Heartache With Hard Work

Item number two on the list of much-anticipated records released in October: the Decemberists are back with their fourth record in four years. The Crane Wife continues their travels away from pretty historical-folk dream-pop and toward historical-folk prog-rock.

It’s a tough album for me, because (as I’ve said in the past), I fell and fell hard for the Decemberists when I first saw them on Valentine’s Day 2003. I immediately bought Castaways and Cutouts, and I still might consider that to be my favorite album of the 21st century. But, as is often the case, what started as a perfect unity has split apart on subsequent albums. Colin Meloy and company are exploring new terrain. And while I still love his wordplay, their melodies, and the general atmosphere, nothing they’ve done since has produced the same magnetic attraction.

That said, they continue to receive praise and positive reviews from a wide range of people, they seem to be enjoying themselves just fine, and with this their first major label release, we can only hope they’re getting some decent compensation for many years of hard work.

I won’t go into too much detail on the record, since you can probably infer pretty easily for yourself what it sounds like. Or, if you want to read some longer reviews, check out Pitchfork, CokemachineGlow, or Good Weather For Airstrikes.

For me, I’ll leave my comments to a few quick points:

First, O Valencia is about as catchy a take on starcrossed lovers as you’ll ever hear. Even more than last year’s “Sixteen Military Wives,” this is the song that could make it big in the mainstream.

Second, bringing in Laura Veirs to sing a duet with Meloy on “Yankee Bayonet (I Will Be Home Then)” was a brilliant move – the melding of these two beautifully distinct voices on one song is one of the highlights of 2006 in music. Hopefully, it will get more people to check out her solo work.

Third, the two long tracks are a mixed blessing. “The Island…” is well put together and has moments of greatness, but (at least for my tastes) drags on a bit. Or rather (since the second half is much better than the first), takes a long time to really get good. “The Crane Wife,” on the other hand, is brilliant the whole way through, and demonstrates that Meloy is still one of the greatest storytellers and songwriters of our generation. The album opens with The Crane Wife 3, and doesn’t return to Parts 1 and 2 until track 9, which is a little puzzling, but I kind of like the idea that the album works better on repeat, with the rousing “Sons and Daughters” serving as an interlude. And Part 3 is definitely the strongest, so letting it kick off the album makes some sense.

Fourth, the middle of this album is depressingly bad. A number of other folks seem to enjoy “The Perfect Crime 2” but I find it plodding and dull. Taste varies, I guess. The next track, however, doesn’t get the same caveat. There is no excuse for “When the War Came.” It is, by far, my least favorite Decemberists song. Awkward lyrics (“when the war came, the war came HARD”) and a god-awful heavy metal-ish riff that just repeats over and over and over and over until you want to drive a wooden stake through your ear… In short, yuck. And the next two tracks (“Shankill Butchers” and “Summersong”) are sloppily done Decemberists-by-numbers songs, sounding like B-sides or leftovers from an earlier album. Any of these four songs would challenge for worst song on any other Decemberists album.

This is unfortunate because, apart from the mediocre middle, this is an excellent album. Which has led me to decide that I will simply excise the middle, and treat it as a Pink Floyd-esque 6-song, 42 minute record (jumping straight from “O Valencia” to “The Crane Wife 1 and 2”). Without that baggage, this challenges for one of the best records of the year.

Still, to paraphrase my thoughts about Picaresque last year: it shows just how talented this band really is that an album can be one of my favorites of the year and still be a bit of a disappointment.

MP3s:
O Valencia
The Crane Wife 3

The Hold Steady invite a lot of argument. Some people love them (witness a 9.4 – their highest rating of 2006 – from Pitchfork), some people hate them, and a lot of folks just don’t get what all the fighting is about.

Their new record Boys and Girls in America isn’t much of a departure from their previous work. So for the fans, it will be more proof that they rule. And for the critics, it will be referenced consistently as “the most overhyped album of 2006.”

I have a tough time here because I like them a lot, but for reasons that don’t really mesh with most of the rest of the critical lauding they’ve received. First of all, I don’t smoke, I don’t drink, I don’t do drugs, and I really have little patience for those who do. Danger never seemed that fun to me.

It’s not that I can’t recognize the pathos of stories like these, it’s just that I consistently find myself disappointed in the degree to which they accept the myth: the glory of masculinity, the joy of playing with fire. Even if the point is to reveal that these people are messed up, they are also glorified.

And yet, I enjoy The Hold Steady, despite their songs being almost exclusively inhabited by addicts, self-destructive behavior, and the kinds of people I would be perfectly happy to never interact with. Girls gone bad who are into guys that are even worse. Bleh. I know, I know…the allure of the bad boy is so enticing. Spare me.

So what gives? Well, for one thing they play some great rock and roll. And as much as I might get annoyed at the subject matter, it’s hard to turn down some great riffs. But beyond that, the ghost of Springsteen says a lot.

You can’t read a review of this album without a Springsteen reference and in many ways it’s very appropriate. They write songs about location and the little relationships between people that stand in for Big Picture questions about life in this America. And, on this record, they borrow even more heavily from the Born to Run vibe of plinking pianos running in the midst of big power chords.

And, most tellingly, unlike some other songs about sex, drugs, and rock and roll, there is a deeper story here, about what we grasp for when our old beliefs are insufficient. Holly has motivations like a real person – she is searching for something that cannot be found.

But I’m not sure how far it goes. Craig Finn’s vocals are nothing like the Boss, and this is a band much more into the big 70s rockers – I don’t think this band could produce anything like “Sandy” or “Thunder Road,” much less anything on Nebraska. I guess the difference is that Springsteen can write a song about anyone while The Hold Steady seem much more stuck in a certain kind of story. They couldn’t write “Sandy” because it’s too ethereal. And they couldn’t write “Thunder Road” or “Born to Run” because those songs, for all their dwelling on the pain and suffering of life, are fundamentally optimistic – they believe in redemption, not just as a moment of salvation but as something fundamental. Holly, Charlemagne, Gideon, and the rest don’t inhabit that same world. Even in their very best moments (such as Separation Sunday’s “How a Resurrection Really Feels”), there is a limit to where these characters will go. There is no transcendence.

And that’s okay. It may be even more realistic than the youthful optimism of Born to Run. But I worry that it’s a dead end. Springsteen didn’t stand still. Less than a decade after that record, he gave us all a bloody nose with Nebraska. I’m not sure The Hold Steady have such a change in them. Because Nebraska and Born to Run are different variations on the same talent of getting so completely into a character that, at least for the length of a song, you become them. All their dreams, all their failings, they become the only reality. Murderers or kids filled with reckless abandon or anything in between – they all feel like real people.

No matter how much I enjoy songs from The Hold Steady, the characters feel like just that: characters. Cutouts of real people, embodiments of a concept of rock and roll. And thus: cliches.

All of this is not to say that the album is bad. Far from it. Finn is a fantastic storyteller. And though I find the confines he has built for himself a bit limiting, within those limits he writes some masterful and evocative lyrics. And they play some great rock and roll, like it’s meant to be played.

A lot of stuff I haven’t really talked about: the 60s-esque harmonies and instrumentation (see the end of “Massive Nights”) often feels out of place. Finn’s efforts to sing tenderly (see the otherwise sterling “First Night”) get schmaltzy. For the most part, the piano is deftly deployed, though with occasional mis-steps. While Dave Pirner tosses in a okay guest spot on “Chillout Tent,” I could really do without whoever is singing the female part. And if I never heard “Same Kooks” again, I would be perfectly happy.

But there are a few great songs: the aforementioned “First Night,” which is close to a power ballad but in the best possible way, the powerful opener “Stuck Between Stations” with its perfectly executed piano interlude that leads back into the explosive guitars, the power pop “Party Pit,” and the album closer “Arms and Hearts.”

So, short version: this is a good album. If you like stories about drinking, drugs, and sex, with a little bit of redemption thrown in, this one is for you. If you like rock and roll, this one is for you. If you haven’t heard anything from them, this is a good place to start, and see if they appeal to you. But if you didn’t like the other Hold Steady albums, you aren’t really missing anything here.

MP3s:
First Night
Stuck Between Stations
Party Pit

And if you want to read an interesting discussion on the album, check out this thread in the elbo.ws forum.

Finally back from Kentucky and completely exhausted – it’s been almost a week of not getting enough sleep ending with an all-nighter, and having to catch a flight out of Lexington at 5:30 AM. Ick. So needless to say, I plan on spending a great deal of time in the next few days sleeping.

A bunch of new albums have just come out that I will talk about later this week (Decemberists, Hold Steady, Chin Up Chin Up are the big ones), but I’m a little too wiped out to get started on that today. So, in honor of that wonderful thing, sleep, here are a few great songs:

Half Asleep – Super Deluxe

One of my very first posts was about Super Deluxe, still one of my all-time favorite bands. This track is among their best. It’s just about as pretty a pop-rock song as you can imagine. Once again, can I ask how this band wasn’t HUGE?

I’m Only Sleeping – Beatles

Any mix of songs about sleep could not be complete without this one. It’s my #39 Beatles song, and I’ll just repeat what I said back in May:

The production still sounds amazing 40 years later. The backward guitars are nicely done, and the overall feel of the song is of heaviness, even drowsiness. It’s precisely the sort of song that, totally apart from the lyrics, feels appropriate for a listless late morning when you just can’t drag yourself out of bed to face the day. John’s vocals are, as usual, well done. But the highlight for me might be, as bizarre as it sounds, the short interludes with the bass (for example, from 1:56 to 2:03). It’s such a small part of the song, but it really sets the whole mood. If you pay attention, you’ll notice that bass riff throughout the song. By the way, you can contrast this one with “I’m So Tired.” Same basic theme, but such completely different approaches that they end up feeling and sounding totally dissimilar.

Do You Sleep? – Lisa Loeb

Okay, who grew up in the 90s and didn’t have a huge crush on Lisa Loeb? No one worth talking to anyways. “Stay” is obviously her best work, but the whole Tails album was really great, and this song in particular shows that she had a lot more of the bitter alt-rock chick attitude than you might have expected. It also featured a video with some seriously intense clothes-washing.

When You Sleep – Mirah

A great cover of the classic My Bloody Valentine track. Glimmering shoegaze is transformed to atmospheric, liquid folk. I picked up this track randomly about 5 years ago and frankly have no idea where it came from. I just know I love it.

Where Did You Sleep Last Night – Nirvana

The final track on their brilliant Unplugged album, this song took a really long time to grow on me. It’s really only been in the last few years that I gave it a fair shake. But now that I have…wow. This album (and, I think, this performance in particular) ended all doubts that Nirvana were talentless noisemakers, in part because it included so many covers (like this one) that radically reimagined or expanded on the original.

I mean, just listen to his voice. Part of what made Nirvana so easy to emulate but so impossible to truly follow was Cobain’s raggedness–lyricially, musically, and vocally. This was music being made in the indistinct space between madness and genius.

Sleeping Aides and Razorblades – Exploding Hearts

I actually posted this song back in April, but it seemed appropriate to revisit it given the theme, and given my recent annoying girl troubles.

Alright, time to go watch some Buffy and prepare myself for a nap, so I’ll be well-rested and prepared for some seriously sleeping. Tune in the rest of the week for a bunch of good, new stuff.

Busy times, but a real quick post for today. The four big questions about the new Killers record Sam’s Town:

1. Is it “one of the best albums of the last 20 years?”

No, of course not.

2. Is it trying too hard?

Yes, of course.

3. Is it full of hackneyed cliches about Jesus, weird weather/highway metaphors (“We’re burning down the highway skyline / On the back of a hurricane that started turning”), and living life the right way?

Obvi.

4. Is it awful?

No, don’t be stupid.

I think people really want to hate it, but it’s really not bad. It doesn’t quite have the catchiness and irascible charm of Hot Fuss and the ratio of bombast-to-content is definitely too high for it to achieve the meaningfulness it clearly desires, but for all that, it’s a very enjoyable listen.

The melding of faux-80s dance-rock and Springsteen-lite doesn’t produce a record for the ages but it ain’t bad. If you liked the last record and aren’t too worried about hipster-cred to enjoy some solid songs without worrying about their placement in the hype-cycle, you’ll probably like it just fine.

For a pretty reasonable sample, check out:

When You Were Young

Heading down South again on another trip. This time to Lexington, Kentucky. In honor of all things good about the South (sweet tea and Waffle House, mainly), here’s a song by the Drive-By Truckers from their album The Dirty South.

The Day John Henry Died

A really fantastic taken on the John Henry story that just gives me shivers:

It didn’t matter if he won, if he lived, or if he’d run.
They changed the way his job was done. Labor costs were high.
That new machine was cheap as hell and only John would work as well,
so they left him laying where he fell the day John Henry died.

A blast from the past on this chilly Saturday, with a couple tracks from California punk icons Face to Face.

Disconnected

From their first album Don’t Turn Away. That record came out in 1992, which leads me to ask: can it really have been 14 years? I remember this song coming out. Scary. Anyways, this is what pretty much every 90s punk song wishes it could have sounded like. The crunching guitars, the bombastic chorus, the gruff yet earnest vocals. It made its way onto many many of my high school mixtapes.

You Could’ve Had Everything

A newer track from 2000’s Reactionary. It doesn’t pack quite as much of a punch as “Disconnected” but it’s still a great song. When it’s done right, a song like this sounds so simple to make, but countless failed pop-punk ripoffs demonstrate that finding just the right balance is tougher than it seems.

Douglas Adams might be my favorite writer, but he’s also been pretty important to me musically. It was he that turned me onto Dire Straits, and the way he talked about Bach in Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency convinced me to give the Brandenburg Concertos a try. And, I was blown away.

Brandenburg Concerto No. 5 I. Allegro (m4a format – I wanted to keep the quality as high as possible)

To be honest, I’m not even sure where this particular take comes from. In the various computer switches and iTunes failure I’ve lost the information about who are where this was recorded. But of the many variations I’ve heard, I think this one is my favorite for its quick pace and the way it seems to swoop and soar.

Rather than trying to say much more, and given where I first got the impulse to give Bach a try, I thought it would be nice to share a little bit of Adams’ writing on the subject (from the posthumous collection The Salmon of Doubt). I hope you enjoy it…

Whatever new extremities of discovery or understanding we reach, we always seem to find the footsteps of Bach there already. When we see images of the strange mathematical beasts lurking at the heart of the natural world—fractal landscapes, the infinitely unfolding paisley whorls of the Mandelbrot Set, the Fibonacci series, which describes the pattern of leaves growing on the stem of a plant, the Strange Attractors that beat at the heart of chaos— it is always the dizzying, complex spirals of Bach that come to mind.

Some people say that the mathematical complexity of Bach renders it unemotional. I think the opposite is true. As I listen to the interplay of parts in a piece of Bach polyphony, each individual strand of music gathers hold of a different feeling in my mind, and takes them on simultaneous interweaving rollercoasters of emotion. One part may be quietly singing to
itself, another on an exhilarating rampage, another is sobbing in the corner, another dancing. Arguments break out, laughter, rage. Peace is restored. The parts can be utterly different, yet all belong indivisibly together. It’s as emotionally complex as a family.

And now, as we discover that each individual mind is a family of different parts, all working separately but together to create the fleeting shimmers we call consciousness, it seems that once again, Bach was there before us.

When you listen to the Fifth Brandenburg Concerto, you don’t need a musicologist to tell you that something new and different is happening. Even two and three quarter centuries after it actually was new, you can hear the unmistakable thrumming energy of a master at the height of his powers doing something wild and daring with absolute self-confidence. When Bach wrote it, he put himself at the harpsichord instead of the viola he more usually played in ensembles. It was a happy, productive time of his life when he was at last surrounded by some good musicians. The harpsichord traditionally played a supporting role in this kind of group, but not this time. Bach let rip.

As you listen to the first movement, you hear something strange, new, and terrifying giving birth to itself. Or maybe it’s a giant engine, or even a great horse being prepared for a Herculean task, surrounded by (you can’t help jumbling metaphors when language tries to keep up with music) a flotilla of helpers fussing around it. You hear it ticking over, trotting having a little canter here and there, getting a bit frisky, and then taking a trial run as its helpers encourage it onward, keening with bated breath. It hauls itself back in again, does another quick circuit. . . and then the other instruments fall silent. It stands free and alone, pawing at the ground, breathing deeply, gathering its strength, trotting forward . . .

And then it makes its move—running . . . hurtling. . .flying . . .climbing. . . clambering. . . pushing. . . panting. . . twisting. . . trashing . . .pounding at the ground . . . pounding . . . pounding . . . suddenly breaking away, running onward desperately, and then, with one last little unexpected step up in the bass, it’s home and free—the main tune charges in triumphantly and it’s all over bar the weeping and dancing (i.e., the second and third movements).

The familiarity of the Brandenburgs should not blind us to their magnitude. I’m convinced that Bach is the greater genius who ever walked among us, and the Brandenburgs are what he wrote when he was happy.

Tilly and the Wall, whose Wild Like Children was the first record released on Conor Oberst’s Team Love label, have a new record out for 2006. Bottom of Barrels took a while to percolate into my brain but is now pretty firmly ensconced as one of the best albums I’ve heard in the last few months.

And seriously, how adorable are they?

The Freest Man

This is the song that got me hooked on them. It made its way onto my most recent mix and I’ve been listening to it pretty obsessively for the last month or two. It is the story of a boy who can’t seem to right his ship, but the tone of the song (bright and bubbly electronic-folk) keeps things from falling too far. And ultimately the message is a hopeful one: “open your mouth / scream it out loud / forget all your doubt / you are the freest man.” There is clearly a lot of emotion here, but it never feels overwrought. And despite a message that doesn’t really address the sophisticated nature of substance abuse, it doesn’t really feel silly – just earnest and honest.

Lost Girls

This song embodies a number of characteristics that make Tilly and the Wall great. The percussion is primarily tap dancing (no joke), the vocals are heartfelt but not overly maudlin, and the tone shifts just a bit when the curtain is lifted with about a minute to go and they give themselves some space to really move about. It’s close to a ballad, but they’ve simply got too much energy to leave it at that.

You can hear more MP3s from the album page for Bottom of Barrels at the Team Love site. Other ones worth checking out include the gorgeous “Rainbow in the Dark,” the flamenco-inspired “Bad Education,” and “Black and Blue,” about that feeling when everything seems just right and nothing could ever go wrong.

Also, according to Pitchfork the new Nellie McKay album is scheduled for release on Halloween. And they have a link to a video for “Real Life” which is worth checking out.

Around the blogs: I Am Fuel, You Are Friends has an update about Brandi Carlile. I Guess I’m Floating has an update (and a new song) from We Will Build. Idolator raises a ruckus about wiki-plagiarism on My Old Kentucky Blog. And a number of folks are talking about the new Lemonheads out today. I haven’t had time to give it more than a cursory listen, but will probably post about it in the next week.

Instead, today I want to discuss someone who has been criminally underrepresented in the blogs: Dan Bern. His newest album Breathe (or available on eMusic) was released with virtually no fanfare last week. It’s not his best work, but it’s not his worst, either, and adds even more compelling evidence to support the inevitable Dylan comparisons. And it’s got a fair number of very enjoyable songs.

These two are probably my two favorites:

Breathe
Visit in My Dream

The reviews I read before I heard the record it said that it was much less political than most of his other work, which was disappointing, because I love the role that Bern has staked out as someone unafraid to speak his mind, to speak with conviction and with irony. However, upon hearing the whole thing, it seems clear to me that while it is less overtly political, there is a whole lot going on beneath the surface.

At its core, this is an album about personal relationship, but it is framed within the broad context of materialism, war, and religion. As such, it’s political in a much more subtle way. And frankly, as much as I love the bitter humor, I’ve always enjoyed him most when he was earnest and personal (see “Chelsea Hotel” or “Kurt Cobain”). These two songs walk the line very well, revealing a lot of weariness but not succumbing. “Breathe” in particular contains a number of great lines, my favorite of which is:

There’s nothing innocent about a newborn babe
That a few years here can’t cure
And it’s not so much that you burn out
Baby, but you finally just endure

At the risk of taking the Dylan references a little too far, I’d suggest that this is something of a Blood on the Tracks for Bern. Not in terms of overall quality (as much as I enjoy the record, it’s hardly a masterpiece), but in focus and scope.

Other tracks worth checking out are “Past Belief,” “Suicide Room,” and “Trudy.”

And, while I’m on the subject of Dan Bern, and since I talked about Nirvana yesterday, here’s my all-time favorite Dan Bern song:

Kurt

The best song about the modern “day the music died,” this is from his debut EP a decade ago. He’s done some great work since then, but this is still his best, in my opinion.

Back in town. Anybody else read this article from the Times UK about Nirvana? Pretty weak sauce. Some quotes:
“Stone Temple Pilots and Live — bands who, a decade ago, were clearly marked as the diluted, corporate answer to Nirvana but now seem to be viewed by a new generation of rock fans as grunge legends of equal standing. A quick scan of the hallowed top eight friends on the Nirvana MySpace page provides something of a surprise, with pride of place going to the wholly catchy, not remotely tortured Weezer and Blink-182.”

I can’t say I’ve ever met anyone who thought Stone Temple Pilots were on the same plane as Nirvana. Sure, “Interstate Love Song” is good and who doesn’t like “Vaseline,” but come on.

And Weezer is not remotely tortured? Well, sure…if you ignore their masterwork.

But the general thesis of the article–that Nirvana has aged poorly–pretty much directly contradicts with my experience. I was a little bit young to really be into them (I was 12 when Cobain died), but in my high school years fell for them, and hard. Since then, I’ll go awhile without listening to them and then hear a song, remember just how great they really sound, and have to put on the whole catalog.

I mean, “Smells Like Teen Spirit” and the whole Nevermind album are one of the few examples where popular imagination and reality match up perfectly. That opening guitar riff, those drums, the Platonic ideal of the loud/soft dynamic, Kurt’s voice. It’s the closest thing to an “I Want to Hold Your Hand” that my generation ever got.

Anyways, here’s a few (slightly) less well-known Nirvana songs, and a cover that I picked up recently.

Molly’s Lips – from Incesticide

A number of my favorite Nirvana songs are covers of The Vaselines. This one, “Son of a Gun” (also on Incesticide), and “Jesus Don’t Want Me For a Sunbeam” (from Unplugged in New York). This one shows the band at their melodic-punk-grunge finest and was (I think) the final single they released on Sub Pop.

Verse Chorus Verse – from the No Alternative compilation

My best friend in high school (a serious Nirvana afficienado) said this song might be his favorite by them. It’s not quite that high for me (it’s gotta be “Smells Like Teen Spirit” or “Heart Shaped Box” for me), but I can’t really argue.

Lithium – Polyphonic Spree

More a novelty than anything else, it’s still pretty interesting to hear the Spree take on Cobain’s homage to mental illness.

In other news, the Bill Clinton interview on Fox from this weekend just reminds me once again how much I wish we could have him back as the president. He don’t take no guff.

And, while I’m on the subject of politicians, I encourage everyone to check out some of the best (and most hilarious) campaign ads I’ve ever seen from the Vermont Senatorial campaign. My favorite one:

Against kids!

And the absolute best line is about 24 seconds in when it shifts to the close-up so he can repeat: “child molesters…”

Oh, George Kuusela, what will you say next?

It’s especially funny once you understand that Rich Tarrant is going to lose in a landslide, and is funding the entire campaign out of his own pocket. Oh, and Sanders is a Socialist.