Starting from Scratch

Music: Broken Social Scene - Guilty Cubicles - Feel Good Lost
Mood: Hungry

Tomorrow, I take my LSAT at UNLV. It will begin at 8:30, and end somewhere in the vicinity of 12:00. It will be a marathon of enduring vigilance. I will hit rough spots. There will be moments when I am going to be scratching my head and wondering how or what I can do to answer questions. I will make mistakes.

But then I will take a deep breath and realize that I will get precisely the score I set out to earn. It is all relative to the effort I can muster for the duration of the test. The rest is pure semantics.

Wish me luck.

Music: Dispatch - Two Coins - Bang Bang
Mood: Anxious

Basically, my two favorite journalists, Bill Simmons and Chuck Klosterman are writing this exchange dialouge on ESPN's Page 2, and in it they rant on all things sports, pop-culture, music, sex, religion, and Hurricanes. It is like a breath of fresh air in a climate of fabricated sophisticationa and blatant ignorance. Here are the memorable quotes:

----

There are many things I regret about "Killing Yourself to Live." I would like to completely rewrite almost all of it; I feel that way about everything I've ever written. But here's the main thing I regret: When I first wrote this story, it was merely a 4,500-word magazine article for Spin. It was just journalism, and it was only about dead rock stars. When I expanded it into a 75,000-word book, I decided to add a bunch of information about my personal life (which is what most of the book ultimately is). Now, I fully understood that this was a self-indulgent, solipsistic decision. I was completely aware of that. So I thought, "Hey, I will just make it very clear to the reader that this is a self-indulgent, solipsistic story, and that I am using my own personal life as a literary device to talk about culture." And I stupidly thought that if I did this, people would understand the parameters for the story and consume it under those established conditions. However, it ended up having the opposite effect: By mentioning that I was totally self-aware of the book's narcissistic qualities, that became the ONLY thing certain people noticed. So it's almost like I actively went out of my way to remind people about why they should potentially hate this book.

I don't know ... it's just a predictably polarizing book, I suppose. Some people truly loathe it, but the people who love it seem to love it with an intensity I could have never possibly anticipated. In that sense, I'm hoping that "Killing Yourself to Live" will end up being my version of Weezer's "Pinkerton" album. But who knows? It will probably end up being my version of "Be Here Now" by Oasis. Either way, it was really, really fun to write.

----

I honestly fear that CBS is now programming their network *directly at me.* First they make a reality program about a critically maligned rock band from the 1980s with a dead singer; now they're taking a reality show and adding a journeyman quarterback who nobody cares about except for me, you, Michael Weinreb and seven dudes who still get drunk at Gilley's and complain about the anachronisms in "Urban Cowboy." If this trend continues, CBS will soon debut a sitcom where Val Kilmer and Bijou Phillips portray alcoholic roadies for a Thin Lizzy tribute band who fight a futuristic war against tigers, robots and the Loch Ness Monster.

----

I'm not sure who my influences are; I'd prefer to have none at all, but I suppose that's impossible. When I was in eighth grade, I remember going through this very intense "black literature" phase, when I was suddenly obsessed with reading "Black Boy" and "Native Son" and "Black Like Me" and "Invisible Man" and whatnot. But -- at the exact same time this was happening -- I was constantly listening to Motley Crue and watching David Letterman and Monty Python's "Flying Circus." So I suppose I am ultimately the kind of writer who was equally influenced by Richard Wright, Nikki Sixx and people who tell jokes without punchlines. I really liked George Orwell during high school, and P.J. O' Rourke. In college I read a lot of the books that everyone seemed to be reading at the time -- "American Psycho," "Generation X," "Bright Lights Big City," that sort of thing. I probably ripped off those guys a lot. But it always seemed impossible to be influenced by people like Kafka or Calvino or Salinger. That seemed completely beyond by ability. I feel the same way about David Foster Wallace and Malcolm Gladwell -- I wish I could write with that kind of intellect or that kind of clarity, but I'm just not sharp enough.

Music: John Mayer - Message in a Bottle Acoustic - Unplugged
Mood: Tired

It's been some time since I had one of 'these' posts, but today seems apt.

So my brother's friend Denise came into town today for a rousing week of exciting ventures I presume. In any case, the idea of heading to the beach was proposed and instantly jumped upon. So, the three of us, fully clothed mind you, made our way thru the cold wind and frigid water to play some acoustic tunes and Dolphin watch for almost an hour before turning around and heading towards Starbucks. Then there was dinner, followed by the traditional movie. It was good times.

Now, where does this day of fun leave me? Behind. Aside from the reading I need to now double up on tomorrow, the meetings I have to attend in the evening, the assignments and papers due throughout the week, the LSAT in six freaking days, I am rather screwed. But, I do plan on stapling mine ass to a chair and studying all day tomorrow. All day. Yes.

I wish the following would take place in the span of six days:

1. World peace is achieved.
2. I undergo a massive brain transfusion wherein I become omniscent in the vocabulary of logical reasoning questions
3. Someone figures out how to stop these fucking hurricanes.
4. My Foo Fighters/Weezer tickets arrive promptly so I can pine progressively for October 22nd.
5. All my tedious assignments are taken care of by my newly appointed staff of academics.
6. Jessica Alba returns my phone call.
7. Lunch with the Dali Lama.
8. Sign million-dollar record deal, develop plans for joint world-tour with Broken Social Scene/Leslie Feist
9. Figure out why my car STILL smells like smoke.
10. Gain 20 pounds of muscle.
11. Write an album's worth of acoustic material.
12. Find the time for some sleep.

Only in dreams...

Music: Death Cab - Transatlanticism - Transatlanticism
Mood: Tired

I caught it in a gentle breeze
Though times, like seasons fade,
And clash against a darkened sky,
I bid it on its way.

On summer nights I sit and rest,
Beneath a starry skty,
And listen to it howl away,
Until the morning rise.

Often do I see it dance,
Across a trembling sea,
And often do I hear her voice,
Echo soft to me.

Music: Iron & Wine - Upward Over The Mountain - The Creek Drank The Cradle
Mood: Inspired

I got my books for two of my lit classes yesterday, after weeks of denial and tumultuous speculation as to the final courses I would embark upon. And I have to say I am really excited about getting back to 'basics' which entails reading books again for the purpose of enlightenment. The texts range from Victor Hugo to Shakespeare's Sonnets so lets just wait and see how it all plays out. There is so much happening right now. Between school and working and studying for LSATS in 10 days, my plate is full. But enough about that. Back to work.

Confession: I want to make an album in the future, maybe two or three albums in, completley jocking the style and effects of Iron & Wine, with the whole 70s 8-Track low-fi sound scheme.

More in time...

Music: Iron and Wine - Faded From Winter - The Creek Drank the Cradle
Mood: Wishing it Would Snow..

A momentary break from the reviews to provide a state of the union I suppose. At present, I am spending my waking minutes studying for the LSAT on the 1st, and trying to maintain a state of calm. I get these bizzare anxiety surges when I am not doing work, and they sort of force me to open a book and stare blankly at the pages, on the off chance that osmosis will occur. I should try sleeping with a book under my pillow.

So, I have a confession to make. After pretty much blasting any and all that worship Harry Potter and his mischevious dealings, I admit that I gave into temptation and watched one of the movies last night. And I will say that it is not all that bad. It actually is a tad interesting, and so, that is why I am downloading the audiobooks, to listen to and see if they are decent. There's a new movie coming out in November, so I may as well catch up to that point. I don't have the time to read the books, nor the cash, so I'll stick to this plan. After all, I am just a simple Muggle.

I guess I should get back to reading.

Radiohead - OK Computer

This is probably a major shock to some people. Why on earth would I put an album that almost every major music zine ranks as the pinnacle success of the 90s at 41? Simple, its good- even great, but, its not that good. I would be lying if I said that a part of me did not want to purposely rank this album in the 40s, sort of a fuck you to the established conception of Radiohead as being the Dali freaking Lama of the minor key alternative revival. Instead, I will cut through the red tape and give it to you like this:

Alright. Radiohead are a good band. They could even be considered great. OK Computer is a solid album, and deserves some recognition; but weighing it as seminal on the pretext that Thom Yorke made some Nostradamous-like perceptions of the future, or, smoking enough weed to feel like OK Computer is a social commentary on the dregs of our existence, is all moot and futile. The simple facts speak for themselves: they set out to create something that would be unique, contrary to their established sound, and a product of their environment. The end result was an album that was released at the right place, in the right time, and received by the right critics.

Do I like this album? Yes and no. Songs like Let Down, Paranoid Android, and Exit Music are noteworthy achievements, certainly. But there are low points, like Fitter, Happier, which pretty much sounds like the margin notes from Vonnegut's last book. Point is, if you listen to this album objectively, you will find flaws. But if you go in with the assumption that it can do no wrong, as was the case of most reviewers and fans alike in the wake of its release, then you pretty much can guess the standard reaction. The bottom line is that this is a solid performance, but without a doubt not the greatest work of our time, or even Radiohead's time.

Little Brother - The Minstrel Show

Hip-hop sucks. It must. Otherwise, Little Brother's battle cry of returning the art form to its rightful place makes less sense than it did nearly 10 years ago, when artists who weren't signed to a major label proclaimed them. So what is Little Brother saving hip-hop from? According to them, commercial artists' focus on sex, guns, and accessories are the modern-day equivalent of Vaudevillian blackface performers, seizing upon the worst characteristics of black society and hyperbolizing them to entertain a non-black audience. The proposed minstrelsy of hip-hop doesn't explain how the #1 album and single in the country come from a guy whose lyrics are more introspective than Conor Oberst's, whose biggest hit to date is about Jesus, and whose name is in everyone's mouth from suburbia to the White House because of his nationally-televised political stance.

Little Brother have good intentions. They want to sound like the groups they grew up enjoying, namely A Tribe Called Quest, De La Soul, and Pete Rock & CL Smooth (they even homage ATCQ's "Oh My God" on "Still Lives Through"), but their songs sound more like signifiers of those groups, not their logical descendents. Unfortunately, the hype that floated Little Brother's careers over the last six years may have affirmed some bad habits (narrow content, homemade beats) and encouraged lofty aspirations not yet attainable. If they want to create an alternative to the types of hip-hop they don't respect, they would do well to study the lessons of their favorite records.

The Microphones - The Glow, Pt. 2

t's an amazing thing when pop music expresses beauty through ambiguity. After being pummeled over the head for years and years with I Love Yous and You Are So Beautifuls, the most direct way of expressing images of love and beauty have pretty much lost all impact. Melodic tricks can wear thin just as easily. Hooks are all well and good, but when you've seen a hook enough times, you know not to bite. This is one of those infamous blue moon albums which tends to defy convention.

Perhaps the problem is that most pop music doesn't put enough faith in the listener. Everything must be laid out in the most obvious of terms, and eventually, that obviousness obscures whatever the music originally intended to convey. If you want to invoke the quiet beauty of the ocean, for example, you can write a pop song that says, "Hey, the ocean is really beautiful," or you can try to come up with a sonic approximation of that beauty.

It's a huge undertaking to attempt to capture something so visual in a song. But for Phil Elvrum, it seems to be second nature. The Glow Pt. 2, the follow-up to 2000's It Was Hot, We Stayed In the Water, captures the sea, the sky, and the mountains in a sonic panorama that seems to live without beginning or end. A sprawling, swirling composition that is both as varied and as consistent as the landscape itself, The Glow Pt. 2 exceeds even its predecessor in capturing the simultaneous wrath and fragility of nature. And sounding really, really cool.

And as with any landscape, the way the songs on The Glow Pt. 2 are perceived greatly affects the impact of the record. This album simply must be listened to on headphones. Hearing the record on regular speakers is like staring at the Grand Canyon through a Viewmaster. The illusion of depth is weak at best, and easily broken. With headphones, the sounds contained within the record absolutely come to life, bouncing and slithering from ear to ear. The use of stereo panning is as integral a part of the disc as the melodies and instrumentation.

Ultimately, The Glow Pt. 2 is the sound of one man working through a changing landscape-- a single voice challenging its surroundings while also accepting that it's powerless to alter them. The disc ends with a throbbing heartbeat, the most basic sign of life having braved through the stormy trek that precedes it. The Glow Pt. 2 is unpredictable, volatile, vibrant, terrifying, and comforting.

The Streets - A Grand Don't Come For Free

On A Grand Don't Come for Free-- the follow-up to his internationally acclaimed debut, Original Pirate Material-- Mike Skinner audaciously weaves an 11-track narrative over an often bare and inert musical backdrop, one that acts more like a film score than the foundation of a pop record. The plot is pretty bare-bones: boy loses money, boy meets girl, boy loses girl. But by focusing as much on the minutiae of life as on its grand gestures, the impact of Skinner's album-- essentially a philosophical examination of Skinner's lifestyle and personal relationships-- transcends its seemingly simple tale.

Echoing his ability to compensate for his own musical weaknesses, Skinner manages to turn his character's personal shortcomings into A Grand's strengths: Communication failures, both technological and human, allow Skinner to deftly examine body language and small gestures. His character's lack of prospects and disconnect with work and family highlight the importance of friendship (especially, perhaps, to young urban adults). His crippling self-doubt (at the record's start, any hiccup in his day is proof that he should just spend it in bed) and need for approval from others makes his solipsistic epiphany all the more heart-wrenching. The album's ultimate contradiction may be that while Skinner's life is seemingly driftless, his understandable attempt to tether it to another human being-- any other human being-- often causes him more harm than good.

Lauryn Hill - The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill

More a celebration of '70s soul than a hip-hop album, Lauryn Hill's debut, The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill, is an earthy and confident effort. Drawing deep from hip-hop's R+B roots, Hill skillfully paints a vision that is musically nostalgic, yet lyrically contemporary. Taking a cue from Marvin Gaye's What's Going On, the album centers around between- song interludes of schoolchildren learning about love. Hill compliments these vignettes with her own lessons, eloquently expressed in earnest, thoughtful and introspective language. When Hill teaches, though, it's not the condescending lecture of a superior, but rather the advice of a trusted friend. Hill wraps these striking lyrics in beautiful melodies and driving beats.

But Miseducation does have some missteps. Running nearly 80 minutes long, the album has a hard time staying sharp throughout. Ballads like the title track are tiresome after the first full hour of listening, and additionally, Hill's sweet tooth for cheesy '70s tunes rears its ugly head more than once.

Trent Reznor - CRC Sessions, Chicago

This wasn't even on my original, or amended list. This album was added today, after downloading and listening to it ad nauseum. Now, I'm not even close to being a Nine Inch Nails fan; trust me, I don't dig the vibe. But here's the thing, something about this album really clicks. Whether its the airy piano work, the soft string accompanyment of the guitars and electric bass, or the fact that Reznor was made for the non-stadium environment, but this album really soars above others. Frankly, it should be higher on the list, but, it rightly deserves its place given that it was discovered today and totally deserved to be in this spot over what was originally slated to be here.

The tracks are so deceptivley layered and intense, they evolve gracefully, without exerting too much effort. The real clincher, the opening track, a sulky somber ballad-type of song called "Something I Can Never Have". Whatever the ingredients, it seems like this type of composition, which doesn't exactly produce much commercial success or recognizable fame, is precisley what inspires intrigue into an artists career; that he would have the courage to try something that's completley prohibitory to his original sound (Reznor is typically surrouned by his electronica ensemble). Not here. And it works. And I like it, oh I like it so...

Jeff Buckley - Grace

It's difficult to imagine the world of contemporary singer/songwriters without the influence of Jeff Buckley. Indeed, it's difficult to imagine Radiohead in their current guise without the eerily affecting songcraft of Grace and its argument that modern rock needn't be just another run-through of post-Nirvana dynamics. Buckley's voice-- if not as recklessly expressive as his father's, certainly as overtly seductive-- soars angelically over his own chiming guitar figures. Gary Lucas provides additional guitar and co-writes two of the best songs: "Mojo Pin"-- an epic transfiguration of Debussy with the heavenly grandeur of Led Zeppelin-- and the title track, which is at once perfect pop and an otherworldly declaration of freedom from the constraints of the material world.

Even as Buckley's vision seems incapable of disguising itself, his reinterpretations of Nina Simone's "Lilac Wine", and especially Leonard Cohen's deeply affirming "Hallelujah" seem definitive. Grace ends enigmatically yet perfectly with "Dream Brother", as good an epitaph as any for an artist having clearly unfinished business in this world. It would have been nice to see where Buckley's promise would have led, but Grace will continue to spur on the midnight romantics for as long as it's within earshot.

No. 48 - Air - Moon Safari

Air should be ashamed of themselves. Thanks to albums like Moon Safari, international stereotypes of Frenchmen as nothing more than muss-haired playboys stroking a woman with one hand and an analog synth with the other are forever reinforced. Oh sure, some will tell you that they're merely reflecting the society that birthed them, and that the hyping of the Frug Life is the only way off the hard streets of Nice or Cannes. It's possible to praise the album for its skillful positioning at the intersection of electronics and organics, gracefully balancing on the border of adult contemporary at moments and composing underwater Moog symphonies at others. You can probably even credit Air for bringing the vocoder back into style-- especially if you're Cher. But by creating an album infamous for being the best makeout album of the decade, Air has done a great disservice to their country, portraying all Frenchmen as nothing more than oversexed Champagne-swigging keyboard players. Va te faire!

Music: Incubus - Mexico - Morning View
Mood: Anxious

No. 49 - Sigur Rós - Ágætis Byrjun

This is a confession: I am a sucker for what my cousin Sahil calls "minor-key-art-rock". However, this does not mean that Sigur Ros are proprietors of such, nor do they carry any proverbial torch as a testament to serve as a footnote to their brand of mood music. To term this music "post-rock" would be an insult; Sigur Rós are pre-whatever comes this century. Piano, flutes, tremolo, horns, feedback, and that godly amazing voice scrubs souls pure with the black volcanic sands from the beaches of Vík. Birgisson's invented lyrical language of Hopelandish may be crying in tongues or even plain gibberish, but sheer emotions like this cleanse as universally as sodium sulfate.

Sigur Rós make this bombastic claim on their website: "We are simply gonna change music forever, and the way people think about music. And don't think we can't do it, we will." The fact that they've scored hits in Iceland with this spectacular orchestrated soul speaks of both their power and the credibility of the natives. The alien angel fetus pressed in blue ink on the cover serves as the perfect logo. Sigur Rós effortlessly make music that is massive, glacial, and sparse. They are Hidden People. Children will be conceived, wrists will be slashed, scars will be healed, and tears will be wrenched by this group. At the time of their release, they were considered the first vital band of the 21st Century. That sentiment might still stand today, if not for the onslaught of guitar-rock and saturated souls that fester on the mainstream boiler. Still, there's no denying the album as a tremendously ambitious work of art that succeeds.

Music: Clap Your Hands Say Yeah - The Skin of My Yellow Country Teeth - Self Titled
Mood: Lonesome

So here's the pitch: for the next few weeks, I am going to give you a biased, albeit short-sighted, yet comprehensive review of the 50 greatest albums I have ever heard. They will be ranked, and should culminate with what I deem to be the greatest album in the short-history of music that I am privy to. Without much ado:

No. 50 - Clap Your Hands Say Yeah - Self Titled

This really should be much higher on the list, but given that it is a relativley new addition to my library, it rightly deserves its place as the loser among the greats. Clap Your Hands are a five-piece from Brooklyn, NY, and currently the object of worship among David Bowie and his 8 foot tall Nubian wifey. Still, there's hardly anything that can be said to detract from the album's stellar qualities.

The record is consistently, remarkably strong, but "The Skin of My Yellow Country Teeth" in particular stands out, with its richly buzzing synth phrases, textbook Modest Mouse guitar lead (a trebly, gliding string bend skimming over the rhythm like a flat stone over a pond), contrapuntal bass, and shuffling drums. The song also features one of vocalist Alec Ounsworth's most memorable performances: He ramps up the urgency as the heavier chords kick in, his voice cracking and shifting in cascading waves as if someone were pressing his vocal cords to a fret board and bending them. "Is This Love?", with its clean, galloping guitars and fruit loop synth trills is the song most blatantly redolent of Neutral Milk Hotel (especially of the unhinged pop and careening vocals Mangum favored on On Avery Island), and its dizzily wowing vocal harmonies carry over to "Heavy Metal", where fuzzed-out bass and wheezing harmonica punch smart shapes into the fizzy guitars.

To be fair, there are some pieces to the album that need to be reconsidered, but, for the most part, its an excellent demonstration that indie music has not completley dissapeared. If anything, this album is a testament to the notwithstanding assumption that the 'scene' is dead, and in its wake we bear the onslaught of artists whom lack pre-packaged images for us consumer to swallow. But you know, I think I like the new system more than the old.

Music: Feist - Lonely Lonely - Let it Die
Mood: Conscious

..thinking of the Hurricane aftermath...

Death has reared himself a throne
In a strange city lying alone
Far down within the dim West,
Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best
Have gone to their eternal rest.
There shrines and palaces and towers
Resemble nothing that is ours.
Around, by lifting winds forgot,
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.
So blend the turrets and shadows there
That all seem pendulous in air,
While from a proud tower in the town
Death looks gigantically down.