God Save the Beat

We. will. be. back.

2011-12-05T23:05:00.002-05:00

Spring 2012.

-GSTB staff.

All of Kanye's Lights

2011-05-21T16:40:00.002-04:00

Kanye West's 2010 album—My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy—caught the attention of just about everybody. 2008's ~~disastrous~~ not-so-well-received 808s and Heartbreaks, along with some off-the-field events, led to the general notion that West had lost his mind. This fear was further strengthened by the cryptic title of his new album.

The music Kanye has produced, though, is both unlike anything he has ever released and similar to everything he's done before. The album is long, the guest list even longer, and the flow both heavy and invigorating. One song that stuck out as I worked through the album was "All of the Lights." The song represents the album, in a sense that we can understand a lot about the album just by listening to this one track. The production is tightly packed: the drum beat is intricate and varied, making heavy use of tom drums, a style not often heard in hip hop. This is contrasted heavily by orchestral instruments—horns, woodwinds, and strings. The beat flows from one to the other over a synthesized droning line, and breaks down effortlessly.

So what lights is Kanye talking about? The lights of fame, it seems. Rihanna croons on this track, singing about seeing everything. The lyrics touch on the extravagance of fame—"fast cars, shooting stars"—while also lamenting its repercussions—the family troubles he's encountered lately. In this way, he manages to juxtapose many of the themes of his past works, a theme indicated quite clearly by the contrasts presented in the chorus: "Cop lights/Flash lights, spot lights, strobe lights, street lights/All of the lights, all of the lights." While 808s was an album fully about anguish, the excesses hinted at here get fleshed out in songs like "Flashing Lights." West wants us to see all aspects of his celebrity here.

But what is Kanye trying to say about fame? Is he trying to say, such as in "Welcome to Heartbreak" from 808s, that he would rather give up the luxuries afforded by his career? That he wishes it never would have come? If so, he never comes out and mentions it. Is he trying to speak to the ephemeral nature of fame? He talks about doing time for hitting his girl, and the surprise he received upon arrival of someone replacing him in his home. It appears that he's just trying to lay out the facts of what happened. On being barred from seeing his daughter, he says, "Her mother, brother, grandmother hate me in that order." While on his previous album West lambasted his ex, here he just explains what is going on, perhaps lamenting its certainty.

On the topic of famous people, it is important to note the astounding guest list on this track. Rihanna, John Legend, Fergie, Alicia Keys, Kid Cudi, and even Elton John make appearances. Some of these guests do not even have prominent roles: while Rihanna takes the choruses and Fergie and Cudi are featured, Legend, Keys, and John are not all that noticeable, bordering on imperceptible.

What, exactly, is the purpose of having so many high-profile artists on a song dealing with fame? There is the obvious—and cynical—response that more guests equals more radio play. But maybe it's not that simple. Perhaps West felt that by bringing in so many guests, it would lend credibility to his depiction of fame. Perhaps he felt that the extreme variety in musical style needed to be highlighted by a variety in vocal styles. This is partially supported by the heavily-processed version of the line "all of the lights" that is mixed in with the true vocals. Or maybe he just thought it would sound cool. Regardless, the vocals are very well put together. Kanye does not try to flex his rapping skills, which would sound disastrously out of place with the rest of the song, but rather gives a terse look into his persona.

"All of the Lights," more than any other song in Kanye's repertoire, veers wildly from triumphant and exuberant to bleak and morose. Somehow he manages to keep it all together, and he also manages to make it sound something like a Kanye West album. It may have a very different sound than his previous offerings, but it still retains his sensibilities in production. There is a reason Kanye vaulted to the stratosphere of producers, and we see that track-making skill used to great effect on this one.

-Prasanna Swaminathan

Song of the Day 11/24: "Tonight the Streets Are Ours"

2010-11-24T11:45:00.005-05:00

It’s almost Thanksgiving, and I’m making lists of all the things I am thankful for, as well as the people to whom I am thankful. I am thankful the street artist Banksy for so many things, but among them is this song, which was featured in his recent ‘street art disaster film’ Exit Through the Gift Shop. In many ways, it is perfect song for the documentary, which a tale of mischief, art, opposition to authority, all in good and playful fun, but never failing to recognize the gravity of its message. The song is perhaps a bit childish in its polarized view, presenting a black and white picture of ‘us vs. them,’ ‘we who feel and love vs. they, with nothing in their souls, who seek only to blind us of our vision;’ but this affirmation of youth and fun perfectly represents the power that lies also at the heart of street art, one that reclaims spaces, feelings, and lives once controlled by established authority. We youth shall rise in the night and rejoice in the truth and feeling that we experience and express. The brilliance of this message shines ever brighter as Hawley sings it in an art-pop context, reminiscent of artists like Burt Bacharach and Elvis Costello. The heavy use of chorus and soaring strings strikes the listener as dated, even fogey-ish; this juxtaposition further emphasizes the urge to take back the night from those who wish to control and suppress its radical energy.

-Will Darwall, Staff Writer

Song of the Day 11/18: "Confession of a Time Traveler"

2010-11-18T12:08:00.003-05:00

In our remix-heavy culture, it's tough to tell what's an original, or what's a remix of a remix. "Confessions" could easily be mistaken for a remix of some acoustic song, but that'd be missing the dark electronic sound at the core of Home Video. Check it out now, before someone remixes it.

—Joe Pinsker

Song of the Day 11/17: "Palmistry"

2010-11-17T12:51:00.004-05:00

Whether you’re a sucker for albums with a good recording story or just a fan of good folk music, the Great Lake Swimmers are among the most consistently interesting acts out there. Their fourth album Lost Channels was recorded in a variety of locations around the Thousand Islands, on the border between Canada and the U.S. There are rather obvious appearances of the geography in their music, with the Singer Castle bells chiming their way through an interlude, for example. But there is also a more subtle undercurrent carrying through the album, like a salty Atlantic breeze fills its lungs. “Palmistry,” the album opener, is reminiscent of some of R.E.M’s more mandolin-laden songs, and showcases the spirit of what remains one of my favorite albums from 2009.

-Melany Barr

Song of the Day 11/12: "Guarantees"

2010-11-12T12:55:00.002-05:00

Many musicians use their music to express the hardships of life below the poverty line. Rap duo Atmosphere take that idea and turn their albums into stories. Slug doesn't just rap about his life; he creates archetypal characters—drug addicts, single mothers, the homeless, etc.—and waxes about their trials and tribulations. On When Life Gives You Lemons, You Paint that Shit Gold, Slug's characters have a resigned view of the world. "Guarantees" places the listener in the mind of a warehouse worker struggling to cope with his problems. He reflects on his life: how did he get here? As he sits at a happy hour, he describes his problems at work, home, and in the neighborhood. As the guitar line—the only source of melody—adds to the sorrow, and the chorus questions the worth of life, you begin to wonder just how simple life really is.
—Prasanna Swaminathan

Song of the Day 11/11: "Atlas Hands"

2010-11-11T19:52:00.005-05:00

There's no shortage of moody, introspective singer-songwriters out there, but there is a shortage of really friggin' good ones. Benjamin Francis Leftwich is one such standout. His recent "Atlas Hands" is poignant, heartfelt, and un-cliche. While you're waiting for Bon Iver and Iron and Wine to release new albums, check out his recent EP, "A Million Miles Out."
— Joe Pinsker

Song of the Day 11/10: "Pure Country Gold"

2010-11-10T12:22:00.013-05:00

Last Night, I went to a show at a bar called PJ’s Lager House in Detroit’s Corktown neighborhood, just a block from the former site of Tiger Stadium, now Ernie Harwell Park, which is just an enormous empty lot with a baseball diamond in the middle of it. This morning, my ears are still ringing, but lord am I glad, as they ring with memories of a two-man outfit that like to call themselves Pure Country Gold and hail from that great Northwestern utopia of Portland, Oregon. If the genre ‘punkabilly’ didn’t yet exist, they’ve created it. Perfectly simple, hard driving, high-energy rock music with a healthy dose of country-blues twang. To quote the band's website, they like to play "fast fun loud rock music for the people." And to quote Petey, the terrific twosome's frontman, they're called "Pure Country Gold, and this is a song called Pure Country Gold, off the album Pure Country Gold; it's about being us: Pure Country Gold. We hope you enjoy it."

Listen here: Pure Country Gold by Pure Country Gold

-Will Darwall, Senior Foreign Correspondent

Song of the Day 11/09: "Drops in the River"

2010-11-09T13:53:00.002-05:00

It’s no secret: Fleet Foxes are currently making some of the best music out there. Drawing inspiration from Bob Dylan’s guitar work, and Crosby, Stills & Nash’s harmonies, the Seattle-based quintet created a sound that is intrinsically their own. Their Sun Giant EP was released in a rush, in order to have something to sell on tour; and despite the band’s admission that the EP did not live up to their ambitions, Sun Giant has been considered among the strongest releases of 2008. “Drops in the River,” the second track on the album, is a great display of the band’s aesthetic: natural, organic imagery, and a harmony-laden form freed of the constraints of usual verse-chorus-verse progressions. It’s the perfect soundtrack to such a crisp, sunny fall day.
—Melany Barr

Song of the Day 11/08: "Hey Scenesters!"

2010-11-08T02:02:00.005-05:00

It's hard not to like the Cribs, even if you're not into punk music. They straddle a particular boundary between indie rock and classic punk that makes them endearing to almost everyone who's ever given them a listen. This song is no exception. In fact, it's probably the one that established the rule. From their 2005 sophomore album, The New Fellas, "Mirror Kissers" features their trademark start-stop dynamic, along with one of the catchiest choruses and breakdowns this side of 2000. Though the band has now abandoned the majority of their DIY aesthetic and sonic quality with the addition of Johnny Marr (a terrible move in almost everyone's opinion), it's always great to look back on great tunes like this one. An instant classic, "Mirror Kissers" is sure to please even the most discerning indie fan.

—Juan Carlos Melendez-Torres

Song of the Day 11/06: "Honey Honey"

2010-11-06T19:26:00.003-04:00

There are some songs that will be remembered for corresponding soundtrack moments; others, that will forever be associated to some commercial or another. Among the latter, Feist’s “1234” is most likely fated to conjure up the memory of an iPod nano, more so than its colorful music video. Hopefully, Leslie Feist will be remembered for more than this pervasive advertising moment. 2007’s The Reminder was an unforgettable album, its quirky indie pop varying from exuberant to melancholic with equal success. “Honey Honey” is among the more contemplative tracks on the album, with a sparse arrangement showcasing Feist’s wonderful, warm, soulful voice as well as her impressive ability to create atmospheric sound.
— Melany Barr

Song of the Day 11/05: "Bleak"

2010-11-05T17:00:00.002-04:00

Upon first listen to Swedish band Opeth, you'd probably group them with the myriad death/black metal bands littering the scene. In fact, the first three minutes of "Bleak" sound pretty much like what good death metal should sound like, no more, no less. The first indication that this might be something unique comes around 2:40, when an acoustic guitar begins to take prominence in the mix, if even just for a bar or two. Further into the song, through dynamic shifts, Arabian-influenced guitar melodies, and the blues-rock breakdown, it becomes clear why Opeth is a pretty celebrated band. Blackwater Park is not just great metal; it's a great album that showcases the band's immense creativity and virtuosity. —Prasanna Swaminathan

Song of the Day 11/04: "Ready For the World"

2010-11-04T13:12:00.003-04:00

Some have said that How to Dress Well sounds like Bon Iver with some, well, different influences. It really just sounds like Bon Iver was tripping acid or something. "Ready for the World" is certainly poignant, but it's also airy and atmospheric. It's somehow both chill and chilling.

— Joe Pinsker

Song of the Day 11/2: "Extraordinary Machine" - Fiona Apple

2010-11-02T00:34:00.002-04:00

The release of Fiona Apple’s third album, Extraordinary Machine, was surrounded by controversy. A first version, produced by Jon Brion, was shoved aside by Epic Records, apparently due to its lack of commercial appeal. As fans launched a campaign supporting Apple, she went to work re-recording the album with a new set of producers, finally releasing the album in 2005, a full six years after When the Pawn… The comparison between the bootleg version of the original album and the official Epic Records release has a lot to say about record labels’ interference in artists’ work. Among the songs that were not tampered with during the re-recording sessions, the title track reveals the strength and progressiveness of the original recordings. “Extraordinary Machine” is a great song, with strong lyrics and vocals emphasized by a quirky, baroque yet uncluttered sound that is lost in the re-recorded set. It will leave you wondering why it is that commerciality so often comes at the expense of originality – and thanking the internet for undermining that tradeoff.

-Melany Barr

Album of the Week - It's Blitz

2010-11-01T13:32:00.002-04:00

It's Blitz - The Yeah Yeah Yeahs (2009)

Though generally praised as the cream of the ‘punk revivalist’ crop, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs didn’t exactly exude versatility before 2009. But, seemingly against all odds, Karen O and company switched from tried and true alt punk to electro dance pop – and it worked. It’s Blitz manages to bridge the gap between serious rock sensibilities and utterly infectious enthusiasm, all while maintaining the emotional honesty that made them cool in the first place. Friendly pulsing beats and “Soft Shock”s will have you laughing, dancing, crying, and headbanging before album’s end – and if you don’t feel an uncontrollable urge to rock out during “Zero”, you might want to have your blood pressure checked. Who could have predicted that the authors of such lively pop rock once relished in punk minimalism? It goes to show that, thankfully, you shouldn’t count anyone out these days.

Song of the Day 10/28: "El Cuarto de Tula"

2010-10-28T20:01:00.003-04:00

Who doesn't love soothing Spanish guitars? On the off-chance of an Indian summer (which seems to be a reality right now), it's nice to transport yourself back into the summer mindset, even if it's just for a day. Buena Vista Social Club and their smooth grooves are here to help you out with that.

— Joe Pinsker

Song of the Day 10/26: "Flume" - Bon Iver

2010-10-26T00:02:00.004-04:00

You don’t need to know its background to love For Emma, Forever Ago, Justin Vernon’s first release as Bon Iver. The rushing, rhythmic acoustic guitar work, swelling choruses and natural, imagistic lyrics will surely be enough to convince you. In fact, you can probably guess at that background by listening to what it produced – the sparseness, restraint, and beauty of the music beckoning to the four secluded months Vernon spent recording in a cabin tucked away in the frozen Wisconsin wood. The album takes a contemplative, ruminating course through experience, with stark emotional truths shining through the enigmatic lyrics. “Flume,” the opening track, sets the stage for the rest of the album in that regard: with lyrics such as the chorus’ “only love is all maroon, lapping lakes like leering loons,” the song won’t give itself away through written word – you’ve got to listen if you want to know.

-Melany Barr

Song of the Day 10/22: "A Paw in My Face"

2010-10-22T12:36:00.003-04:00

From Here We Go Sublime is Axel Willner's debut full-length album. The producer, on German electronic music label Kompakt, makes trance music that is more fit for the living room than for a giant dance club. Willner definitely draws elements from glitch, creating a style that has a surprisingly wide dynamic range owed to the combination of the fluidity of trance and the choppiness of glitch. The album also has a minimalist feel to it, which makes it feel at home on Kompakt. This may sound contradictory, but Willner makes it work. "A Paw in My Face" illustrates this concept beautifully. Willner starts with a chopped-up guitar sample (sampled from Lionel Ritchie's "Hello") looped until he brings in a simple drum track. He gradually makes this more complex, introducing new melodic and percussive tracks until he dives into a new hook. He builds on this for the next few minutes, introducing phased sounds—almost like a Leslie rotary speaker—before breaking down the tempo of the song right before the end. The only thing one can wish for at this breakdown is that he keeps going. This becomes the theme of the entire album. His formula may be a bit repetitive, but he manages to keep the sound fresh enough that you'll always want more of it.

— Prasanna Swaminathan

Song of the Day 10/21: "Down the Line"

2010-10-21T12:19:00.004-04:00

Jose Gonzalez is a musician who you probably haven't heard of, but you may have heard -- he has partaken in a wide range of collaborations. His solo work, however, may be his most impressive. He has one of the most mellifluous voices in the industry, so you probably won't even need that much initiation into his soundscapes. "Down the Line" is a good place to start, though.

— Joe Pinsker

Song of the Day 10/20: "You Make My Dreams Come True"

2010-10-20T12:01:00.003-04:00

Whether she’s a Rich Girl, a Maneater, or just that someone about whom you’ll never have to say ‘She’s Gone,’ Philadelphia favorite sons tell a story about a girl we all know. Highlighting the sustaining, focusing power of love, the singer is made a unified whole, pulled together by the imaginative energy of his loving baby. But is it a story about long-term, mutually sustaining, monogamous relationship, or merely an intense, and perhaps fleeting, infatuation? Clearly this is a relationship that will leave a lasting mark, as he says ‘I ain’t the way you found me / and I’ll never be the same,’ but it bears few marks of stability. It’s ‘hard to handle / but like the flame that burns the candle / the candle feeds the flame.’ I’m not a physics major, but I’m pretty sure that most candles burn out eventually. Also, make sure you watch the music video. You’ll be a better person for it.

-Will Darwall

Song of the Day 10/19: "Last to Swim"

2010-10-19T00:17:00.002-04:00

The singer-songwriter, folk-inspired scene can get a little old, what with the countless beards and equivalent sounds. Philly local Timothy Showalter alias Strand of Oaks may be bearded, but his sound is carefully crafted and clearly his own. His newest release Pope Killdragon is incredible, replete with textural and emotional variations that lend his music a depth many would envy. He is a master of patterns of restraint and release, gradually amplifying the song’s elements until they burst into something you’ll want blasting in your ears. “Last to Swim” is just one of the many fantastic songs on the album, and serves as a good introduction to this most interesting of indie folksters.

-Melany Barr

Sometimes the Blues is Just a Passing Bird

2010-09-28T23:21:00.000-04:00

For anyone who has ever been left wordless while trying to answer the painfully general question, “What type of music do you listen to?”, you may appreciate the challenge I face in trying to describe The Tallest Man on Earth, moniker of Swedish singer/songwriter Kristian Matasson. The artists that hold my attention don't do so because their music correspond to a specific "type" or genre; rather, they captivate me because they're just plain good. Hand me an album that’s solid gold from the first verse to final fade-out, and you have my full listening attention. Matasson is that type of musician – an artist in every sense of the word: captivating, universally relatable, and an innovator in a listening community that craves both newness and familiarity. I would recommend his LPs The Wild Hunt and Shallow Graves, and for those of us who have chewed through those, his most recent EP, Sometimes the Blues is Just a Passing Bird.

Due to the raw quality of his vocals and the deftness of his trademark acoustic picking, Tallest Man’s music is often likened to that of Bob Dylan, at times being called a “revival artist”. What makes his work successful in the face of this constant comparison would hold true for any musician: he is a master of development, growth, and reinvention. Sometimes the Blues is Just a Passing Bird preserves the most endearing qualities of TMOE’s work, while exploring new (and intriguing) stylistic choices.

“Tangle In This Trampled Wheat” opens the album with TMOE’s quintessential acoustic picking style, while the vocals build up to the raw cracks of the chorus, and the poignant cry: “I’m not leaving alone”. “Like The Wheel” takes a softer, subtler turn, developing into a lullaby-like musing: “Please let the kindness of forgetting set me free”. “The Dreamer” demonstrates a mix-up: opting for electric instead of traditional acoustic, the relaxed chords sit back on their heels, instead of pouring out in a rushed stream like his individually plucked notes.

Ultimately, these small choices show us a glimpse of the possibility of even better developments to come. For longtime fans, this EP will tide us over until we see or hear from Kristian next. For those who have never listened to his work before, these songs are a relaxed, accessible introduction to his work. Try them on for size. You may find that musical listening void you never knew you had, has suddenly been filled.

Details about EP release: http://deadoceans.com/blog/2010/09/surprise-new-ep-from-the-tallest-man-on-earth-available-for-download-today-on-itunes/

A selection of his earlier works, Secret Garden Series: http://vimeo.com/5099681

-Shana Rusonis, Class of 2012, Guest Contributor

Introducing...Indian Rebound

2010-09-27T13:19:00.006-04:00

It's hard to separate a band from their creative predecessors these days. Only after working hard at a unique sound for years, touring for ages, and going through a good period of drudgery will the constant comparisons fall to the wayside. Which is why so many young bands start off sounding old and tired beyond their years... But when you find a set of young musicians that manage to wear their influences on their sleeves and still make it sound new and fresh, it's a rare find, and one that is worth noting.

Indian Rebound is one such band. Equal parts Apples in Stereo and Girls, this (very) young group successfully manages to blend early-90s indie riffage with late-00s nostalgically sunny reverb to make something that perhaps isn't new when broken down, but when synthesized sounds like something utterly original and surprisingly well-articulated.

With their new single "Sitges", Indian Rebound manages to rein in their lackadaisically summery vibe and temper it with a stop-start staccato melody line that would have been equally at home on a post-punk revival record from the likes of the Strokes or Franz Ferdinand. It’s a simply structured song that still manages to easily and naturally engage with something so aurally pleasing that it seems, on the band’s part, to have come from some instinctive source.

They pull off a similar feat on “Sunshine”, which draws on the most basic rock structures to create a song that drives its way into your head as easily as any of the numbers from the Ramones’ catalog. There’s no denying that they just have a natural knack for crafting melodies that just work.

The fact that this group is showcasing such a strong songwriting sensibility so early on bodes well for their future. At only 15 and 18 respectively, guitarist Ethan Levenson and drummer John Kallen manage to create music on par with many of the well-known rock duos of the past few years. Let’s hope they can capitalize on that potential and put out an EP or LP by the end of next year.

Check out Indian Rebound at myspace.com/indianrebound.

—Juan Carlos

A Slightly Delayed Farewell to Summer...

2010-09-23T10:28:00.005-04:00

... And worse, a farewell to weekly concerts in Rittenhouse Square.

For those who stayed in Philadelphia this summer, I sincerely hope you took advantage of the free entertainment across the city. My favorite concert at Rittenhouse this summer had to have been The Homophones. I wasn't familiar with their music at all—I had only heard of them once or twice. But 30 seconds into their first song,"Holiday in Your Head", I was a goner. (How could I not have been? Their stage props include massive amounts of balloons.)

Singer Jason Ferraro's voice echoes The National's Matt Berniger's baritone, but the Homophones manage to create music that's more whimsical than anything I've heard by The National. Ferraro's lyrics are clever, quotable and catchy all at once; his words deserve serious listen.

For those of you who missed out, I have great news. The Homophones are reportedly playing at Pi Lam on October 22 with Pains of Being Pure at Heart. Uh, yeah. You have no excuse to NOT check them out.

I'm linking you to their myspace and I urge you to listen to "Polish Thugz" and "Ona Judge".

http://www.myspace.com/thehomophones

Here's the site where you can purchase their LP.

http://thehomophones.bandcamp.com/

Oh, and if strange music starts playing that doesn't sound at all like what I'm talking about... Scroll down through their comments and turn off the music that's linked to their page.

-Madi Mornhinweg

Large Hadron Collider and Sound

2010-09-13T22:09:00.000-04:00

The scientists running the Large Hadron Collider (LHC) have started a project to allow them to "listen" to their data. For those who don't know, the Large Hadron Collider is a giant particle accelerator in Geneva. Its goal is to find unknown subatomic particles by smashing together beams of protons and observing how they decay. Particles decay into different particles at different energy levels. The particular particle that the scientists are trying to find is called the Higgs boson. This particle is so important because it is the only elementary particle in the Standard Model of particle physics that scientists have not been able to isolate so far. If we can isolate the Higgs boson, we can study its properties and learn about the universe in its very early form.

So how does sound play into this? LHC Sound is a collaboration of particle physicists, musicians, and artists that have come up with a new way of analyzing the collider's data. A calorimeter—device for measuring heat—in the ATLAS detector measures the energy of each collision. That energy, then, is converted into a pitch.

Dr Lily Asquith, a member of the team, explains the reasoning for this sonification in the LHC Sound Blog:

"Sound seems the perfect tool with which to represent the complexity of the data; our ears are superb at locating the source and location of sounds relative to one another, we can hear a vast range of frequencies and distinguish timbres (different instruments) before they have even played a full cycle. We also have an incredible ability to notice slight changes is pitch or tempo over time and to recognise patterns in sound after hearing them just once."

So while the project may very well prove to be helpful to the physicists themselves, it is more for the general public. While I made the ~~enviable~~ unfortunate choice to pursue a physics degree [Digression: Dear LHC Sound, can I please be a part of this?], the group makes the point that even those without years of physics study can understand a confusing experiment by making the data more accessible. This can go a long way toward making the experiment less of a mystery. Will it stop the paranoid crazies from thinking that the Large Hadron Collider will produce a black hole that will swallow all of us? Probably not. But it's a start.

If you're more interested, you can download simulations and the actual sounds at the LHC Sound Page.

-Prasanna Swaminathan

Katy Perry: Multi-Hit Wonder

2010-08-28T15:39:00.000-04:00

Katy Perry has done pretty well for herself. She’s had five top ten singles in the past three years. Just this summer, she’s had two hit songs, one of which joins the remarkably long list of musical tributes to California. In short, she’s a pop music force to be reckoned with. It’s a familiar story, this rise to pop stardom. But back in 2008, it seemed to me that Katy Perry was destined to follow another all-too-familiar path, that of the one hit wonder.

One hit wonders come in a few different types. There are the indie bands and singer/songwriters that break into the mainstream for a song before falling back under the radar, often carrying with them a couple hundred new fans. Then there are the “buzzworthy” new artists that turn out to be not-so-worthy of buzz: their first single charts, their second single flops, and no one cares when they release their sophomore album a decade later. Then there are the people who never had any business being musicians to begin with, people with money or connections who can pay a producer to let them lay down a cheesy pop song and have their voices auto-tuned — you know the type, socialites who want to be famous for something other than being famous and young television actresses who want it all.

But the most conspicuous one-hit-wonder personality is the artist who comes out with some silly, outrageously literal song that is so catchy and ridiculous that the world has no choice but to love it — and play it over and over again for all eternity. I hardly went to a bat mitzvah in middle school where they didn’t play Sir Mix-a-lot’s “Baby Got Back” even though the song came out a cool decade before my tween years. When I heard Katy Perry’s “I Kissed a Girl” for the first time, I thought, this is the new “Baby Got Back,” this is the new “Because I Got High,” this is the new “I’m Too Sexy,” this is the new “The Thong Song” or the new “Stacy’s Mom.” What made these songs hits was the cultural poignancy they achieved from comically and candidly dealing with socially taboo (or at least musically taboo) issues. And what made the artists behind them one hit wonders was the impossibility of matching the iconic status achieved by their original hits.

But I was wrong about Katy Perry. I thought, how could she possibly follow a song that forever changed the way people think of cherry chapstick? But she did. Her second single “Hot n’ Cold” was still silly and catchy and ridiculous, inspiring covers like this one, and it could have left its own legacy had it belonged to a different artist. (After all, not all the one-hits are socially monumental — they also include your “Who Let The Dogs Out,” your “Blue (Da Ba Dee)” and your “Ice Ice Baby.”) This summer’s “California Gurls” was equally fun and ridiculous and inescapable. In fact, Katy Perry has turned the traits that one usually associates with one hit wonders into a consistent style that permeates all her music. She embodies the silliness and ridiculousness and candidness that all those other artists could achieve in one moment of clarity and honesty but could never repeat. She’s a new brand of musician, a “multi-hit wonder.” That doesn’t mean she’ll ever escape the interview questions about kissing girls, but that's not so bad, is it?

—Mary Ibrahim

In a Similar Vein

2010-08-24T10:43:00.002-04:00

You may or may not have heard of a band called The Young Veins. They’re very well-backed by the media and have garnered attention because they have two emo expats on their side: Ryan Ross and Jon Walker, formerly of Panic! at the Disco fame. The Young Veins push a reasonably psychedelic brand of shoegaze. Nothing to complain about but also nothing revolutionary. A recent press picture released by Spin Magazine supports this aura nicely.

Contrast that, then, with this: a stock photo of Panic! at the Disco. You may not be able to spot the similarity between these two pictures, but I assure you that somewhere hiding behind all that guyliner and sadness are two of the men from the first picture.

Whereas any self-respecting Spin reader would obediently vomit upon hearing or reading any suggestion that Panic! at the Disco had even the most remote amount of talent, the Young Veins were releasing what Spin considered one of the Top 25 Albums of the summer. Personally, I’m a bit irked by the idea that you can garner musical respect simply by shedding mascara, creepy 1890s garb, and morose facial expressions and then wrapping yourself up in offbeat fabrics and a more uplifting worldview. (That being said, it is completely reasonable for a man to gain respect just by abandoning mascara.)

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Once upon a time, this thing called Counter Culture sprung up from a desire – no, a need – for individualism in a world that seemed to be becoming more homogeneous by the day. Some would argue that the world as a whole has become more homogeneous since then, but others might say the opposite. The trend that matters, however, is that those who strive to be different and more individualistic are themselves becoming eerily like one another. In other words, those who want to be different are becoming the same.

Now, I know you’ve heard this argument before: that hipster-ism (one of the modern-day incarnations of Counter Culture) is a logical fallacy in that its adherents, in trying to be unique, end up looking, eating, drinking, and thinking the same.

Social networking and the Internet only exacerbate this problem. In a split second, we can become acutely aware of what’s in and what’s out – not just in our neighborhood, but across the world (most notably in trendsetting locales). But when everybody’s on the cutting edge, there’s no such thing as the cutting edge anymore. Just as “good” and “evil” are relative terms that lose their meaning when inspected singularly, “revolutionary” and “normal” become hollow and meaningless when you have one without the other.

At this point, I could go off on a tangent (or maybe this is really the main point) about how stores like Urban Outfitters and Hot Topic boxed up this culture and sold it. I’m certainly not the first to find it counter-intuitive that you can standardize a culture that is by definition un-standardized. But I’ll stick to this as it applies to music.¹

Our migration to a surface-level image-based culture has made visual appeal susceptible to conflation with musical talent, and this is scary. Music should be evaluated on its music-ness, not on the appearance of its creators. Two slightly modified truisms refine this point: don’t judge the messenger (it’s about the sound that comes out of your speakers). Furthermore, don’t judge a band by its cover (press kits only go so far in demonstrating what a band sounds like. Songs do a much better job of this).

In order to fit the bill of modern-day shoegazers, the Young Veins (or at least Walker and Ross) had to peel off their disposable uniform and instead slip into something more comfortable – more comfortable, at least, given their revised mission statement.² If Ross and Walker had set their sights on rap stardom, they would’ve ditched the forest they’re casually chilling in and hop in a diamond-encrusted Hummer with some dope “dubs.” However, The Young Veins’ current goal is to succeed in the world of Indie Rock, where listeners subscribe to the music that best perpetuates the idealized image of uniqueness that they’re striving for – no matter how illusory that image may be.

¹I do realize that my analysis plays by the conventional music snob idea that there are high walls erected between indie and mainstream music – walls that distinguish the legitimate from the illegitimate. Thus, I’m treating music as if it fits into different, well-defined categories. It doesn’t, and it shouldn’t. However, the only way to advance to a place where music isn’t judged based on the image it’s presented with is to analyze why we’re in the current framework to begin with.

²For the record, I have considered the possibility that Ross and Walker are earnestly searching for their own creative niche by exploring new realms of musical artistry. After all, they left Panic! at the Disco due to creative differences. However, today’s superficial image culture has led my cynical side to think otherwise.

—Joe Pinsker

Review: The Suburbs

2010-08-17T13:20:00.004-04:00

Arcade Fire took a different approach to recording their third album compared to their first two. While Funeral and Neon Bible were fairly contiguous works—particularly Neon Bible, which was conceived in a church that the band converted to a recording studio—The Suburbs was recorded in Montreal, Quebec (their church-to-studio), and New York City. This gives the album a sprawling sound that is not present on their previous works, and it shows just how far the band has come in the six years since Funeral.

The first thing I noticed about The Suburbs was its length. While Funeral and Neon Bible were not especially short records—10 and 11 songs, respectively, both around 47 minutes—they pale in comparison to the grand length of The Suburbs. With 16 tracks, clocking in at over an hour, it appears, before even listening, to be their most ambitious work yet.

In a way, this album feels a lot clearer than either of the group's previous albums. Those albums were ambitious, but in a way that made the album feel like a collection of great songs. The Suburbs, on the other hand, feels like a great album, one that had more planning before recording began. The songs flow in a way that makes them seem completely blended together. The first time I listened to the album, I actually could not be certain at one point if I had just listened to two or three songs. I don't mean that the songs sounded identical; just that each song transitions into the next, both musically and thematically. The group de-emphasizes individual anthems such as "Wake Up" and "No Cars Go," and instead focuses on how the songs interact with each other.

For the most part, this works out rather well. The first quarter of the album is paced very deliberately. It stresses the apathy that is present in the suburbs, and the unfortunate state of modern humanity. "By the times the first bombs fell/We were already bored," Win Butler laments on the opener. It may not be obvious, but Butler is clearly a little bit sick of his fans, as he sings on "Rococo," "Let's go downtown and talk to the modern kids/They will eat right out of your hand/Using great big words that they don't understand." Butler clearly wants things to matter; this is one thing that made the first two albums great—when he has something to say, it drives the albums forward and gives them a sense of purpose. Butler, though, spends the first part of The Suburbs lamenting what happens when his point isn't getting across. When his audience is not driven out of apathy, when they are still trying to be more than they really are, he sees it as a reflection on the poor state of humanity. This cynicism pretty much drives the entire album.

Beginning with "Empty Room," Arcade Fire begins to vary the pace of the album, adopting a more introspective point of view. Along with "City With No Children," the two songs depict how empty the suburbs and its people really are. Nonetheless, both songs have instrumentals light enough to keep the songs from weighing down the entire album. This sets up the first two-part song, "Half Light," a song that moves from the theme of human stagnation to the theme of change. This theme continues into "Suburban War," and sets up the frenetic "Month of May."

The other two-part song, "Sprawl," condenses the concept of the album into two tracks, to great effect. The first part, Flatland, is dark and lonely. Win describes the isolation and abandonment of humanity, and the search for meaning in such a life. The group lightens up in the second part, Mountains Beyond Mountains. Régine's vocals give the song a light, airy feel, even when she describes "dead shopping malls" with no end in sight. The predicament felt by the group is aptly summarized by the opening lines: "They heard me singing and they told me to stop/'Quit these pretentious things and just punch the clock.'"

Musically, The Suburbs is their most consistent album yet. The instruments do not always match the spirit of the vocals, but are used to bolster them and move the album forward. While the album overall feels a bit preachy, it sufficiently depicts the life of the average suburbian, acknowledges the group's rise from obscurity to indie rock royalty, and pushes them in a new direction.

Prasanna's Grade: A-

-Prasanna Swaminathan

Why Does Travie McCoy Want to Be a Billionaire?

2010-08-16T19:15:00.005-04:00

In a nationally publicized affair earlier in the summer, Elena Kagan called the Supreme Court confirmation hearings “a vapid and hollow charade”; unknown to the newest member of the Supreme Court, however, was that fact that her words offered an excellent critique of contemporary rap music, a genre too reliant on two things—you guessed them: sex and money—and too afraid to explore new themes, for fear of tinkering with its tried, tested—but trite—formula.

So, after hearing the title of Travie McCoy’s “Billionaire”—a single from his new album Lazarus, which debuts June 8—a sigh or two would not be out of order.

Indeed, at first, the lyrics don’t seem to deviate from the norm. McCoy, like his fellow rappers, only wants fame and fortune:

I wanna be a billionaire so fuckin’ bad

Buy all of the things I never had

I wanna be on the cover of Forbes Magazine

Smiling next to Oprah and the Queen

But “Billionaire,” surprisingly, isn’t merely another glossily superficial litany of wealth or women (ahem, Lil Wayne); rather, it eschews the money-women-sex banalities in an unlikely meditation on munificence. What? Generosity? But that’s anathema to rappers!

It’s true. McCoy himself tells MTV that the song, which has a laid-back slowness reminiscent of anything by Jack Johnson, endeavors to “open up the question: if you were in a position to do something with a decent chunk of money, what would you do?"

As for the singer himself?

I’d probably pull an Angelina and Brad Pitt

and adopt a bunch of babies that ain’t never had shit

Give away a few Mercedes like here lady have this

And last but not least grant somebody their last wish

And get this:

I’d probably visit where Katrina hit

And damn sure do a lot more than FEMA did

A philanthropist and humanitarian? Have we met the Nick Kristof of the rap industry?

Well, kind of. The whole song is a proposition—notice that “I would…” and “I probably” qualify each of his brazenly idealistic dreams. And, sure, it’s also a self-serving magnanimity—a wave of satisfaction comes over him as he says, You can call me Travie Claus minus the ho-ho—but McCoy’s message is still a massive improvement over Lil Wayne’s lame sexual innuendos.

The song’s music video, according to McCoy, comprises “vignettes where unfortunate things happen to people and I happen to have the anecdotes for their particular misfortune. If you listen to the lyrics…a lot of it has to do with helping people out, a lot of selfless things. Overall the vibe is real summertime, but there’s also a positive message.”

On the track, McCoy is joined by Bruno Mars, who departs from the traditional rap fare exemplified on his recent hit “Nothing on You” to provide an sonorous melody for this uplifting beach ballad. It’s a song with a simple guitar chord and drum beat—which favorably compares to the auto-tuned-to-death nature of an increasing number of pop and rap songs. It’s a perky song of human imperfection, even in the best of us—he avariciously wants to “buy everything” despite his philanthropic motivation. And, set in an economy barely dragging itself out a recession, it’s a song of creating dreams, outlandish dreams we will never realize, dreams to keep us going, the Aston Martin picture on my teacher’s wall.

Mars delivers the last lines, I wanna be a billionaire/so fuckin' bad, with a delightful resignation, ones suffused with a lush languor and an uncanny genuineness—so much so that the clean version (sans f-word) seems bowdlerized, seems false. Even budding rap stars will never have billions, but McCoy and Mars know this. As the song ends, the singers smile wide in acknowledgment of the blissful impossibility of their supposed goal—but every time I close my eyes…

-Shaj Mathew, Guest Contributor, incoming freshman at Penn

Review: Perfume Genius on Learning

2010-08-13T14:00:00.000-04:00

With each technological innovation, there seems to be a downside to match every advantage. This trend may be especially true when it comes to the music industry: though new methods of production and distribution give a greater number of people access to a greater number of artists, there is real concern that with more quantity comes less quality. But while the path has been paved for the mediocre artist, it has also been made easier for the unassuming yet wonderfully talented craftsman, the kind of musician who answers to an internal compulsion to create, rather than any desire to make it big. Seattle-bred Mike Hadreas, alias Perfume Genius, is definitely among the latter.

His debut album, Learning, released this past June, is exquisite and intimate, with sparse, spectral piano arrangements and echo-laden vocals that prove to be hauntingly compelling. Hadreas' delicate handle of piano keys is reminiscent of Sam Beam's loving hold on his guitar; and the softness of his voice shares some of Sufjan Stevens' magic. And just like these two accomplished musicians, Perfume Genius crafts incantatory, poetic lyrics that are sure to stay with you long after the speakers have fallen silent.

The record is deeply melancholic, and lingers on moments of great sadness or solitude. "Mr. Petersen" artfully draws listeners in on the details of a teacher-student relationship before unexpectedly veering toward the tragic: "He made me a tape of Joy Division/ he told me there was a part of him missing / When I was sixteen / He jumped off a building." The suddenness of the eruption of tragedy is brutal, granted. But it is honest, and it is true.

That taste for content that is real and raw finds its formal reflection in Mike Hadreas' choice of recording locales - his mother's house, on her piano. According to him, you can hear her dogs running around on some of the songs. It is this earnestness, this lo-fi intimacy, that makes Learning so captivating. Of the set of songs, Hadreas writes: "I truly intended to show them to my friends and leave it at that. But I didn't - and left all the music the same even though it's sort of a tricky feeling. I am just a hippie, that's all. I have faith that I really fucking meant it, that if I go back and mess with them I'll lose that."

So here's to Perfume Genius and his willingness to let us in on an album that is somewhat naked, despite any "tricky feelings" he might have had. Learning is marked with a sense of open-heartedness that is truly exceptional. This genuineness, coupled with the acute beauty present in every crevice of every song, transcends the melancholy, ultimately offering a cathartic, uplifting musical experience. Learning makes for an extraordinary listen, shimmering with authenticity and hinting to the enduring good health of the music industry.

Melany's grade: A

Remember the Underground? Last Tracks

2010-08-12T11:42:00.005-04:00

It's no secret that mainstream hip hop has taken a new direction during the past decade, drifting so far into the realm of catchy club music that it may no longer even fit under the name "hip hop." Many of the veterans of hip hop's golden age in the 90s have decried this development. As we all know, Nas, whose 1996 debut album Illmatic marked the height of that age and has since become the definitive hip hop album, declared with his album title in 2006 what many had already been saying: "Hip Hop is Dead." Putting aside the longer debate about the validity of this statement, which requires a careful definition of terms and a thorough comparison of the hip hop of the 90s to that of the 2000s, it is worth noting the impact this statement has had on the underground hip hop community.

During the past decade, underground hip hop artists have been among the best that hip hop has to offer. While many of the celebrated artists wallow in their wealth, the underground artists have continued to rap about their struggles, both in their efforts to be successful and in facing the challenges to live a safe, happy life. They have been the ones speaking the truth, rhyming about things that matter and carrying on the torch of hip hop. It is the fault of the mainstream audiences and artists that they have not been more commercially successful. Or so many of them would have you believe.

While there is definitely plenty of truth to these ideas, too many underground hip hop artists have taken full advantage of the "hip hop is dead" buzz to blame others for their own subpar music. I cannot remember how many songs included at least a verse or two along these lines: "Yeah Hip Hop is Dead/ Like Nasty Nas Said/ My Music is Real Hip Hop/ Not Wack Radio Pop/ I'm the Greatest/ Because I Never Made It....Byah!!"

For someone who loves good underground hip hop and cannot stand most of the mainstream "hip hop", I cringe whenever I hear this repetitive, misplaced self-righteousness that comes across as truly pathetic. Many of these artists are far too good to fall to the self-aggrandizing depths of their counterparts.

So, to remind us all why hip hop and underground hip hop in particular is worth listening to, I have created a playlist of classic tracks that evaded the generic, contrived, superficial lyrics of those posing as hip hop artists. The playlist is themed: all of the songs are last tracks on albums. As it happens, MCs are often inclined to be most intimate, most honest and most truthful in their last track, when they describe the struggles they are facing. Hope you enjoy and feel free to add your own favorites. (Also, a couple words of note: it is really pretty difficult to make a playlist of last tracks because each one feels like, well, a last track and if you only listen to one song, listen to the last one).

1. No Rest for the Weary - Blue Scholars, Blue Scholars (2004)

2. Nothing Less (feat. Slug) - Living Legends, Almost Famous (2001)

3. Walk the Walk - Gatsby the Great, Falling Up (2007)

4. Clear Blue Skies - Juggaknots, Clear Blue Skies (1996)

5. "B.I.B.L.E" - GZA, Liquid Swords (1995)

6-7. "You Never Know (feat. Jean Grae)"/ "One (Remix) feat. Akir" - Immortal Technique, Revolutionary Vol. 2 (2003)

8. "Revelations" - Masta Ace, A Long Hot Summer (2004)

9. "Epilogue" - J-Live, The Best Part (2001)

-Jeremy

My Top 10 Soundtrack Moments Since 1989

2010-08-05T12:40:00.001-04:00

There are some songs, whenever or wherever I hear them, which always bring me back to a particular movie scene. It doesn’t even matter whether I liked the movie or not, and I'm not sure why certain pairings stick more than others (ideas, anyone?), but so it is. And after it happens, the song no longer exists without the scene, nor the scene without the song. Enjoy this mini mental archive, which I’ve limited to movies that came out when I was alive, and feel free to share your own as well.

1. Teen Witch - Top That by The Michael Terry Rappers; Polly flirts with Rhet in a freestyle battle

2. Empire Records - Snakeface by Throwing Muses; Corey seduces Rex Manning

3. Dangerous Minds - Gangsta's Paradise by Coolio; Ms. Johnson pays a home visit to two former students

4. Good Will Hunting - Miss Misery by Elliott Smith; Will finally leaves town

5. Can't Hardly Wait - Paradise City by Guns N' Roses; William rocks the house party and then crowd-surfs

6. Cruel Intentions - Colorblind by Counting Crows; Annette finds Sebastian waiting at the top of the escalator

7. 40 Days and 40 Nights - The One You Have Not Seen by Sophie B. Hawkins; Matt blows flower petals across Erica's body

8. The Girl Next Door - This Year's Love by David Gray; Matthew runs back into the party and kisses Danielle

9. Once - If You Want Me by Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová; busker and flower seller sing an intimate duet

10. Armaggedon - Leaving (On A Jetplane) by the cast; A.J. says goodbye to Grace before his big expedition

Oh My God, Charlie Darwin

2010-08-03T15:41:00.003-04:00

"Without music, life would be a mistake”: Nietzsche’s particular formula for a generally accepted truth—music occupies an important place in our lives. We are constantly exposed to it, whether the melodies are of our own choosing, or selected by others. We listen to it while shopping, riding elevators, driving our cars. We hum it to ourselves, we tap our feet to its beat. So the importance of music is plainly observable; the nature of that importance, however, remains a mystery. Why is it that we are so keen to fill our lives with melodies and rhythms? What part of us responds to music in such a way as to create some sort of dependence on it? These kinds of questions can seem a little daunting, as they beg for a whole host of different approaches, from the biological to the philosophical. There are a few evolutionary theories that form a good place to begin such a discussion. So I have a few hypotheses as to the emergence of music to offer you, gleaned from various readings over the years.

Many such hypotheses involve the idea that music evolved for a functional reason, that is, to suit a specific need within human evolution. What that need might be is of course the object of much debate. But one fairly widely accepted theory is the Darwin’s idea that musical ability is like a peacock’s tail, a distinctive feature of a good mate. This idea does offer an explanation for the groupie mentality, and the ruthlessness of fans clawing at each other for a guitar pick tossed into a crowd. Advocates of the Darwinian theory support their claim by pointing to the close ties between music and romantic interest; after all, most lyrics circle around love, lost or found, requited, unrequited, and any other qualifiers you can come up with. But if love is a recurring theme in lyrics across all genres, isn’t it simply because it’s a recurring theme in our lives? Just because music turns to love for inspiration, does not necessarily mean it evolved to enable it. So this first theory can seem a little shaky.

A second hypothesis is that music evolved as a means to bind groups of early humans together, to give them an advantage over those less musical, and therefore less cohesive. This theory offers a strong explanation for our attachment to national anthems, as well as for bonds existing between people with similar musical interests. The counterculture movement of the 1960’s, for example, was largely unified by folk music; so much so, that Bob Dylan’s movement from traditional acoustics to decidedly non-folksy electrics was perceived by some as a complete betrayal of their cause. So there’s definitely something to be said for this theory, which emphasizes the relational, social aspect of music; and can serve to remind us that music is more thoroughly enjoyed when shared.

While both these hypotheses can be compelling, there is something unsatisfactory about the idea that music surfaced simply to as a functional response to an evolutionary need, like a knee-jerk reflex. So this brings me to one last, nonfunctional theory: that music emerged as an accident, and was then taken up and transformed by our creative abilities. According to this theory, as I understand it, music came about as a consequence of auditory capabilities developed for language and communication, the spoken word leading to the song. Metaphorically speaking, if all these things were a house, then language proper would be the roof over your head, the walls put up to provide shelter from the elements—the functional reason for the house’s existence. But music and literature, the means of expression rather than strict communication, are what we fill the walls with; the accidental consequence of blank space created just to keep out wind and rain.

I like this last idea because it emphasizes the close ties between music and literature, as well as the role of human creativity in the emergence of both forms. It stipulates that we used what we accidentally inherited to invent something wonderful and elevating. But that’s all that can be said for any of these theories, really—that one is more liked than the others. What we are left with is what we can gather from the common ground between the conjectures: the simple (and satisfactory) truth that music is buried deeply within us and those who came before us, and that it is something that enriches and enlivens, soothes and inspires. So though the cause may remain a mystery, the effects are coming in loud and clear.

(And for those wondering about the post title—a great album by the Low Anthem. Give it a listen)

-Melany

Sparkly Night Of The Soul

2010-08-02T11:32:00.002-04:00

Like a typical suburban family’s home, Dark Night of the Soul is a collaboration on multiple levels. First off, (the late) indie ubermensch Mark Linkous lays down track after track of expertly chiseled musicianship for pro producer Danger Mouse (of Gnarls Barkley fame) to nail home with his ultra-sensitive microphones. Then, a star-studded cast of frontmen and -women that makes indie palms worldwide palpitate provides vocals and some degree of artistic vision. Like Mexican food, the result is that each variation of the above has its own flavor even though the fundamental ingredients are eerily similar.

Despite cameos from stars ranging from the Strokes’ Julian Casablancas to Iggy Pop, the album’s focal point remains the canvas laid down and smoothed out by Linkous and Mouse. Fashioning a standalone instrument out of the art of production, Mouse is at his finest. And Linkous’s expert craftsmanship is brilliant – that is to say, nothing short of his status quo.

A complete dissection of this album and its creation process may seem dated to fans, however, seeing as the album was unofficially released more than a year ago – unofficially, that is, because of copyright violation. In an eff-the-system act in the name of free artistry, Linkous and Mouse marketed and sold an intricate, David Lynch-illustrated book along with a blank CD-R, coyly and not-so-subtly suggesting that listeners torrent it themselves. Problem solved. Well, now that the copywrongs have been righted, the album can see the Official Light of Day (even though anyone interested in this album has already heard it).

Linkous was best known for his band Sparklehorse. His band’s discography is defined by the delicate boundary between (and sometimes blurring of) gloom and beauty. Linkous’s music had a fragile magnificence that was unparalleled. In light of his suicide in March, the fragility has become all too apparent. But Dark Night of the Soul remains a beautiful piece of artwork that elicits all the right emotions at all the right times.

-Joe Pinsker

Joe's Grade: A-

(500) Days of Weezy

2010-07-31T11:14:00.003-04:00

My Sick Uncle - (500) Days of Weezy

Almost a year after the critically-acclaimed, oh-so-cute movie (500) Days of Summer, producer My Sick Uncle has released a mash-up album called 500 Days of Weezy. This album is an odd project, taking samples from the soundtrack of the aforementioned movie, some simple beats, rhymes from Lil' Wayne (Weezy) tracks, and snippets of interviews to create a strangely enjoyable album.

At the outset, My Sick Uncle claims, "This is not a mash-up album, this is an album about Wayne." On the other hand, he also says, "Apologies to Morrissey and Simon & Garfunkel for fucking with your songs." So...take from that range of values what you will. To further this claim, though, he uses interview samples to provide insight into some aspects of Weezy's life. These bits are used as interludes to change the flow in between tracks. The interlude is best-placed on "Let's Get High (With Katie Couric)," where he discusses drugs and life as a gangster with everyone's favorite evening news anchor.

The album, overall, is not fantastic. It's no surprise that many of Lil' Wayne's songs are not, shall we say, happy and light. So I was not entirely surprised when songs like "Lollipop Dreams"—in which "Lollipop" gets mixed with "You Make My Dreams Come True"—didn't sound quite right. I'm not sure Hall & Oates could have conceived anything like it, or, for that matter, would have wanted to. The song sounds like a good idea at first, but the tone of Weezy's rhyming doesn't hold up when sped up to match the melody.

Nonetheless, the album is good fun. The tracks are not too long, the sounds created are pretty interesting, and there are some gems on here—check out "Us (Me and Mrs. Officer)," which trades the original's guitars for Regina Spektor's piano and strings. More often than not, the longer songs work well; my picks for the album are "Us (Me and Mrs. Officer)," "Please, Hustler, Please," "Let's Get High (With Katie Couric)," and the closer "Quequ'un M'a Dit: We Outta Here Baby."

Prasanna's Grade: B, Download it here.

-Prasanna Swaminathan

Interview: ShitSleeper

2010-07-29T17:20:00.006-04:00

I recently spoke with Philadelphia-area artist ShitSleeper (formerly Every Bunny Welcome, known outside of music as Alec Gabin) about his self-recorded new album, Sky & A Flag, released 7/23/10. Based in the label/collective Tamur Records, he has been part of numerous projects over the past years, but has largely recorded alone for his past few releases. To hear (and buy!) Sky & A Flag, you can gohere. All the tracks from the Every Bunny Welcome days are also available free on Tamur Records’ online catalog.

God Save the Beat: Could you give some background as to how you initially got started in music? Back in high school and immediately after?

Alec Gabin: Well let’s see. I played the trumpet in elementary school, even though I wanted to play drums. By high school I was taking music theory. Then I met 2 kids on my baseball team who liked music. They were a year older. I spent the entire summer after freshman year of high school in my friend’s garage writing and recording music with him. Duct taping mics to the ceiling. Screaming bloody murder angsty Interpol wannabes at all hours, all summer.

We started a band and I ended up being the singer, which was odd because I had never considered myself much of a singer. I still don’t. We had a band called the Pidgeons. I played Rhodes piano and sang. I bought a cheap drum set. I started screwing around on acoustic guitar. After high school I decided I wanted to not go to college and instead play music. So I moved in with current bandmates in North Jersey and played in New York City with a head full of dreams.

Since I was 15 I have been recording solo music. I started out using free software and one of those white computer mics that comes with most PCs. Until this last project (I am now 21) I have gone by "Every Bunny Welcome". Most Every Bunny Welcome songs were recorded in one night alone and only compiled into albums later. My latest record, Sky & A Flag, was not done this way. (And now I go by ShitSleeper.) This record was done over the period of a month, working on all songs at once.

Anyway, I'm rambling.

GSTB: Who are your greatest musical influences?

AG: Hmmmm. I could take this a lot of ways. A lot. Caustic Resin. Godspeed You Black Emperor. Chopin. Joanna Newsom. The Walkmen. Black Moth Super Rainbow's first album. Lots of soundtracks. Terminator, the Snowman movie. Hardcore techno. The Fall, Joy Division. I am also influenced by bands I don’t like. Bands I try NOT to be like. But I try to try not to be like anyone. I just try to let it all come through me.

Also the Subhumans. Slowdive. Broken Social Scene's first album. Hmm.

GSTB: What does this album mean for you in terms of your evolution as an artist? How was this album different from what you've done in the past? Is there a story behind how it came to be?

AG: This is the first album I've gone about recording as a whole, instead of a song at a time. It’s the first solo album I’ve ever had printed up, and mastered. It took a solid month of 8 or so hours a day. Sometimes more than 24 hours in a row. You get obsessed. I recorded it in my parents’ basement.

GSTB: Why the name change from Every Bunny Welcome to ShitSleeper?

AG: I just feel it’s time for a change. Every Bunny Welcome implies a certain innocence to the whole process that I just don’t feel anymore. I wish I did, I wish I could record without thinking like I did when I was 15, but I can't. I know too much, even though all I know is I know nothing.

GSTB: What inspired the shift in sound? I noticed in particular there's a heavier overall sound here, but there's even some strings as well. Was it a conscious change, or something that came naturally?

AG: I have always wanted strings in my music. I write music on piano, almost as classical music. I like to compose with notes, not set chords I did not make up myself. I have composed some choral and classical music in the past, but to me it's all the same. Music is music. I just got tired of my classical music not having a sweet trip-hop groove. I would have been using violin forever, but I only recently found a violinist for this album.

And as for the heaviness thing, it’s always been heavy. At least in my head. I also figured out in the past year how to make the Rhodes sound like a fucking Stegasaurus eating Catholic school children. That took a while. I figured out eating children fast, but Catholic children took longer.

GSTB: What are you most proud of in terms of your artistic output?

AG: I really like the album I did on GarageBand a while back. Sometimes it’s nice to be limited. I don’t know. This is a tough question. If I was really proud of anything I'd done, I might stop doing it. I've been trying to write the same goddamn song for years. Been trying to paint the same picture for years too. I'm proud more of the fact I got the album done than of the album's content itself. There's a big difference between garage band and logic pro with an interface etc...

GSTB: What's the next step from here? Do you see yourself recording another album as ShitSleeper on Tamur Records? What is your connection/status with Tamur?

AG: As always, I’ve been writing more and more music, absentmindedly on Monday morning pianos while my parents are at work. I’m thinking of doing a more acoustic/folky album. I was on a roadtrip recently and wrote a few acoustic guitar country-esque numbers I wanna do real basic. My next release will certainly sound smaller, if that makes sense. Less overdriven, less process, less cut up. I’m not ready for another one of these yet.

Tamur is a home for me. I really don’t consider myself having a label. But it’s my home. It’s the only sense of musical community I have anymore. Which is my own fault. But yeah.

GSTB: Anything else you'd like to say about the album, the creative process behind it, or you as an artist?

AG: What I really want is to find some musicians that I can click with.People that listen louder than they play. People that realize a member of a band is a part of a whole. The funny thing is... I really don't much like playing music alone, and I especially hate recording music. It’s a painful process. Takes forever, especially alone. I hate click tracks. I just want to have the group be able to play the song live at any time, all at once. Stick a mic in the middle and call it a recording. Recording alone so much begins to feel like literally "playing with yourself" in a basement. I’d like to get the music out of myself. And for this I need other people.

-Juan Carlos

Dark Is What They Aim For: Tired Pony's Moody Debut

2010-07-28T11:38:00.002-04:00

Band names fall into hundreds of different categories, from pop culture references (Au Revoir Simone) to names created just to please the ear (Mates of State). In the case of indie super-group Tired Pony, the name stems from the sound, which in this case is the dominating mood of the music. The image conjured by the name is one of an overworked, overburdened animal, sides bruised by the scores of impatient children it has balanced on its back. And the set of songs it refers to is one marked by a comparable weariness, a kind of premature ageing, a sudden and insisting exhaustion.

Anyone who has heard Gary Lightbody live knows that he has got some serious pipes. So, the prospect of the Irishmen's voice placed in a new context is something to get excited about, especially because that new context includes members of Belle & Sebastian and R.E.M. But Tired Pony doesn't deliver any dramatic changes, with melodies and rhythmic patterns often reminiscent of Lightbody's work as Snow Patrol's lead singer. Their innovation is the addition of bluegrass instrumentation - mandolins and dobros, banjos and fiddles. The movement from Snow Patrol to Tired Pony is still a lateral one for Lightbody, particularly when it comes to his songwriting. Fans of his work will recognize the "lovers in a storm" imagery in album opener "Northwestern Skies" from A Hundred Million Suns' "Lightning Strike," explored in fairly similar ways.

The Place We Ran From, released this month, disappoints in that it seems to satisfy an emotional impulse more so than a creative one. Weariness is not uncommon in the musical world; the constant traveling and pressure of being under observation tend to foster that kind of exhaustion. But ideally, the music should transcend that restlessness, that unhappiness, by operating on a creative level. It could offer some sort of redemption, an exit strategy. This is not the case for Tired Pony, who often seem to let the emotions drive (rather than simply inspire) their music. Though the songs do arrive to some sort of cathartic height every so often, the builds are too slow and we may find ourselves waiting through the first three minutes of "Get On The Road" to get to the last minute and a half. The Place We Ran From can feel somewhat like it's indulging the weariness, like it glamorizes the gloom.

Of course, there are some high points to the album that make it worthwhile, and worth the wait for those of you who are stateside (US release is set for September 28th). When the album does swell to the aforementioned, much anticipated cathartic heights, it really is quite good. All in all though, it is time for Lightbody to move out of his comfort zone of moody musicality.

Melany's grade: C+

-Melany

The 10 Songs You Don’t Want To Get Stuck In Your Head

2010-07-27T18:47:00.003-04:00

Whether it’s because they’re objectively bad or because you never want to be caught absentmindedly singing them to yourself, there are definitely some songs that you just don’t want to get stuck in your head. I have the terrible habit of having the most unfortunate melodies stuck in my head at the most inopportune moments: right before a midterm or final, just before I head to bed, in the middle of a conversation, in that moment right after the professor has called on me but I haven’t started to speak yet… These are the songs that fragment themselves into little pieces of a chorus or verse and run tiny laps in your mind until you just start to tear your hair out in frustration.

This list is composed of songs that have proved particularly troublesome for me in the past few months. I’m sure there are plenty others that could be here, so feel free to post your choices in the comments!

With Arms Wide Open, Creed

Once this song’s stuck, it’s hard to shake. It could be Scott Stapp’s gravelly “man voice,” or the hackneyed string arrangement, or maybe the Tolkien-esque music video. Whatever the cause, the guitar solo and the chorus immediately after it were stuck in my head for a good portion of this past April. This is not a song you want anyone else to know you’ve ever heard before. Nickelback’s Photograph comes in a close second. I never have been able to figure out what the hell is on Joey’s head…

Baby, Justin Bieber

I’ll be the first to admit that if Justin Bieber were not Justin Bieber, I would probably like this song. The song’s chorus is catchy, Ludacris does a great verse, and the instrumental track balances perfectly with the vocals. But the catch is that it is Justin Bieber, and he recorded these songs about true love at the age of 14 or 15. I can’t take it seriously. Neither should any 14 year-old girl.

My Humps, Black Eyed Peas

Horrifying.

Best I Ever Had, Drake

I love Drake, I really do. But did he have to go and make his catchiest song have one of the least socially acceptable choruses ever? You can’t go singing this to yourself just anywhere.

Tik Tok, Ke$ha

Ke$ha’s rise to fame on this single is qualitatively the worst development in pop music in recent memory. You’ll probably never meet a person who likes this song, and yet everyone knows the opening lines. Everyone. Her voice is irritating, her style is uncreative, but that chorus is unnervingly catchy. I just really hope that P Diddy never wakes up feeling like Ke$ha, or else his next album will be made up of electro-pop dance music with autotuned singsong vocals about partying and being generally useless. Oh wait… that’s exactly what Last Train to Paris is going to be. For shame, Diddy. For shame.

Imma Be, Black Eyed Peas

Imma be, Imma be, Imma Imma Imma be. Imma be, Imma be, Imma Imma Imma be. Imma be, Imma be, Imma Imma Imma be. Imma be be be be Imma Imma be. Imma be be be be Imma Imma be. Imma be be be be Imma Imma be. Imma be, Imma be, Imma Imma Imma be. Imma be, Imma be, Imma Imma Imma be. Imma be, Imma be, Imma Imma Imma be. Imma be be be be Imma Imma be. Imma be be be be Imma Imma be. Imma be be be be Imma Imma be. Imma be, Imma be, Imma Imma Imma be. Imma be, Imma be, Imma Imma Imma be. Imma be, Imma be, Imma Imma Imma be. Imma be be be be Imma Imma be. Imma be be be be Imma Imma be. Imma be be be be Imma Imma be... in primal scream therapy if I have to listen to this ever again.

Ignition Remix, R. Kelly

Part of this track's catchiness comes courtesy of Dave Chappelle’s side-splittingly funny spoof. I can't divorce that video from the real thing. Both Ignition and its parody are so smooth and, in completely different ways, hilarious. Possibly the most laughable line: “So gimme that toot-toot, lemme give you that beep-beep.” Simply enchanting. Makes me want to give someone that toot-toot. Look what you’ve done to me, R. Kelly.

Drop It Like It’s Hot, Snoop Dogg ft. Pharrell

Snoop Dogg talks like a preteen girl here, raising the terminal inflection of that chorus loop so it sounds like a question every time. Drop it like it’s hot? Drop it like it’s hot? Drop it like it’s hot? No, I will not drop it like it’s hot, Snoop. Now stop asking. Go back to your wife and kids and contemplate the innumerable contradictions between your music and home life. Or, if that's too weighty, just think of another small country to rent.

Life’s a Bitch, Nas

This is the best track off Illmatic, Nas’s groundbreaking debut album. Which should mean that I’d be happy to get this stuck in my head… But it’s just so depressing. Having the line “life’s a bitch and then you die” on constant mental replay while doing those ACCT 101 practice exams in a secluded Van Pelt study carrel can sink you into a nihilistic funk pretty quickly. What other hip-hop songs can inspire such existential angst?

Stanky Legg, GS Boyz

Look up the definition of “stanky legg” on urbandictionary. If the name of the song and the appearance of the dance weren’t already repulsive enough, that will ruin any positive or even humorous associations you had with that song. Just make it stop! Please!

-Juan Carlos

2010: Nothing New?

2010-07-26T10:45:00.002-04:00

2009 was an extraordinary year for music. From crazy electro-pop to electrifying indie rock, we were treated to some truly breathtaking stuff as the decade ended. This year, however, is a different story. It’s not necessarily that the music has been worse, but, so far anyway, it has been much less groundbreaking. Take a look at three of the best albums of the year to this point: ‘Teen Dream’ by Beach House, ‘How I Got Over’ by the Roots, and ‘The Wild Hunt’ by The Tallest Man on Earth. At their most creative, each improves on an existing sound – it doesn’t invent new ones. Beach House puts a wonderful spin on the relatively standard indie rock formula of clean, colorful guitar lines and a distant rhythm section. The edge on this record comes from Victoria Legrand’s vocals, but they aren’t enough to make ‘Dream’ revolutionary. The Roots perfect jazz-hop on their latest release, but it’s not the first time we’ve heard this sound. Actually, it’s not even the first time we’ve heard the Roots play this way. The Tallest Man on Earth writes soulful, clever ditties and accompanies them with very fine acoustic guitar playing. This is certainly his best outing yet, but it isn’t innovative. If anything, it reminds us that there’s still a place for the acoustic songwriter in the pop lexicon.

There are a few months for 2010 to change the way we think about music, but the odds don’t look good. We may have to settle for a year of albums that were great listens but didn’t provide new frontiers of sound.

- Jesse Javna

Review: "Lights" and "Barricade" by Interpol

2010-07-25T20:25:00.001-04:00

Interpol has had a rough summer. First, most of their opening dates for U2 were cancelled because of Bono’s back surgery. Then Carlos D, their bassist and most iconic bandmate, left to pursue “new goals.” Without him, the band was rendered largely faceless to many fans. Even with his move from militant chic to more relaxed, normal dress, he remained an aesthetic center of the band, the one who defined what Interpol is all about. Fortunately for us, he recorded the upcoming album with the band, even if he’s not touring with them.

For those of you who aren’t familiar, Interpol was at the helm of the post-punk revival that took over the independent music scene a year or two after the garage rock style of the Strokes canonized indie rock with their album Is This It in 2001. Interpol’s album Turn On the Bright Lights, released in 2002, drew infinite comparisons to Joy Division, often seen as the one band that defined post-punk: sharp, angular basslines; monotonous vocals; sparse, often amelodic guitars; and tight, straightforward drumming. All this was hip in the late 70s and early 80s, but had largely faded out of the mainstream by the late 80s. Interpol brought this style back, and with that first album helped ensconce the post-punk sound as a core for much of the decade’s indie rock bands.

It’s been a long 8 years since then, but Interpol has managed to stay afloat, unlike so many of their early-2000s peers. Their lead single "Barricade" from their upcoming self-titled album was leaked onto the internet within the past week, and it’s a welcome sonic shift for Interpol. Their previous album, Our Love to Admire, was an unfortunate drift into unfamiliar territory for the band. From the look of this single, they’ve returned to their strengths.

The throbbing bass is what keeps "Barricade" from falling into the trap of their previous album, Our Love to Admire, which was largely composed of aimlessly plodding tracks of indeterminate structure. Carlos D keeps things on point here, and his perfect interplay with Sam Fogarino’s drums keeps Daniel Kessler (guitar) and Paul Banks (vocals/guitar) from getting carried away with their more ambient leanings. They keep the reverb to a minimum, and maintain their simple chordal strumming underneath everything. It all constitutes a move back to the concise format of their earlier songs. They could still afford to cut from the second half and make the chorus more distinctive, but "Barricade" is a lot better than anything they’ve done in the past three years.

What’s even better is that they’ve managed to distill the strongest elements from Our Love to Admire into a listenable, engaging form for this album. Their other single, "Lights", is a more controlled, focused take on the atmospheric facet of their style that took over Our Love to its detriment. This song actually goes somewhere. Paul Banks appears to have brought in some of the styling from his solo album and synthesized strong motifs and riffs into these more spacious songs. Would I still listen to "Lights" at almost any point, like I would with anything on Turn On the Bright Lights? Probably not. You have to be in the mood for it. It isn’t something infectious enough to rival their older material. It definitely does not need to be as long as it is (5:38), and it only gets really moving after four minutes. The whole gaining-momentum-to-a-sonic-climax thing isn’t one that they do too well, but they’re getting (marginally) better at it.

Interpol made the future difficult for themselves when they released their first album. Aside from being an amazing, game-changing piece of work, it restricted their aural palette to the barest of bones. The whole album was so strict in its instrumental and structural parameters that it left Interpol little room to evolve while staying faithful to their sound. Their second album was a slight misstep, their third a much larger one, but it seems as if their fourth album will mark a return to a more comprehensible, coherent evolution from Turn On the Bright Lights. We’ll have to wait until September 7 to hear in full, but based on these two tracks, I’m optimistic.

Juan Carlos’ rating:

Barricade: B+

Lights: B (but an A for effort and improvement)

-Juan Carlos

Barricade:

Lights:

Nerdstalgia: Darren Criss at The Living Room

2010-07-24T12:25:00.000-04:00

My childhood officially ended in the summer of 2007-- the limbo summer between the carefree days of high school, and well, Penn, but more importantly, the last Harry Potter summer. Since then, I have always tried to find ways to recreate my childhood, a tendency that Darren Criss calls “nerdstalgia.” No one does it better than he does; if you go to his YouTube channel, you’ll find a series of acoustic Disney covers. And let’s not forget his claim to fame — he stars as Harry Potter in “A Very Potter Musical,” a play he helped write and produce with his friends at the University of Michigan and which became an Internet phenomenon last summer. The musical lovingly and, might I add, hilariously spoofs the Harry Potter saga, featuring a bromance between Voldemort and Quirrel, a flamboyant Dumbledore with a poster of Zac Efron in his office, and, as promised by the opening number, a “totally awesome” soundtrack. Criss and his friends, who call themselves Team StarKid, released the much-anticipated “A Very Potter Sequel” on YouTube last week.

Two weeks ago, I went to see Criss’ free show at The Living Room in New York City, and I left thinking that it was a show I would definitely be willing to pay for the next time around. Criss owned the stage with easy charisma that perfectly suited the intimate and casual atmosphere of the venue. Though he played a short set of only ten or twelve songs, he performed each song with energy and passion. His lone acoustic guitar never sounded bare and more than filled the small room and his piano numbers were equally resonant.

After the show, I spoke briefly to Criss. With the best intentions to communicate how much I enjoyed the show, I stupidly said something along the lines of “I enjoyed that more than I expected to.” Darren, if you’re reading this, I meant that in the best possible way. Not being too familiar with Criss’ repertoire, I went to the show hoping to hear a song or two from AVPM. Criss did not disappoint on this count. Along with a fervent performance of “Not Alone,” a favorite from the musical, he gave the audience a preview of the upcoming sequel, an immediately catchy song he prefaced with, “This song is supposed to be sung by a girl,” before crooning out the lyrics “I’m the coolest girl in the world!” But even Criss’ personal acoustic music was a pleasure. “I Still Think,” probably his strongest song, was full of hooks and clever melodies, and “Human,” which Criss wrote when he was fifteen and admittedly sounds like it, was nevertheless endearing. Criss ended his show with very subtle rendition of “A Whole New World.”

His ability to combine playfulness and maturity is Criss’ unique talent, one that definitely shone through in his performance.

You can check out “A Very Potter Musical” (and soon the sequel) on YouTube, and you can also find Criss’ very musically talented brother in the band Freelance Whales.

-Mary

Nothing to Be Desired

2010-07-23T13:08:00.001-04:00

For the most part, tracing the genealogy of contemporary bands is straightforward. These days, save for a few black sheep, most bands’ patriarchs tend to be The Strokes, The Shins, The White Stripes, Franz Ferdinand, Interpol, etc. And yet, in a New York music scene where heterogeneity is constantly strived for but rarely reached, School of Seven Bells have created a sound all their own. They have achieved Uncategorizability, a level of innovation granted to a select few artists.

Ok, so maybe they’re a little categorizable. Perhaps they’re at the heretofore undefined midpoint between Bourne Identity soundtracks and Sigur Ros. And one certainly wouldn’t be ostracized for saying they’re an airier version of M83. Regardless, they’re new, different, and (above all) good.

At worst, Disconnect From Desire, their latest album, is a collection of songs that blend together because everything sounds the same. But at best, it’s the optimal relaxing background music (or perhaps foreground music, depending on the situation) for bed-lying, car-driving, and/or existential window-looking. This music is beyond chill – more than atmospheric. It’s stratospheric. Exospheric even. Up here, you may forget why any band even chooses to have a guitar track in their songs.

School of Seven Bells is vocal-centric, so the use of anything other than voices is extremely limited. There’s a bassline, perhaps a synth, and not much else. Employing front-twins’ Alejandra and Claudia Deheza’s celestial vocal chords as the primary means of melody ends up being a whole lot more practical than it is artsy – which is a surprisingly difficult balance to tip in one’s favor. Their voices on tracks like “Windstorm” will blow you away, if not for sheer awesomeness, then at least for pure novelty. Disconnect from Desire may not change your life, but it will open your ears to new possibilities.

Joe's Grade: B

-Joe

All Summer Long: My Favorite Warm-Weather Songs

2010-07-22T12:23:00.004-04:00

Music and summer mix wonderfully. They have a symbiotic relationship – on their own, each is lovely, but together, they form a bond that can inspire spontaneous dance parties and turn the average road trip into the adventure of a lifetime. When you’ve finished your schoolwork and you’re ready for summer, it’s time to crank up the tunes.

I’ve put together a list of my 10 favorite summer songs to facilitate a June, July and August full of everything from surfing to sleeping in. They have served me well in the past and I hope they will do the same for you. At the risk of undermining my whole post, however, I encourage you to remember one important thing about music: songs are only as important as you make them. The best songs will be the ones that you have the most fun with – say, the ones you play at that awesome bonfire, or a sick 4^th of July banger, or while drinking a brew on the beach. Those are the ones that go down in history. So go ahead, sample my tastes; but when August comes to a close, make sure you have found your own as well.

10) ‘Even The Losers’ – Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers

After the long lead-up to June finally ends, it often seems like anything is possible. Tom Petty, perhaps the coolest loser in rock, sums up that feeling in a self-righteous declaration that anyone can get lucky. Since we're all losers in our way, it's nice to be reminded that being lame won't necessarily prevent us from having a rad summer.

9) ‘Time Is A Runaway’ – The Alternate Routes

This alt-pop tune didn’t make much of a splash when it was released, but it’s a personal favorite. The sound is simultaneously huge and sweet, with cascading guitar chords drenched in reverb and delay to create a mood reminiscent of the first few minutes of a summer sunset. Detractors would call it over-the-top pop, but it’s really just a warm reminder that summer doesn’t last forever.

8) ‘Anytime’ – My Morning Jacket

'Anytime' is appropriately titled – it's one of those tunes that fit every mood. It'll wake you up if you're sleepy, pick you up if you're heartbroken, and feed your fire if you're ready to rock out. Since you never know what's going to happen during summer, it's a great choice for a mix. Beyond that, it really is a fantastic song; Jim James and MMJ have an uncanny feel for making modern rock that draws on southern influences like the Allman Brothers and The Band. But their sound is all their own, and this song is a perfect example of what makes them special.

7) ‘Damn It Feels Good To Be A Gangster’ – Geto Boys

This song has only one purpose – to make you feel cool. In my adventures with silly hip-hop songs, 'Damn It Feels Good' is the best at changing one's demeanor from average homeboy to original gangster. You might recognize it from the cult-classic film Office Space, in which Peter turns G and decides not to come to work anymore…which eventually leads to a raise. Warning: results not typical.

6) ‘The Boys Are Back In Town’ – Thin Lizzy

For those of us lucky enough to be in college, summer often means going home. This is the perfect track for hitting up your old stomping grounds or reminiscing with friends about how cool you were in high school. Though they're occasionally roped in with heavy metal acts like Black Sabbath, Thin Lizzy distinguish themselves by adding colorful melodies and funny narrative lyrics to their power chords. In this case, the result is a track that rocks, but in a strange, sweet way. They never matched the success or quality of this song, but then again, most bands don't write anything this good at all.

5) ‘Surfin’ USA’ – The Beach Boys

Any of the Beach Boys’ classics will do just fine for fun in the sun, and the ballads (namely “Warmth of the Sun”) are ideal for evening strolls in the sand. But this one holds a special place in my heart. Mankind has often asked what would happen if “everybody had an ocean”, and in this Chuck Berry-inspired piece of rock candy, Brian Wilson and Co. answer: we’d go surfing. Plan to hit the sand during the sunny months, but if you don’t make it, you can always listen to the Beach Boys – which, in truth, may be the next best thing.

4) ‘In a Big Country’ – Big Country

There are those of us who have explored the great outdoors, and there are of those of us who should. Summer is the prime time to go camping with friends or take a long road trip, and this song is an essential travel accessory. A true gem that has never received its due, I believe this is one of the more underrated rock songs of all time, not to mention the perfect track for an excursion into the wilderness. It’s hard to have more fun than exploring nature and blasting ‘Big Country’.

3) ‘Summer In The City’ – The Lovin’ Spoonful

From the slam of the opening keyboard riff to the distant car horns in the bridge, “Summer in the City” is a mosaic of warm-weather sounds. The Lovin’ Spoonful mix a cup of blues-inspired rock, a batch of pop perfection, and a pinch of attitude to concoct a true classic. You don’t have to be in a city to enjoy it, but no song presents a better picture of metropolitan summer – from the muggy, hot days, to the cool, magical nights. Mark Sebastian’s thoughtful lyrics, though presented playfully, are timeless: “Don’t you know it’s a pity the days can’t be like the nights in the summer, in the city…”

2) ‘1979’ – The Smashing Pumpkins

There’s something magical about being young in summertime. Perhaps it’s the absence of responsibility, or the freedom that clear skies afford – or both. In any case, the Smashing Pumpkins flawlessly capture the upside of youthful angst on this, their magnum opus. Breezy guitar riffs combined with a soothing electro-beat provide the ideal background for appreciating those lazy summer days when having nothing to do feels divine.

1) ‘Born to Run’ – Bruce Springsteen

Summer is about being adventurous, and no song in the popular music catalog incites more youthful bravery than this classic. As masterful as he is at crafting rock tunes, The Boss can get long-winded at times, and it’s obvious when he’s trying too hard. But there’s none of that here. Every drum roll, every wail of the sax, and every howl Springsteen lets loose are perfectly placed. Together, they make something greater. “Born to Run” is rock n’ roll at its peak – in four and a half minutes of blazing passion, it inspires us to seek out the mystical parts of existence that make life beautiful. You can’t ask for much more in a summer song.

A few honorable mentions, and their function:

‘4th of July’ – Robert Earl Keane

Great for getting the patriotic juices flowing on Independence Day.

‘Walk In The Park’ – Beach House

Pretty self-explanatory.

‘So Hard To Find My Way’ – Jackie Greene

Forget your worries and embrace the warm weather.

‘Boulevard’ – Jackson Browne

Inspiration for exploring a new city.

‘The Frog Prince’ – Keane

Uplifting if things aren't going exactly as planned.

- Jesse Javna

How I Never Got Over: the Roots

2010-07-22T10:56:00.002-04:00

I remember buying my first Roots album, Phrenology. It was my 13th birthday present from my Grandma, whose 1930s upbringing has left her with a classical and jazz music taste that never even fully warmed up to the Beatles (and a poofy Jewfro so big that it nearly covers her face). As we were driving back from the CD store, I eagerly popped in the new album, ready to show off how cool and how much of a rebel I was listening to hip-hop. I turned it to a volume far too loud for a grandmother and began nodding my head to the singles, “Sacrifice,” “The Seed 2.0” and “Break You Off.” Then, something shocking happened. Grandma nodded her head a bit too. Grandma was enjoying hip-hop, and suddenly I was not such a young badass.

Yet, another strange thing happened too: I didn’t particularly care that my rebel status had taken a colossal hit. The music that hit my ears was new and exciting and by the end of the ride home, the Roots were already one of my favorite groups. Their take on hip-hop was unlike the other hip-hop albums I was nodding my head to back then, like 2pac’s Me Against the World and Nas’ Illmatic (still in the rotation) and not just because they didn’t encourage me to buy “Ecko” clothing or to call my friends “dawg.” Not to slight either of those classics, but the Roots push the creative boundaries of hip-hop in ways that other artists do not. Rather than follow the traditional hip-hop formula—defiant, ego-driven, emotional and at times inspiring lyrics sung over a background beat with heavy bass and a looped hook—the Roots make hip-hop music in which the rap can not be separated from the beat. In other words, the Roots first and foremost make music and music that can move you in ways a clever rhyme cannot. Take “Sacrifice.” Black Thought, the MC, stops rhyming with over a minute left, but that’s not particularly noteworthy. It’s that the last minute, during which ?uestlove's drums and the repeating chorus take over, is my favorite part of the song. It’s that it feels like the finale of one of the great rock songs I grew up with.

It may have taken another few years for me to stop hanging my pants so low below my waist that it angered my mom, but I matured with Phrenology. I learned to appreciate hip-hop, and music for that matter, in a new way. I learned to recognize the differences between the feeling a catchy hook, a powerful line or a cool riff can provoke and the total rush I have when I listen to song in which every small detail works together to create an awe-inspiring, beautiful, rich sound.

Yet, even as I have since continued to mature musically, I have never gotten over the Roots because, well, they have continued to mature too. As anyone versed in art knows, the great artists, whether you look at the Beatles or Pablo Picasso or W.B. Yeats, continue to push the boundaries of their art as they grow older. No, the Roots do not belong next to those names in terms of artistic achievements. However, in terms of their ability to adapt with their contemporaries and continue to create relevant, exciting art, they have been similarly exceptional.

Compare the opening tracks of Do you want more?!!!??!, their first major label album released in 1995, and How I Got Over, released last month. Do you want more?!!!??!(,) was more than a hip-hop album—it was an experiment in, as the opening lines of the album tell us, “organic hip-hop jazz.” Jazz and hip-hop have many historical connections (perhaps most readily apparent in Ali Shaheed Muhammed’s beats for A Tribe Called Quest). The Roots, however, took those connections to a new level with their piano and horn heavy jazzy beats, becoming leaders of “hip-hop jazz.”

The opening track of How I Got Over, “A Peace of Light”, on the other hand, is quite different. Indie rock stars Amber Coffman, Angel Deradoorian and Haley Dekle (all of the Dirty Projectors) sing a gentle, wordless harmony over a soft, jazzy ?uestlove drumbeat that leaves us in contemplative anticipation. Over the past fifteen years, the Roots have progressed from their original “organic hip hop jazz,” adding elements of soul, classic rock, electronica, and even the most current indie rock. But they no longer need to warn us (as they did on Do you want more?!!!??!) that the album will challenge our understanding of hip-hop. After over a decade of relevant, exciting Roots music that even my Grandma can jam to, we know that we can count on them for that.

-Jeremy

Lilith Returns: San Fran Version

2010-07-21T13:45:00.001-04:00

Fear God. Trust Jesus. Repent or parish. Just some low-key signs that protestors held as I walked into the Shoreline Amphitheatre in San Fran, where the Lilith Fair revival tour landed last month. For those unfamiliar with Lilith, it’s a concert tour founded by Sarah McLachlan in 1997 to honor female musicians and a portion of its proceeds are donated to female-oriented causes. Lilith ran for a two-year stint until 1999, during which it raised $10M for women’s charities in North America. It’s little wonder, then, that the megaphone-bearing bible-readers showed up to denounce its revival in the gay capital of America – the event screamed “Lesbians, come hither!”, which they did. Thousands of tattooed couples flocked to the outdoor event, picnic baskets in hand, ready for some good lady rock after a 12-year Lilith hiatus.

Musicians performed on three stages from all afternoon until almost midnight. On the main stage: Colbie Caillat, The Bangles, Miranda Lambert, Heart, and finally, the bearer of the Fair, Sarah McLachlan. On the less gargantuan stages: A Fine Frenzy, The Submarines, Susan Justice, Kitten, Ann Atomic and Terra Naomi.

Main stage highlights for me included Sarah, whose throaty voice used to blare from my older sister’s room during her broody, high school phase, and 70s rock band Heart. Lead vocalist Ann Wilson is larger than she once was, but she’s just as fierce. (I’m almost 40 years her junior and I felt my eardrums going numb during her performance). When she sang Alone (revived lately by Glee and So You Think You Can Dance) from their ’87 album Bad Animals, I got teary-eyed. Both Heart and The Bangles plugged their new albums, but I’m pretty sure people were just craving more nostalgia.

Less thrilling was Miranda Lambert, a Texan country babe who called herself a “redneck” and sang a ditty about moving closer to a place where she could buy beer. “Let me warn you, San Fran,” she said to her fans, “I’m damn good with a shotgun.” Maybe the liberal ladies in the audience were too buzzed on overpriced beer to care, but I seriously thought she was going to get stoned, and not in the good, hippie way.

A Fine Frenzy’s Alison Sudol stood out among the second group. She lulled and energized all in the same quick set, singing pain ballads like Almost Lover and Silent War, but also beating her tambourine to newer, summery tunes that before long had people up off their beach towels. “What a magnificent day, isn’t it?” she said, charmingly. Sudol paired her long, fire-engine hair with an azure mini-frock and dark red boots, so I couldn’t decide whether she looked more like a superhero or the biblical demon herself. Either way, the 25-year-old vixen didn't seem human.

If Lilith Fair is about female empowerment, then it worked. I left having witnessed not only an array of talented artists, but unprecedented courtesy from festival-goers, who begged pardon as they crawled over one another, and picked up trash when others forgot. I wonder if I’d see the same thing at a Goliath Fair.

- Daniella

Review: Thank Me Later

2010-07-21T11:28:00.001-04:00

Like many hip hop fans, I’ve had Drake’s debut album, Thank Me Later, on almost constant rotation over the past month. I’m still not 100% sure what makes the album so infectious, but it’s managed to hold my interest far better than any other release over the past six months.

I think a large part of it is due to the work of his producer, Noah “40” Shebib. 40 has helped to create a unique sound for Drake, one that sets him apart from the rest of the hip hop field today. It’s as distinct as what RZA did for Wu-Tang and DJ Premier for Gang Starr; there’s really no one else on the scene who uses comparable beats. It’s a mix of atmospheric synths (“Shut It Down”), chopped string runs (“Thank Me Now”), bass-heavy toms (“Light Up”), and even some glitchy electronica elements (“Show Me a Good Time”), all overlaid with Drake’s nasal, auto-tuned sneer.

Some credit also has to be given to Boi-1da, the producer of Drake’s #1 single, “Over.” It’s the same guy who did “Best I Ever Had,” that ubiquitous hit from last summer. He's got an amazing talent for incorporating schmaltzy 70s funk pop orchestral arrangements into his beats, and he does it better than even Kanye. The plucky bass and whining violins of the chorus pull away from the snappy hand claps and piercing snare of the verses to make a beautifully evolving collage of contrasts under Drake’s vicious flow on the album. There’s not much that hasn’t already been said by other reviewers about Drake’s rhymes on this LP; his introspection and reflection on his sudden fame are a fascinating turn on the common tropes of hip hop. But other than that, there isn’t a lot of compelling content in what he’s saying. The real artistry is in the music on this album. It makes Thank Me Later an album in the truest sense of the word, one that can be listened to from beginning to end. Drake might be good, but on this effort, it’s the producers we should thank.

Juan Carlos' Grade: A-

-Juan Carlos

Philly Local: Kurt Vile and his "Square Shells"

2010-07-20T14:41:00.003-04:00

In this digital age, some have predicted the end of the album as the prevailing medium of musical expression. But Kurt Vile's latest work is proof that the spirit of the album - a thoughtfully sequenced whole, with a beginning and an end, a thought process brought to its conclusion - lives on, in this case vicariously through its little brother form, the EP.

Square Shells, released this past May, has all the breadth of a good album, exploring moods and genres to create something versatile and varying. Each song carries its own distinct atmosphere, ranging from the nostalgic brooding of "I Wanted Everything" to the more light-hearted "Ocean City", all of which are united by Kurt's craftsman's touch.

The EP is a lovely play on the contrasts between psychedelic and folk influences, shifting easily from drone-dominated instrumentals ("The Finder," "Invisibility: Non-Existent") to the more traditional folk-influenced, guitar-augmented vocals. Of the latter category, "I Know I Got Religion" is a stand-out. It feels like something recorded late at night in a hotel room, a moment of solitude eased by the familiarity of fingers sliding across frets.

Kurt's psych folk fusion reaches its most symbiotic form in the final track, "Hey, Now I'm Movin." The song swells to exquisite heights in the final few minutes, spinning a web of reverberated sound that will surely leave you excited about where it is he's moving to, and what kind of music will come of it.

So show some Philly pride and give this guy a listen - we'll probably be hearing a lot more from and about him soon.

Melany's grade: A

-Melany

Summer Classic Rock Essentials

2010-07-20T11:01:00.008-04:00

Maybe it’s the ironic appearance of overalls or it’s all the time out doors, but in the summer time we always want to rock out to the classics. There’s nothing like rolling down the windows and blasting some of those golden oldies en route to the beach. So without further ado, get your dancing shoes ready, perfect your snap, and practice the twist to enjoy this mix intended to be a pleasant throwback during your blissful summer.

Bang A Gong (Get In On) or Mambo Sun- T. Rex (Electric Warrior, 1971)

Up On Cripple Creek- The Band (The Band, 1969)

Up Around The Bend- Creedence Clearwater Revival (Cosmo’s Factory, 1970)

You Really Got Me- The Kinks (Kinks 1964)

Son Of A Preacher Man- Dusty Springfield (Dusty In Memphis, 1968)

Somebody To Love- Jerfferson Airplane (Surrealistic Pillow, 1967)

Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin)- Sly And The Family Stone (Greatest Hits, 1969)

Under My Thumb -The Rolling Stones (Aftermath, 1966)

Fun Fun Fun- The Beach Boys (Shut Down Volume 2, 1964)

Roll Over Beethoven- Chuck Berry (Drifting Heart, 1956)

Don’t Bring Me Down- Electric Light Orchestra (Discovery, 1979)

I Want You Back- Jackson 5 (Diana Ross Presents the Jackson 5, 1969)

Runaround Sue- Dion & The Belmonts (The Very Best Of Dion & The Belmonts, 2005)

Norman Greenbaum- Spirit In The Sky (Spirit In The Sky, 1969)

Fat Bottom Girls- Queen (Bicycle Race, 1978)

-Lily

Let The Great World Spin

2010-07-19T13:59:00.002-04:00

Good writing is musical. The most potent use of language, as under the pen of the Joyces and Faulkners of this world, is incantatory and symphonic, a tight structure of sound expertly orchestrated to hit the reader in just the right way. Colum McCann's Let The Great World Spin is a wonder of a novel that exemplifies that kind of writing, at the intersection of literature and music, stunning with every page and melodic in every turn of phrase. I'm not the only one to think so - the book was, after all, the 2009 winner of the National Book Award. Set in 1970s New York City, it delves into the lives of a whole cast of characters, their gritty realities unraveling under the feet of funambulist Philippe Petit as recklessly and beautifully he dances across a tightrope suspended between the Twin Towers.

I'm one of those who feel a great soundtrack is essential to any movie that's worth its while, and sometimes, when a novel hits me the right way, I feel the same way about literature. McCann's novel had me instinctively assembling soundtrack ideas; I sifted through some of my Dad's college-era records, immersing myself in 70s songs and bands. Below you'll find a playlist with some of the songs I found myself listening to while reading the book. Ideally, I hope that you'll read the book, listen to and amend the playlist, but more realistically, I hope that you just enjoy some good music. Have at it!

Chalkhills and Children - XTC (Oranges and Lemons, 1989)
The Ugly Underneath - XTC (Nonsuch, 1992)
Gin Soaked Boy - Tom Waits (Swordfishtrombones, 1983)
I Found That Essence Rare - Gang of Four (Entertainment!, 1979)
Lava - B-52's (B-52's, 1979)
See No Evil - Television (Marquee Moon, 1977)
True Confessions - The Undertones (The Undertones, 1979)
Hymn - Patty Smith Group (Wave, 1979)
You're Running Wild - Emmylou Harris with Rodney Crowell (Elite Hotel, 1975)
The Needle And The Damage Done - Neil Young (Harvest, 1972)
Shayla - Blondie (Eat To The Beat, 1979)
Life on Mars? - David Bowie (Hunky Dory, 1971)
Blues Run The Game - Simon & Garfunkel (The Columbia Studio Recordings 1964-1970)
Girl From the North Country - Bob Dylan, Johnny Cash (Nashville Skyline, 1969)

-Melany

RE: blink-182 and talent

2010-07-19T10:41:00.002-04:00

I’ve always been a fan of blink-182. Growing up, there was just something in their catchy, garage-punk/pop-punk sound and lyrics that didn’t take themselves too seriously that hooked me. Actually, now that I think of it, it was the catchy, garage-punk/pop-punk sound and lyrics that didn’t take themselves too seriously. But the thing is, it took me a very long time to realize what the band members themselves probably realized from the get-go—they have almost no talent (Travis Barker aside, but he was a later addition anyway).

At first, it was difficult for me to reconcile with this lack of talent, and I questioned whether my fondness of the band had been ill-founded. But as I considered the discrepancy between blink’s popularity and its talent, my appreciation for them only deepened. Because the truth was, blink-182’s live performances were awful—musically, that is. In terms of entertainment, they were pure gold: post-song exchanges between witty, easy-going bassist Mark and awkward, high-strung (if you’ll forgive the pun) guitarist Tom were infinitely more revealing of each person’s character than any of their song lyrics could ever be, while drummer Travis Barker never spoke, answering any question addressed to him with an appropriately expressive drumfill. Despite their popularity, the boys of blink were really just three down-to-earth guys who didn’t let their celebrity status get to them, even at the peak of their popularity, and you didn’t need an exclusive backstage pass to see it. They rarely took themselves seriously, and never proclaimed their own talent—to this day, Mark admits that he can’t even really play bass (all of this in stark contrast to someone like, e.g., Billy Corgan, who, let’s face it, is an asshole).

All of this having been said (the more critical reader will realize that up until this point I have merely been attempting to defend my love of band that is unpopular amongst the more serious circles of music discussion), I can think of one instance in which blink produced a meaningful piece of music, and I don’t think it was quite on purpose. The song is “Adam’s Song” off of their 1998 album Enema of the State.

To my knowledge, it is the first blink song to use an alternate tuning (a whole step down), and the unusual key sets it apart from not only the other tracks on the album but from every album they had done up until that point. That the lyrics are reflective is not particularly surprising; blink frequently uses their lyrics to poke fun at themselves (from “Depends”: “I’m sick of offending everyone I meet/I’m sick of crying myself to sleep on rubber sheets”). However, the level of self-reflection in “Adam’s Song” is unusually mature, and the treatment of common themes like aging and wasted youth ("I never conquered, rarely came") is pulled off in a way that keeps the song from becoming cliché. This, coupled with the song’s alleged existence both as a result of and an inspiration for acts of suicide, makes it a sobering listen.

Unfortunately, I don’t think blink was ever truly able to recapture the feeling of “Adam’s Song” in later works. “Stay Together for the Kids” is often cited as being similar in style and theme, but if “Adam’s Song” is blink’s brainchild, then “STFTK” is its melodramatic younger sister: too much angst, no subtlety. The band would also try to recapture the more mature sound they achieved with “Adam’s Song” on their Untitled EP several years later, but the music would wind up sounding just a little too contrived, too aware of itself and its intentions.

I guess the moral of this story is that good music doesn't always have to take itself seriously. As Billy Corgan says, not everybody can be Billy Corgan. Sometimes things can just fall into place.

-Zach

The Seekers: Busking in Philadelphia

2010-07-18T17:37:00.004-04:00

-- Courtesy Jeff Metzner/jeffmetzner.com

Planted in front of a rusted statue in Rittenhouse Park, Philip De Genova wipes a maple seed from his brow and then continues to play, coaxing soft whistles from a wooden flute. He cleans sweat from his disc-shaped glasses and then turns one of the wrinkled sheets on his music stand, singing as he goes so the rhythm never breaks. “La da di daaaaaa, bada da baaaaa…”

At 67-years-old, Phil is like the grandfather of Philadelphia’s “buskers”, a term for people who perform in the streets, or underground, or anywhere in public, really. Phil is delicate, seasoned, and reflective. He wears long silvery hair and a puffy mustache. You can find him busking around the city everyday, but only for the last couple years. He spent seven before that studying Philosophy and Theology in Rome, stifled in the Catholic order’s orchestra.

“They didn’t like it when I played what I wanted,” he says, pressing one eye against the end of his flute, examining it like a telescope. “They wanted me to play their stuff.” So Phil camped under the Ponte Sant’ Angelo bridge instead, near the Vatican. Because the bridge’s tubular shape mimics the flute’s, Phil relished performing there. “The sound was perfect,” he beams.

“I never used to put out the basket [in Rome],” he says nodding to an open flute case strewn with dollars. “And if people gave me money I’d give it to the homeless that used to hang around the river.” But when he came home in 2008, Phil started playing at the local concourse and put out a basket for donations. “As soon as someone put a dollar in there, I thought, ‘Wow, this is pretty cool.’” He laughs. “Now I don’t even think twice about it…it pays all my bills…I don’t even go to the bank anymore.”

Phil considers the money a gratuity, a way for people to tell him that they like what he’s doing, and he should keep doing it. But not everyone agrees, like the man who works on the third floor of the high-rise that faces his corner of the park. “He would call the police every day on me,” Phil says. Eventually, Phil suggested to the police that the man was abusing their system and they stopped accepting his complaints. But that wasn’t the end of it. “One day…he came down…and he started to berate me, so I just looked at him, “cuz I don’t get involved in people’s negativity, y’know…” he says, sweeping away the air with the back of his hand. He lifts the flute to his mouth, twittering lightly.

Sometimes when Phil’s down at the local concourse, he gets pestered by kooks and the homeless. “I don’t get a thick skin, “ he says, shaking his head. “But I do learn to let it bounce off. That works better than having a thick skin…that interferes with the music.” Whenever Phil gets into a topic he doesn’t like, he’ll break eye contact, drift off for a moment, and retreat into his flute. Phil will admit to certain gripes — he hates being muffled by the leaf-blowers in the park and he stiffens when he talks about his time with “the Catholics” in Rome. He’ll quickly try to dismiss it all, to keep the air clean for his music, but some things always reappear. When Phil explains that any familiar “Catholic” tunes you hear are borrowed from the Protestants, he adds, “But I have to be careful talking about certain things."

Today Phil is playing oriental melodies, his favorite. Their tone is pastoral and proud, but with sadness underneath. Phil’s in touch lately with a couple of Chinese artists as potential collaborators, particularly with a woman who plays the erhu, a two-string fiddle resembling a homemade vacuum cleaner. “A warm natural sound,” he says. “Perfect for the flute.” Phil’s not sure what will become of it all, but either way he’s not looking to make waves in the music world this late in the game. He just enjoys sharing his gift now, unencumbered — he hasn’t taken orders since his late-50’s army stint. Phil’s content living a monastic life, quiet and solitary, the way he was trained. “…We’re all loners,” he says of the busking community. “Almost all of us.”

Phil doesn’t seem to know what the “young’ns” are up to. For many 20 or 30-somethings, busking is a networking tool, a way to meet people and expose their music like the greats who started in the streets. Woodie Guthrie, Eric Clapton, and even Rod Stewart all spent their early days performing around their hometowns. Tracy Chapman scored a record deal when she was discovered in the street by a student whose father ran a label. Buskers even look to Ben Franklin, who used to perform his own poetry and prose despite his father’s discouragement. Franklin’s journals reveal that the struggles he faced performing then bred many of his later writings on the importance of free speech.

Networking musicians tend to know each other, especially if they play the same genre. Most of the jazz players, for instance, know Jafar (pronounced: Yah-fer) Barron, a 38-year-old jazz musician whose family is tied up in Philly’s music history. His brother, Farid, plays piano for the avant-garde Sun Ra Arkestra and has recorded with modern jazz master Wynton Marsalis, a friend of his from high school. Jafar himself is featured on the first albums of Jill Scott and Erykah Badu. He’ll mumble these things to you right when you meet him — “Yo, you got Jill Scott’s first album?”— and he’ll also try to sell you his sharpie-marked CDs for $10 each. “Around Philly music, everybody knows him,” says Jared Sloan, a local photographer who likes to hang around Jafar.

Jafar doesn’t stick to one spot in the park, but today he’s jamming on the bench with his buddy, 50-year-old Anthony Mohammad, whom Jafar calls the “Brooklyn Bomber.” Mohammad is playing the cajón, an Afro-Peruvian box drum that looks like a wooden crate with a hole on one side. “They come as big as pianos,” Mohammad tells me, arms stretched out. “Big as what you can play.” Eyes closed, head shaking, then swaying, his fingers bounce off the rectangular crate to a hollow beat. Jafar waits a moment, watches Anthony’s style, and then blows life into his shiny cornet.

Jafar’s khakis are rolled up at the ankles, and he’s wearing red suspenders. A beige newsboy cap frames his round face, casting a shadow over his mustache and a thin goatee. Finding Jafar’s corner in the park is like discovering the cool-kid table in the cafeteria. “Hey Iz!” Jafar slaps hands with another passerby, shoots the breeze for a couple minutes. Jafar calls everybody “Iz”, so it’s hard to guess how he knows anyone. Actually, Jafar himself probably doesn’t remember how he knows any of them.

Jafar could easily have been that kid in back of the classroom who kept failing papers because he couldn’t use their words to answer the question, who never kept close relationships with any of his classmates unless they were also eccentric. Now, it’s rare to find him playing at the park without someone perched nearby eating lunch, reaching out to pound his fist after each song.

***

The sun’s out today, but it’s cooler now than it’s been. Phil’s back in his spot, tapping one foot while he gently glides the flute back and forth across his lips. There are only a handful of people reading on some benches nearby, but Phil is very focused. He’s doing improv on a jazz standard, trying to find just the right harmony.

Phil’s got a bit of a different setup today because of the wind. Behind him there’s a crate full of music and a water thermos strapped tightly to a cart. His hair is stuffed into a cotton newsboy cap. An orange pin, the one you get for paying admission to the Philadelphia Museum of Art, is clipped onto one side. “I put it on so people can say, “Oh, were you at that show’?” He’s talking about the show they’re advertising all over town: Picasso and Avante-Garde in Paris – February 2-May 2, 2010. “Because I wanna clear somethin’ up about that show,” he says. “It’s not a Picasso. But it’s a very good show. They use the Picasso name to draw people. It’s a cubism show. Not enough [Picasso] to just justify puttin’ it in between the pillars, or they should at least have said Picasso and Cubism or something.” Does it bother you, though, personally? “Oh yeah, not enough to…But as an artist, as a former teacher, a person who’s well versed enough to know that they should know better… there’s enough deception I think in the world without our art museum adding to it. But it doesn’t bother me, no.”

Jafar waddles over with his trumpet case. He’s wearing a tweed suit jacket today over mismatched, layered t-shirts. He has wreaked some measure of deliberate anarchy on his facial hair. Long tufts sprout from only the middle of his chin and the sides of his mustache – the rest is stubble. Phil wants to show off his latest investion – a stand for his flute. “I found a new one, Jaf. See what I did?” “Yeah, yeah,” Jafar responds.

Phil starts to explain where every part came from, why it’s more stable than the ones you find in stores. “This goes to a lamp,” he says, “and this I found a week before. And then, I found a bolt. And I had to make the bolt real hot on the stove, and there’s a plastic housing there, see? (‘Yeah, Yeah,’ Jafar says) I got the pliers and PTCHHH, burnt the bolt into the plastic (‘Ah, cool’). And then, this is from a bicycle, I guess. I used that to clamp the plastic and the bolt (‘Yeah’) with some superglue to be sure it’s gonna hold…and that baby holds. So they’re all found objects from the street (‘Thas good, man’). And it works. That actually ends up being a work of art. It’s called bric-oh-lahge, and I would be the bric-oh-leur...”

Phil has taken up a new, faux-“street” tone around Jafar. It might seem mocking, racist even, but it’s just Phil’s way of showing that he knows how to talk to different types of people, that he gets it. “Now do you like my new hat?” he asks Jafar, who’s wearing a baby blue Kangol today. (‘Thas cool, man…’) “You haven’t commented on it. You walked right on by.” (‘Nah, nah, I…’) I Just got it, it was made in Chiiiinah.” (‘You’re wearin’ it wrong, man’) “Oh yeah?” Jafar starts centering the hat. “I put a pin in there.” (‘Thas a cool hat, man. Maybe just front and center’) He sturdies it onto Phil’s scalp. “Yeah, he’s going for symmetry with me,” Phil tells me. “Because he knows that I’m a symmetrical sort of a guy.”

But you’re not like that, right, Jafar? ‘Cuz jazz is all about improvisation.
“Nah, see, everybody’s gettin’ into preconceived notions,” Jafar says in his deeply nasal voice. “Every jazz musician is for all good music….have you ever heard of Charlie Parker? All the song and the improvisation is very mathematical, I mean it is improvised, but the imp-, improvise is intelligent, the improvis—, it’s not just like, extemporaneously speaking, knowwhatimsayin, it’exs almost like that, if you speak extemporaneously on uh, let’s say about, the green of this tree…you can’t talk about the sky is blue, you know, too…unless it has somethin’ to do with the green of the tree. Another example is Thelonious Monk. His music is very, uh uh uh, logical, you know uh uh, and I wouldn’t say asymmetrical, but symmetrical.” So there’s a foundation. “Yeah, come on.” So…are you going to play for us tod—? “We’ll see…gotta go…peace.” Jafar throws up two fingers, and he’s gone.

Buskers are sensitive to language; they resent the connotations of certain words like “solicitation” or “panhandling”. Phil takes offense at being called a “street musician”. “I’m a busker, a troubadour,” he says, shaking his fist at the air. Busker is a term that comes from the Spanish “buscar”, to seek. What it is that they’re seeking, well, that’s a tough question, and the answer varies with each person. But what unites them, the thing that makes them the same no matter what, is the fact that they bother with the search in the first place.

Phil shoves a cleaner, a stick with a frayed rag attached, into his flute. He shoves it far down so that it can reach all the condensation. “Speaking of people trying to control you,” he says, though we hadn’t been. Phil tells me about a guy the other day who asked him to play religious music, and then didn’t stick around to hear it. The guy apologized the next day, but the damage had been done. “I said ‘I played what you asked me to and I turned around and you weren’t there’. He said, ‘Well can you do it again?’ I said okay. So he goes over to the bench, I play one song, and he gets on the cell phone. So I said the hell with it and I put the religious tunes away and went back to what I wanted to do. I’m resolved that that’s the last time that I’ll ever let that happen to me.”

Phil thinks he knows why it happened. “See, because you’re here, because you’re public, people really think they have a right to some of you. And they have a right to say or do what they please.” Phil is into another one of those topics again. He’s beginning to drift. His brows furrow and he veers over to his music stand. It’s scrawny, but reliable. He notices a young woman holding a porcelain-skinned, cherry-lipped baby girl.

“Hello. How are you?” Phil’s tone softens. The baby’s green eyes scan him. “Is that your little daughter there? She’s liking music, isn’t she? Maybe she wants to hear a little quiet song.” Phil approaches the baby, playing “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” It’s not his favorite music, not the most sophisticated, for sure, but Phil feels like playing it right now; it’s the perfect antidote to a downward spiral of thought.

***

For a lot of Philly buskers, negativity wears a uniform. Since the park’s wealthy patrons live in the surrounding area, cops have always taken complaints pretty seriously. Musicians would get booted from the park all the time, though it’s improved slightly since 2001, when a cop arrested jazz legend Byard Lancaster for performing in front of a WaWa on 17th and Arch, according to a Philadelphia Inquirer article. SEPTA had to pay Lancaster $15,000 in damages (and $18,000 more a year later when he was arrested again, in July).

Lancaster made as much noise as he could. A resolution was passed in appreciation of Lancaster and Philadelphia buskers who “should be allowed to express themselves to others through their music and other performing arts.” Lancaster has the resolution posted on his website under the self-authored headline: “Byard Arrested? Music is Liberating!” Lancaster is certainly not shy about any of it. “Byard considers himself a champion of the people,” says Bret Cohen, a Philly drummer who apprenticed with him for a while.

After Lancaster’s case, things stayed quiet until a few years ago, when 20-year-old Anthony Riley was arrested and thrown in a cell for 18 hours because the police didn’t want him singing in the park. According to the Inquirer’s article, he was midway into Sam Cooke’s “A Change is Gonna Come” when police cuffed him. The media milked the irony, to say the least. Riley won his suit with the help of a lawyer called Evan Shingles. “Is everybody gonna be lucky enough to be playing a politically charged song, no, but it shouldn’t have to come to that,” Shingles says.

Since then, Shingles remains a great friend to the busking community; he helped Phil and some others fight off detractors just last year with sheer intimidation. “If you don’t wanna hear that kind of noise, then maybe you shouldn’t be living in the city,” he says. When Center City cops heard Shingles was getting involved, they called him just to tell him they were backing down. “We’re not allowed to bother them anymore,” says Sergeant Heisenroth of the ninth district.

But Riley still gets bothered, like last week when he was playing in front of the convention center on 15th and Market. “The sergeant came out…and said that I didn’t have a right to be here,” Riley says. He’s clean-shaven and his collared shirt is tucked into his pants. “So I informed him about my constitutional right. He said that even so I need a permit… Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve been to the Streets Department, License and Inspection, I’ve been to councilwoman Jannie Blackwell’s office…but all those places are telling me that they are no license or permits for street musicians.”

A day after Riley’s arrest, Felix Wilkins, a 66-year-old street musician who’s played with 20th century jazz giants Count Basie, Tito Puente, and Mongo Santamaria was handcuffed for playing the flute on 18th and Chestnut. According to the Inquirer, he won the case, and $27,500 in damages, with the help of Paul Messing, the lawyer who also defended Lancaster in 2001. Now you can find Felix wobbling around Suburban Station with his battered old flute, pining for a drink.

Phil De Genova has known Felix a while now, and is always trying to help him fix up his flute. “But I can’t even get him to my repair guy,” he says. “It’s a struggle for him to actually make it to the train.” On days when Felix manages to wrangle a drink, he’ll play a few screechy tunes near the ticket machines until he gets kicked out for being overly unpleasant.

SEPTA’s been cracking down lately at Suburban Station and Market East, where they require musicians to play at designated performance zones. If artists stray more than 12 feet, officials can boot them from the station. Actually, there are 24 more ways that underground musicians can go wrong, and they’re all listed on the flyer that SEPTA’s been handing out these last few months.

***

Underground musicians know these 26 commandments by heart; they have to. Not so for authorities roaming the stations. Or maybe it’s that they know, but they hope that the person they’re threatening doesn’t know. John King, an overweight black man with under-eye circles darker than his skin, says he reminds officials all the time that he’s allowed to be singing – he has a permit and everything. With most jobs turning him down because they see his failing health as too much of a liability — he has congestive heart failure and minor psychological issues — King makes $30 on a good day, and needs all of it to live. Somehow, King keeps a sense of humor. When he sees me watching him and taking notes, he yells: “What are you, action news? Hah hah!”

King has always loved to sing. He grew up in Georgia with his Protestant church choir — “Jeeeezuuuuhs luv me, yes I knowww”, he sings in a child’s voice, then laughs with one hand on his belly. “I was Pentecostal. It was a little too s-strict so I went over to Baptist, then I went over to nondenominational because I believe in the Bible and I just leave it like that.” He apologizes for his stained undershirt, explains that he’s on his way to the gym. He also says that his nephews, who work all around Center City, can hear his singing. “I got a loud, strong voice…Thas how they find me…They say ‘Oh thas Uncle John!’” he says.

If he isn’t busking, King is singing at his church on 43rd. He lives his life by the Bible, which he’ll quote for any situation. When he talks about omitting health concerns from job applications, he quickly notes that David and Abraham were liars, too.

Down in Charleston, where King lived for a time, he would perform at a bunch of venues. “…I was at some kind of big club there and I sung Amazing Grace and some of them white people there they start runnin’ towards the stage,” King laughs, burying his head in his neck. “They was comin’ and haha! But they were just cryin’, they just loved it,” he says. He tells me about the time they sung “Amazing Grace” to the tune “House of the Rising Sun”. “You know it was like, ‘Dowww, dow dowwww, dow dowww’ and then I went, ‘Amaaaaazing graaaaace, how sweeeet the souuuuund, that saved, a wretch, like meeeee. I once, was lost, but nowww, I’m found…” And God, I know I’m one…

King is sad lately because his wife left him — “That’s why certain songs I can’t sing without cryin’” — but he trusts that God knows what he’s doing. “The Bible say, ‘How can two people walk together ‘cept they agree…’” King’s trials haven’t made him angry. His wife may have left him cold, but he’s never felt abandoned by his maker. “If you love God, and you find out that God love people, then you gotta join in with him.”

***

Jafar and Mohammad are jamming on a bench at the park. It’s hard to hear the harmony in the lazy wines of Jafar’s cornet and the cool thumping of Mohammad’s cajón, but others seem to. A small crowd has already gathered. Jafar stops playing to chat with someone. Eventually, though, Mohammad starts sporadically tapping, and then gets into it some more, and then his eyes close and his neck starts rolling around and Jafar sees him, and then says to the guy, “Yo, yo, ma man’s playin’” and grabs his cornet again.

Mohammad’s jeans are cuffed like Jafar’s and he’s wearing black. A durag is tied tightly around his shaved skull and topped by a dark straw hat. Mohammad speaks like a preacher, slowly and with lofty intent. “I play…” he says, “to enlighten someone to something new that they didn’t know before they encountered me.” He hopes to pass down the wisdom he has gained over the years from “many elders who walked the same path.” “None of these streets are untouched with their footprints,” he says.

When Mohammad talks about his “elder brethren”, he’s referring to Philadelphia music masters he knew as a kid, older mentors who taught him how to play and how to live. “I’m guided by these principles, but I also recognize that that though there’s supposed to be no four-leaf-clover, there is,” Mohammad rhapsodizes. He’s just launched into some improv poetry. “That though, in that trash-room lot, a tulip grows. That though, sometimes the blue sky turns red…”

Mohammad has a pretty active Facebook profile for someone so esoteric, although he seems to use it as a forum for preaching, so that his poetry might reach a larger audience. April 9, 6:04 a.m.: “Friday Nights ! I crave City Lights! Sounds of the Street ! and something good to Eat ! Time to open the Shoe Box for the Crocs and Dress Socks ! Breaking out , like the Birdman of Alcatraz !......100 % for the Love Of Jazz ! ! !...and the remaining 10 % for the Love of _ _ _! (SMILE)”

***

Most buskers camp at the park on a sunny day, but John King stays at Suburban so he’ll have less competition. As for the restrictions, he’ll take what he can get. “I would like to know why they’re doin’ it…you know it’s always a reason why people do things.” King wants to go back down to South Carolina to hook up with a rock and roll band he knows and try to make a name for himself. “You know needmo?” he asks, straight-faced. I’m at a loss. “Need mo’ money!” he says, and then keels over into a chesty laugh.

Today, King is performing the same song that Anthony Riley was singing when he got arrested. “Oh there have been taaaahhhhms,” King belts, eyes shut tight and skyward. “That I thought I couldn’t last for very loooooong. But now I think I’m able, I think I’m able, to carry ooooon.” He exhales.

-Daniella

What the 'Fork!?

2010-07-17T14:02:00.001-04:00

Let me set the record straight: I have no bone to pick with Pitchfork (For those of you unfamiliar with the notoriously cultured review site, please compare this and this). If anything, my grievances lie with the “indier-than-thou” mentality that’s so prevalent on the Internet these days.

Let me set the record straight #2: When it comes to the spectrum that at one end has “Music as Art” and at the other has “Music as Aural Pleasure,” I straddle the midpoint. I like my music to please me both superficially and under the surface.

Good. Now that’s out of the way. Like any good indie kid, I peruse the daily offerings of everyone’s (note: “everyone” here referring to people who are to some degree pretentious) favorite music website in search of the next great thing the good people at Pitchfork want me to listen to. I often play Jekyll and Hyde, though. It’s as if half of me craves hearing about crazy new indie goings-on, and the other half hates anyone who chooses to outsource thinking for themselves to such a notoriously elitist music blog. That being said, all of me gets pretty infuriated when I come across positive reviews of music that is mind-bogglingly awful. The part of me that loves Pitchfork has no sympathy for a reviewer who boldly proclaims that “This album is difficult,” and goes on to explain why a certain record (ahem, this one) is actually good, contrary to what the uneducated and context-less listener may think. Disregarding what Pitchfork may opine, there is such a thing as too artistic. By espousing the opposite belief, Pitchfork makes a caricature of itself.

On this note, I’m hoping to start a ~~weekly bi-weekly monthly~~ whenever-I-feel-like-it update on the occasional shenanigans and mental fallacies of the Pitchfork staff.

[Now is the time for you to fire up your computer speakers and listen to this bad boy in another window as you read the following paragraph.]

So, today, to kick off the series, I turn to the aforementioned "difficult" album: it’s Wolfgang Voigt’s Freiland Klaviermusik, which from the get-go sounds like robots making violent, violent love. Or perhaps it’s more like a compilation of computer error messages. There’s certainly nothing funny about this horrific hodgepodge of death, but it’s pretty funny how much of a highbrow treatment it gets from the ‘Forkers: with this album, they say, “Voigt positions himself as the next step in a lineage of experimental keyboard music.” Surely, this is “Music as Art,” but who said art ever had to be so painful? This album is straight-up brutal, and should be reserved for Guantanamo’s solitary chambers.

And so, until next time, I must ask: What the ‘Fork!?

-Joe

Tokyo Police Club's "Champ": Aging Gracefully

2010-07-17T13:00:00.004-04:00

The best adults are the ones that have some youth on the inside. When they released their frenetic debut EP, A Lesson in Crime, Tokyo Police Club were kids. And then, on their first full-length album, Elephant Shell, they grew up too much too quickly. Now, on their most recent, Champ, released last month, they’ve aged quite gracefully, finding a happy medium between formula and freeform, adulthood and childhood, and/or energy and predictability. In short, this is the LP we’ve been waiting for ever since we first heard the painfully short 15 minutes that made up A Lesson in Crime.

One of TPC’s strong points is its unbridled energy, but this energy is best used sparingly. That’s why their LPs can’t just be lengthened versions of A Lesson in Crime. And while they proved themselves to some extent on their last album, they’ve alleviated any and all doubt that they can write slower songs: “Hands Reversed” is just as good as anything else on the album, and doesn’t feel strained at all, a sensation that can be all too common when energetic bands go for slow.

“Bambi” is a microcosm of the band’s rediscovery of its past self. In classic TPC style, this track turns revolutionarily rough sounds into rational order: it seems impossible to go from the disjointed scratches at the beginning to something that could be even remotely aurally pleasing. But they pull it off anyway. On “Bambi,” the band goes back to what got them here in the first place: their trademark manic upper-fret scraping (a technique that was in notably short supply on Elephant Shell) is finally back. And while vocalist Greg Monks curiously decided not to sing on this track, it’s on the whole nice to hear his unique whine in conjunction with the chewy, nougat center that put the “buzz” in buzz-band just a couple of years ago. Due to Champ, they’re not a buzz-band anymore; they’re grown-ups, but it’s not too hard to tell that they’re still the same old kids.

Joe's grade: B+

-Joe

What I'll Be Listening To, "In The Sun"

2010-07-16T16:59:00.005-04:00

The first rumors about the collaboration between Zooey Deschanel and M.Ward were greeted with a hesitance which, let’s face it, was justified by the poor track record for actors-turned-musicians. But Volume One, released in March 2008, was an impressive and convincing debut that received a warm welcome from even the sternest of skeptics. The pair’s second album, Volume Two, released this past March, proved to be equally impressive, with a more confident take on the sunny, retro-pop sound that makes She & Him so very irresistible.

Volume Two is playful and bright. It’s the kind of album you keep in your car but never tire of, the kind of music that plays up those beautiful summer days just as well as it dresses up the grayer ones. The lyrics are those of one disappointed but never beaten down, and always sung with the hint of a smile. Deschanel is, after all, determined to “make it better,” as she sings on the album’s ninth track. This upbeat outlook is part of what makes Volume Two an instant mood-lifter, and as such, a musical delight.

The other major strength of this sophomore album is its timelessness. She & Him have a firm appreciation for history, and their music is all the better for it. The record is full of throwbacks to older times, from the Bee Gees-inspired beat of “In The Sun” to the Orpheus-inspired lyrics of “Don’t Look Back.” But for all their historical consciousness, the pair never lose themselves; each song is distinctly their own – even the covers. They’ve struck the perfect balance between old and new, crafting a sound that feels homey and familiar, all the while remaining intriguing and quirky.

In short, I’ve pushed Volume Two to the center of my summer playlist – and strongly suggest you do the same!

Melany's grade: A

-Melany

Janelle Monáe at the BET Awards

2010-07-16T13:00:00.000-04:00

Forget Chris Brown’s tears. Forget Justin Bieber’s questionable nomination for Best New Artist. You can even forget Kanye’s Ronnie James Dio-esque choice to perform on a flaming papier-mâché mountain. If there’s one memorable moment from the BET Awards last month, it was Janelle Monáe’s tribute performance to Prince.

She’s shaking things up. There hasn’t been anyone this iconoclastic or decidedly artsy to make her way through the gates of BET orthodoxy and into the quasi-mainstream ever before. Perhaps the producers have learned from ignoring the likes of Grace Jones and Meshell Ndegeocello over the past few decades. Maybe they’ve finally decided to accept the weirdo-R&B movement that has maintained a strong, if underground, tradition, for over 30 years. Whatever the reasoning was, BET is (at last) backing genre-bending new talent that operates outside of the strict hip-hop/R&B radio-friendly format.

When viewed in isolation, Monáe’s performances don’t seem that far out. Sure, her dancing might look like Michael Jackson’s take on the Stanky Legg, but other than that, her music exhibits a lot of the more common black musical tropes.

Look instead at her albums in their entirety for evidence of exactly what sets Monáe apart. Her debut EP, Metropolis: The Chase Suite, and her follow-up LP, The ArchAndroid, follow the story of a messianic figure for an android community in the fictional land of Metropolis. She draws inspiration from film noir directors like Fritz Lang and film composers like John Williams (just listen to her Suite II Overture and Suite III Overture on ArchAndroid) while interweaving a sci-fi themed concept throughout both albums. Yes, these are R&B concept albums. Two descriptors that haven’t come together with any kind of success since R. Kelly’s infamous hip-hopera, Trapped in the Closet. And that was just creepy.

But somehow, she manages to pull it off convincingly. Hopefully she’ll continue to evolve creatively, and more importantly grow in name and reputation. She’s already backed by Diddy, but it will be a great day in pop music when she becomes a household name in her own right. Keep an eye on her, she’s about to make it real big.

-Juan Carlos

Check out the videos below for her performance at the BET Awards and her video for Tightrope (feat. Big Boi).

Her Prince tribute at the BET Awards:

And her video for Tightrope: