium. Sufjan Stevens was also one such hopeful, his planned 50-States project being a salient example of his ambition to become an Important Artist. A little later on, there was Patrick Wolf, who had the ramshackle energy of Arcade Fire, the sensuous strings of English folk, the charismatic whimsy of Kate Bush, the dark drama of Echo & the Bunnymen, and the decadent pulse of disco and classic synth pop: which seemed to me like a dynamite recipe for a leftfield artist to capture the attention of the mainstream. There was also M.I.A., whose initial fusion of UK grime, Dirty South and Baile Funk was pretty interesting, but whose second album “Kala” took the fusion approach to wondrous new heights; it was innovative, intelligent, and really damn fun to blast through your speakers.
There were other artists, like the Liars, the Decemberists, the Fiery Furnaces, the Knife, ad infinitum, but writing about them all would take forever! Suffice it to say, there was a glut of good sounds to be heard, and the hopes of many music fans had been restored.
Six years after that initial surge, it now seems as if the renaissance has waned. Devendra decided to front a rock band, a move that has wiped away his unique charms in favor of boring genre clichés. Cocorosie makes the same three songs over and over again. The drama of the Arcade Fire has since morphed into maudlin, world-weary arena rock. It seems that Antony can’t seem to move beyond the sound of his masterpiece, and is in danger of becoming a parody of his former self. Even Animal Collective disappoints! People used to throw around a few bands (Mercury Rev, the Holy Modal Rounders) to describe AC’s general spirit, but their sound was damn unique; now, though, their albums are growing into increasingly more streamlined, non-descript indie, the latest sounding like Brian Wilson at the disco. And for me, the charms of Sufjan, the Decemberists, and the Fiery Furnaces actually proved to be short-lived, with each act’s attempts at cutesy cleverness eventually wearing thin.
Not all hope is lost, though. There’s still some great music coming out. It’s just more of a trickle than a gushing geyser. Xiu Xiu still does what they do best. Joanna Newsome has developed a fuller, mature version of her earlier sound. The Knife just keeps getting better, with their last album, “Tomorrow In a Year” being my favorite album of the year so far. Patrick Wolf may have faltered on his last album, but Bat for Lashes nicely filled in last year’s requirement of inspired dark fairy pop. Similarly, Antony’s spark may have faded, but Soap&Skin is a kindred spirit worth your time.
It’s just that, recently, upon hearing two advance singles from M.I.A.’s new album that is scheduled to come out next month, I felt...well, disappointed.
Again.
It’s been so much fun following the trajectories of these budding and rising artists; am I about to lose yet another one? Is inspiration so ephemeral? Will the Flaming Lips and Radiohead be the only bands who possess both integrity AND staying power?
There’s no real good, clean break to signify an end to this moment in music history (admittedly, many elements of it being a moment at all are probably illusory narrative manipulations from sentimental asses like me), so now seems like a good a time as any.
Let us all raise our glasses and toast to the memory of the 00’s indie boom, the time that jolted life back into the music world.
Cheers to you, dwindling excitement.
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