Music: Weezer - Peace - Make Believe
Mood: Letting Go
So we're working on putting some cover's into our repetoire. We used to only do covers for the longest time, and slowly we phased them out of our daily practice. But now, we're drawn to the occassional QOTSA or Foo cover.
The album is evolving slowly. It's difficult to get the appropriate sound out of my amp when recording. I don't want to settle for anything less than perfection, and it's becoming damn difficult to be happy when there are extra notes or slides and blurred moments. We really need an engineer. But then we keep writing songs, so it's a never ending process.
So much work to be done in so many different ways. I can't wait for December. London for a few weeks seems like an amazing prospect. I want to get out and take pictures. I wonder if I should take my video camera?
I need to find some peace.
Mood: Letting Go
So we're working on putting some cover's into our repetoire. We used to only do covers for the longest time, and slowly we phased them out of our daily practice. But now, we're drawn to the occassional QOTSA or Foo cover.
The album is evolving slowly. It's difficult to get the appropriate sound out of my amp when recording. I don't want to settle for anything less than perfection, and it's becoming damn difficult to be happy when there are extra notes or slides and blurred moments. We really need an engineer. But then we keep writing songs, so it's a never ending process.
So much work to be done in so many different ways. I can't wait for December. London for a few weeks seems like an amazing prospect. I want to get out and take pictures. I wonder if I should take my video camera?
I need to find some peace.
Music: Dashboard Confessional - Jamie - MTV Unplugged 2.0
Mood: Tired
The past week has been rather boring. Things of consequence have occured, and other things that really mean nothing in the grand scheme of things have also taken place. Together, this comprises another listless stitch of time in what is rapidly becoming the tapestry of my life.
The last time I cut my hair was something around May 1st. It's October 31st. That's some dapper growth there.
Halloween is the stupidest holiday ever. Period. The premise of kids running around frantically collecting candy that we are technically required to dole out by the fistfull just seems too contrived to really make sense. Please, someone explain to me how this could reflect/relate/or demonstrate some value or thread of moral substance fromt the past. How the hell does something like this get worldwide notoriety, but something like Arbor Day (Trees, not the type you blaze, but the one's you breathe) gets left off all the College day-planners?
When I was a kid, I hated Halloween, not because of my lack of candy gusto, BUT, because I always felt like it was such a lame excuse to wear a costume and meet your neighbors. Then they took it to another level, where you had to dress up in your costume and wear it to school, so you could walk around with the 47 other Red PowerRangers and 76 NinjaTurtles in the second grade. What's worse, as you get older, those 'kids' you used to pass on your way down the hill to the Jefferson's house with the firecrackers have found new, innovative ways of maintaining their senseless profundidity for foolish shit; now they have cars, and are of age to drink, drive, and die. Candy is replaced with Vodka Redbulls and shots of god knows what flavor of the week. Last year, we went out to go clubbing but within ten minutes of getting to the club we realized we were better off at home, not wasting our time, money, and lives chasing what some consider the "American Dream". What the hell is that shit anyways?
If you couldn't tell before, I am really bitter about this time of year. I hate the change in weather, I loathe the fact that it gets dark now at 4:30, and I just wish we could all fast-forward to say, June of 2006. We'd all be much happier that way, I am convinced. I mean, this weather has me listening to Dashboard. DASHBOARD!?!
You've got some long hair, mate.
Mood: Tired
The past week has been rather boring. Things of consequence have occured, and other things that really mean nothing in the grand scheme of things have also taken place. Together, this comprises another listless stitch of time in what is rapidly becoming the tapestry of my life.
The last time I cut my hair was something around May 1st. It's October 31st. That's some dapper growth there.
Halloween is the stupidest holiday ever. Period. The premise of kids running around frantically collecting candy that we are technically required to dole out by the fistfull just seems too contrived to really make sense. Please, someone explain to me how this could reflect/relate/or demonstrate some value or thread of moral substance fromt the past. How the hell does something like this get worldwide notoriety, but something like Arbor Day (Trees, not the type you blaze, but the one's you breathe) gets left off all the College day-planners?
When I was a kid, I hated Halloween, not because of my lack of candy gusto, BUT, because I always felt like it was such a lame excuse to wear a costume and meet your neighbors. Then they took it to another level, where you had to dress up in your costume and wear it to school, so you could walk around with the 47 other Red PowerRangers and 76 NinjaTurtles in the second grade. What's worse, as you get older, those 'kids' you used to pass on your way down the hill to the Jefferson's house with the firecrackers have found new, innovative ways of maintaining their senseless profundidity for foolish shit; now they have cars, and are of age to drink, drive, and die. Candy is replaced with Vodka Redbulls and shots of god knows what flavor of the week. Last year, we went out to go clubbing but within ten minutes of getting to the club we realized we were better off at home, not wasting our time, money, and lives chasing what some consider the "American Dream". What the hell is that shit anyways?
If you couldn't tell before, I am really bitter about this time of year. I hate the change in weather, I loathe the fact that it gets dark now at 4:30, and I just wish we could all fast-forward to say, June of 2006. We'd all be much happier that way, I am convinced. I mean, this weather has me listening to Dashboard. DASHBOARD!?!
You've got some long hair, mate.
Music: Oasis - Don't Look Back in Anger (Acoustic) - Radio Sessions
Mood: Body-achin'
Last night we (my brother and I) watched Hot Hot Heat, Weezer, and the Foo Fighters perform as part of this winding down world tour of theirs. Needless to say, it was an amazing concert with a bunch of high points. All the bands were on point, even Hot Hot Heat (who tend to bore me) were fun to watch. Their six-song set consisted of crowd-pleasers and things to feed an audience that was just anxious as hell for the next two acts.
Weezer came on second, and landed us in the mosh pit of 18 year old kids that can't get enough of "We are all on drugs,". They opened with "My Name is Jonas" and instantly, I was bumrushed by so many little Asian girls, it made be freak out, not in a good way. Midway through their 16-song set, we decided to move back from the 5th row for a better view. This was a good choice as we enjoyed the rest of their set, including a Blur Song 2 cover, audience participation in the form of bringing someone from the crowd to play guitar, and an acoustic Island in the Sun by Rivers.
And then there was the Foo Fighters. They opened with In Your Honor, the loudest and most vicious way to satisfy a crowd anxious for blood. Dave Grohl's primal screaming was awe-inspiring. They fed straight into All My Life, and then had a quick break where Dave used his crowd-control skills to keep everyone in line with a series of screams, and then launched into My Hero. From this point, the switched to Best of You, which was accented by a new odyssey during the bridge that was so damn good its hard to not wish there was a downloadable version available. They used their talking interlude to praise the hometown crowd and laugh at the nosebleeds, and then launched back into classics like Learn to Fly, Stacked Actors, and Times Like These. With screens dangling from the sky, the band in full-gear, and fans screaming at the top of their lungs, it was an unbelievable night; one to remember for a long time.
Mood: Body-achin'
Last night we (my brother and I) watched Hot Hot Heat, Weezer, and the Foo Fighters perform as part of this winding down world tour of theirs. Needless to say, it was an amazing concert with a bunch of high points. All the bands were on point, even Hot Hot Heat (who tend to bore me) were fun to watch. Their six-song set consisted of crowd-pleasers and things to feed an audience that was just anxious as hell for the next two acts.
Weezer came on second, and landed us in the mosh pit of 18 year old kids that can't get enough of "We are all on drugs,". They opened with "My Name is Jonas" and instantly, I was bumrushed by so many little Asian girls, it made be freak out, not in a good way. Midway through their 16-song set, we decided to move back from the 5th row for a better view. This was a good choice as we enjoyed the rest of their set, including a Blur Song 2 cover, audience participation in the form of bringing someone from the crowd to play guitar, and an acoustic Island in the Sun by Rivers.
And then there was the Foo Fighters. They opened with In Your Honor, the loudest and most vicious way to satisfy a crowd anxious for blood. Dave Grohl's primal screaming was awe-inspiring. They fed straight into All My Life, and then had a quick break where Dave used his crowd-control skills to keep everyone in line with a series of screams, and then launched into My Hero. From this point, the switched to Best of You, which was accented by a new odyssey during the bridge that was so damn good its hard to not wish there was a downloadable version available. They used their talking interlude to praise the hometown crowd and laugh at the nosebleeds, and then launched back into classics like Learn to Fly, Stacked Actors, and Times Like These. With screens dangling from the sky, the band in full-gear, and fans screaming at the top of their lungs, it was an unbelievable night; one to remember for a long time.
Music: Broken Social Scene - 7/4 Shoreline - Broken Social Scene
Mood: Impassive
So, I had my birthday on Monday, which officially puts me at 20. Hooray I suppose. No fanfare on this one. The real pleasure I believe derives from next year's celebration. This is sort of a transitory thing, so there's little to be proud of, EXCEPT, I did get a new guitar, which was super duper splendid.
The Foo Fighters concert is this weekend, and I am very much prepared for the madness that shall ensue. I can think of nothing better to do with a Saturday night than to stand within earshot of Dave Grohl and his primal screaming madness. Should be fun.
My LSAT score gets posted on Monday. I am anxious to see how I performed.
Got an address for KROQ, going to make moves in the coming month on 'said' demo.
Off to start and finish reading "The Red and The Black" which is a 300 page magnum-opus of the romantic age. I loathe this one lit class of mine, but its too late to make changes to my schedule. At least it will all be done soon.
Mood: Impassive
So, I had my birthday on Monday, which officially puts me at 20. Hooray I suppose. No fanfare on this one. The real pleasure I believe derives from next year's celebration. This is sort of a transitory thing, so there's little to be proud of, EXCEPT, I did get a new guitar, which was super duper splendid.
The Foo Fighters concert is this weekend, and I am very much prepared for the madness that shall ensue. I can think of nothing better to do with a Saturday night than to stand within earshot of Dave Grohl and his primal screaming madness. Should be fun.
My LSAT score gets posted on Monday. I am anxious to see how I performed.
Got an address for KROQ, going to make moves in the coming month on 'said' demo.
Off to start and finish reading "The Red and The Black" which is a 300 page magnum-opus of the romantic age. I loathe this one lit class of mine, but its too late to make changes to my schedule. At least it will all be done soon.
The Unicorns - Who Will Cut Our Hair When We're Gone
Pop music gets off way too easily; so long as groups stick to only the sweetest melodies, throw in a couple of ba-ba-buh's and sing about how Stacey's mom "has got it goin' on," or some other such timeless verse, they're valued as somehow above the fray. It seems even the most venomous rock elitists can be defanged by a few simple hooks, turned endlessly forgiving by some easy harmonies. If Stalin himself had ruled with less of an iron fist and more Beach Boys-style harmonies, he might be remembered as much for his keen songwriting chops as for the wholesale slaughter of millions of his own people; such is the inexplicably titanic redemptive power of pop. That self-same blinding power is also why it takes a band as innovative as The Unicorns to throw the complacencies of pop into stark relief, to finally hold it accountable for such casual abuses.
When it's so easy for bands to stay behind the indie-pop curve that you'd think someone's handing out ice cream back there, The Unicorns are ahead. In fact, they're so far ahead that superficial distinction becomes virtually unnecessary; they're striking at the most fundamental structure of the pop song itself. Without scrutiny, Who Will Cut Our Hair When We're Gone?, their debut album for the otherwise experimental Canadian label Alien8, can pass for the same sort of sugar-glazed jangle-pop that's been done to death, but has nevertheless been beloved for years in indie circles; all the elements I just derided are present in abundance, right down to a rare few instances of smarmy lyrics. The band traffics in the occasional oooh's and aaah's, and relies on retro-basic keyboards for the requisite flourish above and beyond the standard guitar fuzz. And yet, The Unicorns toe the line of bedroom intimacy and heart-swelling wonder as perfectly as any of the modern masters of the form.
Pop music gets off way too easily; so long as groups stick to only the sweetest melodies, throw in a couple of ba-ba-buh's and sing about how Stacey's mom "has got it goin' on," or some other such timeless verse, they're valued as somehow above the fray. It seems even the most venomous rock elitists can be defanged by a few simple hooks, turned endlessly forgiving by some easy harmonies. If Stalin himself had ruled with less of an iron fist and more Beach Boys-style harmonies, he might be remembered as much for his keen songwriting chops as for the wholesale slaughter of millions of his own people; such is the inexplicably titanic redemptive power of pop. That self-same blinding power is also why it takes a band as innovative as The Unicorns to throw the complacencies of pop into stark relief, to finally hold it accountable for such casual abuses.
When it's so easy for bands to stay behind the indie-pop curve that you'd think someone's handing out ice cream back there, The Unicorns are ahead. In fact, they're so far ahead that superficial distinction becomes virtually unnecessary; they're striking at the most fundamental structure of the pop song itself. Without scrutiny, Who Will Cut Our Hair When We're Gone?, their debut album for the otherwise experimental Canadian label Alien8, can pass for the same sort of sugar-glazed jangle-pop that's been done to death, but has nevertheless been beloved for years in indie circles; all the elements I just derided are present in abundance, right down to a rare few instances of smarmy lyrics. The band traffics in the occasional oooh's and aaah's, and relies on retro-basic keyboards for the requisite flourish above and beyond the standard guitar fuzz. And yet, The Unicorns toe the line of bedroom intimacy and heart-swelling wonder as perfectly as any of the modern masters of the form.
M.I.A. - Arular
You've never heard anything like M.I.A. -- the sound of jump-rope rhymes in a war zone. She blew out of the London electro underground last year with her indie debut single, "Galang." M.I.A. chants the hook "London calling/Speak the slang now" while she plays with her cheapskate beatbox and amps up her minimal buzzes and bleeps into monstrously cool explosions. It sounds like Bow Wow Wow shooting bottle rockets into a vintage Ms. Pac-Man machine to scare the quarters out. M.I.A.'s long-awaited full-length debut, Arular, is every bit as stunning as "Galang": weird, playful, unclassifiable, sexy, brilliantly addictive.
M.I.A. is Maya Arulpragasam, 28, a Sri Lankan artist who grew up in London after her family was forced to flee her nation's civil war. She wrote the songs for Arular on her trusty Roland MC-505 Groovebox, with producers such as Steve Mackey, Ross Orton and Richard X. There's nothing purist about her, as she hot-wires bhangra beats, dancehall toasting, Miami bass and old-school electro. In tracks such as "Fire Fire" and "Amazon," she raps about political troubles, war and refugee life, in her own tough no-big-deal way. "Sunshowers" noises up an old 1970s disco hit with excellent rhymes ("I salt and pepper my mango/Shoot spit out the window"). Even when you have no idea what she's saying, you have to love how M.I.A. plays bongos on her lingo: "Blaze to blaze, galang galang galanga/Purple haze, galang galang galanga..."
With all the column inches and message board posts arguing about whether M.I.A. is an opportunist or a clever contextualist, genuine or a fraud, full of good intentions or no specific intentions at all, the closest thing to a truism about Arular is that it's a taut, invigorating distillation of the world's most thrilling music; a celebration of contradictions and aural globalization that recasts the tag "world music" as the ultimate in communicative pop rather than a symbol of condescending piety.
You've never heard anything like M.I.A. -- the sound of jump-rope rhymes in a war zone. She blew out of the London electro underground last year with her indie debut single, "Galang." M.I.A. chants the hook "London calling/Speak the slang now" while she plays with her cheapskate beatbox and amps up her minimal buzzes and bleeps into monstrously cool explosions. It sounds like Bow Wow Wow shooting bottle rockets into a vintage Ms. Pac-Man machine to scare the quarters out. M.I.A.'s long-awaited full-length debut, Arular, is every bit as stunning as "Galang": weird, playful, unclassifiable, sexy, brilliantly addictive.
M.I.A. is Maya Arulpragasam, 28, a Sri Lankan artist who grew up in London after her family was forced to flee her nation's civil war. She wrote the songs for Arular on her trusty Roland MC-505 Groovebox, with producers such as Steve Mackey, Ross Orton and Richard X. There's nothing purist about her, as she hot-wires bhangra beats, dancehall toasting, Miami bass and old-school electro. In tracks such as "Fire Fire" and "Amazon," she raps about political troubles, war and refugee life, in her own tough no-big-deal way. "Sunshowers" noises up an old 1970s disco hit with excellent rhymes ("I salt and pepper my mango/Shoot spit out the window"). Even when you have no idea what she's saying, you have to love how M.I.A. plays bongos on her lingo: "Blaze to blaze, galang galang galanga/Purple haze, galang galang galanga..."
With all the column inches and message board posts arguing about whether M.I.A. is an opportunist or a clever contextualist, genuine or a fraud, full of good intentions or no specific intentions at all, the closest thing to a truism about Arular is that it's a taut, invigorating distillation of the world's most thrilling music; a celebration of contradictions and aural globalization that recasts the tag "world music" as the ultimate in communicative pop rather than a symbol of condescending piety.
Music: The Unicorns - The Clap - Who Will Cut Our Hair When We're Gone
Mood: Creative
A few days ago, I sat in our makeshift studio and recorded the first of several pieces that shall become a formidable musical odyseey. The first piece, which remarkably has a soulful vibe to it, is a welcomed distraction from our rock/alternative roots. I don't know if its wise to put any lyrics on top. Perhaps some samples of famous verses? Who knows..
We have something like 20 plus songs right now, but only 13 will make the album. Ideally, I would like to have it recorded and packaged by the end of the year, but that is looking less likely with every day that passes. Then again, I don't want to rush the process, you know? If it's not flowing then why make it happen at lesser quality for the sake of completion.
But I am pleased with how much we've improved in the span of 10 months. We went from doing just covers for like 2 months, to writing independent material that just spawned, and somehow in the last two months, has really blossomed into something fantastic. We had something like 8 songs before September, and now we're looking good.
"Live 'till you die..."
PS - Reviews will be returning shortly. I don't have the time these days.
Mood: Creative
A few days ago, I sat in our makeshift studio and recorded the first of several pieces that shall become a formidable musical odyseey. The first piece, which remarkably has a soulful vibe to it, is a welcomed distraction from our rock/alternative roots. I don't know if its wise to put any lyrics on top. Perhaps some samples of famous verses? Who knows..
We have something like 20 plus songs right now, but only 13 will make the album. Ideally, I would like to have it recorded and packaged by the end of the year, but that is looking less likely with every day that passes. Then again, I don't want to rush the process, you know? If it's not flowing then why make it happen at lesser quality for the sake of completion.
But I am pleased with how much we've improved in the span of 10 months. We went from doing just covers for like 2 months, to writing independent material that just spawned, and somehow in the last two months, has really blossomed into something fantastic. We had something like 8 songs before September, and now we're looking good.
"Live 'till you die..."
PS - Reviews will be returning shortly. I don't have the time these days.
Broken Social Scene - Feel Good Lost
If I came across this album earlier then I did, I would have most probably despised it. For those unaware, BSS is a Canadian Indie-Rock ensemble of some 12 cohorts from various other bands that assemble to devise expansive jam-session style albums. To date, they have released three distinct albums, this being the weakest of the three. However, when your worst effort is number 39 on a top 50 list, I would venture to say you're doing alright. Needless to say, I am rather partial to the found-sound layering phenomenon of the indie scene. But, I can put on my objectivity cap to be honest enough to squeeze out a few drops of 'criticism' for this album. Please allow some freedom for the following gripe.
Certain records are just made for close listening on headphones. Some albums cannot be fully experienced save a complete discontinuation of the outside world. The inner retreat of headphone listening sheds light on a group's true colors; the makeup rubs off, and leaves us to discover all the flaws and inconsistencies in the music's resplendent left/right asymmetry. What on speakers sounds like an extension of a refrigerator's hum may upon closer inspection be revealed as a delicate, pulsating harmony that draws together an otherwise lifeless song. Ambient noises, effects and other tricks are also often lost by stereo speakers' capricious playback tendencies. For such intricate and subtle records, only headphones paint a just portrait, and while they limit themselves to a narrow environment, their payoff can be duly satisfying.
Feel Good Lost is the sort of album that does lend itself to intimate listening, and while not nearly as inventive or as well-rounded a statement as You Forgot It in People, it owns its fair share of dazzling moments. The similarity between the two records has more to do with their spirit than with their sound: Feel Good Lost isn't a rock album, but the band affects the same cogitating melancholia that made You Forgot It in People so intimate-- in fact, that record's bittersweet warmth is even more prominent here.
Unfortunately, Broken Social Scene's few attempts to step outside the narrow coordinates of Feel Good Lost's overarching vibe don't always yield successful results-- which is surprising, given how skillfully You Forgot It in People navigated the pop strata. Part of the problem is that the band seems too attached to the things it does well. The record maintains a laser-like focus that runs through all twelve songs. Any and all detours are taken with noticeable wariness, such as "Prison Province", a spare, two-minute porno-esque guitar track that left me slightly bemused, as did the percussion on "Last Place", which wouldn't sound out of place in a Lexus commercial. The song is the album's longest, and at over eight minutes of thin, repetitive drones, it's by far the least engaging track in Broken Social Scene's catalog.
Feel Good Lost is balanced nicely, however, by various embellishments which help break the occasional monotony, and even hint at the more confident band that produced last year's paramount orch-pop opus: A harmonica breathes life into the feeble "Blues for Uncle Gibb"; rustic strings add a fragile touch of broke-down sadness to "Mossbreaker"; diced drum loops drive the otherwise subdued "Love and Mathematics". Feel Good Lost may inhabit a much smaller plot of land than its successor, but the ground on which it rests has been just as thoroughly reared and cultivated.
If I came across this album earlier then I did, I would have most probably despised it. For those unaware, BSS is a Canadian Indie-Rock ensemble of some 12 cohorts from various other bands that assemble to devise expansive jam-session style albums. To date, they have released three distinct albums, this being the weakest of the three. However, when your worst effort is number 39 on a top 50 list, I would venture to say you're doing alright. Needless to say, I am rather partial to the found-sound layering phenomenon of the indie scene. But, I can put on my objectivity cap to be honest enough to squeeze out a few drops of 'criticism' for this album. Please allow some freedom for the following gripe.
Certain records are just made for close listening on headphones. Some albums cannot be fully experienced save a complete discontinuation of the outside world. The inner retreat of headphone listening sheds light on a group's true colors; the makeup rubs off, and leaves us to discover all the flaws and inconsistencies in the music's resplendent left/right asymmetry. What on speakers sounds like an extension of a refrigerator's hum may upon closer inspection be revealed as a delicate, pulsating harmony that draws together an otherwise lifeless song. Ambient noises, effects and other tricks are also often lost by stereo speakers' capricious playback tendencies. For such intricate and subtle records, only headphones paint a just portrait, and while they limit themselves to a narrow environment, their payoff can be duly satisfying.
Feel Good Lost is the sort of album that does lend itself to intimate listening, and while not nearly as inventive or as well-rounded a statement as You Forgot It in People, it owns its fair share of dazzling moments. The similarity between the two records has more to do with their spirit than with their sound: Feel Good Lost isn't a rock album, but the band affects the same cogitating melancholia that made You Forgot It in People so intimate-- in fact, that record's bittersweet warmth is even more prominent here.
Unfortunately, Broken Social Scene's few attempts to step outside the narrow coordinates of Feel Good Lost's overarching vibe don't always yield successful results-- which is surprising, given how skillfully You Forgot It in People navigated the pop strata. Part of the problem is that the band seems too attached to the things it does well. The record maintains a laser-like focus that runs through all twelve songs. Any and all detours are taken with noticeable wariness, such as "Prison Province", a spare, two-minute porno-esque guitar track that left me slightly bemused, as did the percussion on "Last Place", which wouldn't sound out of place in a Lexus commercial. The song is the album's longest, and at over eight minutes of thin, repetitive drones, it's by far the least engaging track in Broken Social Scene's catalog.
Feel Good Lost is balanced nicely, however, by various embellishments which help break the occasional monotony, and even hint at the more confident band that produced last year's paramount orch-pop opus: A harmonica breathes life into the feeble "Blues for Uncle Gibb"; rustic strings add a fragile touch of broke-down sadness to "Mossbreaker"; diced drum loops drive the otherwise subdued "Love and Mathematics". Feel Good Lost may inhabit a much smaller plot of land than its successor, but the ground on which it rests has been just as thoroughly reared and cultivated.
Music: Red Hot Chili Peppers - This Is The Place - By The Way
Mood: Antsy
I am convinced that my first paycheck will go to buying either a PRS or a Gibson 1979 Les Paul Standard. These are my holy grail. I will have these in my life at some, undisclosed time.
Mood: Antsy
I am convinced that my first paycheck will go to buying either a PRS or a Gibson 1979 Les Paul Standard. These are my holy grail. I will have these in my life at some, undisclosed time.
The Postal Service - Give Up
First, the bad news: Give Up doesn't offer 45 solid minutes of the same wholesale excellence that appeared in condensed form on "(This Is) The Dream of Evan and Chan"; if anything, the album's occasional missteps serve to elucidate what exactly made the first collaboration between Tamborello and Gibbard so effective. Still, the core tension between Tamborello's intricate production and Gibbard's cutting voice makes Give Up a pretty damned strong record, and one with enough transcendent moments to forgive it its few substandard tracks and ungodly lyrical blunders.
Tamborello and Gibbard put their best foot forward with "The District Sleeps Alone Tonight", which exemplifies the two best elements of this entire collaboration: contrast and subtlety. Here, Gibbard's vocal melody and Tamborello's instrumentation build independently to a perfectly orchestrated emotional climax, replete with hiss-laden sampled strings and ethereal background vocals. There's a noticeable clash between Gibbard's emotive singing and the upbeat drum machine line that drives the track's second half, but Tamborello's production is loaded with enough warm, melodic instrumentation to provide a surprisingly apt background for Gibbard's sincere tenor. The song also benefits from possessing some of the album's stronger lyrics.
Fortunately, Give Up overcomes its highly questionable lyrical choices, and the sometimes painful duets between Gibbard and indie folkster Jen Wood, purely on the strength of Gibbard's consistently strong melodies, which carry far greater impact in the context of Tamborello's hyperactive electro-pop than they have on recent Death Cab for Cutie releases. And Tamborello's production gives the intricate precision of Life Is Full of Possibilities a caffeinated overhaul, here forsaking the time-honored glitch of that album for bright, danceable beats. While it may be impressive that the unified and cohesive vision of Give Up was the result of a par avion collaboration, it's anything but surprising given the talent behind it and the immense chemistry shared by these two musicians.
First, the bad news: Give Up doesn't offer 45 solid minutes of the same wholesale excellence that appeared in condensed form on "(This Is) The Dream of Evan and Chan"; if anything, the album's occasional missteps serve to elucidate what exactly made the first collaboration between Tamborello and Gibbard so effective. Still, the core tension between Tamborello's intricate production and Gibbard's cutting voice makes Give Up a pretty damned strong record, and one with enough transcendent moments to forgive it its few substandard tracks and ungodly lyrical blunders.
Tamborello and Gibbard put their best foot forward with "The District Sleeps Alone Tonight", which exemplifies the two best elements of this entire collaboration: contrast and subtlety. Here, Gibbard's vocal melody and Tamborello's instrumentation build independently to a perfectly orchestrated emotional climax, replete with hiss-laden sampled strings and ethereal background vocals. There's a noticeable clash between Gibbard's emotive singing and the upbeat drum machine line that drives the track's second half, but Tamborello's production is loaded with enough warm, melodic instrumentation to provide a surprisingly apt background for Gibbard's sincere tenor. The song also benefits from possessing some of the album's stronger lyrics.
Fortunately, Give Up overcomes its highly questionable lyrical choices, and the sometimes painful duets between Gibbard and indie folkster Jen Wood, purely on the strength of Gibbard's consistently strong melodies, which carry far greater impact in the context of Tamborello's hyperactive electro-pop than they have on recent Death Cab for Cutie releases. And Tamborello's production gives the intricate precision of Life Is Full of Possibilities a caffeinated overhaul, here forsaking the time-honored glitch of that album for bright, danceable beats. While it may be impressive that the unified and cohesive vision of Give Up was the result of a par avion collaboration, it's anything but surprising given the talent behind it and the immense chemistry shared by these two musicians.
