Nothing perplexed me more in the world of music this year than the reaction to the new Wu-Tang Clan album, 8 Diagrams. 2007 has been undoubtedly the busiest of my life, which explains my lengthy absence from posting on this site, but also explains why I actually heard the new Wu record before I read anything about it (rare in this day and age, especially for a pop culture addict like myself). I listened to it the night I purchased it and then listened to it again and then again, and then one more time, so that I was going to sleep at 3 a.m. when I had to be up at the crack of dawn. I couldn't help myself. I felt like I was digesting a true masterpiece – am album that people will be talking about 10 and 20 years from now.
Then I went online the next to day to read what I assumed would be the dozens of glowing reviews, expecting an army of genuflecting critics kneeling before the alter of the Clan. Instead, what I found was a lot of harsh criticism, half-hearted praise, and, above all else, lukewarm responses galore.
What on earth?
And so it is that the new Wu-Tang Clan album has brought me out of my recent hiatus, both to defend its honor as well as to proclaim it my Hip-Hop Album of the Year. (Note: I stop short of calling it the overall album of the year, although it is in my top five. I just liked the 2007 efforts by The National and Wilco too much to give the Shaolin Soldiers the top spot.)
Granted, it wasn’t a banner year in rap, but I still feel like I’m alone on an island in regard to this choice. Until the flurry of fourth quarter releases, I was content to give the title to Kanye, along with everybody else. I loved Graduation and honestly didn’t expect anyone from the trio of Wu, Ghost, and Lupe to strip Mr. West of the honor of Hip-Hop Album of the Year. But then I had my all-night Wu-Tang listening party and the decision was pretty much made.
But just to be sure, I’ve given this record another 12 or 200 spins, broken it down piece by piece, reassembled it. I’ve listened to it on trains, planes, and in automobiles. Over speakers and through headphones. I’ve given it every chance to fail, for my ears to hear the mediocrity I keep reading about. It’s not happening.
Perhaps I’m just showing my age. The Wu’s epic reign over rap music in the 1990s coincided with the height of my hip-hop appreciation, when the only sounds playing in my 1983 Volvo and in my college dorm room where the beats and rhymes of rap. And while I flirted with the No Limit craze and always appreciated Redman and certainly got excited about Jay-Z and Eminem and the Alkoholics and a bunch of other great stuff from the back half of that decade, it was always about Wu-Tang for me. At 29, maybe I just represent the target market for the 2007 version of the Wu. It is entirely possible that I’m just getting old.
However, I think it is more than that. Because while I certainly fall somewhere in the general description of a “hipster” rap fan, I don’t quite glean my opinion from the hordes of snobby blogs and pretentious music websites like so many other hipsters out there. And I also don’t necessarily think that Ghostface is the greatest musical artist alive, which I believe is important.
You see, the Ghostface fascination has reached a point where he can do no wrong. From his genuine classics like Ironman and Supreme Clientele to his albums that were more scattered-but-still-treated-like-classics such as 2004’s The Pretty Toney Album and 2006’s doubleheader of Fishscale and More Fish (don’t get me wrong, I loved them all, but they weren’t as good as everyone made them out to be) to his cameo on 30 Rock to his children’s book (okay, I made that last one up), Ghost can do no wrong in the eyes of the hipsters and the critics.
So when he and Raekwon came out and launched a war against the RZA and tried to discredit 8 Diagrams while alternatively pushing Ghost’s new The Big Doe Rehab as the “real” Wu-Tang album, I think that a huge segment of the music critic population was influenced. To put it bluntly, they let their love of Ghostface blind them to the actual merits of 8 Diagrams, trusting his opinion over their own. They never gave this RZA masterpiece a chance. Never really listened, the way I did that first night (and probably never would have, had I too been aware of what Ghost was saying).
Because when you really listen to 8 Diagrams, what you hear is an incredible hip-hop album. RZA has arranged a collection of songs more varied and creative and atmospheric than anything else that came out this year. I’m not sure he could ever top Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers) or his work on GZA’s Liquid Swords, but he gives those albums a pretty good run for their. His production work is just off the charts, which is saying something considering how impressed I was with Kanye’s work on the boards on Graduation. I’ll go as far as to say that if the RZA were to be the sole producer on a 50 Cent album, he could single-handedly restore Fifty’s credibility with just one record. He’s that smart and talented and aware of what he’s doing.
As for the rapping, you can’t ask for much more than an album full of dense lyrics from the whole Wu crew, bar after bar crammed onto hyperkenetic and foreboding tracks with few rote choruses and almost no real hooks at all. If you like radio rap or club jams, this probably isn’t the album for you, but if you love grimy rap, stripped of all its pretense and nonsense, I don’t see how you could NOT love 8 Diagrams.
To prove my thesis (which is impossible, because ultimately, the appreciation of music is about individual taste, but whatever), I’m going track by track, breaking down every beat and every verse. Maybe I have it all wrong and maybe I’m just too old to get it anymore, but I defy someone to set aside the Ghostface drama, listen to this album, and tell me its not awesome.
Anyway, here are the tracks:
1. Campfire. The kung-fu movie dialogue intro speaks to the way one should digest music in this day and age: “We must be patient.” This is followed with a gorgeous singing intro which leads to a rattling and rumbling beat and an immediate Method Man verse. This is the Method Man we haven’t heard in years, the one that I watched on season three of The Wire and wished would someday rap with the same passion he was displaying in his acting. And here he is (the “trying to bring the sexy back” line aside). The rest of the song packs in a crisp Ghost verse, a vicious 16 bars from Cappadonna (I loved that we only had to wait two and a half minutes into the album to hear from the Clan’s “unofficial” member), and more kung-fu dialogue. It’s all pretty simple and straightforward, but it screams “Wu-Tang” and sets the mood perfectly.
Beat: A-
Method Man verse: B+ (docked a few points for the “sexy back” line, which I just didn’t like)
Ghostface verse: A
Cappadonna verse: A-
Overall: A-
2. Take it Back. This is probably the biggest throwback track on the album and what it lacks in obvious creativity, it makes up for in simplicity. The beat just bounces along and stays out of the way, giving guys like Rae, Ghost, and Deck the chance to shine on the strength of their verses alone. Ghost in particularly absolutely murders this song and Deck goes back to his familiar role of “scene stealer” among the bigger names, providing a verse that will be worth listening to for years to come.
Beat: B+
Raekwon verse: A-
Deck verse: A
Ghostface verse: A
U-God verse: B
Meth and U-God Chorus: B-
Overall: A-
3. Get Them Out Ya Way Pa. The beat on this is almost impossibly slick. It just glides along with a pulsing bass line and sets up the aggressive call-and-response chorus, mixing in the occasional cymbal, guitar lick, and sprinkles of what sound like wind chimes. This is RZA giving a master’s course in the power of a subtle arrangement. No one is particularly good on the mic as Meth loses some of his momentum, U-God is only slightly above average, and Masta Killa is the star of the song (not typically a good sign).
Beat: A
Meth verse: B
U-God verse: B+
Masta Killa verse: B+
Rae and Ghost Chorus: A-
Overall: B+
4. Rushing Elephants. This is when things really start heating up on the album. This track is on every playlist I have working right now, from my writing mixes to the random CD’s I pop into my car on the way to work (no, I don’t have an iPod hookup). The first 45 seconds are pure magic: the little horns and Rae’s “yeah, yeah, yeah” leading into the colliding drums and bass and then the sharpest Raekwon verse in almost a decade (although he came surprisingly close on last year’s Ill Bill mixtape). Then no chorus and bam, the first GZA appearance on the record and it’s a good one. Who cares what the rest of the song even includes? (For the record though, it is RZA’s best verse on the album and another solid Masta Killa contribution.)
Beat: A
Raekwon verse: A
GZA verse: A-
RZA verse: A
Masta Killa verse: A-
Overall: A
5. Unpredictable. Here is one song where I pretty much know right off the top that I like it more than everyone else. And that is because it reminds me of my favorite stuff from Deck’s first solo album and also because RZA manages to accomplish the rare feat of successfully working in an electric guitar over the clanging and uber-aggressive track. (I would argue that it is the best use of electric guitar in a rap song since Kanye layered them into Freeway’s “Turn Out The Lights.”) It’s not my favorite RZA beat, mainly because it tends to overwhelm the rapping, but between the extra-long Deck banger and the psychedelic RZA/Dexter Wiggins chorus/bridge/ramble, I just love this song. It feels like a cross between the background music for a Bourne chase scene and something that might have existed if rap were around back when everyone was doing LSD.
Beat: B+
Deck verse: A
RZA verse: B+
RZA/Wiggins Chorus: A-
Overall: A-
6. The Heart Gently Weeps. This is the one song that all the critics are fawning over and it is easy to see why. Between the outstanding RZA track that (as you know by now) is the first to legally sample a Beatles song and the transcendent Ghostface verse about a shootout with the vengeful nephew of a guy that died from the drugs Ghost once sold to him, there is plenty to get the critics in a lather. There isn’t much I can add to the thousands of words that have already been written about this song, other than to say that while Ghost clearly steals the show (it is ironic, by the way, that Ghost is better here and on virtually all of his 8 Diagrams cuts than he is on his own album), Raekwon and Method Man both turn in underrated performances. I’m not sure how I feel about the fairly creepy Erykah Badu chorus.
Beat: A
Raekwon verse: A
Ghostface verse: A
Meth verse: A
Erykah Badu Chorus: B
Overall: A
7. Wolves . While it might not be the best track on the album from a technical standpoint, “Wolves” is my favorite song on this record. I love the George Clinton ramblings that recall 2Pac’s “U Can’t See Me,” the tiny little ODB sample 20 seconds in, the best U-God verse of all time, the eerie “oohs” in the background, the awesome lead-in and sparse mix that RZA throws on the beat at the beginning of Masta Killa’s verse and, well, pretty much everything on this song. Download this, throw it in a random mix, and tell me its not one of the best rap songs you’ve heard this year.
Beat: A
U-God verse: A
Meth verse: A-
Masta Killa verse: A
George Clinton Chorus: A
Overall: A
8. Gun Will Go . I used the word “slick” to define the beat of “Get Them Out Ya Way Pa,” but it is even more appropriate here. RZA shows ridiculous restraint, laying down a simple track for the verses and then incorporating a creepy violin during the rich, lush Sunny Valentine chorus. This arrangement certainly makes Rae sound good on the opening stanza, but it really brings Method Man to the forefront. I feel comfortable saying that this is the best Meth has sounded since about 1995. Seriously. And then, once again, RZA fiddles with the beat for the Masta Killa verse, this time complicating and distorting it with what sound like horns but could also be an alarm clock for all I know. It sort of buries the lyrics, but this is a good thing, because it makes an otherwise forgettable 16 bars infinitely more memorable. I know I keep raving about this, but RZA’s piecing together of this album is one of the top 20 all-time production efforts, in my opinion. Hand Mathematics or 4th Disciple or one of those other Wu apprentices the same basic concept and the same rappers and this song sucks balls. Instead, it’s a near-masterpiece. Now that is talent.
Beat: A
Raekwon verse: A-
Meth verse: A
Masta Killa verse: A-
Sunny Valentine Chorus: A
Overall: A
9. Sunlight . I will admit that this could be argued as a bit of a weak spot on the album, mainly because it feels too indulgent on RZA’s part. It sounds like a RZA song that would come from a solo record. That doesn’t change the fact that it is still arranged nicely and features a pretty solid lyrical effort, but it is just a letdown from the momentum of the previous four tracks and something that doesn’t really belong on a Wu album. This track and “Life Changes” are probably the sole reason why 8 Diagrams places #4 on my list of 2007 albums list, rather than #1 or #2. It doesn’t have as many misteps as Kanye’s, Lupe, or Jay-Z, but since The National and Wilco made virtually no mistakes, they get the nod.
Beat: B
RZA verse: B+
Overall: B
10. Stick Me For My Riches . I was ready to anoint this as an all-time classic Wu cut until my brother told me he didn’t even like it a little bit. That gave me pause. But I shook that off and am back to loving this song. Gerald Alston provides a perfect intro (it just builds and builds), Method Man is a house of fire here, and both Deck (sounding more like Freddie Foxx than himself – are we sure that’s him?) and GZA give their usual reliably tight verses. I will concede that the southern rap-sounding double time beat isn’t RZA’s most dominant on the album, but it is still solid in every way, especially because it set him up for his own very simple, but very effective choppy verse four minutes in.
Beat: A-
Meth verse: A
Deck verse: A
RZA verse: A-
GZA verse: A-
Gerald Alston Chorus: A
Overall: A
11. Starter . Here’s how I know this album is amazing – because even when Wu lowers itself to the obligatory sex track that plagues nearly every rap album of the 21st Century, the song is still pretty awesome. RZA comes through with a gurgling track full of punctuating horns and a driving beat that allows all comers to throw out tight and compelling verses. The lyrics aren’t anything terribly amazing, but they all sound fantastic. Even the Streetlife cameo is pretty awesome, which is saying something.
Beat: A
Streetlife verse: A-
GZA verse: A
Deck verse: A-
U-God verse: A-
Sunny Valentine Chorus: A-
Overall: A-
12. Windmill . I love this song. It is all sped up and frantic with that little wail in the background that make Rae and Ghost sound so at home (too bad Ghost isn’t on this one, he would have destroyed it). Once again, RZA gave his Wu members a better track to work with than anything they could go get from outside help. It doesn’t hurt a bit to have a killer GZA contribution right in the middle of it all. Oh, and this is probably the best Deck has sounded in years – probably since his guest spot on Gang Starr’s “Above the Clouds.”
Beat: A-
Raekwon verse: A
GZA verse: A
Masta Killa verse: B+
Deck verse: A
Meth verse: B+
Cappadonna verse: A-
Overall: A-
13. Weak Spot . Another vintage kung-fu intro that leads right into vintage Wu-Tang. This song is dark and dense and immediately identifiable as a Wu banger. You wouldn’t even need to hear the RZA verse to know that he made it. It isn’t transcendent in any way or anything too terribly new, but it is just flawless Wu-Tang. People who love these guys likely love this song. Rae brings it, GZA brings it, and it’s all smothered in a stomping beat and martial art sound bites. If only it was the final song on the album.
Beat: A
RZA verse: B
Raekwon verse: A
GZA verse: A-
Overall: A-
14. Life Changes . I believe this is the weakest song on the album. The Freda Payne sample is pretty much a straight rip and drop in and over half the verses are lazy and boring. I think that this mediocre tribute to ODB is one of the reasons that people are kind of down on the album, which is a little ludicrous. It is, after all, just one song. But I understand that it is disappointing. Other than GZA and Deck (whose verse was too short, but seemed truly heartfelt), nobody sounds like they put much time into this at all. It’s also weird that Ghost isn’t on here. Overall, there is no doubt that this should have been so much better.
Beat: B-
Meth verse: B-
Raekwon verse: B
GZA verse: A
Masta Killa verse: B-
Deck verse: A-
U-God verse: B-
RZA verse: C
Freda Payne Sample/Chorus: B-
Overall: B-
All told, this is an album with few flaws and a ton of highlights. I wish there was more GZA on the first half and Ghost on the second half and that they had done more with the ODB tribute, but overall, I have few complaints. My standards for this record were extremely high and it somehow lived up to my expectations and then some. RZA raised his game to another level in terms of arrangement, Method Man sounds like he got ahold of a time machine, Raekwon is on point throughout, and really every guy in the Clan performs at a high level. The album is a model of restraint as it opted to forgo radio-friendly singles and club bangers and Akon and T-Pain verses and instead went in the direction of a complete album full of diverse songs threaded together with mood and atmosphere.
Add it all up and it is enough to get the Wu past Kanye and into the top spot on my list of 2007 rap albums. I just wonder why no one else sees it that way.
Friday, December 28, 2007
Friday, September 14, 2007
50 vs. Kanye
When it comes to music, I've been out of the loop for a while. I didn't even realize there was a new Rogue Wave album and it took me over a week to finally listen to Ben Harper's new one. In fact, other than the latest Rilo Kiley offering, I can't remember the last time a new album become a key part of my day. Obviously, this is one of the many costs of working 60-hour weeks.
Luckily, the big 50 Cent and Kanye West duel popped up this week to ease me out of my slumber.
These are two artists that I've been following closely for pretty much this entire decade; 50 when he was the most feared and relentless underground rapper I can ever remember and Kanye when he was the masterful and anonymous sound behind some of Jay-Z's best work ever ("Kanye, you did it again; you're a genius!"). They both burst onto the scene as mainstream solo artists in a way that struck people as "out of nowhere," when really it was more of a "long time coming" kind of thing. They each dropped a debut that was met with both critical acclaim and massive commercial success. They quickly became known for their particular brands of charisma, their eccentric behavior, their massive egos, and their iconic videos and anthems. And while Kanye continued to expand his producer image behind the scenes (seriously, who has a bigger imprint in popular music right now?), 50 turned himself into a brand name that would make even P Diddy feel lazy. Trust me, the these two fellows are more similar than they are different.
However, this week of simultaneous 9/11 releases saw these two artists go in completely different directions. It's not just that Graduation is amazing while Curtis is dog poop (even though that is true), but rather that Kanye continued his trend of self-revelation and experimentation and commitment to the art form, while 50 Cent just recycled the same old formula and burned it onto a bunch of compact discs.
I'll start with 50's release. Curtis probably isn't bad as everyone is saying. There are a few "bangers" (as the kids are saying these days) on there and a lot of the production is technically solid. It's certainly a better collection of rap songs than we got on The Massacre, but that's not saying much. The problem is that it is just a copy of a copy of a copy. More specifically, it is a copy of a copy of Get Rich Or Die Tryin'. This is a problem. Where were all the soul samples that 50 was supposedly going to incorporate into this album? For that matter, where was the outstanding reported title of Before I Self Destruct? It is obvious that 50 has no hunger and probably no time to spend in the studio, because he just mailed this thing in. I will never turn on 50 like so many have and I'll always maintain that he was once great, but he's certainly not anymore. As an artist, he relies on passion and anger and whatever fueled his creative drive. In that way, he's like a less talented Eminem - massive success hasn't done either of them many favors as rappers. And that is why Curtis is unmemorable and disappointing and totally expected all at once. We all know that the old 50 is gone and is never coming back. And you know what? Good for him that he's not so full of pain and anger anymore. But bad for us.
Meanwhile, it seems that success only breads contempt for Kanye West. Contempt for the industry, the world, whatever. Over the course of three albums he has remade himself from a happy-go-lucky braggart into a egomaniac and then into an isolationist. But unlike 50, Kanye's journey has pushed him creatively. Every album tries more crazy things and features better songs and showcases even more exceptional composition skills. The man knows how to put a rap album together, that is for sure. And maybe I turned into a bit of a homer where rap is concerned after my time in Chicago, but I could honestly drop every single hip-hop artist that isn't from Chicago from my iTunes catalog and not suffer in the least. Give me Kanye and Common and Lupe and Rhymefest and I'm all good.
All told, I couldn't be happier to see Kanye bring the goods yet again ... although a small part of me wishes it had been Public Enemy #1 50 Cent that performed the trick.
Luckily, the big 50 Cent and Kanye West duel popped up this week to ease me out of my slumber.
These are two artists that I've been following closely for pretty much this entire decade; 50 when he was the most feared and relentless underground rapper I can ever remember and Kanye when he was the masterful and anonymous sound behind some of Jay-Z's best work ever ("Kanye, you did it again; you're a genius!"). They both burst onto the scene as mainstream solo artists in a way that struck people as "out of nowhere," when really it was more of a "long time coming" kind of thing. They each dropped a debut that was met with both critical acclaim and massive commercial success. They quickly became known for their particular brands of charisma, their eccentric behavior, their massive egos, and their iconic videos and anthems. And while Kanye continued to expand his producer image behind the scenes (seriously, who has a bigger imprint in popular music right now?), 50 turned himself into a brand name that would make even P Diddy feel lazy. Trust me, the these two fellows are more similar than they are different.
However, this week of simultaneous 9/11 releases saw these two artists go in completely different directions. It's not just that Graduation is amazing while Curtis is dog poop (even though that is true), but rather that Kanye continued his trend of self-revelation and experimentation and commitment to the art form, while 50 Cent just recycled the same old formula and burned it onto a bunch of compact discs.
I'll start with 50's release. Curtis probably isn't bad as everyone is saying. There are a few "bangers" (as the kids are saying these days) on there and a lot of the production is technically solid. It's certainly a better collection of rap songs than we got on The Massacre, but that's not saying much. The problem is that it is just a copy of a copy of a copy. More specifically, it is a copy of a copy of Get Rich Or Die Tryin'. This is a problem. Where were all the soul samples that 50 was supposedly going to incorporate into this album? For that matter, where was the outstanding reported title of Before I Self Destruct? It is obvious that 50 has no hunger and probably no time to spend in the studio, because he just mailed this thing in. I will never turn on 50 like so many have and I'll always maintain that he was once great, but he's certainly not anymore. As an artist, he relies on passion and anger and whatever fueled his creative drive. In that way, he's like a less talented Eminem - massive success hasn't done either of them many favors as rappers. And that is why Curtis is unmemorable and disappointing and totally expected all at once. We all know that the old 50 is gone and is never coming back. And you know what? Good for him that he's not so full of pain and anger anymore. But bad for us.
Meanwhile, it seems that success only breads contempt for Kanye West. Contempt for the industry, the world, whatever. Over the course of three albums he has remade himself from a happy-go-lucky braggart into a egomaniac and then into an isolationist. But unlike 50, Kanye's journey has pushed him creatively. Every album tries more crazy things and features better songs and showcases even more exceptional composition skills. The man knows how to put a rap album together, that is for sure. And maybe I turned into a bit of a homer where rap is concerned after my time in Chicago, but I could honestly drop every single hip-hop artist that isn't from Chicago from my iTunes catalog and not suffer in the least. Give me Kanye and Common and Lupe and Rhymefest and I'm all good.
All told, I couldn't be happier to see Kanye bring the goods yet again ... although a small part of me wishes it had been Public Enemy #1 50 Cent that performed the trick.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Thoughts on the Season Finale of Lost
The two-hour season three finale of Lost was absolutely incredible. Twists, turns, promises fulfilled, great acting, some absurdly pleasing action hero moments, and several ticking clock plots. But for all that - for Charlie's heroic death and Jack and Juliette's kiss to the "I love you" proclamation to Hurley running a dude over in a van to Walt appearing before Locke as a vision - for ALL THAT, I can only fixate on the images of Jack, drunk and drugged out and completely lost in L.A.
In what appears to be a very clever flash forward device (and there were plenty of clues, not the least of which was the RAZR phone), Jack is back from the island and miserable. He is beyond sad, wants to kill himself, and can barely get through the day. To me, it is one of the most haunting things I've seen on a TV show and it left me hoping (begging) that the whole thing was an alternate universe or a Desmond vision or some other Lost-like creation that can be altered and fixed. Because I can take unsolved mysteries and characters dying, but I'm not sure I can deal with known futures devoid of hope. How do you root for these characters if you know things turn out so devastatingly bad for them?
Many seem to think that this finale signals a new trend for the show and that they will begin to show flash forwards off life after the island. I really hope that is not the case. Because a character devoid of hope, with a foretold future of tragedy, is the saddest character of all. And above all, Lost is a show about characters.
Amazing stuff. But haunting, rough stuff as well.
Now we wait for January 2008 to see if Jack's dad is somehow alive (which would prove some sort of alternate universe theory) and not just the result of the rantings of a shattered soul. I'm crossing my fingers, even if it means suspending my reality.
In what appears to be a very clever flash forward device (and there were plenty of clues, not the least of which was the RAZR phone), Jack is back from the island and miserable. He is beyond sad, wants to kill himself, and can barely get through the day. To me, it is one of the most haunting things I've seen on a TV show and it left me hoping (begging) that the whole thing was an alternate universe or a Desmond vision or some other Lost-like creation that can be altered and fixed. Because I can take unsolved mysteries and characters dying, but I'm not sure I can deal with known futures devoid of hope. How do you root for these characters if you know things turn out so devastatingly bad for them?
Many seem to think that this finale signals a new trend for the show and that they will begin to show flash forwards off life after the island. I really hope that is not the case. Because a character devoid of hope, with a foretold future of tragedy, is the saddest character of all. And above all, Lost is a show about characters.
Amazing stuff. But haunting, rough stuff as well.
Now we wait for January 2008 to see if Jack's dad is somehow alive (which would prove some sort of alternate universe theory) and not just the result of the rantings of a shattered soul. I'm crossing my fingers, even if it means suspending my reality.
Album Review: Boxer by The National
Walking down a deserted (but perpetually shimmering) Michigan Avenue in Chicago the other night, listening to The National's fourth full-length album in my iPod, it dawned on me that I had to review this, and that it would continue a trend of only reviewing music that I love. I promise to rectify this by finding a truly crap album and crushing it sometime in the next month. Until then, bask in the positivity, people.
The first thing that strikes me about Boxer is that it sounds a lot like my other favorite albums of 2007, yet remains wholly original. Lead singer Matt Berninger sounds a bit like Andrew Bird, both in style (baritone, slightly monotonous voice) and substance (non sequiturs, clever imagery, and an extensive vocabulary), which is an absolute compliment. Bird's Armchair Apocrypha was probably my favorite 2007 release until Elliott Smith's New Moon. And if the vocals sound like Bird, the overall feel and mood of the album call to mind a more subtle and contained version of the Arcade Fire release Neon Bible. Again, this is a good thing.
The problem with comparing one artist to another is that it implies a derivative quality to the work; that the band is somewhere between an inspired cherry-picker with great taste and a rogue musical pickpocket. Know that resorting to such comparisons is the fault of the reviewer and not the band. Explaining all of the positive ways that an album matches other great works is the lazy man's method for expressing admiration. And tonight I'm feeling a bit lazy. But now, on to the album.
Boxer starts out with a bang, as the track "Fake Empire" works its way from a simple, subdued little song into an orchestral gem that climbs higher and higher and then just ends, without any ostentatious outros or distorted samples loaded with feedback and reverb. It is followed by the most pure "rock" song on the album, the quick, smart "Mistaken For Strangers." At the tale end of this "wow, they sound like they could be from Montreal" indie rock anthem, The National slows things down just a bit, fading out of the second track and easing into "Brainy," giving the listener time to absorb the first salvo and settle into the experience. Rarely has the first quarter of an album shown such care in regard to pacing. It is as if the three members of this Brooklyn band know some secret to engaging the brain's alpha frequencies.
If there is one criticism of Boxer, it is that the middle of the album lags just a bit. "Squalor Victoria," "Green Gloves," and "Start a War" are the only songs that feel like work the first couple of times through. That said, even from this tiny negative comes a positive, as "Green Gloves" became one of my favorite tracks on repeat listens. The first time through it bleeds into the background, but by lap number four, it actually stands out as a beautiful song with soaring instrumentals and perhaps the most melodic chorus on the album. Likewise, "Start a War" grows on the listener and seems to get better with each passing bus ride and jog through the park. These are among the most subtle tracks on the album and for that reason, they were overshadowed the first few times by more powerful and melodic songs such as "Slow Show" and "Apartment Story." In fact, "Slow Show" probably gets the nod as my favorite song on the album. It is a rich, escalating tour de force. The repeating line "You know I've dreamed about you for 29 years before I saw you" is one of the best on the album and the anchor of a fabulously good and decidedly mature (i.e., not cheesy) love song.
After slowly building for nine tracks, the album finishes with a quiet flurry. "Racing Like a Pro" shows some of Berninger's strongest writing, offering clear, intelligent commentary and showcasing some of his most insightful (if still cleverly spun) storytelling to date. "Ada" is a brilliant song and is certainly aided by Sufjan Stevens' guest appearance on piano. And "Gospel" might very well be the best song on the album.
I've already heard some listeners bemoan the lack of simmering anger that was a hallmark of previous tracks by The National (most of them from 2005's breakout critical darling Alligator), but to me, this more subtle expression of joy, pain, boredom, claustrophobia (multiple songs are contained to basically one room) is far more rewarding. Rather than spell everything out with wild vocal inflections or searing lyrics, The National opted to weave together a tight tapestry of music, within which they could embed their stories and philosophy. On Boxer, they let the audience do its share of the heavy lifting in a way that is not dissimilar to a well-written television show or film.
This is not to say that listening to this album is hard work, because it's not. The Boxer is a smooth listen and an atmospheric experience (you simply have to find a deserted main street in a big city and give this a spin) and - bottom line - a really great album. It should be Exhibit A on how to make really smart, meaningful music that still sounds terrific.
Once again, I've got a new favorite album for 2007. I expect this one to hold on to the title for a while. Especially once I get to reviewing some real pieces of crap.
The Score: 9.3
The first thing that strikes me about Boxer is that it sounds a lot like my other favorite albums of 2007, yet remains wholly original. Lead singer Matt Berninger sounds a bit like Andrew Bird, both in style (baritone, slightly monotonous voice) and substance (non sequiturs, clever imagery, and an extensive vocabulary), which is an absolute compliment. Bird's Armchair Apocrypha was probably my favorite 2007 release until Elliott Smith's New Moon. And if the vocals sound like Bird, the overall feel and mood of the album call to mind a more subtle and contained version of the Arcade Fire release Neon Bible. Again, this is a good thing.
The problem with comparing one artist to another is that it implies a derivative quality to the work; that the band is somewhere between an inspired cherry-picker with great taste and a rogue musical pickpocket. Know that resorting to such comparisons is the fault of the reviewer and not the band. Explaining all of the positive ways that an album matches other great works is the lazy man's method for expressing admiration. And tonight I'm feeling a bit lazy. But now, on to the album.
Boxer starts out with a bang, as the track "Fake Empire" works its way from a simple, subdued little song into an orchestral gem that climbs higher and higher and then just ends, without any ostentatious outros or distorted samples loaded with feedback and reverb. It is followed by the most pure "rock" song on the album, the quick, smart "Mistaken For Strangers." At the tale end of this "wow, they sound like they could be from Montreal" indie rock anthem, The National slows things down just a bit, fading out of the second track and easing into "Brainy," giving the listener time to absorb the first salvo and settle into the experience. Rarely has the first quarter of an album shown such care in regard to pacing. It is as if the three members of this Brooklyn band know some secret to engaging the brain's alpha frequencies.
If there is one criticism of Boxer, it is that the middle of the album lags just a bit. "Squalor Victoria," "Green Gloves," and "Start a War" are the only songs that feel like work the first couple of times through. That said, even from this tiny negative comes a positive, as "Green Gloves" became one of my favorite tracks on repeat listens. The first time through it bleeds into the background, but by lap number four, it actually stands out as a beautiful song with soaring instrumentals and perhaps the most melodic chorus on the album. Likewise, "Start a War" grows on the listener and seems to get better with each passing bus ride and jog through the park. These are among the most subtle tracks on the album and for that reason, they were overshadowed the first few times by more powerful and melodic songs such as "Slow Show" and "Apartment Story." In fact, "Slow Show" probably gets the nod as my favorite song on the album. It is a rich, escalating tour de force. The repeating line "You know I've dreamed about you for 29 years before I saw you" is one of the best on the album and the anchor of a fabulously good and decidedly mature (i.e., not cheesy) love song.
After slowly building for nine tracks, the album finishes with a quiet flurry. "Racing Like a Pro" shows some of Berninger's strongest writing, offering clear, intelligent commentary and showcasing some of his most insightful (if still cleverly spun) storytelling to date. "Ada" is a brilliant song and is certainly aided by Sufjan Stevens' guest appearance on piano. And "Gospel" might very well be the best song on the album.
I've already heard some listeners bemoan the lack of simmering anger that was a hallmark of previous tracks by The National (most of them from 2005's breakout critical darling Alligator), but to me, this more subtle expression of joy, pain, boredom, claustrophobia (multiple songs are contained to basically one room) is far more rewarding. Rather than spell everything out with wild vocal inflections or searing lyrics, The National opted to weave together a tight tapestry of music, within which they could embed their stories and philosophy. On Boxer, they let the audience do its share of the heavy lifting in a way that is not dissimilar to a well-written television show or film.
This is not to say that listening to this album is hard work, because it's not. The Boxer is a smooth listen and an atmospheric experience (you simply have to find a deserted main street in a big city and give this a spin) and - bottom line - a really great album. It should be Exhibit A on how to make really smart, meaningful music that still sounds terrific.
Once again, I've got a new favorite album for 2007. I expect this one to hold on to the title for a while. Especially once I get to reviewing some real pieces of crap.
The Score: 9.3
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Album Review: New Moon by Elliott Smith
When I first heard about new Moon, the "new" double-disc, posthumous Elliott Smith release titled, I was extremely apprehensive. I suppose you could blame the estates of everyone from 2Pac to Jeff Buckley for the fact that music from the grave has became an uncomfortable proposition.
Too many posthumous releases are ragtag affairs; full of bits and pieces and sketches of songs that are slapped together by music engineers and producers and weaved into albums. Not surprisingly, they often aren't very good. In fact, the best releases are often those that simply never came out in time, such as Biggie's Life After Death (totally finished and just weeks away from hitting stores when he died), 2Pac's Makaveli: The 7 Day Theory (almost completely finished), and Elliott Smith's own From a Basement on a Hill (in later, if fitful, stages of completion) were all albums that came from the artist's own imagination. And when you compare those Pac and Biggie works with the abominations that came later, it is obvious why another Smith release might terrify me.
The possibility of New Moon being total crap was one fear, certainly. The other worry was that the album would be overwrought with meaning. My only problem with fully enjoying A Basement is that I couldn't separate the songs from the context. I kept searching for clues that would resolve Smith's awful death. Was it a suicide, or was he murdered? The L.A. coroners couldn't figure out, and neither can we. His last work-in-progress provided a peak into his mind; a mind that had been increasingly drug-addled and depressed in recent years but seemed to be finding some hope at the very end of his life. With all of that investigative work to be done, it was hard too just absorb the music. Furthermore, the details and circumstances surrounding Smith's death - indeed, the tragedy of him as a figure - lent the album an almost overwhelming dose of gravitas. Frankly, I wasn't ready to go down that path again.
Have a painted a clear enough picture? I was concerned. I was not eager to buy this. New Moon gave me feelings of trepidation.
For all of these reasons, I am both pleased and surprised to tell you that this is my favorite release so far in 2007. Granted, there haven't been a ton of masterpieces to challenge for that title, but I loved the new ones from Bright Eyes, Arcade Fire, and Andrew Bird, and also enjoyed recent efforts from The Shins, Peter Bjorn and John, and Panda Bear. (And also, I must confess, Redman.) So there is enough good new music that I still feel like that statement means something.
Normally when I review an album, I drill down and tackle it almost song-by-song, but in this case, my feelings toward New Moon are more macro. That doesn't mean there aren't great individual songs, of course. "Angel in the Snow" gets things off to a great start and immediately brings to the forefront Smith's intimate recording style. By all accounts, he played extremely close to the microphone, which allowed him to sing quietly and make room for his chord progressions and the tiny little imperfections that came with them. Everything about a good Elliott Smith song is authentic and organic and that doesn't even account for the genius in the writing, bur rather comes about almost strictly from the brilliant technique that is on full display here.
Favorites abound. There is "High Times," which flashes Smith's energy and righteous anger. and "New Monkey," which shows his versatility as a songwriter and reveals frustrations over the way he (and indie music) was often portrayed. "Looking Over My Shoulder," "Whatever (Folk Song in C)," and "All Cleaned Out" put on display his almost irreconcilable wisdom and perspective. There are the brief glimpses of optimism ("First Timer"), the aching sadness on songs like "Georgia, Georgia," where he muses "oh man, what a plan, suicide," and, of course, those beautiful melodies that can't help but make you think of the Beatles.
Again though, drilling down on individual songs seems to miss the point. In fact, many of these gems have been floating around for years. I had seven of the 24 songs in my iTunes collection already, "Miss Misery" and "Pretty Mary K" are merely alternate versions, and "Thirteen" is a cover that Smith often played at life shows. So listening to this album in search of novelty or fresh tracks gets away from what makes it great.
New Moon is a fantastic album because it is comprised of 24 full, real, and terrific songs. It is adhesive and forms a narrative, and authentically feels like a release from the 1994-1997 period of time from which these songs were culled. And ultimately, that is the beauty of the record. It doesn't feel like a new Elliott Smith album at all. Instead, it is as if my collection of Smith albums suddenly has another classic imbedded in it. Right alongside masterpieces like his self-titled second album and Either/Or and XO is another classic.
So maybe calling it the best album of 2007 is a misnomer. It is more like the best album of 1996, preserved in a time capsule until today. Either way, it is fantastic stuff.
Too many posthumous releases are ragtag affairs; full of bits and pieces and sketches of songs that are slapped together by music engineers and producers and weaved into albums. Not surprisingly, they often aren't very good. In fact, the best releases are often those that simply never came out in time, such as Biggie's Life After Death (totally finished and just weeks away from hitting stores when he died), 2Pac's Makaveli: The 7 Day Theory (almost completely finished), and Elliott Smith's own From a Basement on a Hill (in later, if fitful, stages of completion) were all albums that came from the artist's own imagination. And when you compare those Pac and Biggie works with the abominations that came later, it is obvious why another Smith release might terrify me.
The possibility of New Moon being total crap was one fear, certainly. The other worry was that the album would be overwrought with meaning. My only problem with fully enjoying A Basement is that I couldn't separate the songs from the context. I kept searching for clues that would resolve Smith's awful death. Was it a suicide, or was he murdered? The L.A. coroners couldn't figure out, and neither can we. His last work-in-progress provided a peak into his mind; a mind that had been increasingly drug-addled and depressed in recent years but seemed to be finding some hope at the very end of his life. With all of that investigative work to be done, it was hard too just absorb the music. Furthermore, the details and circumstances surrounding Smith's death - indeed, the tragedy of him as a figure - lent the album an almost overwhelming dose of gravitas. Frankly, I wasn't ready to go down that path again.
Have a painted a clear enough picture? I was concerned. I was not eager to buy this. New Moon gave me feelings of trepidation.
For all of these reasons, I am both pleased and surprised to tell you that this is my favorite release so far in 2007. Granted, there haven't been a ton of masterpieces to challenge for that title, but I loved the new ones from Bright Eyes, Arcade Fire, and Andrew Bird, and also enjoyed recent efforts from The Shins, Peter Bjorn and John, and Panda Bear. (And also, I must confess, Redman.) So there is enough good new music that I still feel like that statement means something.
Normally when I review an album, I drill down and tackle it almost song-by-song, but in this case, my feelings toward New Moon are more macro. That doesn't mean there aren't great individual songs, of course. "Angel in the Snow" gets things off to a great start and immediately brings to the forefront Smith's intimate recording style. By all accounts, he played extremely close to the microphone, which allowed him to sing quietly and make room for his chord progressions and the tiny little imperfections that came with them. Everything about a good Elliott Smith song is authentic and organic and that doesn't even account for the genius in the writing, bur rather comes about almost strictly from the brilliant technique that is on full display here.
Favorites abound. There is "High Times," which flashes Smith's energy and righteous anger. and "New Monkey," which shows his versatility as a songwriter and reveals frustrations over the way he (and indie music) was often portrayed. "Looking Over My Shoulder," "Whatever (Folk Song in C)," and "All Cleaned Out" put on display his almost irreconcilable wisdom and perspective. There are the brief glimpses of optimism ("First Timer"), the aching sadness on songs like "Georgia, Georgia," where he muses "oh man, what a plan, suicide," and, of course, those beautiful melodies that can't help but make you think of the Beatles.
Again though, drilling down on individual songs seems to miss the point. In fact, many of these gems have been floating around for years. I had seven of the 24 songs in my iTunes collection already, "Miss Misery" and "Pretty Mary K" are merely alternate versions, and "Thirteen" is a cover that Smith often played at life shows. So listening to this album in search of novelty or fresh tracks gets away from what makes it great.
New Moon is a fantastic album because it is comprised of 24 full, real, and terrific songs. It is adhesive and forms a narrative, and authentically feels like a release from the 1994-1997 period of time from which these songs were culled. And ultimately, that is the beauty of the record. It doesn't feel like a new Elliott Smith album at all. Instead, it is as if my collection of Smith albums suddenly has another classic imbedded in it. Right alongside masterpieces like his self-titled second album and Either/Or and XO is another classic.
So maybe calling it the best album of 2007 is a misnomer. It is more like the best album of 1996, preserved in a time capsule until today. Either way, it is fantastic stuff.
Friday, April 20, 2007
The View = G-Unit
A recent spin of the new Young Buck album got me thinking about the downfall of G Unit. Then, while I was thinking about that, my wife Jen was watching The View. Then it dawned on me. G Unit and The View are virtually the same. Hear me out ...
Rosie O'Donnell is 50 Cent. They are both larger than life (literally and figuratively, although 50's literal largeness is of the more desirable variety), opinionated, wildly popular yet also hated by many, and, of course, they are both totally crazy. They also highjack group projects to engage in individual rants and feuds. Rosie steals huge chunks of time on The View to spout her Google Education philosophies about the war or politics or whatever comes into her brain, and she used the show as a vehicle to war with Donald Trump. 50 does the same thing on pretty much every G-Unit album. They both have redeeming qualities (Rosie is actually a very good parent, Jen tells me, while 50 has an unbelievable work ethic), have had mixed success with their pop culture endeavors, and I'm pretty sure Larry David would be friends with both of them (since various episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm tell us that he is loved by lesbians and also that fictional rapper Crazy Eye Killa - had to be based at least in part on 50 - is "his caucasian").
Barbara Walters is Eminem. Both are way past their primes and the change happened overnight. One minute they were relevant and among the best at their respective professions, the next they were total has-beens. Eminem suddenly started making farting noises in all his songs and recycling the same beat over and over, while Walters got her 19th face lift and began mumbling on the air. The View is Walters' pet project, much like G-Unit was Eminem's first major group signed to Shady Records. Rosie is making Walters a lot of money and improving ratings, but bringing great embarrassment along with it and pissing her off with philosophical differences. Likewise, 50 made Eminem loads of cash, but has embroiled him in countless annoying feuds in the process.
Joy Behar is Lloyd Banks. Not much substance, just a bunch of witty punchlines. Totally willing to play the second banana role at all times. Also, both seems to like the color blue. Okay, I made that last one up.
Elizabeth Hasselbeck is Young Buck. Elizabeth is the lone conservative and also the only supporting member of The View to have random pop culture fame before the show (Survivor). Young Buck is the lone southern member of G-Unit and made a name for himself as a part of Cash Money before hooking up with 50. They also both have former names. Elizabeth used to be Elizabeth Filarski and Young Buck was David Brown before obeying the well-known rule in rap that says you can never, under any circumstances, use your real name as your rap name. (Making Kanye West's successful career even more surprising. It also surprising in light of the fact that he is TOTALLY INSANE.)
Star Jones is The Game. Both got kicked out of the group and both seem to be doing better on their own, against all odds. They are also equally fond of name-dropping, wearing expensive jewelry, and getting involved in legal disputes (although Jones does it as a lawyer and the Game as a defendant). Once Tracy Morgan impersonates The Game to great comedic effect, this pairing will be bulletproof.
Every guest host is Tony Yayo. The filler person just occupying space.
Rosie O'Donnell is 50 Cent. They are both larger than life (literally and figuratively, although 50's literal largeness is of the more desirable variety), opinionated, wildly popular yet also hated by many, and, of course, they are both totally crazy. They also highjack group projects to engage in individual rants and feuds. Rosie steals huge chunks of time on The View to spout her Google Education philosophies about the war or politics or whatever comes into her brain, and she used the show as a vehicle to war with Donald Trump. 50 does the same thing on pretty much every G-Unit album. They both have redeeming qualities (Rosie is actually a very good parent, Jen tells me, while 50 has an unbelievable work ethic), have had mixed success with their pop culture endeavors, and I'm pretty sure Larry David would be friends with both of them (since various episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm tell us that he is loved by lesbians and also that fictional rapper Crazy Eye Killa - had to be based at least in part on 50 - is "his caucasian").
Barbara Walters is Eminem. Both are way past their primes and the change happened overnight. One minute they were relevant and among the best at their respective professions, the next they were total has-beens. Eminem suddenly started making farting noises in all his songs and recycling the same beat over and over, while Walters got her 19th face lift and began mumbling on the air. The View is Walters' pet project, much like G-Unit was Eminem's first major group signed to Shady Records. Rosie is making Walters a lot of money and improving ratings, but bringing great embarrassment along with it and pissing her off with philosophical differences. Likewise, 50 made Eminem loads of cash, but has embroiled him in countless annoying feuds in the process.
Joy Behar is Lloyd Banks. Not much substance, just a bunch of witty punchlines. Totally willing to play the second banana role at all times. Also, both seems to like the color blue. Okay, I made that last one up.
Elizabeth Hasselbeck is Young Buck. Elizabeth is the lone conservative and also the only supporting member of The View to have random pop culture fame before the show (Survivor). Young Buck is the lone southern member of G-Unit and made a name for himself as a part of Cash Money before hooking up with 50. They also both have former names. Elizabeth used to be Elizabeth Filarski and Young Buck was David Brown before obeying the well-known rule in rap that says you can never, under any circumstances, use your real name as your rap name. (Making Kanye West's successful career even more surprising. It also surprising in light of the fact that he is TOTALLY INSANE.)
Star Jones is The Game. Both got kicked out of the group and both seem to be doing better on their own, against all odds. They are also equally fond of name-dropping, wearing expensive jewelry, and getting involved in legal disputes (although Jones does it as a lawyer and the Game as a defendant). Once Tracy Morgan impersonates The Game to great comedic effect, this pairing will be bulletproof.
Every guest host is Tony Yayo. The filler person just occupying space.
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