So a lot has been happening – the end of camp, packing up my whole life and trying to fit it into my car, starting a road trip that will take me all the way across the country to my new home in California…
If I get a chance, I’ll try to post here and there over the next few weeks (possibly even with pictures), but in the meantime, Shane is likely to keep saying things over at That’s What Shane Said.
Hooray – Delays
Alright, I know I’m supposed to be skeptical of the any music that comes with this kind of glossy sheen, but I just can’t help myself. The new Delays album Everything’s The Rush is overwrought, appeals to some of the impulses that as a music snob I’m supposed to detest, and for all of that remains totally awesome. It’s a dizzying rush of strings and big choruses. In short, if you like sugar (and let’s be honest, we all pretty much do, as much as we might not want to admit it), you’ll like this record. Just try and listen to “Hooray” and not to smile.
Geraldine (radio edit) – Glasvegas
I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for the name Geraldine. There’s lots of reasons but most significantly, it was my first girlfriend’s name. So I’m glad its now turned out to be a pretty good song. I think she would have really liked this one a lot, with its combination of fuzzed guitars and more traditional (almost hearkening back to 60s pop) melodic structure.
And there’s something really powerful about the twist of the song. It’s a statement of love and caring, a willingness to put your heart on the line for someone. But all of that is put into a new light when it’s revealed that the singer is a social worker. You’re left with an uncomfortable anxiety that’s difficult to create in such a short song. On one level, you feel a tremendous amount of respect and admiration for those who devote their lives to social work, to helping the less fortunate. And you wonder who many people could be the subject of this song, brought out of the darkness thanks to the tireless work of one selfless person. But on another level, you can’t shake a sense of deep sadness, that the optimism of the song is tilted inexorably with the revelation that the only one who is there for this poor kid is a stranger. And you wonder if, despite all the efforts, it will actually be enough. Or if the song is an exercise in the self-delusion of those who desperately want to make a difference but sometimes simply cannot.
I’m still waiting to listen to their upcoming album, but from the couple songs I have heard – and the various home demos that have been floating around for a while – Glasvegas (along with the previously gushed-about Frightened Rabbit) could be paving the way for a serious Scottish Invasion this year.
I’m Amazed – My Morning Jacket
Okay, so I think the new My Morning Jacket album is…to put it bluntly…not very good. If you ever heard the Violent Femmes album New Times, you know what I’m talking about – the deep sense of embarrassment I feel at listening to what happens when a band I like decides to internalize the very worst of the 80s and call it an album. There’s a couple decent tracks in the second half when they just let the guitars and Jim James do their things – “I’m Amazed” starts out nicely although I could live without the guitar histronics in the second half. And “Sec Walkin” – apart from the corny backing vocals – is very pretty.
But even if the rest of the record was great, I simply cannot get past their decision to release “Highly Suspicious” which may be the single worst song I’ve heard in years. For shame, My Morning Jacket.
The Gardener – The Tallest Man On Earth
Wispy and folksy – like a cross between an old Dylan record and a Page France song. This is the kind of track that is just begging for a cutesy old-fashioned video, with little kids riding a seesaw and laughing like only a seven year old can. And in the background a man tends his garden, and watches the kids with a hint of a smile and a twinkle in his eye.
The record is called Shallow Grave.
Alright, it’s clear that I’m a little bit too busy to approximate my usual pattern of posting. There are two options. I can choose to simply ignore the blog for the next 6 weeks while I’m working, traveling across the country, etc. Or I can alter the style of posting to make it easier to update. For now, I’m choosing the latter option though I reserve the right to simply disappear for a while if things get too busy for even that.
That means I’m going to stop feeling guilty for failing to post on albums that deserve my traditional long-winded treatment. I’ll get around to those when the fall rolls around. So Mates of State, Fleet Foxes, etc. are just going to have to wait. In the meantime, I’m going to limit myself to three lines per post – and attempt to cover some of the more obscure stuff I’ve been listening to lately. First on the list…
San Solomon – Balmorhea
Langorous as a raft on a slow moving river, this song drifts slowly between the rushes. You can sense a gentle sadness, burnished by the slow passage of years. And as you stare far off into the distance, you can see that the child with the wide eyes and the old man with wrinkled hands and a crooked grin are one in the same.
Balmorhea are from Austin, and have a record out called River Arms (eMusic) on Western Vinyl.
I think most anyone who would care already knows that George Carlin died a few weeks ago. I meant to do a post the day it happened, but (as these things often do) I never quite got around to it. And then it seemed like the moment had passed. But two things changed my mind.
The first reason is pretty simple: I’ve been going back and listening to his stuff on and off over these couple weeks and it’s reminded me of just how funny, insightful, and interesting an artist he really was. More than almost anyone else, Carlin bridged the gap between comedy and music. Listening to his stand-up was often a pleasure not necessarily because what he was saying was “funny” in any strict sense, but more because of the he used rhythm, meter, and intonation to suck you in.
The second is a little more spiteful. Put simply, I’ve read or heard a lot of folks discussing his legacy who seem to have completely and utterly missed the point. These people inevitably open with a reference to the “seven words” and then use that as a segue into a Lenny Bruce reference, immediately pigeon-holing Carlin as a guy whose primary interest was to shock the audience. Occasionally, they’ll abandon that line long enough to point out that Carlin was also an innovator in the line of observational humor (the “did you ever notice…” sort of stuff). And maybe, just maybe, they’ll (incorrectly) label him a “staunch atheist.” Finally, they’ll say something like “sure, he was a pioneer, but I just never found him that funny.”
Now, humor is one of the most subjective things in the world, so far be it from me to argue about what another person ought to find funny. But still…if we’re going to be writing elegies and talking about a man’s entire life works, shouldn’t we dig a little deeper than 4 or 5 bits from a career that featured over a dozen HBO specials, tons of albums and books, and literally thousands of stand-up appearances?
Take the atheism thing. Yes, in the later years, he took a very hard line on the non-existence of God. In particular, his bit from 1999’s You Are All Diseased remains one of the definitive takedowns of the founding principles of religion, all the more powerful for its directness and wide-eyed glee:
There Is No God – George Carlin
But, like most brilliant people, Carlin didn’t emerge at this place out of nowhere. This bit is far more interesting, far funnier, far more touching if you know about his past work. Take 1972’s classic Class Clown for example, which deals extensively with his formative years, growing up in an Irish-Catholic family. It’s a much gentler, more whimsical Carlin, but it’s clearly the same guy. And it reveals a common theme that runs through all of his work: his interest in finding ways of bringing into light those things which we really ought to have seen for ourselves.
I Used to Be Irish Catholic – George Carlin
The joke is not just in the revelation (“oh yeah, that does happen all the time doesn’t it?”), but also in the way it inspires immediate self-reflection. What Carlin did better than anyone was provide constant digs at how people trick themselves in the most subtle of ways to not see the obvious. Or, to paraphrase one of his lines: he just tells us stuff we already knew but hadn’t gotten around to noticing yet. This is really a very delicate thing, and I think Carlin’s real genius was in his ability to poke fun at those of us who were listening, without it ever feeling malicious. We could share in the joke, even as we feel just a bit of discomfort.
Of course not every bit will work for everyone – no one is funny all the time – but I think people who never really “got” him ought to give it another chance. Explore some of the less well known stuff. Borrow a copy of Class Clown (you have at least three friends who own it, I guarantee), check out one of his HBO shows from your local library, or even just on google video. Jammin’ in New York would be a great place to start. His opening bit from that act on the Gulf War is startling for the way it feels immediate and retains its bite.
So he’s gone now, but I hope that this means a few new folks will discover his work and get some joy out of it. As for Carlin himself, I don’t think I could put my feelings any better than Joshua Mann did in an article for Slate:
He certainly would not want us to think of him smiling down on us from the clouds. If we want to imagine where, precisely, George Carlin has gone, we’d do better to recall what he told us in a line from one of his first HBO specials, back in 1978: “I think when you die your soul goes to a garage in Buffalo.”
Or, to put it another way: so long, and thanks for all the laughs, George.
A little bit of my regular life intruding on the blog today… This summer I’m working at the debate camp here at Dartmouth. Debate camp, as you might imagine, is pretty much the coolest place around. And, as if it wasn’t hip enough to begin with, now we’re moving full-speed-ahead into the 21st century, and putting all our information, lectures, and various other stuff online.
The upshot of this is that the lectures for the Dartmouth Debate Workshop (just completed today), which were already on our wiki are now available in podcast form. You can either go to this url or search within the iTunes store for “Dartmouth Debate Workshop.” Even more exciting, the lectures for the upcoming Dartmouth Debate Institute – including some by me – will be available soon. So if you’re really excited to hear me talk about the hydrogen economy or counterplan theory, this is your chance.
If, on the other hand, you want to hear the next big thing from Scandinavian pop, you can just listen to this track from Swedish songstress Lykke Li:
Dance Dance Dance – Lykke Li
I think it’s safe to say: Anna Ternheim is to this decade what Beth Orton was to the 90s. There was a brief era when it seemed that folk-influenced trip-hop was going to be the next big thing. It faded, but before the mood had completely disappeared we were graced with Orton’s beautiful Central Reservation.
To Be Gone – Anna Ternheim
Now, a decade later, I listen to this song, and once again I’m transported into another world. A world of dreamy melodies that ride on the gentle crest of an electronic beat, with a voice that enchants and bewitches. However, where Orton’s singing was gauzy, expansive, strong – Ternheim provides a decidedly Scandanavian perspective. More sparse. And instead of draping over you, it flutters and dances – always someplace just beyond your reach.
It’s a lonely sound. One that says far more about what is hidden than it does about what is on display. It calls to mind a distant loneliness, one that stretches across an entire life. And all that holds it together is the memory of a quick kiss, shared in the black and white world of a snowy night under a new moon.
Anna Ternheim has been around for a while, but Halfway to Fivepoints is her first US release.
Many songs, even some of the greatest ones ever made, are simply too dense – too full of possibility – to reveal themselves completely the first time through. But then there are the ones that you hear once, and immediately know that you’ll love them forever.
Obvious – Vancougar
Not surprisingly, this category tends to be filled with songs exactly like this one. Warm, energetic, full of swooping power chords and keyboards that dazzle you like the sun after a summer storm. It’s exactly the sort of song that you used to expect from the New Pornographers before they decided to get all serious. It’s rambunctious and carefree, without a hint of irony in its wide-eyed joy.
Vancougar are located in the beautiful city of Vancouver, BC, and have a record coming out next week called Canadian Tuxedo, chock full of tunes to make you think back to the days when you would lie in the grass, stare at puffy white clouds and stuff your mouth with blackberries.
