Many Drug Memories Ago...

...I was at an outlaw party in an abandoned warehouse in West Philly, whacked out of my mind on some really strong E and acid (a practice known as "candy flipping"). Everything was so epic to me. I felt as if the world was ending that moment, and it was beautiful. Suddenly, my hazy thoughts are interrupted by a burst of noise from the speakers: it's a thunderous boom of what sounded like horns used in battle. The sound was so powerful and strident, it enveloped everything in its path. Whatever the DJ (Scott Henry) was playing, it was simply magic stuff.

I tried for a few weeks after that to get a hold of that showstopping horn track. I scoured the new releases racks in the dance record shops, and asked around. Finally, it ended up on a Scott Henry mix tape that I bought, and I got to hear that magic track whenever I wanted. Only, the thing is, the track wasn't so magic after all. You may remember this one.

Yeah.

...Maybe a year later, I was in a club, again soaring high on some really good E. I was thoroughly enjoying the set, which was some pretty high energy dream house and trance (I can't recall the DJ though). Suddenly, the beats stopped, and everything was silent, save for some lovely synth washes. Eventually, I could hear an angelic voice emerging from the swathes of silken melody, kissing my ears with words that I could barely make out. Something about "a better one." Was it "Are you the better one?" Or "In a better world?" I had to know what this song was, it was so fucking beautiful to me. So fragile, almost sad. So special and majestic. And the fact that I had no idea what this mystery woman was saying to me was perhaps part of the appeal. I heard the track couple more times in clubs, again on drugs, and always I got this same feeling; that warm, inviting voice slowly emerging from the ether and tugging my heartstrings before the surging beat returned to carry the song to anthemic heights.

I also tried my darndest to find this track, and this one was more elusive than the first. A good deal later, my friend mentioned that she bought some new tracks and asked if I wanted to hear her spin them. We went to her place, and she pulled out her first record. She said she was ultra excited to get this, that this was a track that everyone loved, and that I'd know it right away when I heard it. And, lo and behold, as soon as I heard it, I realized that this was my cherished song! Only, this time, the magic was completely gone, and my angel-soft mystery anthem was replaced with this!

Pretty embarrassing.

So, yeah, I guess the moral of the story is:


Do drugs.


Do a lot of drugs. Because if drugs have the power to turn these pieces of shit into the glorious crescendos of feeling that I've experienced, into profound emotional moments, then there's no telling what other wonders they can do.

The End.

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.