If Doug Martsch could only rework his album clock to drop these rock masterpieces in October he'd biannually top these year-end lists. For the second album in a row, Built to Spill released a stellar record in the foggy winter months.
Hollywood never releases their contenders in February. ĭoug Martsch needs to learn from the Oscar process.
The Beta Band are here to say music is more like making love under the aurora borealis in mascot costumes. A friend confessed that The Three EPs "changed the way he thinks about music." The same guy also proclaimed "Fuck Tortoise!" during the Beta Band's must- see- before- you- pass- any- judgment- because- if- you- do- your- judgement- will- simply- be- "holy- shit!" transcendent live show, at the point when three drummers locked into a thick congo break with a guy in a jumpsuit beatboxing and a 16mm film of spaceships flickering in the background. Everything then becomes "purty." Well, okay, that's the plot of "Dream a Little Dream 2," but it could apply here. You consider yourself a liberal music fan? You're going to just sit there and write a band off because they get press? Hipocracy! There are these sunglasses with a psychedelic sheen and it makes them high.
Z RO NEW ALBUM 2014 FREE
If you dismissed the Beta Band because of press coverage and hype, please feel free to be ashamed of yourself. And sorry, but mouthing the theme to Mighty Mouse fails to move ass like "Milk and Honey." It all feels like a Kaufmanesque manipulation. There are highs and lows behind a veil of aloof eclectic genius. Our self- service, automatic, convenience- based society shows little patience for a "grand vision." Ironically- and that's always the operative word in any Beck discussion- Beck's grand scheme is fueled and inspired by the self- service, automatic, convenience- based society. His detractors forget the concept of a "career" in which an artist dons different suits for different occasions and statements. I See a Darkness is a religion of one, wrought with all the prayer and fear and wonder that goes into the most perfectly recited psalm as well as the most grandiose revival. The vocals range from softly spoken to gently crooned to phatasmagorically howled. Instead, he keeps his harrowing graveyard folk and subtle unassuming lyrics in almost supernatural tension. And yet for all the danse macabre, Oldham avoids cyncism and bitterness. The album is often so morbid that it becomes joyous, cackling like a grinning death's head. Will Oldham's skullfaced masterpiece is almost shocking in its confessional honesty. And after he removed himself from music for half a decade for minor roles in bad action films, that's all his fans really asked for. The album congealed a gnarly crust over the history of American music, rehashing the prime moments of Rain Dogs, Swordfishtrombones, and Bone Machine. What Waits delivered wasn't too far from that. I was hoping for a rusty collection of narrative Americana songs depicting the said mule in varying scenes. With a gruff voice I'd bellow, "There's a mule in a boat," or, "There's an old man in a shed." These two lines succinctly summed up Wait's entire oeuvre to me (or at least his Island oeuvre.) Obviously, it amused me immensely when Waits released Mule Variations, his long awaited follow-up to Bone Machine and The Black Rider. Ī couple of years ago I perfected my Tom Waits impression. The production is bare and reverb- laden, as if each song surfaces from the miasma of the whole of 20th century music afterlife. Steven Merritt's lyrics can be obvious or a bit too cheeky, but in the end it's a bit like complaining about the use of "the" in a poem or a bush in a watercolor. Zoom in to a chiming, vivifying strum and the simple uttering of "Love" in any of the songs. Step back and witness a man's labor of romance with songwriting. Much like "Infinite Jest," 69 Love Songs switches styles and purpose often, under a greater thematic thrust. The album is akin to literary monuments like David Foster Wallace's "Infinite Jest." There's an inexplicable comfort in being in the middle of 1079 pages, wrapped in a maw of ideas, insights, accomplishment, and uncertainty. The sheer massiveness of 69 Love Songs invites and comforts. For three hours I allowed the unusual glow, the rolling landscape, and 69 Love Songs to anaesthetize me. I was driving across rural western Kentucky on the night of December 23rd when the moon reached maximum glow, like that third lamp click, for the first time in over a century.
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