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My Year in Lists: Week Thirty

2011-07-28T10:41:00.000-07:00

By Jordan

“Short songs not only reflect a state of dissatisfaction and noncomplacency; they simulate it. The band’s very name suggests vigilance.”-Michael Azerrad on The Minutemen, in Our Band Could be Your Life

“This Malkmus idiot is a complete songwriting genius.”-Gary Young, on Stephen Malkmus

Love makes me think about death. This is because I am (obviously) not currently in love. When you’re in love, love makes you think about life. It makes you think about all that you get to do in the coming years. It makes you think about marriage and kids and decades of bliss (and probably some other horse shit happy people think about too). When you are not in love, though (or at least when I’m not in love), love makes you think about death. Love reminds you of absence (the lack of a person for you to love), and from absence you’re just a hop, skip, and a logical leap from death.

When you aren’t in love, thinking about love makes you think about everything you would have to do in order to be in love again (and when I say “you,” I am of course still talking about me). You’d have to get up, go outside, meet people (probably in a loud place with weak drinks) and, worst of all, be reasonably charming. And if all of that goes well, then maybe you go out on a date, and another date and eventually get serious, and then one of you will break the other’s heart or, and this is the best case scenario, one of you will die first. And people say I’m a cynic.

Some of you may be wondering why I just spent two hundred words in a music column discussing the relationship between love and death, or at least the way that I perceive said relationship. To those of you I would say two things: first, shut up, and second, because music is rife with meditations on love, death, and on the relationship between the two. And more importantly, because those who make music inevitably experience both of these emotions, not rarely because of the music they make. This is a column about love, life, death, and the soundtrack for each of these moments in the lives of the people who made the music we will discuss this week.

The title of Michael Azerrad’s opus on the ‘80s underground scene (which I quoted from above) is taken from a lyric by The Minutemen in their song “History Lesson, Part 2.” That book (which I highly recommend to anyone interested in that particular period, or in a much more lengthy discussion of several of the bands we have touched on here, including The Minutemen, Husker Du, The Replacements, Sonic Youth, Fugazi, and Dinosaur Jr. is called Our Band Could Be Your Life, and is titled as such not just because that’s a great lyric from a band that is discussed, but because much of the ‘80s underground practiced the way they preached, turning their music into an ethical code and a lifestyle that they could embody in their day to day existences.

While many bands of the era pioneered a DIY (do-it-yourself) style of recording and touring, perhaps no band better encapsulated these ideas than The Minutemen, who called their style “jamming econo.” The group’s inception occurred when 13-year-old Mike Watt met D. Boon, who fell out of a tree in the park Watt was walking through. The two shared a passion for music from the first, and Boon already knew how to play the guitar. Watt quickly decided he would play bass, an effort complicated only by the fact that he did not know the difference between a bass and a standard guitar. After creating and playing in several short-lived bands, Watt and Boon formed the minutemen in January of 1980. The name was taken both from the nickname for the militiamen in the Revolutionary War and from a desire to satirize a right-wing reactionary group from the 1960’s who had used the name (contrary to popular belief, it had nothing to do with the brevity of their songs). The duos old friend and former band mate George Hurley came on as drummer, and the band played their first gig opening for Black Flag.

The band released their first EP, and one of Tab’s several selections by them this week, Paranoid Time in 1980, becoming only the second release by the soon to be legendary indie label SST (founded by Greg Ginn and Chuck Dukowski of Black Flag). In an effort to save as much money as possible (a central tenet of the band’s “jamming econo” philosophy), the group recorded all seven songs on the EP in one go, in the order in which they appear, with no overdubbing except for backup vocals. The opening track, “Validation” is a scant 41 seconds, a forceful torrent of sound and vocals so rapid and powerful it almost knocks your socks off. Their songs are so short, and their earliest releases so rare, that finding many of their songs on youtube is impossible (so apologies for the dearth of clips in this section).

“The Maze,” also only 40 seconds long, is a political screed from D. Boon that lasts exactly as long as it needs to in order to get its point across. “Joe McCarthy’s Ghost” opens with Watt asking, “You just sing ‘Joe McCarthy,’ you want to do that?” The band was so efficient and so meticulous about not wasting time, their discussion in the recording session is just included on the record. Paranoid Time is seven songs long, and runs only 6:31. The Minutemen knew what they wanted to say and didn’t waste any time saying it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TL34fRDhDn4

The band released their second EP, Joy, the next year. Its three songs run 3:18, which by The Minutemen’s standards means each song gets a little bit more time to breathe. “Joy” is a takedown of what many people go through to experience joy, decrying those who spend money, time, or hide behind religion to experience happiness. “Black Sheep” is a mission statement of sorts for the band, while “More Joy” ups the melodic complexity from the first track, and also ups its satire of the upper class.

http://youtu.be/PKiasFQCPHI

The same year the band released their first full album, The Punch Line, which packs eighteen songs into just 15 minutes. The only album to feature vocal from all three members of the group, with drummer George Hurley doing a lead vocal (which the band called giv(ing) a speech” in the liner notes) on “Ruins”. The title track mocks the death of General Custer during the Battle of Little Bighorn, claiming “he didn’t die with any honor, any dignity, or any valor.” The following track, “Song from El Salvador” is a frenetic instrumental reflecting D. Boon’s support of the Farabundo Marti National Liberation Front in El Salvador. As usual the band sought to be as economical as possible in the recording of their album, recording late at night (when studio time is cheapest) on used tape, recording the songs in exactly the order they appeared to cut down on editing costs, and avoiding almost any overdubs.

The same method, now a tradition for the band, was used to record 1982’s Bean Spill EP. The EP is notable as the only release by The Minutemen to feature Mike Watt on vocals in most of the songs. While he was a vocalist on every album the group released, D. Boon generally sang on more songs than Watt. “If Reagan Played Disco” is an abashedly political satire, fitting comfortably into the band’s highly opinionated wheelhouse. “Futurism Restated,” the final track on the original EP, summarizes what the band has been aiming for over the course of the EP, referencing the previous songs and tying the album together both melodically and thematically.

The band’s second album, What Makes a Man Start Fires?, released in 1983 is almost twice the length of the group’s previous album, yet still clocks in at only 26:39. The music for the album was written entirely by Mike Watt (though all three members contributed lyrics), which explains the album’s bass-centric construction. The band maintained their political subject matter, with songs like “Bob Dylan Wrote Propaganda Songs,” “Mutiny in Jonestown” and “The Only Minority” wearing their messages on their sleeves.

We will continue looking at The Minutemen next week, yet it is important to stress here how much the group loved what they were doing. They made almost no money, spent almost no money, and were always on the brink of starvation throughout their years together. The Minutemen was their life, and they used it to discuss politics and their views on life in general, as well as ensuring they maintained their integrity and lived by their personal codes throughout. And, sadly, for D. Boon The Minutemen was also his death. Boon was killed in a van accident on December 23, 1985 in Arizona near the California border. Sick with fever while on tour, Boon elected to just lay down in the back of the van. The van went off the road and Boon slid out the back, breaking his neck and dying instantly. For The Minutemen, loving how you lived and living the way you thought was right was essential. It isn’t too much of a stretch to say that Boon martyred himself for the things he loved, and (while we aren’t there quite yet) the band died with him, dissolving immediately upon his death.

Four years after the dissolution of The Minutemen, Pavement formed in Stockton, California in 1989. Originally a studio project of Stephen Malhmus and Scott Kannberg, with Gary Young on drums (Young also provided the group studio space in his home recording studio). In 1992, Pavement became a full-time band (leaving behind their studio only days and adding bassist Mark Ibold) and released their debut album, and Collin’s pick this week, Slanted and Enchanted. The opening track, “Summer Babe (Winter Version)” is a slightly remixed version of a single the band released around the same time of the album’s release. Clearly Pavement’s time in the studio paid off, as “Summer Babe” is an excellent alternative rock song, catchy and full of enough emotions to give it added depth.

“Trigger Cut/Wounded Kite at :17” is another incredibly catchy alt-rock song with a strong bass-line and a fantastic chorus. “Zurich is Stained” is a slighter, more pointed song, sparer in comparison to much of the rest of the album, but no weaker as a result. “Two States” is a classic-rock influenced Civil War anthem with a heavy bass and drums that drive the song.

Pixies

Read more My Year in Lists here

Next week on My Year in Lists:

The Minutemen Buzz or Howl Under the Influence of Heat while ensuring they drive at Double Nickles on the Dime, we look at Suede’s self titled and Nirvana are In Utero.

Breaking Bad: Season 4, Episode 2: Thirty-Eight Snub

2011-07-25T00:07:00.000-07:00

By Jordan

Everyone on Breaking Bad is adjusting to new circumstances this week, and some are doing it far better than others. Each of these characters has been going through some deep traumas over the past few months, and each of them is trying to determine what exactly is the new normal for their situation, and whether they might be able to find a way to make their circumstances a little bit better.

First, there's Hank, who got more screen time this week, which gave us the chance to see just how despondent and bitter he has become. He stays up to all hours of the night examining his rocks (and letting Marie know there are four other bedrooms if she doesn't like being kept awake). He puts on a brave, positive face for his therapist, but when left alone with Marie that faux positivism curdles into anger. Hank resents depending on Marie, and her relentlessly upbeat behavior does not make him feel any better about that. For Hank, the new normal is a state of constant impotence; he has been reduced from a fiercely independent man to someone still using a bedpan his wife has to clean out for him. For Marie, the new normal is putting a positive spin on her husband's misery, dealing with his anger, lifting his rocks and cleaning his bedpan. She seems perfectly happy to help, but Hank seems a far cry from being willing or able to graciously accept that help. Whether this will have long term effects on their marriage remains to be seen, but there may very well be a foil developing here. When Walt got sick, Skyler stayed positive and Walt grew angry, which (along with all of Walt's lies and manufacturing of methamphetamine) ultimately poisoned their marriage. The signs are similar, but I hope the outcomes will be different, and will ultimately serve to show us why Hank is a better man than Walt. Alternatively, we may be watching the dawn of Hank's own drastic changes in the face of his mortality.

Skyler's new normal is one spent neglecting her kids in the service of her criminal enterprise, one that she seems to be operating very smoothly, in spite of a few hiccups. Sure, she left Holly on the floor while searching Walt's place last week. Sure, she didn't make Walter Jr. his breakfast, instead telling him she'd laid out cereal. And sure, she ignores Holly, even while feeding her, in order to spy on the car wash. But she knows what each customer wants when they come in, has a well-reasoned offer for the owner, and deals with Walt's paranoia in stride. She has jumped in with both feet, and though the car wash owner refuses to sell to Walter White after the way that he quit, Skyler seems to already be scheming a way around that. For her, these new circumstances present new challenges, but as of yet she seems to be relishing them. She may be breaking bad in her own way, but she's experiencing a honeymoon period Walt never had. I'm sure, however, that before long the honeymoon will be over and Skyler will start to see some consequences for her actions.

For Jesse, the new normal is far more disturbing. Last week he watched Gus gut Victor (I learned his name when Walt mentioned it tonight) without blinking and had a hearty appetite at Denny's afterward. Tonight, we see that all of that was Jesse's carefully constructed front. He distracts himself with music, with drugs, and with a pathetic attempt to make his house a 24-hour party zone, both because he is likely afraid to be alone knowing that Gus is out for blood (and that he is less essential than Walt) and because he needs something, anything to distract him from his dire circumstances. Jesse took an innocent life and now lives every moment in fear that the retribution he saw Victor take for him will soon reach him. He lives every moment afraid he may die, and afraid of who he has already become to stay alive.

And then there's Walter, who spends the whole episode tonight looking for a leg up and angling for a move he can make to change his circumstances. From the stellar cold open in which Walt purchases the titular gun from a man who tries to warn him off, to the end of the episode, which sees Walter on the floor of a bar, taking a beating from Mike after he suggests Mike behave disloyally toward Gus, the whole of "Thirty-Eight Snub" seems almost perfectly constructed to disabuse Walter of the notion that he has any moves left to make or any hope of gaining control of his situation. Walter White is all about control, and for the moment at least, that control eludes him.

There's a brilliant construction to those two interactions that serves as just another example of why Breaking Bad is the best show on television right now. In the first, the gun man speaks in stylized rhetoric; he's been doing this for a while and he knows the ins and outs. He speaks in carefully guarded phrases ("If you're not a convicted felon, you might be best advised to bear your arms within the confines of the law") but conveys some simple truths: buying a gun with the serial numbers filed off is serious business, and he wants Walter to know what he's getting himself into. In the second, Mike (who continues to be, like the rest of this cast, a perfectly drawn character) attempts to be as stoic and laconic as ever. Mike is a man of few words, but he is a very wise man and he uses his words carefully, usually to try to avoid the violence he has to dole out when his advice is not followed (both to the wife abuser he spoke of in last season's "Half Measures" and to Walt tonight). "You won," he tells Walt, "You got the job. Do yourself a favor and learn to take 'yes' for an answer." But Walt doesn't heed his advice and so, with a sense of weariness, he punches Walt in the eye and delivers a few kicks to get his point across.

Yet in both of these cases, Walt uses words to convey anything but the truth. This has always been the case for him; he would rather use words to lie, to trick, to muddle, to convince, to get defensive and ultimately, to convince himself of his own righteousness. In the first, he insists that he will use the gun for defense, and repeats the phrase as if rationalizing in his mind that killing Gus is an act of self-defense. In the second, Walt knows from the start he is at a disadvantage, which always makes him come off as desperate. He tries to cajole Mike into a mutiny against Gus, but as usual Walt is trying in vain to convince someone who doesn't care about his motives. Mike especially is unwilling to take Walt's shit and seems surprised that Walt refuses to adapt to his new circumstances. Early on, Walt demands to see Gus, saying, "Because of the way we left things, I would like a chance to clear the air" and Mike swats him away, saying simply, "Walter, you're never gonna see him again." Walt thinks he can use words to make things the way he wants them to be; Mike knows he should use words only to convey the absolute truth.

Everyone in this episode is adjusting to a new normal (even Mike now has to deal with Walt's scheming and blathering seemingly on a daily basis, which means he is working way more than he appeared to be before), but as usual Walt is the most resistant to change. Walt always believes that he can turn things in his favor, that the universe works for him and that everything has to work out logically. Over the series so far, he has yet to admit that in the real world, this is not the case. Perhaps this season Walter White will finally learn that he lives, as we do, in a random and chaotic universe, a universe that does not care one iota about our motives or our logic. And perhaps that is what will finally, ultimately drive Walter White over the edge into full-fledged villainy.

Grade: A

Notes:

-"Either way, you're gonna wanna practice your draw. A lot."

-"This is the west, boss. New Mexico is not a retreat locale."

-I really don't understand Hank's crystal obsession yet. At first, I thought he was buying them for some sort of healing ritual, but that seems unlikely now. On the surface, I see the comparison being drawn between his new obsession with crystals and the new obsession Walt picked up when facing mortality, making meth crystals, but I'm not sure what the deeper meaning is for Hank yet. Keep you posted on my thoughts, though.

-Badger and Stinky Pete's drug fueled zombie debate (Left for Dead 2 vs. Resident Evil 4) was awesome. My favorite line was Pete's incredulous response to Badger's insistence that Nazi zombies are the best: "Zombies are dead, man. Who cares what their job was when they were alive?" Has Jesse been listening, that may have sounded eerily prophetic to him as he fears sliding into death (and by implication irrelevance).

-"I could so use a brain transplant right now."

-"You got some scissors? I will cut this bitch up good." Also, nice bit of continuity, with Venezia's pizzas coming uncut (last season, Walt threw one onto his roof and it stayed intact).

-"So, what's with the piece?" Nothing gets past Mike.

-Looks like the cops are interviewing Hank about the superlab next week. Can't wait.

My Year in Lists: Week Twenty Nine

2011-07-21T20:22:00.000-07:00

By Jordan

“I want my career to be The Greatest Show on Earth.”-Michael Jackson

“Jackson’s lie was that Thriller wasn’t a fluke of history, that he really was capable of not only making another album that would go on to sell 29 million copies in the U.S. and tens of millions more overseas, but that he could actually will it to happen. When Bad failed to outdo Thriller, Jackson only amped up the bluster, insisting that the media refer to him by the self-applied moniker ‘The King of Pop’ when promoting the release of 1991’s Dangerous.”-Steve Hyden

“Hippies couldn’t understand jealousy because they believed in universal love; punks can’t understand it because they believe sex is a doomed reflex of existentially discrete monads […] How often do we get a great love album and a great punk album in the same package?”-Robert Christgau, in his A+ review for Wild Gift

My relationship with Michael Jackson is, like most people’s who actually put thought into it, complicated. This is not because of any of the crimes Jackson was accused of; I am of the opinion that Jackson never molested any children, and was instead trying rather desperately to live out the childhood fame robbed him of in ways that can only be described as creepy. And this is not because I see Jackson through rose-tinted glasses since his death in 2009. In fact, quite the contrary.

This is because I think Michael Jackson is overrated (hold off on slamming your laptop shut for a minute and let me qualify this). I think Michael Jackson is one of the greatest dancers in human history, no hyperbole intended, and I think he nearly single handedly revolutionized the music video, showing the potential of the form and creating some of its greatest achievements over the course of his career. That being said, however, I have absolutely no idea how Michael Jackson managed to get people to seriously call him “The King of Pop” (and make no mistake, that was his idea). Jackson was a great dancer, made great music videos, and was fantastic at selling himself. All of this is worth noting and worthy of praise. Yet when I think of great Michael Jackson songs, I don’t come up with that many (and if you exclude Thriller from the proceedings and focus only on his solo career, the great songs are even tougher to find).

After he died, people seemed to decide that Michael Jackson was a music legend. I heard many cultural commentators and many friends likening him to The Beatles and Elvis Presley, a claim that I find completely ridiculous. Michael Jackson was a pop culture phenomenon, to be sure, and our nation was obsessed with him culturally long after our obsession with him musically died down. But that’s the important thing to remember, I think: Our musical obsession with Michael Jackson was relatively short-lived, and during his heyday, he was mostly struggling (and in my view, failing) to live up to the glory that was his first #1 album: Thriller. Jackson seemed to think, really, truly think that he had another Thriller in him, and it seems like America believed him. Every album he released after Thriller (1987’s Bad, 1991’s Dangerous, 1995’s HIStory: Past, Present, and Future, Book One and 2001’s Invincible) hit number one, but each seemed to have diminishing returns. Thriller is his undisputed masterpiece, and an album that I think is worth mention in the annals of great music (especially in the annals of great ‘80s pop music). Bad is not as good as Thriller, but it still has some pretty high peaks and some undeniably solid songs (for a great consideration of Bad as an album and of Jackson’s place in our culture and struggle to replicate Thriller, check out Steve Hyden’s column on the album here). Then there’s Collin’s pick this week, Dangerous. There are no two ways around it, I’m afraid. Dangerous isn’t Thriller, and it isn’t even Bad. It’s just bad.

At 14 songs and 77 minutes long, Dangerous may actually be worse than bad; its painful and borderline torturous at some points. The opening track, “Jam” is fine, which by the standards the rest of the album sets is pretty good. It’s a pale imitation of earlier Jackson, but it has a strong beat and even feels like Jackson is stretching himself musically in interesting ways, incorporating hard funk, dance, and a rap bridge performed by Heavy D. It may not be a great Michael Jackson song, but at least it isn’t a terrible one. The same can’t be said of “Heal the World,” an agonizing, nearly seven minute long plea to make the world a better place that is at once painfully obvious, gratingly sentimental, and at least a little bit emotionally manipulative. I have no doubt that Jackson meant well when he wrote this song, but “Heal the World” surpasses even the most annoying U2 songs in its political pandering, and it doesn’t even have The Edge on guitar to make up for it. I might buy the message of the song (I am after all in favor of making the world a better place), but that doesn’t mean I ever want to listen to it again. And I mean ever.

“Black or White” begins with a spoken piece by Macaulay Culkin and George Wendt, before becoming a pandering and fairly reductive anti-racism anthem. Its unfortunate that Jackson’s intended message is mostly obscured by the fact that its kind of impossible not to treat the song’s title as a punch line about Jackson’s physical transformation, but I don’t feel too guilty, because “Black or White” was bound to be some sort of punch line regardless. Perhaps the best thing about “Black or White” is the presence of Jackson’s now signature “hee-hee,” a sonic sound effect that has become basically synonymous with his name (thanks in no small part to South Park), though that is also present in “Who Is It,” a song whose only real crime is being almost seven minutes long when less than half the runtime would have sufficed.

“Give In to Me,” which features Slash on guitar, is easily the best song on the album, and one of the few that, in spite of a relatively long runtime, doesn’t feel needlessly bloated by sonic excess. The title track, which was never released as a single due to the recent allegations against Jackson (And thus, the idea that he might not want to be associated with the word “Dangerous” for a bit) is also a decent song, but again, at 7 minutes long, the song feels needlessly drawn out. It’s almost as if Jackson wanted Dangerous to feel epic so badly that he just made every song on it long as if that would do the trick (the shortest track on the album, “Gone Too Soon,” is 3:24, which isn’t too long by itself, but taken in context makes this an album of extremely overlong songs). Michael Jackson has taken on legendary status, and in some ways, that status is deserved. Musically, however, I maintain that Jackson is overrated, and that Dangerous is less sonically risky than it is hazardous to your health.

Fourteen years before Dangerous was released, and a million musical genres away, bassist and singer John Doe (born John Nommensen Duchac) and guitarist Billy Zoom (born Tyson Kindell) decided to form a punk rock band. Doe brought his girlfriend, poet Exene Cervenka (born Christine Cervenka) to practices, and she soon joined up as another vocalist. When drummer DJ Bonebrake joined the group, the original lineup was complete. They decided to call themselves X, and the music they made changed the face of not just the LA punk scene, but of rock and roll in general.

Much like The Buzzcocks and The Slits, X made music during the punk rock era, but refused to disregard the past or ignore the future like most of their punk counterparts. There’s no denying that X has a punk rock sound, especially in their vocals, but unlike other punk bands at the time, X knew how to play their instruments, and used their inherent musical abilities to create melodically complex punk. Basically, while most of punk rock was out burning down the house rock and roll had built and rebelling against a genre they felt was dead, X was pulling out the fire extinguisher and refusing to give up hope. I don’t think it’s too bold to say that X was making the best rock and roll music of the punk rock era.

X released their debut album, and Tab’s pick this week, Los Angeles in 1980. The opening track, “Your Phone’s Off The Hook, But You’re Not” opens with such a strongly constructed guitar riff it had to shock anyone who had been living on a diet of punk rock for the past several years. Similarly, “Johnny Hit and Run Pauline” opens up with a riff that would feel right at home in the work of Chuck Berry or The Beach Boys, and while the lyrics that follow are fairly standard punk rock fare (the song details a hit and run accident), the guitar throughout has a very ‘50s rockabilly edge.

The band follows up that song with a cover of The Doors “Soul Kitchen,” freely displaying their strong rock and roll influences (ex-Doors keyboard player Ray Manzarek produced the album). The title track is another rousing rock and roll number that focuses on melody without eschewing the speed of punk rock.

The following year, X released their second album, Wild Gift. The opening track, “The Once Over Twice” features a rocking guitar riff and a full on solo, as well as dealing with the idea of love, all rarities in punk rock. “We’re Desperate” is maybe the most straightforward punk rock song at the album, a slight, speedy tour de force about frustration.

“Adult Books,” with its crooning vocals and strummed guitar, feels like a song you might have heard at a sock hop back in the ‘50s, and I mean that in the best way possible. Something tells me, though, that the subject matter of the song (take a guess based on the title) wouldn’t have flown in the repressive ‘50s, but as it stands, it’s a near perfect piece of retro rock and roll. “In This House That I Call Home” meanwhile seems to fuse punk and pop so fluidly it almost makes you forget how divergent the two genres generally are. While most punk rock bands were creating an alternative to rock and roll, a genre many of them considered dead, X was proving that rock music still had vitality and reviving the genre within a punk rock context.

The year 1993 was big for Chicago. Over the last several years, Seattle had been the hotspot for the alternative rock movement due to the grunge explosion, but in 1993, Chicago struck back, producing Liz Phair’s Exile in Guyville, Urge Overkill’s Saturation and Ashley’s pick this week, The Smashing Pumpkins’ second album Siamese Dream, which became a landmark record both in the band’s career and in the alternative rock movement.

Over the course of the ‘80s, alternative rock had been just that: an alternative to mainstream music. Yet Nirvana had changed all that, making “alternative rock” the best selling genre of the early ‘90s. This allowed bands that otherwise would have been ghettoized as alternative to seek out mass audiences, but it also created a conflict for these bands. Their predecessors in the alternative movement had seen signing to major labels, engaging with the record industry’s hype machine and aiming for a mass audience as “selling out,” and while that view was clearly becoming outdated, it was still clung to by much of the music-savvy audience these bands hoped to reach. Yet Smashing Pumpkins didn’t really care if they were seen as selling out; in fact, some might say they liked it that way.

That Billy Corgan is an arrogant, self-obsessed asshole isn’t just a fact, it’s part of the Smashing Pumpkins mythos. Corgan also openly sold himself as a tortured genius, which made him come off as even more arrogant, and angered detractors even further because it was a little hard to argue with. Corgan not only wrote all of the songs on Siamese Dream and served as the band’s vocalist, he also handled virtually all of the guitar and bass work on the band’s early albums, quite the achievement considering that some of the songs on the album have more than 50 different guitar tracks. The album’s opening track “Cherub Rock” deals with Corgan’s perceptions of the alternative rock community, from which he declares his independence early and often. If, as Corgan often claims, he was always scorned by the “cool” kids when he was younger, this is his full throated rejection of everything those kids ever stood for.

The band’s first big hit, “Today” is a great grunge rock song about a day in which Corgan contemplated suicide while experiencing writer’s block during the writing of Siamese Dream. “Today” smartly pairs its dark lyrics with a relatively upbeat melody that still fits into the standard quiet verse/loud chorus template for grunge rock. Corgan calls “Disarm” the most personally important song on the album, and he sings it like he means it. Some have interpreted the song as a pro-life screed, but Corgan insists that it is about his shaky relationship with his parents while growing up. The song is a tour de force of pain, overflowing with emotion and a swelling melody. Again, the song fits the basic grunge template but manages to transcend it through melodic complexity and sheer force of emotion. “Soma” meanwhile displays Corgan’s ambition, including well over 40 different guitar tracks over the course of its nearly seven minute runtime.

The Smashing Pumpkins would eventually be felled by the backlash against grunge at the end of the ‘90s, yet Corgan keeps some version of the band afloat to this day (though he is, at the moment, the only original member still playing with the band) through sheer force of will. Corgan’s bitterness, willingness to hold a grudge seemingly eternally, and arrogant rants alienate most people these days, but for a while in the early ‘90s, he was the “tortured genius” at the front of The Smashing Pumpkins, one of the greatest bands of the grunge era.

I may never agree that Michael Jackson deserves his legacy as “The King of Pop,” or that Dangerous is anything other than a ramshackle carcass of an album reeking of desperation and a sad, failed attempt at the epic, but I can see why some people might want to argue for his musical significance (mostly it seems like this is because “The King of Music Videos” doesn’t sound as cool and “Lord of the Dance” is already taken). My relationship with X is much less complicated, though; they seem to me to be the one band keeping rock and roll truly alive throughout the punk era, and combining rock and roll with punk so fluidly that they gave the faltering genre some much needed credibility in a time where most were celebrating its demise. And while I can’t really get past my view of Billy Corgan as a self-centered, vengeful bastard, I can’t help but admit that The Smashing Pumpkins were pretty great in their day, and that Siamese Dream is a solid album.

Ultimately, I think what we can draw from this is that reputation very often has little to do with quality. When Michael Jackson released Dangerous, he was considered a great pop performer (maybe even the best), yet the album is not very good. Soon after its release, he was accused of child molestation, yet HIStory still opened at #1 (and still wasn’t very good). X had pretty much no reputation when they started making music, but they quickly became known as one of the greatest LA punk bands, in spite of a pretty far rift between a lot of their music and what we would traditionally consider punk rock. And everyone hated Billy Corgan even before he formed The Smashing Pumpkins, but that didn’t stop a whole lot of them from buying, and loving, several of his “masterworks.” Whether we love a musician, hate them, or have no idea who they are should have no effect on how we judge their music. In an ideal world, music should be judged absent any preconceived notions about the people behind it. We certainly don’t live in that world yet, and my guess is we won’t anytime soon. But it’s a nice thought anyway.

Read more My Year in Lists here

Next week on My Year in Lists:

We begin a two week look at Minutemen, examining Paranoid Time, Joy, Bean Spill EP, The Punchline and What Makes a Man Start Fires?, analyze Pavement’s Slanted & Enchanted and take a look at The Breeders Last Splash.

Review: Breaking Bad, Season 4, Episode 1: Box Cutter

2011-07-17T23:17:00.000-07:00

By Jordan

Pretty much since its premiere, I have generally considered Breaking Bad to be one of the best shows on television. Ever since its stunning pilot, it has shown itself to be beautifully shot, almost perfectly executed, and incredibly intelligent television. The only reason we have never previously covered the show on this site is because during seasons one and two I was always a bit behind and playing catch up, and during season three I was just too busy to add another show to my schedule, what with real life constantly getting in my way. For its first two seasons, Breaking Bad lived (in my mind at least) in the shadow of Mad Men and I generally considered it to be the second greatest drama on television. Season three changed that. Last year, Breaking Bad was the best show on television, overtaking Mad Men and turning out one of the strongest seasons of television I have ever seen. I was very upset, therefore, when AMC delayed the season four premiere from March to July; I was, of course, extremely excited for tonight's premiere. And I am happy to report that, for the most part, it didn't disappoint.

There are a few examples I want to point out before delving into the episode as a whole, that indicate to me the level that this show is operating at (and it's quite high). The first is the fact that the titular box cutter appears twice: originally as Gale uses it to open the packaging on the equipment for the shiny new meth lab, and later when that lab is sullied as Gus murders his right hand man in an effort to intimidate Walt and Jesse (and, also, because he was too obvious at the scene of Gale's death). The second is the Large sticker on Walt's new shirt toward the end of the episode: after disposing of a body, Walt is, in spite of his increasing slip into immorality, shocked enough that he forgets to remove it, in contrast to his sharp attention to detail. Skyler notices, though, and tears it off, commenting on the shirt ("Kenny Rogers, huh?") but not bothering to ask a question she doesn't want to know the answer to. She is changing, and quickly at that.

The first three seasons of Breaking Bad opened with a shocking, almost surreal opening sequences. Season one gave us two dead guys in a Winnebago and a half naked Walt preparing to commit suicide before getting caught. Season two gave us a burned, eyeless Teddy bear floating in a swimming pool. Season three gave us two unknown men joining a mass of people crawling towards a shrine to murder. This year, the show changed things up a bit, giving us a flashback to Gale as he prepares to take charge of the new lab. At this point in our journey, the show doesn't need to open a season with a bang; we know the shocks are coming, and those of us who are caught up know exactly how tragic it is to see the optimistic Gale ("I doff my proverbial cap to you sir") just months before his tragic death. And just like the opening of every other season, we are given a brief view into the consequences of Walt's actions. This may be the most subtle yet, but each opening has given us a clear view of how Walt's degradation affects those around him. In the first season, we saw murders that were directly his fault, but committed out of desperation. In season two we got a glimpse of the effects of Walt's actions, which lead to the plane crash that resulted in that bear landing in his pool. In season three, we saw that the death of Tuco would not be forgotten that easily. And this year, we see that Walt's moral degradation has cost an inherently kind and gentle man his life.

Not a lot happens in "Box Cutter," but then not a lot has to. We know the score going into this episode, and the show lays it out pretty much perfectly. Walt and Jesse are about an inch from being murdered, as Gus knows he needs them now, but clearly won't be satisfied with the current arrangement for long (and his near-wordless scene in the lab, in which he silently enters, disrobes, murders his right hand man, dresses himself again and exits with only a single line of dialogue, is phenomenal and an excellent display of the show's always superb cinematography and sense of pacing). Saul knows he can't trust Mike and fears for his own life enough to have hired a bodyguard (and when it looks like Walt's plan might have failed, Saul cynically turns to the bodyguard and asks, "You got a passport, right?") and searched his office for bugs. Skyler is knee deep in Walt's business, both because Hank's medical bills are rising and because she seems more and more invested in his livelihood. Hank is still angry and depressed, though he is able to walk at least 16 feet given twenty minutes. Marie is still optimistic and trying to pep Hank up. And Gus is still smart enough to know when he's been out played, but still prideful enough that he is not willing to easily admit defeat.

"Box Cutter" sets up a lot of the conflicts in this season and does it so fluidly, and with so much style that it is often a marvel to watch. We inherently understand that a game of cat and mouse between Gus and Walt is prepped to ensue. We see many times how characters can seal their own fates (Gale suggests the hiring of Walt, Gus' right hand man enters the apartment out of his own shock and anger, Skyler moves Walt's car indicating her own complicity in his crimes). We understand the importance of these characters actions, and how the way they act will always trump what they say (Gus' civility hides his monstrous evil, Walt's attempts, as per usual, to talk himself out of a situation are silenced by Gus' murder). We see the fear that these characters live in (Saul's paranoia, Skyler moving the car, Walt's desperation to stay alive). And, perhaps most significantly, we watch Walter White become encased in a new prison. When he "broke bad" in season one, his decision to start cooking meth was really about freedom, whether he claimed it was a necessity or not. Walt started cooking to escape his shitty job (s, if you count his evening work at the car wash), his claustrophobic family life and his generally unsatisfying existence. Yet now he finds himself imprisoned by Gus, forced to work in the lab that once was his ticket to wealth and total freedom. I imagine the bulk of this season will focus on Walt's attempts to get his freedom back, and the huge moral costs that freedom will come by. "Box Cutter" is not the best episode of Breaking Bad I've ever seen, and it's certainly a step below the show's full potential, but it does a lot of heavy lifting, both thematically and in terms of plot. It re-acclimates us to the lives of these characters and hints at the struggles that will likely form the center of this season. And that means that while it may not be an instant classic, it is a damn fine season premiere.

Grade: A-

Notes:

-"I don't consider him a professional." "If he's not, I don't know what that makes me."

-"He carpools? He carpools to work at a meth lab."

-"If you and he and everyone in America took a vote and changed the meaning of the entire English language, yeah, I guess I broke new ground."

-"You make it Gale vs. me or Gale vs. Jesse, Gale loses every time."

-"What did you expect me to do, just simply roll over and let you murder us?"

-"Well? Get back to work." Gus is such a fucking bad ass.

"We're all on the same page." "And what page is that?" "The one that says, 'If I can't kill you, you'll sure as shit wish you were dead." Sounds like a mission statement for the season, if you ask me. And if that's the case, I couldn't be more excited.

My Year in Lists: Week Twenty Eight

2011-07-15T14:32:00.000-07:00

Week Twenty-Eight:

By Jordan

“Here Lies Darby Crash.”-Suicide note written on a wall by Crash, unfinished.

“Hey, hey, rock and roll is here to stay, its better to burn out than to fade away.”-Neil Young, “Out of the Blue”

“The Joshua Tree made U2 into international rock stars and established both a standard they would always have to live up to and an image they would forever try to live down.”-Bill Flanagan

Punk rock was never built to last. Created by a bunch of angry, depressive, sincerely fucked up teenagers as a desperate reaction to the mainstream music they loathed, perhaps it was never meant to. Many punk rock bands were populated with violent, drunk, drug addled malcontents who needed to vent their emotions, whether they could play an instrument or not, and the “punk lifestyle” is a resolutely unhealthy, short-lived one. To live up to the suspect ideals they set for themselves (and I’m speaking here of the more self-destructive punks, like Sid Vicious and Darby Crash, who we’ll get to in a moment), they were basically required to live fast and die young. For many of them became legends partially (if not mostly) because they took the advice Neil Young handed out to them and burned out rather than fading away.

I’ve spoken several times in this space about how relatively short-lived punk rock’s Golden Age was and yet how vastly influential it managed to be. I think there are a few reasons for this. First off, and most obviously, punk rock stars were killing themselves or dying faster than new punk rock bands were forming virtually from the start; that’s a good way to guarantee the end of a musical movement right there. But punk rock suicides seem to me to be less a cause than a symptom of why punk rock was never going to become a long-lasting musical movement: very few punk rockers wanted it to be.

This again is for a few reasons. First off, when you’re young (and many of the founders of punk bands were very young), the idea of legacy is a distant one, and it can be hard to think as far away as tomorrow, much less years or decades into the future. Few of the early punk bands formed with the intention to be powerhouses for decades to come (like, say U2, who we’ll return to in a moment); most of them wanted to make music they would want to listen to and didn’t put much more thought into the formation of their bands (that isn’t to say they should have, that’s just the way it was). Second of all, punk burned out because it effectively got what it wanted pretty quickly. One of the most important reasons for the creation of punk rock as a genre (if not the single most important one) was to create an alternative to music that was just not meeting the quality or style standards of a lot of late-‘70s youth. By that definition, punk only needed to exist to make sure there was good music again. So while bands like Sex Pistols and The Germs were destroying themselves, post-punk outfits like Joy Division, DEVO, Gang of Four, Talking Heads and Wire were filling the void that punk rock had originally been created to plug (and if post-punk wasn’t your cup of tea, you always had hardcore with bands like Black Flag, The Minutemen, and Husker Du or industrial bands like Throbbing Gristle and Coil to keep you sonically satisfied).

The Germs formed in 1977, when Jan Paul Beahm and George Ruthenberg got kicked out of University High for antisocial behavior (specifically, they were alleged to have been using mind control techniques on fellow students). Beahm, who was then going by Bobby Pyn and would soon take on the name Darby Crash, became the vocalist and Ruthenberg, who adopted the name Pat Smear, became guitarist. Before their first live show, the band added Teresa Ryan (who went by Lorna Doom) on bass. By 1980, Darby Crash was dead, and The Germs were over. While together, they released one album, entitled (GI), and a few EPs. Nearly all of their recorded music was later collected in Tab’s pick this week, (MIA): The Complete Anthology.

The 30 songs on the anthology span the length of the band’s brief career and display a supremely confident punk band. “Forming,” the opening track, was released as a single in July of 1977 and is considered the first true Los Angeles punk record. Featuring the band’s recently added drummer Becky Barton (who went by Donna Rhia) and thus an all-female rhythm section, which earned them much respect in the early LA punk scene. “Forming” was the first song Crash wrote for the band, and is a perfect example of an early punk song by a band that’s quickly finding its feet.

Soon after the recording of the song, Donna Rhia left as drummer and was replaced by Don Bolles. Like everything about the band, their moment as feminist punk icons was brief. “Lexicon Devil” is an infectious punk anthem from a band who is clearly comfortable in their own skin. “What We Do Is Secret” (which would eventually become the title of a biopic about Crash and The Germs in 2008), is 44 seconds of pure punk energy, with such velocity and power its hard not to get a little caught up in the rush.

“Shut Down (Annihilation Man)” is an almost 10 minute punk epic, brimming with rage and guttural anger, a tour de force performance both musically and in Crash’s anguished vocals. The bands cover of Chuck Berry’s “Round and Round” is a strange departure for them. While The Buzzcocks and The Slits were both punk bands that were more than willing to incorporate their influences and other musical stylings into their sound, The Germs seem otherwise content to ignore most of what came before in an effort to form their own sound. Nevertheless, “Round and Round” is a solid effort by the band, remaking Berry’s classic so fully that it loses almost all association with the original.

The Germs lived briefly (until their reunion a few years back with Shane West, who played Darby Crash in What We Do Is Secret) and burned out almost before they had even started. In that way, they may be the quintessential punk rock band, violently antisocial, none too musically talented (in fact, at their first show they spent an hour setting up and only “played” for two minutes, most of which was spent by Darby spreading peanut butter on the faces of everyone in the band), and with a radically self destructive member who killed himself overdosing on heroin at the tender age of 22 (surviving his similarly self destructive punk counterpart Sid Vicious by a year, though rumors have it his suicide may have been influenced by Vicious’). Fittingly, news of Crash’s suicide was overshadowed; the day after he died on December 7, 1980 John Lennon was assassinated. The mainstream world had overlooked Darby Crash for the last time, but punk rock, and all of the music that sprung from its fertile roots, will never forget his formative influence on the LA punk scene.

As I mentioned earlier, in opposition to most punk bands, U2 seems to have always intended to be a rock band until they all die or Bono is dragged, screaming from our collective musical consciousness (which seems unlikely to happen since the band has been making shitty music for at least a decade now and are still powerhouses virtually beyond compare). When the band set out to record The Joshua Tree, their fifth album and Collin’s pick this week, they chose to use America as its central theme, allowing them to explore their love-hate relationship with the U.S. and to return again to the well of socially and politically conscious lyrics the band has been drinking from almost since its inception. I know that I tend to mock U2 whenever I bring them up, and I do tend to think that their politicization of rock and roll and self-satisfied, self-serious attitudes are ripe for mockery, but let’s not mince words here: The Joshua Tree is a great rock and roll record, the beginning of a golden era for the band, and in my opinion, the record that took them from being “those really political Irish rock and rollers” to being the biggest rock and roll band in the world for a time. It’s the album that took U2 from an ‘80s rock band to the ‘80s rock band.

The opening track, “Where the Streets Have No Name” was written by Bono as a response to the (classically ‘80s) notion that it was possible to tell a person’s religion and income based on the street on which they lived, a notion particularly forwarded in Belfast. The song began as a demo by The Edge, who feared that the album, nearing completion, was lacking “the ultimate U2 live song” and wanted to create a guitar song that would knock people over. Though I’ve never seen U2 live, I would have to say he succeeded in creating a “classic U2 song,” the perfect amount of political rock song, rousing anthem, and emotional musical journey. The band had such trouble recording the complex track that at one point producer Brian Eno was prepared to stage an accident and erase the master tape of the track so the band could just start fresh. All of that hard work paid off, though. “Where the Streets Have No Name” is a phenomenal rock song, powerful, emotional, singable and forceful.

“I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” deals with another quintessential U2 theme: spirituality and a religious search for Truth. The song is a pretty standard rock ballad, which isn’t to say it’s obvious or unoriginal, just that it fits (and arguably transcends) that rock template. Another of the band’s most enduring songs, “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” captures the seeker in Bono’s soul, a side to the singer that is far more appealing than the heavy-handed political activist he can often come across as in other music (and, obviously, in almost everything he ever says in real life). The man who admits he doesn’t know the answers is always more appealing than one who thinks he knows everything, and to an extent that holds true when it comes to U2 songs.

Easily one of my favorite U2 songs (and also one of their most popular and well acclaimed, because of course I have excellent taste), “With or Without You” became the band’s first #1 hit in America and Canada. The song is about the tension that Bono claims “defines” his life, the tension between his wanderlust and participation in a touring rock band and his attempts at married life and domesticity. Powerful, emotional, and romantic without ever losing its rock and roll feel to overly sentimental melodies, the song is one of the band’s strongest efforts.

The Joshua Tree remains the band’s best selling album, and is one of the greatest rock albums of the modern age. It is the album that made the band what they are today, and also the album they have spent most of their career since trying to distance themselves from, top, or recreate, depending on the era. The album was the band’s creative height, a modern masterpiece of rock and roll that toned down the more pretentious and annoying aspects of the band’s personality for long enough to turn in a great album (mostly) unburdened by their self-serious political opinions.

When Liz Phair released her debut album, and Ashley’s pick this week, Exile in Guyville, the alternative rock scene was not exactly flooded with powerful women (some would argue that’s still pretty much true today). Upon its release, Phair claimed that the album was a song-by-song response to The Rolling Stones’ Exile on Main Street, a claim I find somewhat dubious but also very interesting, which is arguably the point. With her clever (and cleverly profane) lyrics, her catchy melodies and bold assertions that her album was an attempt to take on The Stones, there was almost no way Phair wouldn’t get noticed by the music press and, by extension, the public at large. This isn’t to suggest that Liz Phair is calculating (or at least not anymore calculating than anyone in the music business looking for success), but that she is a little bit brilliant. Few debut albums are as widely acclaimed as Exile in Guyville, an album that is still discussed today as a landmark and one that Phair has spent most of her career trying to top.

The opening track, “6’1” (which, for those playing along at home, should according to Phair correspond to “Rocks Off” from Exile on Main Street) is a powerful kiss off to an ex, about the singer’s feeling that she is taller after being empowered by regaining her freedom. “Dance of the Seven Veils” (an apparent response to “Casino Boogie”) is an incredibly catchy and clever song that proves Phairs skills as both a songwriter and a lyricist.

“Fuck and Run” (corresponding to “Happy”) is a delightful song about Phair’s regrets after a one night stand and desire to find real, lasting love. Again, the song is catchy and clever in equal measures, but also carries a meaning that is completely relatable. “Flower” (corresponding to “Let it Loose”) is recorded with just Phair and her guitar, yet uses distortion to sound somewhat like a wind instrument. The song first appeared on Phair’s Girly Sound demo tapes and has a lo-fi sound that sets it apart from the more traditional pop-rock of the rest of the album.

Exile in Guyville is a very solid record, all the more impressive for being a debut album. Though Phair has struggled for her entire career to top the album (much like U2 has fought the legacy of The Joshua Tree), she has also been able to leverage its success to remain an ever present force in the nearly two decades since its release.

The Germs may never have intended to be around for very long (and they were right in those intentions), but U2 and Liz Phair both seemed to know early on that they wanted to be musical forces for quite some time, and each did the necessary leg work to create enduring albums that catapulted them into the stratosphere. The Germs were incredibly influential to the LA punk scene, which may make their influence more of an academic footnote at this point, yet they managed to craft a style that would transcend their small body of work. U2 managed to take their politically conscious rock up to the next level, creating memorable and enduring rock and roll about a decade after that seemed possible. And Liz Phair managed to get noticed in an industry that is always inclined to ignore, and managed to assure herself a place in musical history through smart lyrics, catchy melodies, and sheer force of will. Each of these bands, whether they intended to last or not, has formed an indelible mark on musical history. Oh, and they made good albums in the process too.

Read more My Year in Lists here

Next week on My Year in Lists:

We follow X to Los Angeles to pick up a Wild Gift, discover that Michael Jackson is Dangerous, and follow the Smashing Pumpkins into a Siamese Dream.

Want to keep tabs on all of our updates? follow us on twitter @reviewtobenamed (follow us here).

My Year in Lists: Week Twenty Seven

2011-07-07T18:03:00.000-07:00

By Jordan

“Closer is even more austere, more claustrophobic, more inventive, more beautiful, and more haunting than its predecessor. It’s also Joy Division’s start-to-finish masterpiece, a flawless encapsulation of everything the group sought to achieve.”-Pitchfork media.

“We wanted to be the Dynamic Two, the Treacherous Two—when we heard that shit, we was like, ‘We’re gonna be ruined!”-DMC, on hearing the proposal of the name Run-DMC

“The world that we’d been involved in had disappeared, the world of Husker Du and The Replacements, all that had gone […] We were just in a different place, and that worked itself out musically and lyrically.”-Peter Buck

James Dean appeared in seven movies, but you’ve only heard of three (his first four roles were as extras). He died at 24 years old and mostly because of that has become permanently engrained in our cultural consciousness. A lot of people will tell you that Dean wasn’t a very good actor, and that he didn’t even make very good movies, but that was never the point of James Dean. He lived fast and died young and will forever embody 1950’s youth culture as a result. His fame has little to do with what he actually did; James Dean is famous because of what he meant.

My point is this: fame, real lasting fame (not the 15 minutes in the spotlight we afford to Disney channel kids and heiresses because watching the fallout entertains us) is a complicated beast. Clearly it isn’t tied to longevity. Many who have attained eternal fame have relatively small bodies of work, or were only around for a very short amount of time. And many people who have been around for decades, turning out good work all the while, have never and likely will never attain the sort of fame that others have handed to them for little work. So neither, then, is fame tied to output.

For the moment, then, I will forward the theory that fame is tied not to longevity or to output but to influence. James Dean made three movies, but he influenced ideas about teen angst and youth culture forever. Sid Vicious (who died at a scant 21) could barely play bass, but he will always represent the violent ideals of English punk (as well as a certain form of completely, desperately self destructive romance for those who are into that sort of thing). And Ian Curtis, who died at 23, was the front man of Joy Division for just two albums, an EP and a few singles, yet in that short time he solidified the post-punk movement and laid forth a perfect example of what somber, depressive introspection would look like for the rest of time (Elliott Smith, who we will look at later this year, is a clear example of the influence Curtis has had on music by and for the depressed).

Closer, Joy Division’s final album and Tab’s pick this week, was released just two months after Curtis’ suicide and features a sound that is simultaneously more melodically complex and more somber than the band’s previous efforts. The album also includes a larger use of synthesizers and studio effects, both of which would become central to the New Wave movement that was formed largely out of the ashes of Joy Division.

It’s impossible not to listen to Closer and think that much of it sounds downright funereal. I have no evidence that Curtis knew he was living his last days during the writing and recording of the album, but it certainly sounds like the sort of album he would have created while on his way out the door. The opening track “Atrocity Exhibition” shares its name with a “condensed novel” by J.G. Ballard, though most of the song was written before Curtis had read the novel. The song feels as if Curtis is leading us forward, down the rabbit hole into his headspace. “Isolation,” which is a quintessential Joy Division song-title, is built around an industrial beat by Stephen Morris, accompanied by a high pitch keyboard line by Bernard Sumner and becomes sort of a clarion call by Curtis towards seclusion and loneliness, a love song to isolation itself in many ways, saying as the song ends, “This is my one lucky prize.”

“Heart and Soul” features some of Curtis’ best, most insightful lyrics (one of which I used to open last week’s column. Technically cheating, sure, but it seemed like a fitting remark for a halfway point), and is also one of the few Joy Division songs on which he played guitar. He also displays a greater vocal range than usual throughout the song, beginning each verse in a higher octave and slowly lowering to his standard baritone by the end of each verse. “The Eternal” is a slow, ponderous and deeply moving song about the passage of time and mortality, one of the many instances throughout Closer where Curtis’ upcoming suicide seems obvious, almost palpable, if still impossible to avoid.

Closer is nothing short of a masterpiece, an album so fantastic it is a tragedy that it was destined to be their last, but also an album so rich, detailed, accomplished and conclusive that it almost seems like it was intended to be Joy Division’s final bow. Monumentally influential to New Wave and to roughly all of alternative music that followed, Joy Division are titans of music history, a band who shone too briefly and too brightly to be contained, but one it is a pleasure (and even an honor) to experience at all.

Joseph Simmons, Darryl McDaniels and Jason Mizell grew up in Queens, hitting their formative years just as hip hop was emerging as a movement. Simmons’ older brother Russell, a hip hop promoter, recruited him to DJ for rapper Kurtis Blow, who Russell managed. Soon, Simmons began performing as “DJ Run, Son of Kurtis Blow,” trading rhymes with Blow and beat boxing during shows. He would often come home and play tapes of his shows for McDaniels, who soon began DJ-ing, but refused to rap in public due to crippling stage fright. He quickly began writing fantastic rhymes and calling himself “Easy D.” After overcoming his stage fright, McDaniels and Simmons would hang around Two-Fifths Park in the fall of 1980, hoping to rap for the locl DJS who performed and competed in the area. The most popular performer in the area at the time was Mizell, who performed as “Jazzy Jase.”

Run released his first single, “Street Kid” by himself, as his brother didn’t like McDaniels rapping style. But after the two started college in 1982, they finally convinced Russell to let them record as a duo, and recruited Mizell, who was now going by Jam-Master Jay, to be their official DJ. IN 1983, Russell agreed to help them record a new single and land a record deal, but only if McDaniels would change his stage name to DMC and the group would market itself as Run-DMC.

The group released their third album, Raising Hell, their breakout hit and Collin’s pick this week, in 1986. It is difficult for me to accurately place Run-DMC in a hip-hop context; while just last week I was questioning my level of music expertise, I can easily admit that when it comes to hip hop, I’m a novice (in fact, there has been talk already of following up My Year in Lists, provided I survive this year, with a similar feature that would allow me to track the development of hip hop, country, and classical music, three genres that received little attention in this feature. Feel free to comment on your interest level). Yet it is not difficult to say that Raising Hell is one of the first great hip hop albums, combining the burgeoning genre with rock influences to create an early example of hip hop that could also be marketed to the masses. Basically, as best I can make out, Raising Hell was a bit of a gateway drug to the world of hip hop.

Perhaps the group’s most famous song (or at least the one I knew best prior to listening to this album. Again, I’m a hip hop novice), “It’s Tricky” is an amazingly catchy and rocking song that also centers on hip hop stylings. The music video for the song features Penn and Teller, which can be seen as another attempt by the group to reach out to the mainstream and introduce (and if possible, indoctrinate) them to the world of hip hop. “My Adidas” is a song that is brilliant in its simplicity, showing the vast potential for hip hop to be a genre that could explore literally anything, even something as seemingly insignificant as a pair of shoes.

The group’s cover of Aerosmith’s “Walk This Way” again indicates their attempts to break into the mainstream. It worked, and the song was the first ever hip hop song to break the top five in the Billboard 100. The song blazed the trail for both pop musicians looking to incorporate hip hop influences into their music and for rappers to bring singers into the studio for collaborations, a trend that exploded in the ‘90s and over the course of the last decade. Following the success of “Walk this Way,” the group released “You Be Illin” as their next single. The song is basically a long list of things a person might do to be “illin,” allowing the band to trade on their newfound mainstream success to establish the beginnings of a culture of cool within hip hop.

Stephen Erlewine of Allmusic.com once said that, “More than any other hip hop group, Run-DMC are responsible for the sound and style of the music.” While, as I’ve said many time before, I would have trouble verifying that claim, I see a lot of the beginnings of where hip hop was headed throughout Raising Hell.

When we last discussed REM, we were looking at their debut album and the way that their timeless feel, cryptic lyrics, and refusal to give up any of their artistic integrity helped to blaze trails for alternative artists across the board. By the time they released their eighth album, and Ashley’s pick this week, Automatic for the People, they were already a mammoth success, enjoying a creative and commercial peak. Having just finished the heavily acoustic Out of Time, the band hoped to make their next album have a harder rock edge. After the release of Out of Time in May of 1991, guitarist Peter Buck, bassist Mike Mills and drummer Bill Perry began meeting several times a week to write harder, more rock-based music. They ended up with fewer than six workable songs in this vein and quickly abandoned their original intentions. Instead, Automatic for the People became a subdued meditation on mortality and the passage of time, with the group entering their 30s and realizing that many of their original contemporaries were no longer around.

The opening track, “Drive” is derived from the band’s support for the Moter Voter Act, which allowed for voter registration at the time of obtaining or renewing a drivers license. “The Sidewinder Sleeps Tonite” is the band’s attempt at an homage to “The Lion Sleeps Tonight,” including singer Michael Stipe’s opening screech. The song is actually about a refusal to answer the phone, with the sidewinder referring to the cord that resembles a snake. Throughout the song, a caller is attempting to reach the singer, yet he refuses to answer.

One of the band’s most famous and enduring songs, “Everybody Hurts” is actually a departure from the band’s cryptic lyrical style, because, as Peter Buck explains, “it was aimed at teenagers” who are of course too dumb to interpret opaque lyrics. The song is a straightforward affirmation that while every person experiences pain, we should all hang on because good things will happen eventually. While it is not complex, either lyrically or emotionally, “Everybody Hurts” retains power in its simplicity. Plus, it’s an easy song to plug in over a montage of various people who are upset, so it will likely remain in our cultural lexicon until the sun explodes.

Another of the band’s most popular songs, “Man on the Moon” is simultaneously about Andy Kaufman and the theory that he faked his death as an elaborate gag, and about the conspiracy theory that the moon landing was faked. Clever, more lyrically dense than “Everybody Hurts” but still catchy and compelling, “Man on the Moon” is vintage REM, a fun alternative rock song that, like the song says of Kaufman, cannot be seen to have “nothing up its sleeve.”

“Nightswimming” consists only of Michael Stipe and Mike Mills, with Stipe singing and Mills playing piano. Peter Buck claims that the song is about the band’s early days in Athens, Georgia, when parties would often end with a small group of people breaking into a country club to go swimming, but Michael Stipe disregards that interpretation, saying the song is about a “kind of an innocence that’s either kind of desperately clung onto or obviously lost.” Automatic for the People is widely considered to be the greatest REM record ever released, and its surely a classic for the band with just the perfect mix of melancholy, insight, and catchiness to ensure that it will stick with you and also make you think.

The careers of Joy Division, Run-DMC, and REM are all vastly different. They are completely divergent bands with careers of different lengths and styles that are disparate to say the least. Yet each of them has attained fame, not only because they created great music, but because they had great influence, shaping music in different but equally important ways and forever leaving their marks on our cultural consciousness.

Read more My Year in Lists here

Next week on My Year in Lists:

The Germs are MIA, U2 is headed for The Joshua Tree and Liz Phair experiences an Exile in Guyville.

Want to keep tabs on all of our updates? follow us on twitter @reviewtobenamed (follow us here).

My Year in Lists: Week Twenty Six

2011-06-30T21:30:00.000-07:00

By Jordan

"Existence is.. well.. what does it matter? I exist on the best terms I can. The past is now part of my future. The present is well out of hand."-Ian Curtis, “Heart and Soul”

Well, we’ve reached the halfway point. Ok, technically you as a reader have to finish this column before you are half way through My Year in Lists, but as a listener, I have now listened to half a year’s worth of music and put my thoughts about it on paper (ok, technically on computer screen. God you readers are persnickety today). So as we dive into the music for this week (which includes two well deserved re-visits and one new band), I want to look not only at this week’s individual music, but also at this feature as a whole, and at how I have changed as both a music writer and a music fan in the last six months.

When we began this journey, I said that one of my major reasons for undertaking this column was to develop musically, both as a critic and a fan. I have talked often in the last six months about my previous views on music and my previous experiences with it, yet I was clear to state at the beginning of the column that, “I would hardly call myself an expert.” Now I want to question what exactly that should mean for a moment. I’ve listened to music pretty consistently over the course of my life. I’ve had good taste in music for at least 8 years at this point (this is of course a subjective statement, but since you’re reading my opinions at the moment, I assume you’ll trust my judgment when I say how long I’ve been listening to music intelligently), and much longer if you consider my Beatles awakening at age 9 to be the beginning of my career as a music fan. So clearly, when I said I wasn’t an expert in music, I didn’t mean I had never put on headphones before.

I think part of what I was trying to imply with that statement (and reading Week One at this point is a painful exercise, which should mean something about how far I’ve come over the course of this feature to date) is that I hadn’t spent very much time thinking critically about music. When I watch a movie (and this has been true for many, many years, though I have gotten better at it with age and experience), I don’t do so just to fill my time. I don’t watch movies just because I’m bored or simply to fill hours of the day (though watching movies can serve both functions in my life, I simply mean that I don’t use movies for only that function). I watch movies because I am fascinated by the medium, enthralled by films on a thematic, technical, mechanical, and even a visceral level. I have done that with movies and with television for many years, and that has given me greater confidence in my ability to say I am (At least somewhat, and at least when compared with the general populace) an expert. I haven’t seen every movie or television show, and I never will. I haven’t even seen every movie and television show that people might deem essential viewing for someone calling themselves an expert, but I do make a concerted effort to fill any voids, and at this point I think my background in both fields is strong enough to call myself an expert.

Yet simply listening to music would hardly make me an expert. Expertise implies a working knowledge of something, so then the question becomes what level of working knowledge is required to call oneself an expert? As I just said, I am sure if I looked over a list of “essential movies everyone must see” in one of those damnable 1,001 Movies to See Before You Die books I would find some movies I have yet to see, but I feel few qualms about asserting my relative expertise in that field. I guess the way I draw the line personally (and I would never assert that this is where the line should be drawn empirically) is that I can discuss film in both its historical and cultural developments, and I almost always know what movie someone is talking about when they raise an “essential” movie I have yet to see.

Is that now the case with music? When I first discussed Joy Division, I made a pun about how their influence was titanic, but I’m not sure I really could have told you how. My description of their influence reads, to my eyes, like someone who Wikipedia’d Joy Division and clicked on the “Legacy” section, which, having just done that, I can almost assure you is exactly what I did six months ago while trying to describe the importance of the band. This is something I still do on a fairly regular basis for this column, but now, rather than assuming bands listed in a section like this were really influenced by the band I am researching, I have a much better grasp of what sort of influence a band has had; at this point, I can generally conjure a few bands that have been influenced by a prior act and if I can’t, I tend to leave that sentence out of the column.

An Ideal for Living, the first of several Joy Division releases Tab selected for this week, was released the year before the band’s debut album Unknown Pleasures, and it feels, if not less finished, then at least different than the sound the band would be pursuing by the time of their debut. Here is how I described Joy Division back in Week One: “Joy Division were among the pioneers of post-punk, which took the rebellious, outsider vibe that drove punk music and turned all of that anger and loathing inward, creating a much more introspective sound and paving the way for the alternative movement that was to come […]” from there I made a comment about how I would eventually deal with whether the term “alternative” is valid, which readers of this week’s My Year in Lists: Interlude know I have finally gotten around to.

None of what I said about the band is technically wrong, though I do feel I missed some of their spirit in my first description, likely at least in part because I was not yet equipped to tackle a band as important as Joy Division. If Unknown Pleasures took the anger and loathing of punk music and turned it inward, then An Ideal for Living has all the anger and loathing, but has yet to get introspective with it. In other words, this early release sounds more like punk rock than much of their later stuff. This is both good and bad, as I love great punk rock (and this EP is very solid), but also love what the band would become, and I think that the reason I can say Joy Division has had such an enormous influence on music over the last three decades is because of what they became. Songs like “Warsaw” (which was the band’s name until just before this release) and “No Love Lost” are great punk, but if Joy Division had been just a great punk band, I don’t think they’d be remembered as fondly, or recognized as a band of great musical importance in the way that they are now.

“Transmission” is a pretty standard alternative anthem except for the fact that it was written at least 5 years before the idea of an alternative anthem would have been commonplace. As such, while it’s a great song taken at face value, it is also a tremendously influential song for the alternative movement that was to follow.

By the time Joy Division released their best-known single, “Love Will Tear Us Apart,” they had found their footing and were blazing the post-punk trails that would guarantee them a place in musical history. The lyrics reflect the problems within Ian Curtis’ marriage and, more generally, his mindset in the months before his suicide in May of 1980 (the song was written in August and September of 1979). The song is beautiful and tragic, with a deeply introspective viewpoint and a sound that has left behind the band’s punk influences and can only be described (for both its darker tone and for its comparative musical complexity) as post-punk. Of the two versions of the song included in the single (along with the also solid, though less remembered “These Days”), I prefer the second, which was recorded two months earlier, in January of 1980, and was reportedly taken from a take in which Curtis’ band mates told him to sing more like Frank Sinatra. Whichever version of the song you prefer, “Love Will Tear Us Apart” is a post-punk landmark, a song that gave direction to an entire wave of bands forming out of the detritus left behind by punk’s self-destruction.

Following the successful release of “Love Will Tear Us Apart” as a single, the band released “Atmosphere/She’s Lost Control,” just months after Curtis’ death. “Atmosphere” is a beautiful, if tragic coda to Curtis’ all too brief career (it was released after the band’s second album, Closer, which we will look at next week), considered by Peter Hook to be the band’s greatest song, and voted by John Peel’s radio show as the greatest song of the millennium. While that latter honor might be giving the band just a little too much credit, “Atmosphere” certainly stands near, if not at, the very top of my list of greatest Joy Division songs. The alternate version of “She’s Lost Control” included with it is rawer than the one included on Unknown Pleasures, and while I prefer the album version, there is a lot of depressive charm to the song, which was also obliquely about Curtis’ struggle with epilepsy, just one of the issues that drove him to suicide. I will give Joy Division much well deserved praise as we conclude our re-examination of the band next week, but for now I will simply say that these releases track a band from its infancy as a punk outfit into its stridently confident adolescence as a post-punk prophet foretelling the direction of music for decades to come, and it is a musical tragedy that we never got to watch Joy Division develop further. I imagine what they would have done if Curtis had survived would have knocked all of our socks off (though New Order gives us at least a little glimpse into what they might have become, I think that Curtis’ influence would have meant much to where the band was headed).

Last time we discussed The Replacements ] I talked about their journey from punk band to pioneer of alternative rock and discussed how their refusal to fit into the set rules that defined punk rock actually made them one of the most “punk rock” bands around even while they were playing alternative rock. They continued the trend of bucking expectations when the band signed to a major label (widely seen as a move bands made when they were “selling out) and released Collin’s pick this week, Tim in 1986.

The album shows singer-songwriter Paul Westerburg’s unwillingness to be pigeonholed in any way shape or form. The opening track “Hold My Life” is a Big Star homage, while “Kiss Me On The Bus” is a pretty clear Chuck Berry homage.

The diversity of Tim is a testament to the talent of The Replacements and their front man in particular. Westerberg is able to belt out a self-assured rock anthem like “Dose of Thunder,” follow it up immediately with the folksy, tongue-in-cheek “Waitress in the Sky,” and then switch things up again for the Roy Orbison-influenced “Swingin’ Party,” a slow and mournful ballad about a couple who feel (unsurprisingly, considering this is a song by The Replacements) alienated at a party.

The band never lost their edge, though, even as they experimented with a wider array of musical styles. During a January 18,1986 performance on Saturday Night Live, the band played “Bastards of Young” (one of my two picks for best song on the album) and “Kiss Me on The Bus” and, due in part to their swearing during the live broadcast received a lifetime ban from SNL (Westerberg has since been allowed to return as a solo artist). The video for “Bastards of Young” also gained fame for being subversive, as the video is mostly an unbroken a black and white shot of a speaker until, at the end of the song, the speaker is kicked in by the person who has been listening to it. “Here Comes A Regular” (my other pick for best song on the album” is another ballad, a slow and sorrowful song about how “a person can work up a mean mean thirst after a hard day of nothing much at all.”

The Replacements never made it to the big time, but their influence is widespread, and their willingness to experiment and to vary their style wildly from song to song became hugely influential in alternative music, in grunge, and in the indie rock of the last decade.

Pearl Jam exploded out of Seattle and the was an essential part of the quickly growing grunge scene when they released Ashley’s pick this week, Ten in 1991. To a certain extent, the album did exactly what it needed to in order to briefly make Pearl Jam the biggest rock band in the world: it made alienated teenagers feel like someone understood what they were going through. While Ten is an intensely personal album, its never subtle and rarely even tries to be all that cool, which of course means it almost immediately became immensely popular and remains one of the most influential rock albums of the last two decades.

The opening track, “Once” (with lyrics by Eddie Vedder and music by guitarist Stone Gossard) tells the tale of a man’s descent into madness, which eventually leads him to become a serial killer (as it always does…right?). It is ostensibly the middle song of a trilogy, preceded by “Alive” and followed by “Footsteps,” though why the songs are out of order and the final song in the cycle isn’t even present on the album is anyone’s guess. “Alive” is a pretty great grunge-rock song, though, a fictionalized account of the time when Vedder was told the man he thought was his father was not actually his biological parent, and that his real dad had recently died. Along with the rest of the music on Ten, Vedder listened to a demo tape given to him by Gossard right before he went surfing, and supposedly came up with the lyrics to all of the songs while out in the water. In spite of the song’s seemingly inspirational title, Vedder insists that the life of the song’s protagonist should be read as more of a burden than a privilege. Either way, the song is a stellar mix of grunge-y introspection and a rocking guitar solo that raises the material up and turns it into an early-‘90s classic.

“Alive” sounds like a serious rock song, even if it has heavy grunge overtones, but “Jeremy” is a grunge ballad through and through. Sung from the perspective of the titular teen’s classmates, the song fallows the standard grunge format of wallowing and introspective verses building to sweeping, epic shouted choruses. This is a format that can work quite well when executed properly, but its also one that’s fairly easy to see through, and “Jeremy” seems a tad too calculated to fit into this template to land as powerfully as other songs on the album. “Black,” meanwhile, lead to a struggle between the band and their label, Epic Records. Epic wanted to release the song as a single, but Vedder, who was quickly becoming the preeminent diva of the grunge scene, refused, citing the personal nature of the song. “Black” is, like most songs on the album, about a broken hearted outsider, this time remembering his absent lover. “Black” strikes the perfect balance between “Alive” and “Jeremy” on the grunge scale: it fits into the grunge template like the latter but manages to retain the power and classic rock sensibilities that make the former so imminently listenable.

Nirvana may have helped to create the grunge sound and certainly brought it to the mainstream with “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” Pearl Jam was far more commercially successful than their hometown rivals. In the cultural memory, this means that Nirvana retains all of the artistic credibility while Pearl Jam comes across as calculated to maximize their success. To some extent, I think this collective remembrance is accurate; I think that Nevermind is a better album than Ten, and that Nirvana’s discography as a whole is more influential and artistically noteworthy than Pearl Jam’s. Yet to compare the two and force one into the spotlight as a synthetic greed-driven machine is trying to make musical history fit into a familiar narrative that doesn’t really bear out under close examination. On its own merits, Ten is a classic of grunge, merging the nascent genre’s sound with more established arena rock, which was, yes, a brilliant marketing move but also seems to fit into Pearl Jam’s artistic aesthetic. Ultimately, the band should not be punished for producing more marketable music than their contemporaries. Absent considerations of their success (and the fact that this is so often held up as evidence of their lack of quality is mystifying to me), Pearl Jam emerged as a great grunge band and has carried the torch into the new millennium when so many of their contemporaries have fallen apart (even as a few have since reassembled).

So, to return to the question I posed earlier in this installment, do I now consider myself an expert on music? I certainly listen to more music now, and my listening habits are far more diverse than they were six months ago. I consider myself capable of engaging in a conversation about the cultural and historical development of music, citing antecedents and influences more assuredly than ever before. But the simple answer, the answer I shall give for now, and the truest answer I can currently muster is just this: ask me again in six months.

Read more My Year in Lists here

Next on My Year in Lists:

We conclude our examination of Joy Division with Closer, watch Run-DMC Raising Hell, and revisit REM to look at their seminal Automatic for the People.

Want to keep tabs on all of our updates? follow us on twitter @reviewtobenamed (follow us here).

My Year in Lists: Interlude: Answers on Alternative Music

2011-06-28T19:43:00.000-07:00

By Jordan

My Year in Lists: Interlude is an intermittent addendum to the feature that takes a step back from the quest to examine music from other perspectives

Before My Year in Lists began in January, I asked each of my three contributors to provide an introduction to their list, to explain how they went about selecting the 52 (or in Tab’s case, many more than 52) albums they were telling me to listen to and to discuss their musical background as a way of providing context. This was before I had listened to a single track for the quest, and as such, my understanding of music and the potential controversies that could arise in the use of genre terms was minimal (or at least far less than it is now, and more on this on Friday when we reach Week Twenty Six).

In her introduction to her list, Ashley defined her criteria as such: “I settled on the loosely constructed theme of ’20 Years of Alternative.’ […] I chose to exclude more mainstream rock (there’s no Bowie or U2 here) since I wanted to focus on alternative as a loosely constructed movement.” This seemed like a perfectly valid list construction strategy to me, but when I received Tab’s introduction, it seemed a controversy of terms I had never been aware of existed. In it, he said, “I also don’t like to use terms such as Alternative Music because to paraphrase Claude Bessey in The Decline of Western Civilization […] Alternative Music doesn’t mean shit. […] I loathe the term Alternative Music because it implies that Classic Rock is still relevant and that modern music, or really any other music is still inferior to Classic Rock. It’s a label created and used by Classic Rock Stakeholders, primarily consisting of the music industry and mass music media. Labels allow for categorization and are a great vehicle for controlling the music markets and artistic freedom.”

As I read both of these introductions, I realized there was a paradox that I was not nearly ready to address. I saw both arguments as valid to a point; Ashley was looking at alternative as a loosely constructed movement, while Tab didn’t like the term because it suggested that any music that wasn’t mainstream was somehow inferior. I thought (and still think) those are both valid viewpoints, but I was in no way ready to stake out my territory in the debate. In fact, five minutes before I read their introductions, I hadn’t even been aware that such a debate existed. My reticence to take sides while I was still relatively ignorant is palpable in the early weeks of this feature. I consciously put the term alternative in quotation marks or included a parenthetical aside (you may have noticed I like those a lot) about how I wasn’t sure that the term was accurate or fair. I usually followed up that point by saying I would get to the debate and hash out my thoughts eventually, once I felt I had enough authority to comment on the issue without talking out of my ass. In a few days we will have reached the halfway point of this feature, so now seems like as good a time as ever.

That I’m tackling this question now by no means indicates that I feel I have the authority to answer the question, but I have enough confidence in my understanding of the points both sides make to at least enter the debate. The answer I will lay out is not a definitive one, nor is it final. This is just a picture of my feelings on the issue now, at the halfway point of the feature after having listened to 26 weeks of Ashley’s “20 Years of Alternative” list and 26 weeks of Tab’s list, and having thought about the issue for long enough to at least lay down my thoughts.

So here, in brief, is how I see it: The term Alternative Music is a valid one, at least to a point. I agree with Tab’s implicit point that the term begs the question “alternative to what?” and that the answer to that should be troubling. If anything that isn’t classic rock or mainstream pop is considered alternative, that infers that what the most people are listening to is the best just because they’re listening to it, or that it is the primary choice and that everything else is somehow weird or inferior. And I don’t like that.

But here’s the thing: that’s the way the music business, and more broadly, the world, works. What the most people like is bound to make the most money, is bound to have the most money put into it and is bound to be seen as the most important by a broad swath of our society. It’s just a numbers game. And to an extent that’s a persuasive argument. The culture that the most people experience has to gain at least some importance because of that, and has to have some effect on culture at large. This in no way means that the most popular art is the best art (in fact that is rarely, or at least not usually the case, and I tend to make a big deal about it when something great is incredibly popular, like I did last week when discussing Purple Rain), but it will have an effect on the culture at large, even if its only in reaction.

I have previously discussed the way that punk rock emerged as an alternative to the shitty rock and roll being produced at the time, like Boston and Fleetwood Mac, and this sentence in and of itself implies which I think is the better art. I think that punk rock is far superior creatively and artistically to late-‘70s mainstream rock, but there’s no question that it exists as an alternative to what was going on in the mainstream. In fact, that’s the whole fucking point of punk rock. A bunch of people who hated the direction music was taking decided to make music that was antithetical to what was being done, and punk rock was formed.

It’s strange, then, that punk rock has rarely been lumped into the “alternative rock” category, usually instead viewed on its own. I think this is because punk rock is so singular (and often similar), and so can easily be identified. Basically, I see punk rock as a subgenre of a larger “alternative rock” that is so clearly demarcated and easily defined it has graduated into a genre in and of itself.

Yet this is difficult to do with what followed. After the demise of punk, a schism occurred. At first, it was easy to delineate the movements. There was new wave and there was hardcore, and most bands outside the mainstream began to fit into one of those two categories whether or not they deserved the label. That system survived for a few years, but then bands came along that were harder to classify. What, for example, do you call REM? What about The Replacements after their nascent punk phase? How do you classify Tom Waits or Sonic Youth? There are genres that each of these bands fit into, but for the most part they are too small or specific to create a label for them that can be communicated to mass audiences (look at the genres Collin lists back in his introduction and you’ll see what I mean. I have no doubt that the 36 genres he specifically cites all exist and can be defined and delineated, but when your average consumer walks into a music store, or searches on itunes, they are unlikely to know what “trance,” “acid jazz” or “glitch-hop” are, or whether they want to listen to it). So the term “Alternative Music” was created, and everything that wasn’t in the mainstream was thrown in there (I recognize that this is less helpful, but keep in mind it is more marketable, and that’s a crucial detail).

I don’t think the ghettoization of all music that deviates from the mainstream is fair, but I do see how it makes practical sense. There are more niches in music than in any other medium, or at least there are more claims to absurdly specific genres in music than in other mediums. Yet this problem crops up everywhere. Every show not on a major network is still referred to as a “cable television show,” despite the fact that this encompasses literally hundreds of channels and thousands of shows as diverse as Top Chef, Archer, Mad Men and Burn Notice (which, beyond being defined as “Cable television shows” are also shoehorned into the broad yet restrictive genres of reality television, comedy, and drama respectively). If a movie isn’t going to be released in every theater (or even if it won’t be released in every theater at once) it is viewed as an “independent film” even though most films classified as such are actually produced by subdivisions of the big studios. And if a movie comes from another country (ANY OTHER COUNTRY) it is referred to as simply a “foreign film,” despite the fact that there are over 200 countries this definition includes (and even if we sort more specifically than that, its usually only by country, not even by genres within that country).

None of this is particularly fair, but it’s the classification system that we currently live in. As our culture schisms more and more, this will be less the case, and all of those absurdly specific subgenres may yet get their day in the sun. For now, though, only the most broadly applied (and, sadly, the most popular) genres can break out of the “alternative” mold. Punk rock is known, as is grunge, which we have been looking at for the past few weeks on Ashley’s list. But grunge, in its prime, was popular music, and for a while there, Pearl Jam (who we’ll be discussing Friday) was the biggest band in the world. Most of what is classified as “alternative,” though, is catalogued that way because it truly is alternative to what most people are listening to. Even if we would like to see a more specific genre than that applied to a specific piece of music, it is hard to argue that the term, as its generally applied, is accurate.

And it shouldn’t necessarily be seen as a term marking out the inferior or ghettoizing music that doesn’t conform to norms. In fact, considering the terribly reviewed Cars 2 is the #1 movie in America (and next week it will almost certainly be the sure-to-be-dreadful Transformers: Dark of the Moon), Two and a Half Men has been the one of the most popular shows on television for a decade, and Lady Gaga’s generally seen as inferior sophomore effort Born This Way has been the #1 album in America for two of the last four weeks, being labeled “alternative” can almost be seen as a badge of pride.

To return to the statement I made roughly 1,000 words ago (as usual, this is longer than I had intended) I think the term alternative is valid to a point. I think it helps us to put music in context, and it helps pop culture sheep to easily avoid anything that might challenge their preconceived notions or deviate from what they are used to. I wish that narrower terms to define music would become more mainstream, and I try when possible to indicate the subgenres of albums when I discuss them in the regular feature. For now though, I believe that Ashley’s theme of “20 Years of Alternative” is not only valid, but an accurate portrayal of all of the albums on her list I have heard so far, even if a more specific term might occasionally be required. And I agree with Tab, in part, that the term is generally a marketing one that serves to control music markets and, in some cases, artistic freedom (though the existence of alternative music at all indicates that true artistic freedom is hard to squelch). But I have to part ways with him when he says, “alternative music doesn’t mean shit.” In fact, I think the term is incredibly important, both to contextualize music and to package it for sale to an audience that wouldn’t even attempt to understand further subdivisions. Rather than hurting the artists in question, I think the label can help some bands get more mainstream recognition than they otherwise might. For some bands the term may be a limitation, but for others, it means literally everything.

Read more My Year in Lists here

Want to keep tabs on all of our updates? follow us on twitter @reviewtobenamed (follow us here).

My Year in Lists: Week Twenty Five

2011-06-24T12:06:00.000-07:00

By Jordan

“With its goofy charm, gleeful swing and sway, and subtle yet compelling libertarian feminism, this is one of the best records of the era.”-John Dougan, Allmusic.com on Cut

“This is what it sounds like when doves cry.”-Prince, “When Doves Cry”

One question has dominated my mind as I listened to the music for this week. One question about one album, which has lead me to spend more time thinking about that particular album than about the other two (both of which have their merits, to be sure, but we’ll get to that in time). Because I’m more than slightly OCD and because I have a pathological desire to experience things in chronological order, whether they require it or not (I watched every James Bond movie in order of release in spite of their almost complete lack of serialization and have heretofore avoided Doctor Who, a show I am often assured I would love, because there is no way for me to watch every episode from the show’s premiere decades ago), each installment of My Year in Lists tends to discuss the albums in order of their release. Sometimes this is actually helpful, as it is possible to trace the ways that music evolved over time even within the microcosm of one column; sometimes it’s just the way I do things because I’m kind of insane. This week, however, we will deviate from that pattern to begin by addressing that question that keeps plaguing me: What the fuck is the deal with Prince?

I don’t mean this question in a derogatory sense. I completely understand that people like Prince (And in fact, I learned this week that I quite like him, at least on Purple Rain), but I found myself beguiled at first as to why people like Prince (beyond the pat answer that “he makes good music.” I like to go a little more in-depth about these things, and if you’re still reading this, I assume you’ll humor me on this front). At first blush, his music is shockingly ‘80s (read: cheesy and glitzy, with a sheen that borders on the overproduced and over the top), a descriptor I tend to lob at things I dislike. While this column has taught me that a lot of good came out of the ‘80s musically, I still view it as the time of WHAM!, REO Speedwagon, Phil Collins, Huey Lewis and the News and other such musical atrocities (not to mention cinematic atrocities, televised atrocities, and political atrocities. Mostly, it seems to me the ‘80s were kind of a terrible time to be alive, though I made it through the final year of that decade intact, mostly because I don’t think I developed object permanence until the year was almost over).

So Prince is something of a paradox to me, because he is simultaneously a creature of the ‘80s (again, I’m focusing only on Purple Rain, not on his career as a whole) with all of the glitz, glamour, synthesizers and cheese factor that implies, and one smooth motherfucker. He managed to make ‘80s pop, and also managed to make it cool. For much of the run time of Purple Rain he is straddling the line between the music I hate most from that decade, and the sort of sonic sex that forebears like Marvin Gaye and Al Green turned out a decade before this album dropped. Yet somehow, even with annoyingly saccharine track titles like “I Would Die 4 U” and “When Doves Cry,” he manages to stay on the right side of that line and turn out the only ‘80s pop album I’ve ever heard that I would honestly classify as cool (there are several others I enjoy either because of how little they even attempt to be cool, or because they somehow manage to be so ridiculous its hard not to marvel at them).

The reason behind this, I think, is just how weird Purple Rain can be at times. It’s a pop album of a rare breed that can inject just enough experimentation to seem daring and a little avant garde while also being massively successful on a level that gives it the kind of cultural currency most truly experimental stuff never manages to attain (the most recent album to pull off this trick, though less successfully, was Lady Gaga’s The Fame Monster). Pop music is, as a rule, pretty dumb, or at least dumber than a lot of music that sells to smaller audiences and niche groups. This doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing; the first five Beatles albums are for the most part pretty dumb, and they’re also some of the best music ever recorded. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy of the genre: to reach the largest possible audience (as a pop album is wont by its very nature to do), most pop music is dumbed down for mass consumption. So when something as strange as Purple Rain (which, to clarify, is strange only by pop music standards, not when considered next to something like Trout Mask Replica or Meet the Residents) makes it into the popular consciousness and finds mass success, its bound to be pretty damn interesting, if only because its managed to capture the attention of large groups while also doing something interesting.

The album opens with “Let’s Go Crazy,” which begins with a funeral-esque organ solo in which Prince exhorts us to get through “this thing called life” so that we can make it to the afterlife. The song becomes a fairly standard pop rock song from there out (albeit a very catchy and fun one), but this little touch makes “Let’s Go Crazy” stick out as something difference. While I personally disagree with Prince’s religious views, I champion his ability to communicate them in a way that both reaches a large audience and allows that large audience to rock out whether or not they agree (this is the problem that most Christian rock bands have, but that’s a rant for another column).

Similarly, “Computer Blue” opens with a spoken word intro between Wendy and Lisa which has sexual overtones and strongly hints at a dom-sub relationship; the idea of dominance in sexual relationships is hardly new to pop music, but the way that these words, and the slightly creepy riff that follows them, set a decidedly dark tone is different from almost anything else I’ve seen in pop music. The song is immediately followed by “Darling Nikki,” a song I am sort of amazed Prince got away with recording in the generally somewhat repressed ‘80s. One of the songs that convinced Tipper Gore to found the Parents Music Resource Center, “Darline Nikki” is unabashedly sexual, a dark funk rock song that is simply a blast from start to finish.

That song is followed up by perhaps the biggest hit off the album, “When Doves Cry,” another song that manages to overcome a title that should make any sensible music fan snigger by just being too damn good to laugh at. The song deals simultaneously with a tumultuous love affair and the singer’s long-term difficulties with his parents, making it shockingly lyrically dense for a song that’s so catchy. It also lacks a bass line, which is almost unheard of for a dance song, yet it managed to be a smash hit anyway, spending five weeks during the summer of 1984 at number one.

The title track, an almost nine minute power ballad that manages to mix pop with rock, gospel and even orchestral influences, is a tour de force to close the album on. I had honestly never listened to Prince prior to playing this album for the first time in preparation for this column (though I did once hear a particularly moving cover of “Purple Rain” performed by two of my high school mock trial coaches, one of whom was dressed as a centaur at the time), but if forced to wager my response before listening at all, I would have laid great odds against my ever writing the phrase “tour de force” about one of his songs, but calling “Purple Rain” anything less would be a lie.

Taken as a whole, Purple Rain may be a bit silly at times (ok, it is silly a fair amount of the time), but that’s pop music, especially in the period in which the album was released. And the fact that it manages to be as silly as was necessary to find widespread success on the pop charts at the time while also being as weird and experimental and, yes, powerful as it remains throughout is damn impressive. This is, for lack of a better term, a joke to be taken seriously, and if you can find it in yourself to stop snarking at the sheen, you may be as surprised as I was at the depth that lies beneath the surfaces of the album.

Jumping back a few years, we’ll look at a band that would have been influential even if they were terrible (fortunately, though, they aren’t). Formed in 1976 by members of The Flowers of Romance and The Castrators, The Slits are one of the few bands from the golden age of punk rock to be comprised entirely of females; in short, they were the first vanguard of girl-punk, which guarantees them a spot in the musical history books even if its unfortunately mostly a footnote.

Punk rock, and the music industry in general, tended and still to some extent tends to be a boys club. For The Slits this wasn’t so much a disadvantage as a call to arms and a chance to prove to the world that women can rock just as hard (and sometimes quite a lot harder) than any man. It’s impossible to talk about The Slits without talking about feminism and the place of women in punk rock, which is at least a bit unfortunate, as the band stands on their own as great forward thinking punk rock regardless of gender. But at the same time, gender is quite clearly the band’s central concern, from their darkly evocative and obviously vaginal name to the cover of their debut album, and Tab’s pick this week, Cut, which shows the women wearing only loin clothes and smeared in mud. Everything about the band’s image seemed to scream “We’re here! We’re girls! We want to rock out! Get used to it!”

The album is heavily reggae influenced but still undeniably a punk release. From the opening track, “Instant Hit,” it’s clear that The Slits are doing something that was fairly unheard of in punk at the time (outside of The Buzzcocks, who we discussed last week and a few other groups): experimenting with outside influences and combining their punk vocals and mentality with outside musical influences. “So Tough” directly calls out men for faux masculinity, bravado, and overthinking romantic entanglements.

“Love und Romance” is a fairly standard punk love song, but still makes a point of just who is in charge, with lyrics like “I own you” and “I’m so glad that you belong to me” simultaneously coming off as words of devotion and of empowerment. Again, I find it kind of sad that while countless male-centric groups can sing songs about how a girl is “mine” or “belongs to me” it bears pointing out when a woman does the same, but in the punk rock setting this was a powerful statement to be making and a strong one to stand behind. “Typical Girls,” with its fast paced and catchy piano-centric riff, is another take-down of the image of women at the time. The opening lines, “Don’t create, don’t rebel, have intuition, cant decide,” and the later refrain, “Don’t create, don’t rebel, have intuition, cant drive well” seem to illustrate the stereotypes about women that permeate society, and the final verse, “Who invented the typical girl? Who’s bringing out the new improved model? And there’s another marketing ploy, Typical girl gets the typical boy” is a full-throated condemnation of the idea that women should fit into a male created mold in order to end up with a man who is just fitting into society’s conception of his role.

The Slits are a very solid band and Cut manages to be interesting and catchy even while making a bold statement in favor of feminism and against the sexism that ran rampant throughout the punk scene. That girls can rock just as hard, and just as intelligently as any man seems obvious from my vantage point, but The Slits felt (and probably correctly) that they had something to prove, and I think they made their point quite well.

Superchunk, meanwhile, seems like a band out of time. Formed in 1989 in Chapel Hill, North Carolina and releasing their second album, and Ashley’s pick this week, No Pocky For Kitty, in 1991, the band plays like an alternative rock band, but writes and sings like a punk rock group. Had No Pocky For Kitty been recorded twelve years earlier, every song would have been played just a little bit faster and would be slightly less melodic, and Superchunk would have been a pretty standard punk rock outfit.

“Skip Steps 1 & 3” could almost be an early-‘90s cover of a punk classic, while “Seed Toss” wouldn’t feel out of place on an early ‘80s post-punk album. Both are very solid, fun songs, but they are undeniably throwbacks of as certain sort to the immediately prior music generation.

“Tie a Rope to the Back of the Bus” is anthemic in a punk sort of way, and the penultimate track, “Creek,” with its slight, 1:40 runtime is played at a punkish speed, only distinguished (like most of this album) by the superior musicianship on display.

Basically, Superchunk sounds like a punk band that learned how to play their instruments, which I think is illustrative of the change in the music scene between, say, 1977 and 1991. It wasn’t impossible to play punk (or, more accurately, punk-ish) music in 1991, but you couldn’t get away with the amateurishness that was a central tenet of punk rock anymore. To be taken seriously in the golden age of punk rock, you were almost required to be a shitty musician; by 1991, no one was going to take any of that shit. If you wanted to be in a band, you had to learn how to play an instrument, plain and simple (unless of course you were a good singer, another quality that was not required even of the vocalists in the punk era). I don’t know that No Pocky For Kitty is a particularly influential album (though devotees of the Chapel Hill indie scene of the ‘90s would call it essential), and in fact much of it is fairly forgettable stuff. But I do think its important, if only to draw distinctions and show the ways that music had evolved. Alternative rock was born out of the death of punk rock and the resultant schism, but a decade after its inception, the genre had moved beyond its roots and come fully into its own. Debts were owed, to be sure, but alternative rock had moved out of its parents house, and while it might come home for the holidays, things would never be the same.

My thoughts on Prince dominated this last week, largely because he represented a paradox in my mind, standing as a figure of both ‘80s pop (which I find, in large part, to be sort of repulsive, though there are of course several exceptions) and of cool, somewhat experimental rock. Reconciling these divergent views took some time, for me, though I think most of the music community got over any Prince-related apprehensions decades ago. Yet, in spite of the greater attention I paid to Purple Rain, all three albums this week were important in their own way. Cut was a bold, feminist statement in the male-centric world of punk rock and an important step forward into allowing other influences to bleed into the genre, a step that would be vital to punk’s transformation into post-punk, New Wave, and hardcore as the ‘70s drew to a close and the ‘80s dawned. And No Pocky For Kitty was in many ways a throwback that simultaneously indicated just how far music had come in the previous decade, and reminded us just how far alternative rock had to go. We’re not there yet, but we will be soon.

Read more My Year in Lists here

Next week on My Year in Lists:

We reach the halfway point of our journey and, somewhat fittingly, return to just where we started, taking a second look at Joy Division through An Ideal for Living, Transmission, Love Will Tear Us Apart and She’s Lost Control/Atmosphere, examining The Replacements once more with Tim, and looking forward as Pearl Jam counts to Ten.

Want to keep tabs on all of our updates? follow us on twitter @reviewtobenamed (follow us here).

My Year in Lists: Week Twenty Four

2011-06-22T11:34:00.000-07:00

By Jordan

“If Never Mind the Bollocks and London Calling are held up as punk masterpieces, then there’s no question that Singles Going Steady belongs alongside them […] As for the music, anybody who ever combined full-blast rock, catchy melodies, and romantic and social anxieties owes something to what the classic quartet did here.”-Ned Ragget, Allmusic

“War seemed to be the motif for 1982.”-Bono

Every song (at least every good one) has a theme. Some albums manage to carry a singular theme throughout their runtimes. Some of these are concept albums, which attempt to create a narrative that drives the entire album. Some of them, however, are just albums that display a singular focus and an idea that was operating behind the scenes during the creation of these albums. This week, we will examine three such albums, three works that, while not constructed as concept albums or purposefully developed around a single theme still manage to display one message consistently throughout. Whether that message is one of love, peace, or sex (as they are in our three albums this week), we will look at how that message becomes an essential part of the album.

In early 1975, Howard Trafford placed a notice looking for other musicians who enjoyed The Velvet Underground's“Sister Ray” (it’s a marvel how many bands came together, not only in the days following the release of The Velvet Underground & Nico, when it is said that every person who bought the album formed a band, but in the ensuing years using the band as a touchstone to seek out other passionate and like-minded musicians). Peter McNeish, a fellow student at the Bolton Institute of Technology, responded to the notice, though he played mostly rock music and Trafford mostly electronic music. McNeish assumed the stage name Pete Shelley; Trafford became Howard Devoto, and along with Garth Davies on bass guitar and Mick Singleton on drums, they became the Buzzcocks, a name they selected after reading a review of the TV series Rock Follies in Time Out Magazine that said, “it’s the buzz, cocks!” (to be clear, at the time, “cocks” was slang for friend in Manchester).

By the end of 1976, the Buzzcocks had formed their own label, New Hormones and self-released their debut EP Spiral Scratch (they were one of the first punk bands to form their own label, a practice that would be essential to the alternative movement in the 1980’s when several underground bands were forced to form labels for themselves to get their music and that of other smaller bands released). The band’s trademark sound is a marriage of catchy pop melodies with punkish energy and guitar riffs, backed by a tight and skilled rhythm section that sets them apart from their traditionally under-trained and ill-talented (at least in the traditional musical practice of properly “playing an instrument”) brethren in the early punk movement. From the first, the Buzzcocks were a different kind of punk band: vocally and in their guitar patterns, they sounded punk, but compositionally, lyrically, and in presentation, they were a different beast entirely.

During their initial career (like many bands of the era, they have reunited for several more albums in the last two decades) the band released only three studio albums, and one compilation of their singles and B-sides. This compilation, released after their third album as they planned their (never to materialize in the original era) fourth, is Tab’s pick this week, the aptly titled Singles Going Steady. Rather than feeling like a piecemeal collection of releases, the album is a near constant parade of excellence, running an impressive gamut of emotions and dealing with subjects both political and romantic.

The album’s opening track “Orgasm Addict” is a tongue in cheek look at a sex crazed teenager that includes a fake orgasm vocal break, just in case the point would not have landed otherwise. “What Do I Get?” is a classic ode to teen angst, full of pained cries about lacking love, luck, and appreciation.

The most well known song on the album by far, and in fact the most famous song the band ever recorded is the justly touted and deservedly well known masterpiece “Ever Fallen in Love?” Written after the band watched Guys and Dolls, which includes the line “Have you ever fallen in love with someone you shouldn’t have?” Shelley wrote the lyrics the next day while sitting in a van outside the post office; the music was soon to follow. This song stands out amongst even the sea of successes that makes up Singles Going Steady, not only because it is the band’s best song (and I don’t think I’m alone in holding that opinion) but because it so well illustrates the way in which the Buzzcocks stood out in the early day of punk rock.

While bands like Sex Pistols, The Clash, and The Ramones were, at their essence, rebellions against popular music and musical conventions, the Buzzcocks had a clear respect for what had come before, and often integrated classic pop themes and melodies into their compositions. While played at punk speeds and sung in a punkish register (a sound that is hard to describe, but to my ear always sounds like a melodic howl of angst), “Ever Fallen in Love?” is basically a standard pop song, with a hooky melody and a focus on love that is more common in pop and rock than in punk. It isn’t too hard to imagine “Ever Fallen in Love?” having been recorded a decade and a half before its release by The Beatles during their early days (hell, I think it would have fit very well on Help!), and I’m not sure there’s a higher compliment I can pay to a song than saying The Beatles could have written it.

“Everybody’s Happy Nowadays” is a deeply cynical song, but that somehow doesn’t preclude it from being an insanely catchy one. “Harmony in my Head” is one of the few Buzzcocks songs written and performed by guitarist Steve Diggle, who reputedly smoked 20 consecutive cigarettes to achieve the gruff sound of the vocals. The album’s closing track “Something’s Gone Wrong Again” is a song about Murphy’s Law style worries (verging on full paranoia) that is so melodically complex it almost leaves behind the band’s punkish roots entirely.

The theme behind Singles Going Steady is one of love, an uncommon message for a punk album. Not every track is explicitly about love, but the band makes every effort to sing about love and romance regularly throughout. This theme ties in perfectly to the band’s tendencies to color outside the punk lines and to look back for influences both lyrically and musically.

The Buzzcocks are rarely heralded among the great punk bands of all time. To my mind this is because of their willingness to break the punk rules. It is conventional wisdom that punk began as a rebellion against what was seen as the strict and binding rules of popular music, but quickly devolved into sects as people tired of adhering to the quickly developed “rules of punk.” Bands had to play a certain way, dress a certain way, act a certain way and write about certain things, lest they be ostracized from the punk community. Of course, true punk bands that cropped up later in the life of the genre broke these rules as a way of displaying just how punk rock they were, but the Buzzcocks were breaking them long before people had even realized what they were. Some might argue this renders the band outside of the punk genre; I would disagree. To my mind, the Buzzcocks are unheralded punk pioneers, taking the sound of the genre and melding it with melodies and themes that were decidedly un-punk to create something unique in the punk pantheon.

U2 is the biggest rock band in the world. Whether or not that statement remains true today, that was certainly the case for a period in the late ‘80s and early ‘90s when the band went through a period of both critical and commercial success that ensures them a place in the rock canon (to my mind, this golden age stretches from The Joshua Tree, which we will discuss in a month, through Rattle and Hum and to Achtung Baby, though I know some who will argue that it continued all the way through 2000’s All That You Can’t Leave Behind). While, as I just mentioned, we will get to The Joshua Tree in time, Collin’s original pick for this week, New Order’s Power, Corruption, Lies was already dealt with in this space back in Week Eight and so I requested that he furnish a replacement. In reply, he suggested we look at the album when the band was first getting its legs, their third studio album, 1983’s War.

Widely regarded as the band’s first overtly political album (but, as anyone who has ever heard Bono speak well knows, not their last), War focuses on both the physical aspects of war, and on its emotional after effects and is the time when, as Simon Reynolds put it, the band, “turned pacifism itself into a crusade.”

The album’s opening track, “Sunday Bloody Sunday” is an ardent protest song detailing the Troubles in Northern Ireland and specifically focusing on Bloody Sunday, the incident in which British Troops shot and killed unarmed civil rights protesters and civilians. The song was an early classic for the band, and instrumental to their breakthrough into the mainstream in America. And while the mere mention of Bono tends to illicit eye rolls at this point, in no small part because of his outspoken activism and politicization of practically everything, “Sunday Bloody Sunday” is a solid song, making a political point but not forgetting to be a rock song at the same time. It’s never subtle by any stretch of the imagination, but it it’s catchy enough that it doesn’t leave a bad taste in my mouth like so much of the band’s later work (especially their last two albums) tends to.

“New Year’s Day” is also an overtly political song, this time about the Polish Solidarity Movement, but again puts the music before the message, at least enough to make it as interesting as a piece of music as it is when viewed as a political message. “Two Hearts Beat As One” is a more traditional love song that indicates some of the potential that the band would fulfill in their golden age, but fails to compel in the way a song like “With or Without You” does; it makes fine listening, but it also tends to slip out of my mind as soon as it’s done. The album’s closing track ‘“40”’ is a modification of Psalm 40 from The Bible. The song was written, recorded and mixed in roughly half an hour, as the band was being kicked out of the studio and realized they needed a good closing song for the album. The song is fairly perfect as a coda to War, and has endured as a staple of the band’s live performances, yet again, it doesn’t hold the power of some of their later work.

The message that permeates War is one of peace. Throughout the album, even on the less political tracks, the band seems to be begging for the world to find peace and seeking it either within themselves or externally, in the love of another.

The U2 of War is a band just figuring out its own identity, a band that is learning it is going places, but is yet unsure what those places might be and how it might get there. The album has its starts and stops, but is ultimately a satisfying one. For my thoughts on U2 t its height, however, you gentle readers will have to hold your breath for Week Twenty Eight.

After toiling in relative obscurity (relative, in this case, to where the band was headed) for eight years, Red Hot Chili Peppers signed to Warner Bros. Records and released the album that would launch them to superstardom: their fifth studio album, and Ashley’s pick this week, 1991’s Blood Sugar Sex Magik.

In 1988, the band’s guitarist Hillel Slovak died of a heroin overdose and drummer Jack Irons quit, leaving vocalist Anthony Kiedis and bassist Flea to find a new guitarist and drummer. Fan of the band John Frusciante came on as guitarist and drummer Chad Smith rounded out the lineup. Blood Sugar Sex Magik integrates the band’s typical punk-funk blend with more melodically driven songs, creating the sound that has carried the band to superstardom.

“If You Have To Ask” mixes Kiedis’ standard rap-sing style with a funk beat and a taunting chorus. “Breaking The Girl,” a classic Chili Peppers song, is a ballad (a rarity in the band’s previous work) that refers to Kiedis turbulent relationship with Carmen Hawk, and more broadly, his fears that he was becoming a womanizer like his father before him. More traditionally melodic than any song the band had done before, the song is also, as most of the band’s best songs are, a fascinating look into the conflicted inner world of Anthony Kiedis. “Breaking The Girl” is maybe the first great song the Chili Peppers ever recorded (though in fairness I am only passingly familiar with their previous work, so feel free to correct me on this point) and one of my favorites on the album.

“Suck My Kiss” is an unabashedly sexual song, an ode to fellatio and written about a kid Kiedis knew who talked endlessly about the blow jobs he was getting. “Give It Away” is focused on the idea of altruism and selflessness, a concept taught to Kiedis by his former girlfriend, punk rocker Nina Hagen, who once gave him a jacket he said he liked because she believed that giving things away made the world a better place.

Easily the most well known song on the album, and one of my favorite songs by the band to this day, “Under the Bridge” threw the band into the mainstream, becoming a smash hit. The lyrics of the song are taken from a poem Kiedis had written while contemplating the effects of narcotics on his life. Kiedis was feeling isolated from the rest of the band, as he had been sober for three years at the time of the album’s recording, and Frusciante and Flea often smoked marijuana together. This lead to him contemplating said isolation and coming to the conclusion that Los Angeles was his only true and constant companion. The song gets its title, and its most notable verse, illustrates Kiedis attempt to enter a gang territory to score heroin. In order to get under the bridge where the drugs were being sold, Kiedis had to pretend his fiancé was the sister of a gang member. Though he successfully scored the drugs, he considers the moment to be one of the worst of his life, as it showed him how far he would sink to feed his addiction. The song is a masterpiece of contemplation, isolation, regret and finally hope, as Kiedis pleas to be taken to the place he loves, where he could be among his band mates, friends, and family.

“Sir Psycho Sexy” is an eight-minute epic about an over-zealous, exaggerated version of Keidis, a man who can get any woman he wants and commit any depraved act he can imagine with her. The song is expansive, detailed, and illustrative, another enthralling journey into Keidis’ headspace. The closing track is a cover of “They’re Red Hot,” by blue musician Robert Johnson. The band recorded the song on top of a hill outside the mansion where they recorded the rest of the album. The song is propulsive, a blues-infused rocket of sonic speed that closes the album off with a spurt of energy that could hardly be attained over any longer than the songs scant, one minute run time.

While John Frusciante left the band after the album’s success (he had hoped to remain an underground group, and would later return for Californication, the band’s next masterwork after the less successful One Hot Minute), the rest of the group acclimated well to their newfound success, and Red Hot Chili Peppers have continued to turn out great albums periodically since (their newest, I’m With You will drop this August).

Throughout Blood Sugar Sex Magik the band examines nothing short of sex, drugs, and rock and roll. Looking into Kiedis’ internal struggles with addiction and with romance, the album I, at its rawest and at its best, a look at the various things we do to ourselves to get by and the vices we rely on to keep us satisfied. Whether they are drugs, love, sex, or simply companionship, Blood Sugar Sex Magik tells us, they are an essential part of our lives, for we will forever be engaged in a struggle to tame, or be tamed by, our baser instincts.

Some albums, intentionally or not, center on a theme, an idea that becomes unavoidable as we listen to and absorb them. On Singles Going Steady the Buzzcocks examined pop music through a punk lens, centering on love as their main area of exploration. For War, U2 was looking at the causes and effects of conflict and searching both externally and internally for the peace they would need to excel as a band. And Red Hot Chili Peppers used Blood Sugar Sex Magick to examine sex, sure, but more deeply to look at the nature of vice and its place in our lives. Purposefully or not, each of these albums returned again and again to the same particular themes, and they colored them immensely. Whether released as a compilation as a career came to an end, as a tentative step forward for a band finding its sea legs in the ocean of rock and roll, or as the first masterpiece from a band entering its prime, these albums took one central idea, and ran with it until musical excellence was achieved.

Read more My Year in Lists here

Next week on My Year in Lists:

The Slits Cut, Prince weathers some Purple Rain, and Superchunk warns that there’s No Pocky For Kitty.
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Edinburgh Film Festival Round-Up

2011-06-19T05:06:00.000-07:00

By Jordan

Earlier this week I attended the opening three days of the 65th Edinburgh International Film Festival. It was my first film festival, and I attended it while on vacation in the UK (a vacation I will return from later this week; devotees of Review to Be Named can expect the blog to be back on its regular schedule after Wednesday). I did not attend it as a member of the press (for anyone who is at all confused, I am not a member of the press, just your standard amateur mucking it up for the real critics), and therefore participated in fewer screenings than I might have otherwise. I saw seven films over my three days at the festival: three revivals (screenings of Jim Jarmusch's Stranger Than Paradise, Sara Driver's You Are Not I, and Alexander Mackendrick's 1949 classic Whisky Galore!) and four UK Premiere's. Instead of writing four full reviews of the movies I saw, I thought it best to include short capsule reviews of all four, including grades as my standard regular length reviews do. You'll see more inter-review references than usual in these capsules, and a few asides about the festival experience, so think of these less as considered reviews and more as reports from the field. Without further ado, here are my thoughts on the four films I had the chance to experience at the Edinburgh International Film Festival:

The Guard:

Directed by John Michael McDonagh (brother of In Bruges director Martin McDonagh), The Guard is in several respects very similar to his brother's film. Also a pitch-black comedy starring a caustic Brendan Gleeson, The Guard is a self assured debut that knows exactly how clever it is and doesn't pull any punches as a result. Gleeson is stellar and hysterical as Sergeant Gerry Boyle, a boozy, drug-friendly, hooker frequenting small town cop who reluctantly joins forces with a standard, strait-laced, "by the book" FBI Agent Wendell Everett (Don Cheadle, who very subtly portrays Everett's transformation from shock to annoyance to loyalty in regards to Boyle) to bring down a drug cartel who murderously await a shipment of $500 million worth of cocaine (though, as Boyle continuously insists, the feds tend to overestimate the "street value" of their busts). In many ways, The Guard is a fairly standard, if a few shades darker, buddy cop comedy, but it sets itself apart by being far more hysterical, and far more politically incorrect than its more generic counterparts. Hilarious, engrossing, and just a full out blast to watch, The Guard is the kind of film that will make fans of In Bruges wait excitedly for the next project from one of the brothers McDonagh.

Grade: A-

Oliver Sherman:

A compelling study of the effects of warfare and of mankind's dual capacity for compassion and violence, Oliver Sherman is a tense tour de force. Propelled by three stellar lead performances from Garret Dillahunt as Sherman Oliver, an ex-soldier who survived a shot to the head but never got over the psychological aftermath, Donal Logue as Franklin Page, the man who saved Sherman's life and has since settled into a quiet, peaceful existence and Molly Parker as Irene, page's serene but willful wife, the film follows Sherman's surprise arrival on the Page's doorstep and its effects on both him and on the patient and, initially at least, understanding Page's. Written and directed assuredly by first timer Ryan Redford, Oliver Sherman is a stellar look at three people pushed to their limits and beyond and the long term consequences of trauma for two very different men.

Grade: A

Our Day Will Come:

The feature-length debut of director Romain Gavras (most well known for his inflammatory video for MIA's "Born Free"), Our Day Will Come deals with many similar concerns in its examinations of two red-heads who feel ostracized by their society and set off on a nihilistic road trip towards Ireland, where they believe they may finally gain acceptance. Remy (a forceful Olivier Bartelemy) feels alienated, disaffected, isolated and bullied by everyone around him until he assaults his mother and sister and escapes their control. He quickly falls under the thrall of Patrick (Vincent Cassel, stellar as always) a charismatic, racist, violent psychoanalyst who tells Remy he can be his own Messiah and lead redheads into a day of prominence. A pitch black comedy that at times becomes a disturbingly violent examination of alienation and racism in French society, Our Day Will Come is a road comedy for the deeply troubled. While the film at times loses itself in surrealistic tangents (one of which features Cassel in a threesome while a stone faced red headed girl watches from a couch) and is often too on the nose in its "red heads as minorities discriminated against in French society" metaphors, Our Day Will Come is consistently interesting and occasionally moving, with two great performances and a propulsive pace that moves on from any useless or uninteresting tangent quickly enough that none prove too distracting. For much of its runtime, I was reminded of a remark made by Don Cheadle in The Guard soon after he meets Brendan Gleeson: "I don't know whether you're really fucking smart or really fucking stupid." Gleeson just smiles in response, and Our Day Will Come seems to grimace at the same question. It doesn't know the answer, and neither does Gavras (who was often befuddled and unable to answer questions during the Q&A that followed the screening), but neither seems to care. Both the film and its director seem satisfied to just be along for the ride.

Grade: B (though I reserve the right to reevaluate in either direction if I get the chance to see the film again upon its wide release)

On the Shore:

Police Captain Michel Matarasso (played well by the expressive French character actor Daniel Duval) is plagued by nightmares and grows weary of his job, and his listless relationship with a stunt coordinator. All of this changes, though, when he discovers the body of a young woman who has committed suicide and begins to involve himself in the lives of her former friends, family and colleagues. Ostensibly, the film aims to examine the need for love and the pain of loneliness, but far too often it becomes a meandering mess, confusing silence for subtlety and muddled writing for evocative mystery. The film feels needlessly, endlessly drawn out at 90 minutes (a fact which was not helped by the stifling heat in the theater, which got so bad I honestly considered walking out, something I have never done before) and seems so confused about what exactly its trying to say that it ends up saying nothing at all. The first fictional film from documentarian Julien Donada, the film is certainly atmospheric. Unfortunately, all the expansive atmospheres and beautiful scenery serve to expose the emptiness at the films center, a hollow core which no amount of beautiful beach front cinematography can fully fill in.

Grade: C

My Year in Lists: Week Twenty Three

2011-06-07T17:16:00.000-07:00

By Jordan

"Part of her appeal is how she can make hard-to-interpret lyrics so emotionally gripping."-Ned Raggett of Allmusic, on ELizabeth Fraser of Cocteau Twins

"I was trying to write the ultimate pop song. I was basically trying to rip off the Pixies, I have to admit it."-Kurt Cobain, on the writing of "Smells Like Teen Spirit"

"No album in recent history had such an overpowering impact on a generation—a nation of teens suddenly turned punk—and such a catastrophic effect on its main creator."-Rolling Stone on Nevermind

As I prepare to travel outside of the country for two weeks, on a trip that will include time at the Edinburgh Film Festival (regular readers can expect some thoughts on that in a different space whence I return), this column has not received the attention it deserves this week. Apologies in advance if there's a dip in quality, but My Year in Lists must soldier on even when its author hasn't the time to give it the attention it deserves. So let's get right to it then.

The earliest incarnation of what would become The Cure formed as The Obelisk at Notre Dame Middle School in Crawley, Sussex in 1973 with Robert Smith on the piano, Michael "Mick" Dempsey on guitar, Lawrence "Lol" Tolhurst on drums, Mark Ceccagno on lead guitar and Alan Hill on bass. In January of 1977, the group adopted the name Easy Cure, and after a brief flirtation with a record deal that produced no releases, Smith, Tolhurst, and Dempsey reemerged as The Cure. The group released their US debut album (which collected songs from their UK debut Three Imaginary Boys along with five new songs), and Tab's pick this week Boys Don't Cry.

The title track was written by all three members of the band, and tells of a man reeling from heartbreak but hiding his emotions to retain his masculinity. "Boys Don't Cry" is a great song by any measure, but whenever I hear it I am slightly confused by the posturing inherent in its message. The Cure is not generally seen as a hyper-masculine, Gary Cooper type band, and Robert Smith has never seemed to emphasize the need for stoicism (see: much of the rest of the band's discography, including Disintegration, which we discussed a few weeks back, for evidence of this), yet one of the band's most famed and enduring songs basically boils down to "Man up! Don't be a little bitch! You're not a baby, nor are you a girl, so don't cry over your heartbreak!" And all of this prior to a decade in which the band would spend much of its time releasing pop love songs. Nevertheless, "Boys Don't Cry" is tops, so I can't gripe too much over a mixed message. Plus, having not shed a tear in over a decade (not, I assure you, because of my stoic approach toward existence), I can get behind the song's message anyway.

The demo of "10:15 Saturday Night" is the song that caught the attention of Chris Parry, who signed the band to his newly formed record company Fiction. "Jumping Someone Else's Train" is just a great early post-punk track, fun, thoughtful, catchy and quick. But I will always have a soft spot in my heart for "Killing an Arab," if only because as a self-satisfied twelve-year-old I thought the reference to Camus' The Stranger was the coolest thing in the world. Apparently, for past-Jordan, knowing that a post-punk band as cool as The Cure had read and enjoyed the same absurdist existentialist philosopher I was currently obsessed with was just about the best thing since sliced bread (seriously, though, Camus is the man. If you haven't read The Fall or "The Myth of Sisyphus," you should stop reading this right now and do so. I guarantee you'll find his work more enlightening than my smart assery about The Cure).

The Cure has continued to produce excellent music over the three decades since the release of Boys Don't Cry, yet this debut set the stage for an entirely different sound and paved the way for what not just this band, but many others would be doing for years to come.

In the early days of post-punk, surrounded by the sounds of Joy Division, The Birthday Party, Sex Pistols, Kate Bush and Siouxsie and the Banshees, Robin Guthrie, Will Heggie, and their brand new vocalist Elizabeth Fraser joined together and formed The Cocteau Twins. Their debut album, and Collin's pick this week, Garlands was released in 1982.

"Wax and Wane" establishes the band's often dreamy style, with Fraser's ethereal voice taking a fairly standard early post-punk melody and imbuing it with an otherworldly feel that gives it power it might otherwise lack. By "Blind Dumb Deaf," though, the melodies have caught up to Fraser's vocals and The Cocteau Twins have transcended their influences and cemented their own sound.

"Shallow then Halo" is a darker song that at parts takes on an almost Lynchian quality (I can easily see Isabella Rossellini in Blue Velvet slinking across a dance floor to the song). The title track displays a band that has figured out its sound, which is always a plus on a debut album. Overall, Garlands is an assured debut for The Cocteau Twins, a solid album that introduces a revolutionary new sound and then plays around with it until it finds just the right ways to make it shine. The band, along with The Cure and Sonic Youth was instrumental to the formulation of dream pop, and is considered an influence on My Bloody Valentine, Sigur Ros, Asobi Seksu, Broken Social Scene and dozens of others.

Formed in Aberdeen, Washington in 1987 by Kurt Cobain and Krist Novoselic, Nirvana is quite possibly the most important band of the last twenty years. To qualify that statement, I am no Nirvana superfan, nor would I say they are my favorite band of the last twenty years. Yet, within their seven years together (prior to Cobain's untimely if not unpredictable suicide) and within the space of just three albums, Nirvana became a phenomenon that shaped music more than any of their contemporaries. Their second album, and Ashley's pick this week, Nevermind launched them into the stratosphere.

Nevermindis also the first album to include drummer Dave Grohl as part of the band's line up. After listening to REM, The Smithereens, and Pixies, Cobain began experimenting with more melodic songs. The band also signed with Geffen Records, based off of the suggestion of their idols Sonic Youth. The opening track "Smells Like Teen Spirit" was Cobain's attempt to write a song in the style of Pixies. Cobain got the title for the song from graffiti a friend spray paintedo n his wall reading "Kurt Smells Like Teen Spirit." He didn't realize until months after the song's release that Teen Spirit was a brand of deodorant; he thought the term smacked of revolution, and the song he wrote fits that mentality. While the lyrics are often indecipherable, the mood is one of rebellion, and "Smells Like Teen Spirit" would have to be on any list of the best songs of the '90s. Seething with anger, touched with ambivalence, and catchy as hell, the song is an apex of the band's short career.

"Come As You Are" is a song about the expectations people have for how one another should behave. "Lithium" features shifts from quiet verses to loud choruses, a songwriting trick Cobain had lifted from Pixies. The song is about a person who turns to religion after a heartbreak to save himself from suicide. The song is powerful in the best sense of the word, rollicking, dark, singable and anthemic. In short, it fucking rocks.

Nevermind popularized the Seattle grunge movement and cemented alternative rock into the mainstream of American culture. Where before alternative rock struggled to find commercial success, Nirvana ushered in an era when alternative rock, for a time at least, truly ceased to be an "alternative." Nirvana made their sound the mainstream through sheer craftsmanship and force of will. It's hard to quantify the impact of Nirvana, except to say that they changed the face of music forever, bringing alternative rock into the mainstream and heavily influencing the lives of an entire generation of music lovers. When we speak of the most influential bands of all time, it would be a mistake not to include Nirvana in the discussion.

In lieu of a conclusion tying all of this together (again, time being a concern as I write this installment, apologies to any fans of my overwrought conclusions), I will simply end this week by saying happy listening in the unusually long interim between postings. You can expect Week Twenty Four to be posted on Wednesday, June 22nd, and we'll be back to our regular Friday postings for Week Twenty Five on June 24th. Also, there should be another My Year in Lists: Interlude for your reading pleasure by the end of the month. For any of you playing along with the feature at home, enjoy the long period you'll be able to spend with next week's music. Me, I'll be giving it the attention it deserves and more. I've got a long flight ahead of me. Which reminds me, I've got a plane to catch.

Read more My Year in Lists here

Next on My Year in Lists:

The Buzzcocks are Singles Going Steady, U2 is headed off to War and Red Hot Chili Peppers are cooking up a little recipe involving Blood Sugar Sex Majik.

Want to keep tabs on all of our updates? follow us on twitter @reviewtobenamed (follow us here).

The Watchtower: Continuity Changes

2011-06-06T11:26:00.000-07:00

By Chris

Welcome to The Watchtower, a new comics centric blog feature. Entries will focus on news, industry trends, creator spotlights, top # lists, rumors and speculation, comic to film and television adaptations, and whatever else I feel like writing about or you would be interested in reading about . The title, is a reference to the Satellite Headquarters of the Justice League of America.

Over the past decades, two publishers (Marvel and DC) have dominated the Comics industry. However if you examine comics sales charts of the past few years, you will see that Marvel Comics sales represents a majority of the top of the sales charts, and flat out dominates the middle region of the sales charts. If DC was to remain a viable competitor to Marvel, they needed to take drastic action, and that's exactly what they have done. Last week, DC announced an extensive business and creative plan to reinvigorate their sales and perhaps those of the industry as a whole.

Today we'll be looking at some of DC's plans for September, specifically the continuity alterations.

Continuity changes and reboots are business as usual in comics, especially where DC is concerned. Almost all of their big event books have ended with alterations to the Continuity. Most notably, Crisis on Infinite Earth's destroyed the Multiverse (the parallel Earth's that were home to other heroes that interacted with the core Earth regularly), among other changes, this series retconned The Justice Society of America to have always existed on the same Earth as the Justice League, as the heroes of the Golden Age, whereas previously they were the heroes of an alternate Earth. Infinite Crisis brought back some worlds of the Multiverse, (52 to be precise, 52 is an important number where DC is concerned). And so on and so forth. The changes are numerous and not only limited to event books. Characters origins are constantly being tweaked and updated: Superman had his origin revised in John Byrne's Man of Steel, then again in Mark Waid's Superman: Birthright, and then again by Geoff Johns in Superman Secret Origins. So continuity change is nothing new as far as DC is concerned.

The question that remains to be answered is just how extensive are the changes DC is considering this time around. The word from the publishers is that this is not a reboot. So I don't think we're looking at an Ultimate style start from scratch, especially since word from Geoff Johns is that the effects of Blackest Night will still be in play in Green Lantern, and solicitations for one of the new series reveals that the Sinestro, Red, Blue, etc. Lantern Corps will still be around when the dust settles.

Additionally Geoff Johns (DC's chief creative officer whose finger prints are all over this plan) just spent a great deal of time exploring and building up a number of characters in the bi-monthly Brightest Day. Why go to all that work, many of the storylines involved origin revisions, if the same goal could be accomplished much simpler in a start from scratch continuity reboot, so no, I don't believe the changes we will see come September are going to be too extreme, I think we're looking at some origin tweaking and streamlining, but not erasing the continuity of the past x number of years.

So what will the continuity changes entail exactly? Too early to tell. But a lot of the language coming out of Editorial is that the DC Universe coming in September will be "younger, modern, and more diverse." More diverse was a direction that the Publisher was already in, so perhaps there will be some alterations to the history of the universe to further establish their more diverse heroes as being around longer than they actually have.

I think the only part of the established continuity that's really in jeopardy are the several generations of sidekicks. "Younger and modern" are interesting words, and a goal that will in the long run help the publisher connect to a younger audience, and one of the best way to achieve this is to remove the main factors that influence how the passage of time is perceived, specifically, the generations of young heroes that have been tutored by Batman, The Flash etc. It's hard to picture Bruce Wayne as a man in his early thirties when he has taken on two wards (one of whom is now a grown man) and has a tweenage son.

From the solicitations that have leaked so far, we already know that Firestorm (already one of DC's younger heroes) is being dragged to high school age. What lies in store for Dick Grayson, Wally West, and Donna Troy? How can DC skew their mentors as younger without dealing these characters? Will Cyborg (the contemporary of these characters as they were on the Teen Titans together) remain an adult given that its been announced he will be a member of the new Justice League while the other former Titans are dragged?

Also of interest is what will happen to Grant Morrison's Batman magnum opus currently being chronicled in Batman Incorporated, wherein Bruce Wayne reveals that he funds Batman, and Batman is building a global army of Bat themed heroes. It's an incredible story, but the sort of continuity that is not as clean and simple as it appears DC wants to present to new readers come the September relaunch. While it is unlikely DC would mess with the in-progress story of Grant Morrison, one of the few writers who can break the top ten of the sales charts, reducing the number of Batmen running around the DCU is just the kind of continuity cleaning direction that DC has been engaging in, in recent years: returning characters to their most iconic representations. I really want to believe that come September, Batman Incorporated will continue the story it began in as close to identical condition as possible, or at very least, be allowed to finish out the story it was telling as the last title upholding the current DCU continuity.

And perhaps the biggest question, what will become of the current crop of young teen heroes: Tim Drake (Red Robin), Damien Wayne (Current Robin), Cassie Sandsmark (Wonder Girl II), Superboy, Supergirl, and Bart Allen (Kid Flash II)? I really hope that these characters will be sticking around come September, but if any characters are in jeopardy because of the continuity revisions, it's this grouping.

The Watchtower: DC's Plans for the Fall

2011-06-05T16:20:00.000-07:00

By Chris

Welcome to The Watchtower, a new comics centric blog feature. Entries will focus on news, industry trends, creator spotlights, top # lists, rumors and speculation, comic to film and television adaptations, and whatever else I feel like writing about or you would be interested in reading about . The title, of course, is a reference to the Satellite Headquarters of the Justice League of America.

Today we'll be looking at some of DC's plans for September, specifically the 52 ongoing series that will be launched in September with new #1 issues.

Accessibility and Jumping On Points is something that you hear discussed a lot these days among Industry Professionals, Retailers, and Readers. That's because its often times difficult to get a casual fan, a new reader, or a non reader to pick up a book that has been published for decades, accumulating an intimidating amount of continuity.

How does the non experienced reader know where and how to jump onto a book, especially when it's on Issue #246? Many different attempts to offer jumping on points have been tried over the years, most recently Marvel's .1 initiative that would offer a .1 issue of a book that would act as an introduction to new readers. However as CBR reviewer Greg McElhatton noted, how is the casual reader supposed to know what a .1 issue means?

History has shown that nothing works better than a #1 issue. It's a clear sign that this is a beginning point where readers can enter into a story, and its a guaranteed sales boost, partially because of people jumping on, and partially because of collectors grabbing up the issues because they think they will be valuable someday.

While it is possible that 52 #1 issues will be too much for fans to handle in one month, the line wide accessibility combined with the news splash that this bold move has already made is probably worth the risk. New readers are so few and far between these days, that any effort to make it easier/more appealing to pick up new books should be applauded, so I think that DC made a smart move here. If nothing else, they will definitely dominate the top of the sales chart for at least September, something they haven't done in over a decade.

However I really do hope that DC's two longest running titles Action Comics and Detective Comics will not be renumbered as this is history and legacy that the publisher should be proud of.

NEW FEATURE: The Watchtower

2011-06-05T16:16:00.000-07:00

By Chris

Welcome to The Watchtower, a new comics centric blog feature. Entries will focus on news, industry trends, creator spotlights, top # lists, rumors and speculation, comic to film and television adaptations, and whatever else I feel like writing about or you would be interested in reading about . The title, of course, is a reference to the Satellite Headquarters of the Justice League of America.

This first several entries will examine DC Comics extensive plans for September 2011.

For anyone who hasn't heard, all news about DC Comics publishing plans past September went dark about 2 or 3 months ago, with writers and editors keeping a tight lip on the plans for their titles and story lines going into the Fall. That all changed last week when DC made massive, bombshell press releases to USA Today detailing exactly what was in store for Superman, Batman, Green Lantern and the rest of their iconic characters come September. The details of the plan can be found here: http://dcu.blog.dccomics.com/ , but can be briefly summarized as this:

1.) All current books end in August. In September DC will launch 52 ongoing series, each with a new #1 issue.

2.) The DC Continuity will be altered to some degree. The means through which this will happen is probably the alterations to the timeline currently happening in DC's big summer event book Flashpoint. Just how drastically the Continuity will be altered remains to be seen.

3.) DC will be offering all of its titles for sale in digital format the same day the physical paper titles hit the local comic shops. They will also begin offering combination hard and digital copies for a slightly higher price. This move could have drastic effects on the small business comic book retailers which has been the lifeblood of the industry for years.

4.) DC has begun to release the details on the creative teams that will be working on their 52 new ongoings. A new slew of descriptions has and will be released each day starting last Thursday.

I'm going to do an individual article looking at the first three points, with the potential of a follow up once more details become public. I will do an entry for each new batch of title reveals examine DC's creative plans in more details as they are announced.

This is bound to be the biggest comics news of the Summer, if not the entire year, as the ramifications for DC and comics publication going forward could be huge. Regardless of their feelings on this move, DC has achieved the most important thing you can in the current declining comics market: a lot of buzz and engaged (sometimes heated) discourse. Personally, I believe that it's a very, very exciting time to be a fan!

Beginners

2011-06-05T13:21:00.000-07:00

By Jordan

There is a fine-line between endearingly quirky and insufferably calculated oddness (some would call this twee, but I detest the word and will myself avoid it), and this is the line on which Beginners, the new film by Mike Mills, tight-rope walks. The film is saved, when it manages to be, by its roots in the autobiographical relationship between Mills and his father. It fails, when it does, by trying too hard to be cute, subtitling a Jack Russell Terrier, creating a meet-cute styled after a silent movie due to laryngitis, and having characters steal rollerskates from a rink to glide around Los Angeles.

The film follows Mills' alter-ego Oliver (Ewan McGregor, as likable as always) as he mourns the death of his father. Through flashbacks we get to see his experiences with his dad (played superbly by Christopher Plummer) in his final years, as the 75-year-old comes out and decides to make up for lost time by being as gay as possible (wrapping himself in rainbow scarves, dancing the night away at gay clubs, writing letters of support for gay politicians and passing out gay pride stickers) and taking a younger lover Andy (a soulful yet playful Goran Visnjic). And in the present, Oliver meets Anna (Melanie Laurent, acquitting herself well in English), an equally commitment-phobic actress with diametrically opposed father issues. As we watch Oliver's relationship with his father grow as his father withers with terminal lung cancer, we also see Oliver fall for, and try to tear himself away from Anna, who may just be perfect for him. Throughout the film, all of these people struggle to decide whether to become who they want to be or to be forever restrained by their fears about the consequences of their actions.

Beginners, like its characters, is troubled because it does not know exactly what to be. Is it a carefree light romantic comedy, a tragedy-laced remembrance of a father, a weighty drama about psychological baggage, or a dramedy about human need for companionship and adaptability to new situations? In parts, it is all of these things, and its impossible not to think it would be more successful if it would simply settle on a tone and stick with it. It is never as funny as it could be, and never quite as tragic as it might be, simply floating in the middle ground between tones and never settling enough to coalesce. Beginners feels like the beginning of something great. Unfortunately that promise of greatness is never fulfilled, and we are left with the desire for a film that doesn't share its characters' flaws, a film that is more self-assured and more confident about the message it imparts.

Grade: B-

The Tree of Life

2011-06-05T12:41:00.000-07:00

By Jordan

It took time for me to be able to even think about writing this review. It took time for me to even figure out my feelings on this movie. Those feelings are incredibly complicated, and still only half formed. I've only seen The Tree of Life once so far, though I would really like to see it again, and maybe several more times, before putting my feelings into words. So take this review with a grain of salt; consider it a report from the field, a work in progress that will only be completed in my own mind over the next several months and multiple viewings.

The Tree of Life is not a simple film, nor is it a straightforward one. It is not a perfect film, either. Yet it is a film of such mammoth scale and such startling ambition that it is hard not to see it as a cinematic masterpiece, even as I struggle to reconcile some of its flaws with its larger successes. The movie opens with a quote from the book of Job, and frames itself around a series of questions posed to a nonresponsive and possibly nonexistent God. Why do bad things happen to good people? Why does God take people from us? Where is he when all of the horrible things that happen in the world occur?

From there, the film seems to attempt to answer these questions by reaching back to the dawn of time itself in a startling, visually arresting and unforgettable sequence that recalls in style and ambition Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey (and was not coincidentally developed by Douglas Trumbull, the special effects supervisor on that earlier film, who had been away from Hollywood for 30 years before returning for this film). Also working alongside the brilliant cinematographer Emmanual Lubeski (who worked on Malick's last film, The New World and on Children of Men), Malick develops a series of exalted images of the creation of the universe, the early days of our planet, and the reign of the dinosaurs before tying all of this creation back to humanity, launching forward into the twentieth century to show us the birth of a child. This portion of the film is hauntingly beautiful, aching with significance and demanding to be rewatched. It is a titanic achievement for Malick, and one the rest of the film tries, and often fails, to live up to.

The middle section of the movie is devoted to watching that child grow in mid-'50s Waco, and observing in a non-narrative, almost dream-like series of recollections the way that child, Jack, (played by the superb Hunter McCracken) is torn between the diametrically opposed philosophies of his parents, the autocratic and borderline abusive Father (Brad Pitt, in one of his best performances) and the saint-like, gently loving Mother (Jessica Chastain, who does much with very little spoken dialogue). As his mother explains in voice over, there are two ways through life: The Way of Nature, and The Way of Grace. Malick's work in archetypes may be viewed by some as simply leaving us with broadly-drawn characters; Pitt and Chastain are not multi-dimensional creations, nor are they meant to be. They represent two sides of a spectrum, with their three children being pulled in both directions simultaneously. Sean Penn appears very briefly (in a role clearly edited into almost nonexistence during post-production) as the grown Jack, who wanders in a melancholy stupor through a modern metropolis, still haunted by the suicide of his brother and by the fallout of his parents' personalities.

Malick cannot possibly top the opening hour of the film, though he often tries through the rest of its run-time. Some will call the material in Waco shapeless and lacking in narrative drive, and this is true, though the dream-like quality lends the segment a realism and a feeling of things remembered that a straightforward bildungsroman would have eschewed. And the final act, in which time itself comes to an end and we are left to contemplate eternity, feels comparatively simplistic and even banal, though it remains as beautifully shot as the rest of the film. There are definitive flaws to The Tree of Life, but there is something magnificent about its scope and ambition, which dwarves that of any other film I've seen in years. It's impossible not to see The Tree of Life as a mammoth achievement in filmmaking, and in spite of its flaws, its hard not to see this as setting the standard that every other movie this year will have to live up to. I'm betting most will fail.

Grade: A

X-Men: First Class

2011-06-05T12:17:00.000-07:00

By Jordan

After a decade filled to the brim with comic book movies, origin stories, and reboots, X-Men: First Class has its work cut out for it. Coming after two disappointing installments in the X-Men series (2006's X-Men: The Last Stand and 2009's X-Men Origins: Wolverine), the movie had to shake things up somehow just to get audiences back in the seats. Fortunately, it does just that, moving back to the early '60's to deliver an engaging, if flawed, look at the formation of mutant-kind's last line of defense.

The film, directed by Matthew Vaughn (Kick Ass), opens just as the first X-Men did, with a young Erik Lensherr being dragged away from his mother in a concentration camp, trying in vain to bend the gate with his newly discovered super powers. He is soon taken to the sadistic Dr. Schmidt, later known as Sebastian Shaw (Kevin Bacon, having fun in the role), who uses rage to unlock the boy's powers. We are then introduced to a young Charles Xavier, who befriends a young shapeshifter named Raven.

From there the film becomes a globe-spanning trek through the early '60s, as an older Xavier (James MacAvoy) gets his doctorate as an older Erik (Michael Fassbender) seeks revenge. The two are soon drawn into the effort to recruit more mutants to counter a plot by Shaw that weaves its way into the Cuban Missile Crisis. The cast is rounded out by an incredibly game Rose Byrne as CIA Agent Moira MacTaggert, a fantastic Jennifer Lawrence as Raven, who becomes known as Mystique, and the downright awful January Jones, who stiffly stumbles through a turn as the iconic Emma Frost.

The movie is not without its flaws. All of the Cuban Missile Crisis material will feel strangely without stakes for anyone who has ever seen a better executed take on the tensions and apocalyptic fears of the period, and the sprinkling in of real life footage does more to undercut the realism than it does to serve it. The film also seems to feel the need to rush into well established moments in X-Men continuity, sacrificing what could have been an incredibly enjoyable jaunt through the early days of the team to get into developments we all know are coming. That Xavier and Lensherr will soon be arch-enemies is known by all; more fun could have been had if the film had dedicated more of its runtime to developing the bond between these two before tearing it asunder. In fact, the film is at its best during an early montage that follows the two as they attempt to recruit mutants from around the world. MacAvoy and Fassbender have an easy, realistic chemistry and crackerjack comic timing that could have been put to better use if the movie would have slowed its propulsive pace for long enough to develop more realistic character beats.

Ultimately, though, First Class achieves its ends. It is fun, fast-paced, and action packed. It keeps the tone light for much of its run time, throws in enough in jokes (and cameos) to keep fans of the series happy, and reminds any wary audience members why X-Men movies used to be so much fun. While I wish the movie hadn't felt such a strong desire to blow through as much continuity as it did, there's at least comfort in knowing that it did so with verve and aplomb. And if nothing else, it accomplished what was surely its behind the scenes goal: It got me excited for the prospect of another X-Men movie.

Grade: B+

My Year in Lists: Week Twenty Two

2011-06-02T18:21:00.000-07:00

By Jordan

“The forward-looking sounds of this unique disc have positioned the band as one of the most influential and inspiring bands since The Velvet Underground.”-Jim DeRogatis, Turn On Your Mind: Four Decades of Great Psychedelic Rock

“My Bloody Valentine was the first band I heard who quite literally pissed all over us, and their album Loveless is certainly one of my all time three favorite records. It’s the sound of someone who is so driven that they’re demented. And the fact that they spent so much money and time on it is so excellent.”-Robert Smith of The Cure

Context is everything. This is as true in life as it is in music. Understanding the circumstances surrounding an event can be as crucial, if not more so, as understanding the event itself. To be topical for a moment, much of the reporting around the current Anthony Weiner Twitter scandal has been so slapshod (and were this a different blog or a different column, I would write a lot more on the journalistic failings surrounding this story) because it has completely lacked context, blurring the Congressman;s own words, ignoring several statements made by the woman he allegedly sent the picture to, and ignoring some of the actual reporting going on in the blogosphere. Earlier this week, Bill Moyer was on The Daily Show, discussing how he conducts interviews and emphasizing that in the editing of an interview, ensuring that everything remains in context is of the utmost importance.

This is why so much of this column every week is dedicated to illuminating the relevant portions of each artist’s history. Of course I hope that My Year in Lists is educational as well as enlightening for any of you who read it every week, but I also feel that it is necessary to provide context to truly examine any of the artists or albums we look at. So this week, I want to look more specifically than usual at what the context surrounding the recordings we will examine says about these albums and how it likely affected their recordings.

Sham 69 was a punk band formed in Hersham, England in 1976, right at the birth of punk as a genre. While they never reached the commercial success or notoriety of their contemporaries, Sham 69 has been a musical and lyrical influence on the genre of streetpunk, and is widely and often regarded as one of the best bands of the golden age of punk rock. The band allegedly got their name from a piece of graffiti that founder Jimmy Pursey found on a wall, which originally said “Walton and Hersham ‘69” in reference to the football (soccer to us silly Americans) team’s victory in the Athenian League in 1969, but had partially faded way in the ensuing years. Sham 69 lacked the art school background of many English punk bands, bringing in football chants and an inarticulate political populism to the scene. The band had a large skinhead following, and actually stopped performing live after a 1978 performance at Middlsesex Polytechnic was broken up by the white power segment of the skinhead population fighting and rushing the stage. The group released their first single, the John Cale (of The Velvet Underground ) produced “I Don’t Wanna” in 1977 and released their debut album, and Tab’s pick this week, Tell Us the Truth, in 1978.

The first side of the album is recorded live, while the second was done in a studio. The opening track on side one, “We Got a Fight” is an infectiously punkish call to arms, a sleek minute and a half of pure punk energy. The closing song on the live side, “Borstal Breakout” had already been a hit for the band as a single, and has an energy reminiscent of The Ramones “Blitzkrieg Bop,” but with the added freneticism of the live performance comes across as a tour de force for the band.

The songs on the studio side are unsurprisingly more polished, though they lose almost none of their power without the presence of the audience. “Hey Little Rich Boy” is a condemnation of materialism and of the condescension of the rich. The title track, meanwhile, is a call for honesty and transparency by government officials.

Sham 69 eventually moved away from punk rock as the movement started to schism, embracing a sound heavily influenced by classic British rock groups like Mott the Hoople, The Who, and The Rolling Stones. The band broke up in the mid-1980s, only to reunite with a new lineup in 1987, which remained together until Jim Pursey left the group in 2006, and ultimately disbanded completely just last month. The band has enjoyed a long shelf life despite their relative anonymity in the annals of punk history, and their success is well earned. While nothing on Tell Us The Truth would have set the world on fire, either in 1978 nor in hindsight, it remains an excellent punk album from the golden age of the genre.

Out of context, Sham 69 sounds like great punk, to be sure, but the band gains power when considered as part of that golden age before punk rock started becoming derivative of itself and a great schism occurred dividing punk into hardcore and New Wave (with some other genres also arising). If Tell Us The Truth had been released just a few years later, it might have been passed over completely by history as one of the last vestiges of a dying genre, but coming as it did at the inception of punk rock, Sham 69 can be recognized as one of the first bands to make punk a form of populist music, taking the rage and speed inherent to the genre and bringing it to the working class masses and football fans of England.

Returning now, for a moment, to kraut rock, let’s take a look at Kraftwerk, a band (and, as you will soon see, this album) for which context is everything. The name Kraftwerk is German for power plant and the band formed in Dusseldorf in 1970 by Ralf Hutter and Florian Schneider. The band combines propulsive, repetitive rhythms with catchy melodies and a minimalist electronic instrumentation, and are considered pioneers in the field of electronic music.

In 1981, the band released their eighth studio album, and Collin’s pick this week, Computer World. Thematically, the album centers on the rise of computers in society and the potential effects of this development, and the album is often considered a creative peak for the band. As was the case with their previous two albums, Kraftwerk released Computer World in both English and German versions. This resulted in some lyrics being changed or omitted entirely in English versions.

The album was certainly fairly revolutionary at the time, using only electronic instrumentation and mostly vocoders to provide lyrics, yet it feels very dated today. Many of the tracks sound like the scores for incredibly old video games, and few of them have the melodic force or complexity to remain interesting upon multiple listens. The opening track, “Computer World,” for example, omits the lyrics in the English version that refer to the collection of personal data by government agencies (a prescient notion in 1981). In fact, more than half of the song’s lyrics are omitted in the English version, leaving behind only the fairly straightforward melody, which dampens the song’s impact.

Perhaps my favorite song on the album is, not too coincidentally, the most melodically interesting by far. “Computer Love” has a lush melody, even if it retains the “’80s video game” vibe, and this melody keeps the song interesting on multiple listens. Also, for Coldplay fans out there, you may recognize the music, which was utilized in “Talk” off of X&Y. “It’s More Fun To Compute,” a play on the English slogan “It’s More Fun To Compete” found on pinball machines t the time, has the darkest feel on the album, but still largely sounds like the boss battle from an early Super Mario Bros. game.

Ultimately, Computer World didn’t work for me, not because I don’t think it was at one time a very important album, but because unlike so much of the music we have covered in this space, it hasn’t aged well. I can respect it as important to the development of electronic music, just as I can respect Birth of a Nation as important to the development of narrative on film, but that doesn’t mean that I find the experience of either enjoyable. Out of context, I would dismiss Computer World entirely, and only by understanding the time and the circumstances surrounding its recording do I recognize its significance to electronic music (though I maintain that the album doesn’t hold up well today). The band has influenced Gary Numan, Depeche Mode, Soft Cell, Joy Division, New Order, and Duran Duran, as well as being sampled by countless bands over the last several decades.

Jumping forward a bit, My Bloody Valentine was formed in Dublin, Ireland in 1983 by guitarist/singer Kevin Shields and drummer Colm O Ciosoig. The band added singer-guitarist Bilinda Butcher and bassist Debbie Googe after settling in London in the late ‘80s. The band released their second studio album, and Ashley’s pick this week, Loveless in 1991. The album was recorded over a two-year period in a shocking nineteen different recording studios, mostly due to funding troubles. The recording of the album is rumored to have cost over $250,000 almost bankrupting the band’s label, Creation Records, in the process. The band was removed from the label after the album’s release. Loveless never achieved commercial success, but was critically lauded and is widely regarded as a landmark of the “shoegazing genre,” a term derived from the fact that musicians stood relatively still during performances in a detached, non-confrontational, introspective state, hence the idea that they were gazing at their shoes, an idea that was not helped by the heavy use of effects pedals which actually made the musicians look down at their feet quite often while performing.

The recording of the album was hardly a collaborative process, with Shields having a vision for what he wanted and communicating very little to anyone else. The band went through countless sound engineers throughout the album, and bassist Debbie Googe doesn’t actually play on it at all. All of the music, save one song by Ciosoig, was written by Shields, who also wrote two thirds of the lyrics (with the remainder being written by Butcher). Shields also developed a technique called “Glide guitar” in which he wavered his guitars tremolo bars while strumming, which makes it sound like multiple guitars are playing at the same time and contributes to the band’s distinctive sound.

Much of the drumming on the album was actually collected from samples done by Ciosoig, who due to physical and personal problems only played live on “Only Shallow” and “Touched,” the latter of which he had composed and performed entirely by himself. The former track, which opens the album, is a strong introduction to the heavily distorted, dreamy style the band was aiming for throughout the album, while the latter is a distorted and experimental instrumental track.

“To Here Knows When” practically buries Butcher’s vocals in a sea of distorted guitar and instrumentation, turning her voice into another element in a cacophonous melody that carries the listener to an entirely different plane. “When You Sleep” layers the vocals to the point that they are almost indecipherable, because Shields was having trouble getting a perfect take, and so opted to put all 13 takes of the vocals into the song at the same time. The album’s closing track “Soon” feels as much like a promise of what’s to come as a completion of what the band aimed to do on Loveless.

Unfortunately, that promise was never fulfilled. As Shields himself explained, he threw out a subsequent album because, “it wasn’t as good as Loveless. And I always promised myself I’d never do that, put out a worse record.” I’ve previously discussed the idea of artistic death when I wrote about George Lucas over in Whose Film Is It Anyway?, and it’s a topic we will discuss more in depth when we look at Neutral Milk Hotel later this year, but Shields reticence to record again is simultaneously tragic and completely understandable. When you have produced an album as strong as Loveless and have achieved both the artistic standard and the critical praise you hoped to for said achievement, it has to be difficult, if not impossible, to get back in the saddle.

Fortunately, Shields may yet have an artistic resurrection, as My Bloody Valentine reformed in 2007 and have been working on completing an album using some of their recordings from the ‘90s that Shield originally considered unfit for release, along with potential new material. Loveless is an absolutely stellar album, full of pathos, lush instrumentation and an experimental tone that makes it feel downright revolutionary at its best. Yet, as Robert Smith said in the quote that opened this piece, knowing how much time, money, and personal drive went into the album’s creation makes it all the more special. If My Bloody Valentine never releases another album, it will always have the legacy of Loveless, which should keep it in the annals of musical history in and of itself.

This week, the context of each album was absolutely essential to my appreciation of them. When I first listened to Sham 69, unaware of when the music was made, exactly, I thought it was a damn good punk album, but it feels much more original and meaningful coming as it did at the dawn of punk rock’s golden age. Computer World doesn’t hold up today, and I would have given it a complete pan had I not looked closer and realized how prescient it was, both thematically and sonically. I still don’t like the album, but at least now I understand better why it was important and why Collin might call it essential. And while Loveless would have been a masterpiece regardless of the circumstances surrounding it, knowing how much time, effort, and soul went into its creation, and knowing that Kevin Shields is still recovering from the creation of something that powerful, makes the experience that much more unique. Context is vital to true understanding, and if we are willing to look closely at music, as we should at all aspects of our life, we may find that the story surrounding our favorite music is as informative to the message the band is imparting as the music itself.

Read more My Year in Lists here

Note: I will be traveling outside the country for the next two weeks. As such, you can look for Week Twenty Three to be posted a few days early, on Wednesday, June 8th. Week Twenty Four will be posted a few days late, on Wednesday, June 22nd, and we will return to our regularly scheduled Friday posting for Week Twenty Five, which you can look for on Friday, June 24th. All other blog content will also be suspended or rescheduled during these weeks.

Next week on My Year in Lists:

We revisit The Cure, who let us know that Boys Don’t Cry, watch the Cocteau Twins string some Garlands, and listen as a little band called Nirvana tells us Nevermind.

Want to keep tabs on all of our updates? follow us on twitter @reviewtobenamed (follow us here).

Chris' Comics Corner

2011-06-02T16:21:00.000-07:00

So is anything going on in comics news this week?

Ahahaha just kidding.

Seriously though, we'll dive into the DC plans in greater detail once more concrete announcements are made.

For now, let's focus on the here and now, and here and now was a great week for comics!

Fear Itself #3
Publisher: Marvel
Writer: Matt Fraction
Artist: Stuart Immonen

“Our CAPITAL, Sharon. Going out for some air. Might be a while...”

After a slightly weak second issue, things kick into high gear with the latest installment of Matt Fraction's summer epic.

The thrills start with Bucky Cap leading some of the Avengers into battle against Sin and her forces in D.C. and the action doesn't let up as the Avengers and the Future Foundation confront the other members of the Worthy who are wreaking havoc around the world. Fraction does an excellent job of raising the stakes in this issue, as the assembled heroes of the Marvel Universe are stretched thin facing threats that were quite formidable before they were bequeathed power bestowing hammers of Asgardian origin. Not to mention the fact that Asgard is gearing up to wipe out humanity to deprive the Serpent of the fear on which he thrives.

The real strength of this issue comes during the scenes where Thor is interacting with his Asgardian brethren. Loki continues to make the most of his second chance after being resurrected as a child, reaching out to his brother and doing whatever he can to aid Thor and make him proud. Thor's showdown with Odin is nowhere near as explosive as their confrontation in the first issue, however it is equally fascinating, and further demonstrates the complexity inherent in their relationship.

My only complaint is that the series has been so action heavy in the last two issues, we haven't had time to examine the emotional tole that all this destruction is having on the Marvel Universe and the assembled heroes. Given that two of the Worthy are members of the heroic community, there is a goldmine of emotional character driven moments to be explored that have so far been relegated to the tie in issues. Fraction did such a great job of capturing the mood of anxiety in the first issue, and is such a master at crafting a variety of character's voices, that it would be a great shame if he did not take the chance to explore what his protagonists are feeling as they face unstoppable odds, watch comrades fall, and see two friends turned into mindless engines of destruction.

Stuart Immonen must be having a blast on this series, as he gets to smash all the toys together in a variety of exotic locations across the Marvel Universe. The fight scenes are brutal. I mean really brutal, which is especially important in a series where the antagonists are all juggernauts of destruction (one of them is in fact the juggernaut). Immonen's take on Bucky Cap, Black Widow, and Falcon are especially iconic, and the shocking ending scene is especially well choreographed, to really tug at the heart strings.

This issue ends on a major cliffhanger, and if all is as it seems, the events of this issue will have major ramifications for the entire Marvel Universe going forward. I’m used to comic fake outs so I’m not ready to call this like I see it. All I’ll say is that if this was the end for one of the protagonists, then it was a fittingly heroic one, especially in light of said protagonist’s speech to rally their comrades. After a minor hiccup of a second issue, this blockbuster is back on track.

Grade: A-

Flashpoint #2
Publisher: DC
Writer: Geoff Johns
Artist: Andy Kubert

“You weren’t fast enough to avoid that you delusional son-of-a-bitch.”

Now this is more like it. After a first issue which felt like a lot of exposition (interesting exposition, but still). This issue really draws readers into the world of Flashpoint, showing us just how different and bleak things are in this altered timeline.

The issue begins with a very creepy scene in which Deathstroke and his band of pirates make the mistake of sailing too far into Aquaman occupied territory. The fury of the sea king can only be matched by that of Wonder Woman and her furies as she stalks Special Agent Steve Trevor across the ruins of London. This is the introduction I wanted to see in the first issue, and had we gotten a taste of just how merciless and powerful these two are in this world right at the get go, I believe the scene from the first issue where Cyborg was assembling the heroes of the Flashpoint universe would have been much, much more effective.

The rest of the issue is devoted to Barry Allen trying to convince Batman that the world is not as it should be, a task that becomes much easier when Barry reveals a key detail about how the world was that immediately brings this Batman onboard with the cause of restoring Barry's powers and righting history. While there is still no sign of the Flash, Barry is much more interesting to watch this time around, as he forms a plan to deal with his situation, one that includes a substantial risk of personal injury.

A lot of this issue takes place in the Batcave, but Andy Kubert is able to make these scenes engaging and dynamic. The opening visuals of the issue are truly creepy, and Kubert maintains a palpable level of suspense for the entire first segment. The debut of Aquaman and Wonder Woman are rendered with the gravitas needed to sell the power and danger that these two represent to the characters they interact with and to the world at large. Finally the last few pages are masterfully choreographed and again, steeped in suspense. I would especially make note at the emotion that Kubert endows Batman with through posture given that we cannot see his expression for most of this sequence.

Given the information that is starting to leak out regarding DC's plans for the future, this series may indeed be remembered as one of the most important comics of the decade given its role in reshaping the continuity of the DC universe. It is quite possible that it will come to be spoken of in similar breaths as Crisis on Infinite Earths if the ramifications are as far reaching and dramatic as they appear to be. However given all the hype about what is about to come, take the time to enjoy this series for what it truly is. A return to form for Geoff Johns, and some of the best work Andy Kubert has done in recent years.

Grade: A-

Criminal: The Last of the Innocent #1
Publisher: Marvel Icon
Writer: Ed Brubaker
Artist: Sean Phillips

“It’s good being back in the old times.”

SPOILERS

The wait time between each new volume of Criminal seems like an eternity. The reason for this, is that the book is just so damn good, that it is almost frustrating to finish each issue, knowing that once the current volume is done, the inevitable, painful wait for the next volume will begin.

One issue in, and I do believe that this may just be the best installment of Criminal to date. The story is full of references sure to catch the eye of long time Criminal readers, and long time comics fans to boot. Set in 1982, this volume tales the story of Riley Richards returning home to see his ailing father. Riley has his own troubles back int the city without a name, but for now he is consumed by the past and thoughts of how his life turned out the way it did.

This is an intensely personal story for Brubaker, as he tells the reader in the afterward that this story was in a way inspired by the passing of his own father. And it shows in the level of craftsmanship that Brubaker pours into the structure, dialogue, and tone of the issue. The story is universally relatable as the main character wrestles with loss, nostalgia, and questions of what might have been.

Sean Phillips is in fine form as always, but what will have most people talking about this issue is the Archie-esque flashback sequences to Riley's childhood. The visuals are so clean and innocent, evoking that style so perfectly and bring about a yearning for a simpler time. The content of these scenes however is something very different, sometimes detailing slices of Americana, sometimes detailing content that is quite adult. Its about as Archie as Criminal could ever be, and the scenes are very powerful because of the contrast between style and content, all the while reminding us that maybe the past is never quite as perfect as we might imagine it.

The issue ends on a shocking cliffhanger that will hit you like a punch to the gut. For those of you who are turned off by the tights and capes set of the comics world, and even those of you who love super hero comics, I highly advise you, check out this book. It is a must read for fans of mature, gritty noir, and is a masterpiece of storytelling in this medium.

Grade: A+

Read more Chris' Comics Corner here

Want to keep tabs on all of our updates? follow us on twitter @reviewtobenamed (follow us here).

My Year in Lists: Week Twenty One

2011-05-26T15:55:00.000-07:00

By Jordan

My Year in Lists chronicles one blogger’s quest to understand why music matters to us and what makes it a lasting aspect of our existence. To facilitate this examination, three music fans have contributed a list of 52 essential albums. Each week this year, one album off of each list will be analyzed in an attempt to understand why some music sticks with us and what it means for our lives.

“The big watershed was The Clash album […] Although The Damned and the [Sex] Pistols were great, they were only exciting musically; lyrically, I couldn’t make a lot out of it […] to realize that [The Clash] were actually singing about their own lives in West London was like a bolt out of the blue.”-Jake Burns of Stiff Little Fingers

“See microscopic, see world view, see the future leaking through, see the person who once was you.”-Coil, “Windowpane”

Thousands of words have been spent in this space discussing punk rock, not to mention the millions that have been published elsewhere on the subject. We’ve talked about its genesis, from The Stooges to The Ramones. We’ve talked about its existence as a reaction to the mainstream bands of the time (especially Boston). Most of all, we’ve talked about the after-effects of punk, from the New Wave ushered in by Joy Division and New Order to the hardcore exemplified by bands like Husker Du and a few other we’ll get to in a couple of weeks, to the slow development from post-punk into modern conceptions of alternative rock, starting with bands like REM and The Smiths. But until this week, we haven’t touched on one of the most important punk bands (honestly, just bands would still be accurate) of all time. Until today, we haven’t talked about The Clash.

The Clash debuted alongside The Sex Pistols at the dawn of punk rock, but the reason they remain so relevant is not only that they came in on the ground floor, but that they quickly evolved, continuing punk traditions while also bringing in other outside influences to change up the expected punk sound. By doing so, The Clash didn’t leave punk rock behind; rather, they solidified the genre as one worthy of the same amount of respect doled out to other forms of music. While just a few years after the late-70’s heyday of punk rock many fans would be complaining about and rebelling against what they saw as the tightly drawn rules of the genre, The Clash showed years before other bands seemed to catch on that punk rock shouldn’t and needn’t be as caged in as many other punk bands seemed to imply; rather, just doing whatever you wanted and creating memorable music outside of the mainstream could be seen as “punk rock” too. I’ve talked before about bands being “punk rock” without sounding like what we usually call punk rock (especially in my discussion of The Jesus and Mary Chain), but it’s possible that The Clash invented the idea. No one was ever going to claim The Clash weren’t punk rock, which freed the band to be whatever they wanted. They may not always sound like punk rockers, but that may be the single most punk rock thing about the band.

The Clash’s third album, and Collin’s pick this week, is the undisputed masterpiece London Calling, released in December of 1979 in the UK and the next month, at the dawn of 1980 in the US. After recording their second album Give ‘Em Enough Rope, in the US, the band separated from their manager Bernard Rhodes. This meant that the band had to find a new recording space, and after serttling at Vanilla Studios (which was located at the back of a garage) for a practice space, they quickly wrote and recorded demos, with Mick Jones composing and arranging music and Joe Strummer providing the lyrics.

In August of 1979, the band entered Wessex Studios to begin official recording of London Calling. The band asked Guy Stevens to produce the album, much to the dismay of CBS Records. Stevens had drug and alcohol problems and was known for his “unconventional” techniques. During recording he would swing ladders and throw chairs around the band to keep the tension high. The entire album was recorded in a few weeks, with many of the songs recorded in one or two takes.

The title track was partially influenced by the March 1979 accident at Three Mile Island, as well as the problems of rising unemployment, racial conflict, and drug use in Britain. “Rudie Can’t Fail,” the album’s fifth track, features a horn section and mixes the band’s punk roots with elements of pop, soul, ska, and reggae and tells of a hard-partying young man who is criticized for not acting more responsibly.

"Spanish Bombs" is, unsurprisingly, a song about the Spanish Civil War. What stands out about it is the fact that the band was actually endeavoring to deal with some political ideas within their music, to communicate ideas to their fans. This was not uncommon for bands like Devo and Gang of Four, yet for a British punk band at the time, it was at least a little bit outside the norm. "Lost in the Supermarket" is a slower song, and one of my favorite tracks on the album. The lyrics focus on someones struggling with an increasingly commercialized world and consumerism gone mad.

"The Guns of Brixton" has a strong reggae influence and is one of only two tracks written solely by Paul Simonon to be released on a Clash album. Contrary to popular belief, the song pre-dates the race riots in Brixton (which took place throughout the early '80s) but the lyrics depict the feelings of discontent that were building up due to the recession. "Train in Vain" (which on US releases is usually known as "Train in Vain (Stand By Me)") got it's title to avoid confusion with Ben E. King's "Stand By Me." The song was written in one night and recorded the next day, near the end of the album's recording. The song is sometimes referred to as a hidden track, as it was not included on the original sleeve, yet this only happened because the sleeve was printed before the track was added to the master tape. "Train in Vain" is a love song with country influences, a departure from much of what the band had done to this point, even on this departure of an album.

The Clash was one of the foremost bands in the development of punk rock, but quickly evolved into something more complex, influencing the development of ska, the prevalence of reggae, and the increase of political lyrics and ideas in popular music. London Calling is nothing short of a masterpiece, an album of big ideas, consistent vision, and an eye towards the future. Bono has said of The Clash that they are, "the greatest rock band. They wrote the rule book for U2." [Author's Note: It should be said that while Bono may claim The Clash as an influence, they should not be blamed for Bono's being a giant tool. That one's on him.] Other bands, including LCD Soundsystem, The Wallflowers, The Hives, The White Stripes, The Strokes, The Arctic Monkeys, and even M.I.A. consider The Clash to be a huge influence on their work. A landmark punk band from day one, The Clash became something more as they showed what punk could be and paved the way for numerous musical innovations to come.

Following on the heels of Throbbing Gristle, the Godfathers of industrial music, Coil was an English industrial experimental group formed in 1982 by John Balance (occasionally credited as "Jhonn Balance") and his partner Peter "Sleazy" Christopherson. Balance chose the name Coil because he said the shape was omnipresent in nature. The band's first album, and one of Tab's picks this week, Scatology was released in 1984. The album opens with "Ubu Noir," a decidedly experimental track that plays around with a single musical beat on a loop, feeding in found and industrial sounds around that center. "Tenderness of Wolves" opens with the sound of a child crying and develops an ominous feeling around that background noise.

"The Sewage Worker's Birthday Party" continues this ominous feeling, this time backed by the sounds of running water (let's hope) and industrial noises. The album's closing track, "Cathedral in Flames" is more melodic, but no less dark, maintaining the omnipresent hammering drum and adding vocals into the mix.

The group's third album, Love's Secret Domain is a much more palatable record, at least to my mind, a departure from the brooding melodies and heavy synthesizers of the group's previous work and focusing more on "acid house sampling," a repetitive, trance-like style that uses spoken word more readily than lyrics. The album's opening track "Disco Hospital" provides a perfect example of the acid house style the band experimented with on this release. The album was also intended to be more melodic than its predecessors, with even darker songs like "Windowpane" picking up a stronger beat that creates a dance-y thorough-line for the experimental piece. The title of the song refers to sheets of LSD (which the album's title is also a reference to), and the lyrics describe an acid trip.

"The Snow" has an electronic dance beat opening that is soon backed by heavy breathing and chanting. "Chaostrophy" is a sample-heavy track that ends in a hauntingly beautiful outro that would feel at home in a Kurosawa movie. Coil is often credited as a template of sorts for the development of post-industrial music in the 1990's, with Trent Reznor of Nine Inch Nails calling the band one of his greatest influences and even starting a band (with Mariqueen Maandig and Atticus Ross) called How To Destroy Angels, the name taken from Coil's first single. Coil took what Throbbing Gristle had started and moved it forward for a whole new audience, giving industrial music a dance-y update for a new decade and influencing the movement of the genre into the new millennium.

While we're talking about the 1990's (another champion segue, I think), we can take a look at Depeche Mode, an electronic music outfit that formed in Basildon, Essex, England in 1980. In mid-1989, the band began recording in Milan with producer Francois Kevorkian, and in March of 1990, released their seventh studio album, and Ashley's pick this week, Violator. One of the most well known tracks off the album, "Personal Jesus" became a huge success for the band, spawning multiple covers (the most well known by Marilyn Manson and Johnny Cash). As songwriter Martin Gore describes it, "It's a song about being a Jesus for somebody else, someone to give you hope and care...and how often that happens in love relationships; how everybody's heart is like a God in some way, and that's not a very balanced view of someone is it?" The song is great by any measure; catchy, intelligent, insightful and memorable, it's no wonder "Personal Jesus" has endured.

http://youtu.be/u1xrNaTO1bI

"Waiting For The Night" begins with a slow, repetitive beat before the lyrics enter in, deepening the eerie feeling of the song. If any track on the album is more well known and lauded than "Personal Jesus," it's "Enjoy The Silence," which is often considered the band's signature song. Originally written as a slow tempo ballad, the song was eventually recorded over an upbeat tempo by Alan Wilder, who believed (correctly) that speeding the song up would make it a hit.

Depeche Mode has become one of the most prominent electronic bands of all time and continues to be successful today, three decades after their formation. Many bands, including Pet Shop Boys, The Killers, Deftones, Shakira, Coldplay, and (unfortunately), Linkin Park cite the band as a major influence. They helped to usher in the prominence of electronic music in the ensuing decades, and with Violator delivered several songs that have been burned into the public consciousness ever since.

Each of these three bands holds an important place in the development of their respective genre. The Clash was there at the birth of punk and helped it to move forward. Coil ushered industrial music out of its infancy and into the more commercially popular form that it became in the 1990's. And Depeche Mode made their mark on electronic music and helped to shape what came afterwards. Each formed an important part of the development of modern music, influencing all that came afterwards, and their effect on their genres, and on music in general, can still be felt today.

Read more My Year in Lists here
Next week on My Year in Lists:
Kraftwerk lives in a Computer World, Sham 69 wants them to Tell Us The Truth, and My Bloody Valentine remains Loveless.

Want to keep tabs on all of our updates? follow us on twitter @reviewtobenamed (follow us here).

Something to Be Excited About

2011-05-23T13:43:00.000-07:00

We know that you loyal Review to Be Named readers have nothing to do all day but sit around waiting for us to update. We also know that we can distract you with shiny objects whenever we'd like. So here's a bauble to keep you busy for at least 20 minutes worth of replaying, the trailer for perhaps the single most anticipated movie of 2011...if you're into this sort of thing...

My Year in Lists: Week Twenty

2011-05-19T21:59:00.000-07:00

By Jordan

“Here we are living in Paradise…”-Elvis Costello, “Living in Paradise”

“My interests were not necessarily to be in a band, but to be with people who wanted to play music with me.”-Ian MacKaye

There is a tough lesson that we all must learn in our lives, some of us sooner, some of us later: change is inevitable. For some, change comes naturally, as an expected part of life; for others, every change, no matter how large or how small, is a battle to be waged, a war against the fates to just allow everything to stay they same. I would like to consider myself somewhere between these two extremes, but anyone who knows me would say I am the latter, a person that loathes and fears change in equal measures. A lot of weeks in this column, you’ll see some variation on the theme that music has a lot in common with life in general, which is either a lazy attempt to ascribe greater meaning to the pop culture I’m writing thousands of words about every week or a simple truism that appears in various permutations throughout this ongoing examination. This week, I want to examine the idea that change, in life as in music, can be good or bad, but is ever present regardless of your feelings.

Very few bands stay exactly the same over the course of an entire career, and those that do tend to be criticized for failing to evolve. I understand this, and I agree with it, but the change-a-phobic in me has to point out that not all change is good change. Take, for example, a few examples from indie rock in the last few years. Death Cab For Cutie were champions of melancholic rock, but then Ben Gibbard had to go and fall in love and get married to Zooey Deschanel, and leave us with Narrow Stairs, an album that is so much more upbeat than the rest of the band’s discography it is downright disconcerting. I’ve talked about Stars before in this space as a band I related to deeply in high school, but their constant evolution has so far culminated in The Five Ghosts, an album that left me wondering if we could just step back a bit and stick with the Set Yourself on Fire era of the band’s music. The urge to evolve is a powerful one, and a lot of bands do it in a way that keeps them interesting and engaging, even if they become harder to pin down (Talking Heads are a perfect example of a band that evolves but manages to stay great). It’s difficult to pin down the difference between a positive evolution in music and a negative one (except for to use the obvious “the good bands evolve well” argument, which is reductive and useless), and I think there would be disagreements even if I tried (if any of you out there want to defend Narrow Stairs or The Five Ghosts, or any other evolutions you think are great that people tend to hate, feel free to comment below). So before I even attempt to wrap my head around the difference, let’s look at a case study in each.

Elvis Costello is cool. Let’s start this thing right there. We could get into what exactly “cool” means, or whether a musician should even endeavor to be cool, but let’s not waste the words on that. This column is going to be long enough as it is, so I’ll save us some debate and just operate on the premise that Costello is cool. His first album, My Aim Is True is the kind of debut that makes people stand up and take notice. Confident, creative, and unique in the self-possessed sort of way that indicates the emergence of a great artist, the album got Costello a lot of attention right from the start, but no one is done developing on their debut.

After the release of that album, Costello decided to form a permanent backup band in The Attractions, made up of Steve Nieve on piano, Bruce Thomas on bass guitar and the unrelated Peter Thomas on drums. Costello’s second album and his first with The Attractions, This Year’s Model, is Collin’s pick this week. The album opens with the explosively catchy “No Action,” and follows it up with “This Year’s Girl,” an ode to trendy celebrities who tend to burn out or lose the public’s attention (Miley Cyrus and Justin Bieber come immediately to mind, though I may make people angry saying that, and it may just be wishful thinking on my part). “Pump it up” is an excellent example of Costello’s wordplay, rife with double entendres (the title being both a reference to the volume of the song and to masturbation…get it?) and telling of the narrator’s frustration at the hands of a femme fatale. Costello wrote the song in response to the excesses of his first tour.

“Little Triggers” is an early example of where Costello would be heading in the years to come, an effortlessly catchy and contemplative song that shows early evidence of his forthcoming lyrical mastery. “(I Don’t Want to Go to) Chelsea” is a rejection of much of the mainstream upper class English culture at the time, and was left off the original US release of the album (along with “Night Rally”) for being “too English.” “Living in Paradise” is also full of Costello’s clever lyrics and oozes the cool at the center of his persona.

It would also be difficult to discuss This Year’s Model without mentioning “Radio Radio” which didn’t make the UK release of the album (and was released as a single there later that year), but which replaced “(I Don’t Want to Go to) Chelsea” on the US version. A fantastically catchy and quippy protest song about the commercialization of radio broadcasting and the power held by record companies and recording studios. “Radio Radio” was also performed by Costello and The Attractions on SNL on December 17, 1977. Though the band was scheduled to play “Less Than Zero” from My Aim is True, Costello stopped that after a few bars and launched into “Radio Radio.” This abrupt change lead to Costello being banned from SNL, though the ban was eventually lifted and he returned in 1989.

Costello would evolve into one of my all time favorite lyricists (he regularly makes my top five list when I take the time to think about such things), and evidence of this is apparent on This Year’s Model. The album is very solid, but it pales in comparison to some of his later work, especially in terms of lyrical complexity. Costello was good, but with a little change, a little evolution, he would become a musical legend.

Meanwhile, Throbbing Gristle really tried their hardest to be anything but cool. They were trying to do something different, trying to remind all of us about the darkness in our own souls. With that as a mission statement, evolution is likely to look more like devolution, and in fact, I have to say up front that I prefer D.o.A.: The Third and Final Report of Throbbing Gristle to any of the onslaught we are about to plow throw. In the case of Throbbing Gristle, I think the band changed what they were doing, and I think their later output works less consistently than their earlier releases.

United/Zyklon B Zombie was released in 1978, before D.o.A., and serves to parody the two prominent forms of rock music at the time. “United” featured a minimal drum loop and synthesizers along with positive lyrics (which is strange for the band), mocking the emerging New Wave sound. “Zyklon B Zombie” features guttural growling, distorted vocals, a strong bass line and a frenetic guitar solo, a parody of punk rock.

After the release of D.o.A. the band releases We Hate You (Little Girls)/ Five Knuckle Shuffle. “We Hate You (Little Girls)” is basically two minutes of anguished screaming with an industrial backing. This makes it somewhat difficult to discuss beyond the description above; there isn’t much depth here, only pain. “Five Knuckle Shuffle” is, of course, slang for masturbation (with “Pump it Up” also included, maybe this should have been masturbation week at My Year in Lists. But how silly of me. Every week is masturbation week here at My Year in Lists), but the song sounds less like jerking off than it’s predecessor, instead providing almost seven minutes of droning, with a sense of greater complexity and thought than “We Hate You (Little Girls)” ever attempts.

Following those singles, the band released their third album, 20 Jazz Funk Greats. The album’s cover is a picture of the band standing in a field of yellow flowers by the sea side, which might make you think Throbbing Gristle was softening up for their third album, unless you discovered that the photo was taken at Beachy Head in southern England, one of the world’s most notorious suicide spots. The title track, which opens the album, does in fact mix in some jazz influences into the band’s industrial sound, but the album as a whole certainly doesn’t soften at all. “Beachy Head” is a subtle industrial track built around a central drone, with subtle sounds filling it out. “Still Walking” is reminiscent of the band’s previous album with a strong beat and heavy utilization of found sounds.

“Convincing People” brings back the spoken word aspects of their previous efforts, while “Persuasion" is a darkly melodic discussion of the true nature of seduction. The album’s closing track, “Six Six Sixties” is another spoken word piece over a repetitive guitar riff. 20 Jazz Funk Greats is definitely more complex and whole than any of the singles the band released, and feels more thought-out than any of the band’s other material outside of D.o.A., yet the darkness continued to encroach on the band in its subsequent releases.

Much like We Hate You (Little Girls)/Five Knuckle Shuffle, the next single, Subhuman/Something Came Over Me opens with the scream heavy “Subhuman” before settling into the more complex and melodic “Something Came Over Me.” Released simultaneously, Adrenaline/Distant Dreams (Part Two) follows the exact same pattern, leaving the singles feeling a bit redundant (though “Something Came Over Me” has stuck with me while the others quickly fade).

Finally, Journey Through a Body was released in 1982, after being recorded in Rome in March of 1981, with no pre-planning of the songs. The first track, “Medicine” has a simple melody that is slowly built around with both industrial and found sounds. “Catholic Sex (For Paula)” is a bit too screechy and on the nose for my taste, though it does continue the standard dark themes of the rest of the band’s work. Journey Through a Body never escapes the feeling that it is just a jam band record, quite possibly because that’s exactly what it is. Yet unlike Amon Düül’s Psychedelic Underground, when Throbbing Gristle jams, they go to some very dark places.

Over the course of these several releases, Throbbing Gristle certainly changed, and definitely came closer to achieving their mission statement of communicating the dark side of human nature, but while burrowing deeper into an endless pit of darkness, they lost me a little in terms of effectiveness. Throbbing Gristle said from the beginning they weren’t setting out to make “attractive” music, and if that’s the case, they certainly got better at that as their career went along.

Finally, we’re going to look at a band that is, by its very existence, an evolution of previous ideas. After the dissolution of hardcore punk group Minor Threat, Ian MacKaye decided to form a group that was “like the Stooges with reggae.” MacKaye recruited Colin Sears and bass guitarist Joe Lally in September of 1986. MacKaye selected the name Fugazi from a slang term used by Vietnam vets for “Fucked Up, Got Ambushed, Zipped In” as in into a body bag. Eventually, friends of the band Guy Picciotto and Brendan Canty joined the band officially. In June of 1988, the band recorded its debut EP Fugazi (or 7 Songs). Following a tour of Europe, the band recorded songs for a full length album, but was disappointed with several tracks and released the EP Margin Walker instead. The two EPs combined into the band’s first album, and Ashley’s pick this week, 13 Songs.

The opening track “Waiting Room” opens with a strong guitar solo, a solid introduction to an immediately confident band. “Bulldog Front" has a strong chorus, though it feels sort of lost between hardcore and the post-hardcore sound Fugazi was trying to form. “Suggestion" has the same problem, but benefits from MacKaye’s assured vocals, where “Bulldog” fails (when it does) with Picciotto on lead vocals. The closing track “Promises” sounds more assured than most of what came before it, as if the band has finally decided where they are headed in the future. On the whole, 13 Songs feels like every bit the transitional album, even though it is technically a debut. The sound has developed from where Minor Threat left off, but it has yet to become what Fugazi will sound like in a few albums.

Everything changes eventually, whether we like it or not. Sometimes things get richer as the develop more, and we wouldn’t have a song like Elvis Costello’s “Satellite” without the groundwork laid by This Year’s Model. Sometimes things lose their luster with age and a band we once loved becomes something alien to us, making us regret our former devotion. And sometimes change is more ambiguous, its effects more difficult to measure. For better or worse, life, like music, is an endless series of changes, often completely out of our control. We may not be able to define exactly how change effects us, and we certainly can’t always control the circumstances we find ourselves in, but we can at least take solace in the fact that sometimes, at least, change is for the better.

Read more My Year in Lists here

Next week on My Year in Lists:

The Clash answers a London Calling, Coil has a hobby in Scatology and hopes to show us Love’s Secret Domain, and Depeche Mode warns of a Violator.

Want to keep tabs on all of our updates? follow us on twitter @reviewtobenamed (follow us here).

Chris' Comics Corner

2011-05-19T13:33:00.000-07:00

Hey all, I'm trying to get back on schedule, so this column includes reviews from the past two weeks, hope you enjoy.

Flashpoint #1
Publisher: DC
Writer: Geoff Johns
Artist: Andy Kubert
Event Watch: Flashpoint Part 1 of 5

SPOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOILERS

Flashpoint #1 is quite possibly the most important comic DC releases all year. Why? Because DC has a lot riding on the success of this limited series.

In the short term, Flashpoint is DC's big summer event and direct challenger to Marvel's Fear Itself. The sales of comics in the summer are driven by events and their tie ins, with the event books and their tie ins eclipsing the sales of just about everything else on the stands. With the two central protagonists of Fear Itself appearing in big blockbuster summer movies, Marvel already has the edge in this category, but Flashpoint boasts an unprecedented number of tie in miniseries. What Flashpoint lacks in exposure it might just make up in sheer volume.

However a short term victory in sales this summer has bigger long term ramifications for DC and the Comics Industry as a whole. As the name of this book might suggest, Flashpoint focuses on the Flash, and is the first DC wide event to place the Scarlet Speedster in such a position of prominence. Flashpoint is (and pardon me for what is the first of what I'm sure will be maaaaaaaaany puns) DC's attempt to see if lightning can strike twice and if Geoff John's can elevate the Flash to the same kind of prominence he achieved in elevating Green Lantern to, back in 2004. Looking even further down the road, the fact that every DC writer and editor has been sworn to secrecy on what the shape of the DCU will be in the aftermath of Flashpoint (In fact aside from Batman Inc., I have nooo idea what any title has in store past the summer) suggests that the companies future plans to reinvigorate its catalogue and compete with Marvel are highly dependent on this series (the foundation for the company's immediate future) being a success.

Like I said, there is a. lot. riding on this book.

So how was the first issue? It was…ok. Which given the enormously high aforementioned stakes, is not the best thing. By itself it is a good issue, but it is not what DC needed it to be. At least not yet.

The issue begins with Barry Allen realizing that the world as he knows it has changed. While the differences are subtle at first, he quickly makes two major discoveries: He is no longer the fastest man alive, and his mother is alive. This leads to a very powerful and heartfelt reunion between mother and son, especially for those who have been reading the recent relaunch of The Flash title.

As far as the story, things kinda go downhill from there. Not bad per se, just nothing exceptional. Most of the issue is devoted to Barry running around in confusion, which I suppose is necessary but in an event that is only 5 issues long that exists primarily to elevate the status of The Flash, having him bumble throughout the new reality powerless is probably not the best way to do it, as it does not give readers a reason to care about Barry as a person, or show just how cool a hero the Flash is. Granted there is still time to do this now that we've moved past the establishing phase but I really think it would have been better to hit the ground running. (…I apologized once, I won't do it again).

The rest of the issue is devoted to a vote among the heroes of this altered world on what to do about the war between Aquaman and Wonder Woman that's currently devastating Europe. While this sequence was fun and entertaining at times, it felt like what it was: a lot of exposition. Having the characters tell the readers about the problems that Aquaman and Wonder Woman are causing rather than showing us, leaves the reader with the impression that not a lot happened in the issue, when actually there was a lot of content packed into these pages.

I did like this scene, and I think it was an effective way to introduce us to the players and their world, but I think it lasted a bit too long, and would have felt more satisfying if it had done more to advance the plot. That being said, I commend the choice Johns made to populate this world with lesser known and new characters rather than alternate versions of the A and B listers. Additionally, the twist regarding Batman at the end of the issue was particularly inspired and satisfying.

Andy Kubert is a highly talented artist perfectly suited to the dark and gritty world of Flashpoint. Seeing his Batman swinging across the Gotham skyline makes me pine for his all too brief stint illustrating Grant Morrison's Batman. His character is especially impressive in this debut issue, possibly even a career high, as every face is unique and emotive. His layouts, choreography, and use of multiple angles reveals his vast experience and skill The amount of characters and actions that he packs into these pages could have easily overwhelmed another artist but Kubert handles it like a pro. My one gripe is that I'll have to wait at least another issue to see Kubert render The Flash in action.

I think the main strike this book has against it is the fact that DC decided to tell this story as a big summer event. Had this been just another arc of the Flash, I think a lot of these concerns would have bothered me less than they did in this context. However because the DC hype machine has been promoting this book 7 ways to Sunday, I entered into it with a good deal of knowledge of the direction of the story and the twists thrown the readers' way in this first issue. This Event Series still shows a lot of promise, and I am optimistic that things will look up next issue now that much of the groundwork has been laid.

Grade: B+

Birds of Prey #12
Producer: DC
Writer: Gail Simone
Artist: Jesus Saiz

Now that's more like it. Ever since Gail Simone returned to relaunch the title on which she had a career defining run several years ago, something has been…missing. This should have been an easy hit for DC, instead, it felt like something just wasn't clicking. There were a lot of great moments, and huge potential, but issue after issue that potential remained unreached. Maybe it was the merry-go-round of artists (7 artists in 11 issues). Or maybe it was the multiple status quo shifts and reveals that were never really fully explained before moving onto the next big idea.

All that changes with this issue. This is the book I was hoping for. This is the book I wanted to be reading. The renowned fun and personal chemistry between her cast of characters that Simone was known for on this title is in full effect. We get some fun interplay between Canary, Dove, and Oracle, a great team up between Huntress and the Question, and a laugh out loud moment featuring Hawk. The issue ends with a genuinely creepy twist that longtime fans of Simone will appreciate as being particularly deadly for our protagonists.

The new story arc and return to basics approach on Simone's side is only part of the reason why this issue was leaps and bounds ahead of it's 11 predecessors. The lion's share of the credit needs to go to artist Jesus Saiz for finally giving this series the proper tone, polish, and consistency that this title so badly needed. I love Saiz's thick line work and shading. At an average of about five panels per page, Saiz packs a lot of story into this issue, but his excellent handle on choreography keeps the action from becoming confusing or cluttered. His characters are sexy (without cheesecake factor), and expressive which is exactly what this book needs. I hope that Saiz is onboard for the long haul because he and Simone really clicked this issue, and I can't wait to see what they do next.

Grade: A-

Avengers #13
Publisher: Marvel
Writer: Brian Bendis
Artist: Chris Bachalo
Event Watch: Fear Itself Tie In

So Bendis has been utilizing this oral history of the Avengers prose feature to pad the books to justify the 3.99 price raise, and while I have little interest in reading Bendis's take on the classic Avengers stories of yesteryear, I applaud him trying to give the readers extra bang for their buck. He employs the same technique for this issue, but instead of prose blurbs, we get confessional style panel packed pages, interspersed with some expanded scenes from Fear Itself #1. The confessional technique actually works really well here, as it heightens the sense of anxiety and tension, as the characters are giving confessional interview both pre and post the events of Fear Itself, alluding to tragedy we are yet to see.

Bendis contrasts these scenes with a budding romance between two Avengers. And while he handles some aspects of developing attraction well, other scenes come off as being a bit juvenile. The exchange between Spider-Woman and Ms. Marvel in particular sounded like the dialogue of Jr. High School girls, rather than two ex-military super heroines.

Bachalo handles the art chores exceptionally well on this issue. His style is infamously stylized and exaggerated and not what you would normally associate with the Avengers, however I think one of the best things Bendis has done during his tenure in the Avengers franchise is bring in artists not normally associated with the characters. I for one would be happy to see Bachalo take the reigns of an Avengers book, as it is hard to deny that his characters are larger than life, and I simply love his renditions of Thor, Red Hulk, Hawkeye, and Spider-Woman.

Grade: B+

Read more Chris' Comics Corner here

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Jordan's Review: How I Met Your Mother, Season 6, Episode 24: Challenge Accepted

2011-05-16T20:17:00.000-07:00

GOD DAMN IT. Let's summarize, in a few sentences, everything that we learned this season. In the premiere, TWENTY FOUR MOTHER FUCKING EPISODES AGO, we knew Marshall and Lily were trying to get pregnant, and TWIST: Lily's pregnant. Fucking TWO SEASONS AGO, we knew that there was something between Barney and Robin (honestly, we've known since season one, but it's been an explicit plot point for two years now) and TWIST: There's still something there. AND IN THE VERY FIRST EPISODE OF THIS UNEVEN, APPARENTLY COMPLETE WASTE OF TIME SEASON, in the VERY FIRST SCENE no less, we knew that Ted met the mother at a wedding. We all guessed way back when that it was Barney's wedding, and TWIST: it's Barney's wedding. This season opened with a quote on a church sign reading "For every change there is a season." Apparently, it wasn't this one.

If you haven't guessed this from the expletive laden, caps-filled screed above, I am a little angry. I feel used, I feel tricked, I feel cheated. The writers promised this season of How I Met Your Mother would be different, would be arc focused, would include BIG changes and twists and everything we loved about the show back in the day. This season was certainly more focused (and better) than season five. There was a definitive Barney arc with his father, and even a second Barney arc in his interest in Nora and rekindled interest in Robin (though come now people, we all know he's marrying Robin, right?). Marshall dealt with his father's death and with his fears about becoming a father himself. But the most important plotline in this show wasn't addressed at all after the cold open of the season premiere.

There was a lot of good in this season, but there was also a lot of bad. And ultimately, at a time when the show needs to be bold it is instead choosing timidity, punting again when it should have run for the goal. At this point, I think the only way this show can stay good for the next two years is to introduce the mother IMMEDIATELY. We have been patient, us fans of HIMYM. We have waited six seasons and over 130 episodes. I have said often this year that it is time to move to the endgame; discussing this finale earlier tonight, I mentioned to my friends that I didn't think I'd be satisfied unless the cliffhanger tonight lead us to the mother at the beginning of next season. Instead, the writers have clearly decided to delay the reveal indefinitely, possibly all the way to the finale. I think this is a big mistake, and I think it will hurt the show and it's legacy.

I care about Barney and Robin, and I hope that they get together. I even look forward to watching them stumble back together and into marriage. I care about Marshall and Lily, and while I dread the idea of a baby being on this show, I hope there will be some great moments along the way to the potential shark jump that is a "Lily's having a baby!" episode. But none of these plotlines moves me the way the masterplot does, and I am tired of it being ignored because there's nowhere left for the show to go but into the endgame. Give us the mother. Let it percolate. Let us meet her, let Ted court and date her, convince us she's better than all of his past love interests. Make us care about Ted again. He's the center of the show, and without the masterplot, How I Met Your Mother has felt rudderless for seasons now. I want the show I love back. I want it's heart back. I want to care again. And all this finale left me with was a vague, naive, mostly hopeless, "maybe next year."

Grade: C-

Notes:

-Strange for this show to jump to the fall and then not do anything with that time jump at all except mock Nora's fashion sense...

-"But new is always better is my oldest rule, which makes it the best!"

-"Can...I...Borrow...An adult diaper."

-"Ted really can go on about a bitch." Cute. Because the show has been on for SIX FUCKING YEARS and we still haven't finished the story.

-"Marshall told us you're exploding from both ends like a busted fire hydrant."

-Ranjit!...was wasted.

-Ever since Trader Joe's opened up, Brooklyn is so...whatever."

-Terrible CGI on the implosion. That seems like a good place to leave things. On something the show did TERRIBLY.

Whose Film Is It Anyway?: Notes on the Auteur Theory in 2011

2011-05-16T12:19:00.000-07:00

By Jordan

Note: The purpose of Whose Film Is It Anyway? is to examine the validity of the auteur theory through the lens of individual film-makers, taking a look at their bodies of work and highlighting the technical elements, personal style, and thematic consistency of their films. Ultimately, the goal of this column will be to generate a discussion of the merits of auteur theory through examinations of directors widely considered auteurs, analyses of directors whose status as auteurs is more tenuous, and occasional looks at non-directors who may drive the quality and content of their films with more assuredness than the directors they work with.

“But then the whole idea became perverted; it was transformed into a cult of the author’s work. So everybody becomes an author, and today even set decorators want to be recognized as the ‘authors’ of the nails they put into the walls. The term ‘auteur’ hence does not really mean anything anymore… I think the problem was that when we created the auteur theory, we insisted on the word ‘auteur’ whereas it’s the word ‘theory’ we should have insisted upon because the real goal of this concept was not to show who makes a good film but to demonstrate what makes a good film.”-Jean Luc Godard, Moviemakers’ Master Class

“The directors—and they can excel at doing that—are people who only interpret the script, who just turn it from words into images. The filmmakers, however, will be able to take somebody else’s material and still manage to have a personal vision come through.”-Martin Scorsese, Moviemakers’ Master Class

And then we came to the end. After a full year and columns on 26 directors, we have reached the end of Whose Film Is It Anyway?, at least for the time being. I set out to, as the introduction to every single installment has said, examine the validity of the auteur theory by looking at individual directors. I aimed to look at the films they made, at the technical elements, personal style, and thematic consistency of these films and finally to spark a discussion on the merits of the auteur theory. Now, having done (or at least attempted to do) just that for a full year, it’s time to step back and take stock of both the auteur theory itself and of what we have learned about it in the last year. Is the theory correct? That’s a question far too big to cogently answer in the space of one column, and I’m not sure that’s ever really been the aim of this column. The point has always been to spark a discussion and to rethink the way we look at the theory, at directors, and at cinema itself. And so, as a conclusion to this column (or at least the initial run thereof), I wanted to take stock of my own thoughts on the theory. Rather than trying to be coherent or redefine the theory for a new generation of cinephiles, I want to follow the lead of Andrew Sarris, the critic responsible for bringing the theory to America and articulating its beliefs in English for the first time (after the theory’s invention in the French film magazine Cahiers du Cinema prior to the French New Wave), who authored an article entitled “Notes on the Auteur Theory in 1962” that first tried to define the theory for the English speaking world. And so here, at the end of Whose Film Is It Anyway? Are my “Notes on the Auteur Theory in 2011.”

When the auteur theory really began picking up steam, it was criticized for a tendency to champion bad films (or at least, films that were not very good) simply because they had a strong authorial presence. I have consciously tried to avoid the same; I don’t think that was a productive tendency 50 years ago, and it certainly isn’t today. I have discussed how, under the auteur theory, a terrible director like Michael Bay can be called an auteur, but those of you who read my column on him well know that while I consider him an auteur, I also consider him a terrible director of terrible films, and I wouldn’t champion any of his work in spite of that strong authorial presence. So, in that way, I would say that the way the auteur theory was originally laid out was not necessarily useful. The theory was incredibly rigid and dictatorial, requiring support for any auteur regardless of the quality of their films. Personally, I believe the fact that Michael Bay is an auteur with a consistent style and thematic concerns makes him a more interesting director, but it certainly doesn’t make him a better director.

I think the conclusion I have come to is not that the auteur theory is right or wrong, but that it can be both, and therefore should be no one’s central thesis when approaching cinema. Instead, it is better viewed as a tool, and one of many, for better understanding and appreciating cinema. As Sarris, himself put it, “I will give the Cahiers critics full credit for the original formulation of an idea that reshaped my thinking on the cinema.” Whether you believe in the theory or not, its mere presence in the cinematic conversation is important, I think.

A year ago, I was skeptical at best about the supremacy of the director, but over the course of writing this column, I have seen much evidence that the director often reins supreme as the major creative force behind a film. I watch movies differently than I did a year ago, more critically in some cases, and with a greater contextual understanding in others, and that can’t really be a bad thing. Thinking about entertainment more thoroughly and more critically does make it more of an academic exercise, at times, but it also makes it an infinitely more rewarding process. Being able to walk out of a movie talking about not only its individual quality but about how it fits into the director’s career makes me more annoying, sure, but it also makes me a more conscious film-watcher; it allows me to put more thought into movies than just the initial quality of the individual work.

Films are almost always considered in context with every other film the director has done by critics; what I would suggest is that this practice need not be restrained to an academic setting, but rather can be used by any moviegoer to have a more complete an interesting movie-going experience. This is why I have focused so much on thematic recurrences in this space. As I have said before, I believe discussions of pet themes that can be found in many or all of a director’s films are easier to understand and adapt to film watching than an in-depth discussion of technical elements. I think that any movie fan can, and should, find recurring examinations in the work of a director and that those can make said work more interesting, or can at least increase our understanding of what goes into certain films and what individual films mean as part of a larger whole.

This greater awareness and dedication to looking more closely at films need not be restricted to considering a film within the context of the auteur theory. As I said earlier, the theory should be used as one of many tools in any examination of a film, or of films in general. A movie like The Social Network can be looked at using the auteur theory, and examining it as a part of David Fincher’s oeuvre, or as part of Aaron Sorkin's larger body of work. But it can also be looked at in the context of the rest of the film’s released that year, and further, by what it is saying about our times, and about the place of social networking in our lives. The auteur theory can be useful as part of a larger examination of films, but should not, in my estimation, be the end all be all of cinematic analysis.

Ultimately, I don’t believe in the auteur theory, at least not in the way it was originally laid out in Cahiers du Cinema or by Andrew Sarris 50 years ago. As legendary film critic Pauline Kael put it in her retort to Sarris’ original article, “Criticism is an art, not a science, and a critic who follows rules will fail in one of his most important functions: perceiving what is original and important in new work and helping others to see.” My largest problem with the original auteur theory is how strict it is, how universally it demands to be applied. I don’t believe in a set of steadfast rules that must be applied to define an auteur. But I do believe that the auteur theory is useful to the examination of films, a necessary tool to be employed by critics and by contemplative fans.

I do believe that auteurs exist, but that doesn’t mean that I believe the identification and championing of these auteurs should be central to any film critic or fan’s discussion of the medium. I also believe, contrary to the original theory, that not all auteurs are directors. They are not even all writers, as I see it, and the presence of two auteurs on one project need not mean conflict or failure (look again to the collaboration of Fincher and Sorkin on The Social Network). Not all auteurs, as I define them, would fit into Sarris’ definition, not all of them can be universally agreed upon. And they shouldn’t be. Part of the fun of being a movie fan is debating these questions, forming your own opinions and seeing how they measure up against the ideas of other people whose opinions you trust. I don’t think that every film even necessarily has a definitive author. I do think that the auteur theory is important, though, for what it tells us about individual films and about cinema as an art form, both collaboratively, and individually.

When I originally brainstormed this feature, I had a list of over 100 individuals, mostly directors, to examine. Over the last year, I have covered only 26 of those people. Hopefully, this column has been interesting or even enlightening to those of you who stuck around and read it the whole way through. I don’t think the conversation about this theory should end with this column; in fact, I don’t think it should ever end. I opened the very first installment of this column with a quote from “Notes on the Auteur Theory in 1962,” wherein Andrew Sarris said, “The task of validating the auteur theory is an enormous one, and the end will never be in sight.” I hope that this is true, and that the discussion about the theory long outlives this column. I also hope, that with enough time on my hands, and enough interest and support from you, dear readers, that this column will someday come back and continue to examine more people and more issues that are important to the auteur theory. In the interim, it is my hope that I have helped at least some of you to watch movies differently, to think about them more, and to actually question the theories that are put forward about them. If we can all do that, then not only will we be able to determine who, if anyone, a film “belongs” to, and more importantly, we will be able to form our own cinematic theories that can be ours and ours alone.

Read more Whose Film Is It Anyway? here

Whose Film Is It Anyway? will return...

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My Year in Lists: Week Nineteen

2011-05-13T13:55:00.000-07:00

By Jordan

“It never matters what you like; what matters is why you like it.”-Chuck Klosterman

“Outside there’s a boxcar waiting…”-Pixies, “Here Comes Your Man”

My feelings on the term “guilty pleasure” are incredibly complicated, I’ve found. Ostensibly, I agree with Chuck Klosterman’s thoughts on the term. I don’t think that I should feel guilty for liking the things that I like. I also don’t ascribe to the idea that there is some sort of universal taste that tells me what is good and what is terrible, and forces me to feel shame for enjoying things that have been deemed terrible. In the essay, Klosterman discusses his love of the movie Road House for completely legitimate reasons, and ponders whether the term guilty pleasure implies that “if these same people were not somehow coerced into watching Road House every time it’s on TBS, they’d probably be reading A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.”

I’ve read James Joyce, and I’ve seen Road House, and I enjoyed both for very different reasons and at very different moments in my life. If I hadn’t watched the entire first season of True Blood in a giant block, I might have been able to finish Pynchon’s Against the Day earlier, but I’m pretty sure doing that instead wouldn’t make me a better person. So as a rule I hate the term “guilty pleasures,” but my problem is that I also think the term has its use. Some things that I enjoy are constantly at war in my pop culture heart. Some things I recognize are terrible, not for universal, provable reason but for personal reasons. Yet I still enjoy some of these things. The easy answer to this would be to claim I enjoy them ironically, but that isn’t always the case. Look, when I watch Batman and Robin, its because that movie is fucking terrible and I find the gross miscalculations that went into its creation fascinating and hilarious. I watch that movie ironically because it provides a great time but in none of the ways it was intended to.

Yet there are some things I enjoy unironically while also being shocked at how terrible they are. When I was trying to put my feelings about Fleetwood Mac, and specifically the song “Go Your Own Way” into some sort of context, I recalled the night last summer when I was returning from a celebratory dinner after taking the LSAT. The song “Total Eclipse of the Heart” by Bonnie Tyler came on the radio in the cab I was in, and my friend and I started belting it out. I went home and bought the song immediately. I hadn’t listened to it since, until this morning when I realized my feelings toward it are nearly identical to my feelings for the Fleetwood Mac song, which we will discuss in a moment. I think “Total Eclipse of the Heart” is pretty terrible: it’s over-the-top, hilariously melodramatic, epic in scope in an exaggerated way that only feels at home in bad ‘80s music videos, and its fucking seven minutes long to boot. But I also think it’s really, really, incredibly catchy, the kind of song I want to listen to, not because it’s really funny how bad it is, but because I find the activity enjoyable. So while I disagree with the term “guilty pleasure” as it is usually applied, I can’t help but feel it’s accurate for this sort of phenomenon where I can simultaneously loathe and love something in nearly equal measures. I don’t feel guilty for listening to “Total Eclipse of the Heart” four times while I wrote this column, nor do I feel guilty about the fact that I’ll probably listen to it again right now. But I wouldn’t hold it up as an example of great music, nor as one of my favorite songs. I would say, in fact, that it is a terrible song that for some reason appeals to me.

http://youtu.be/840B27zYfOk

Now to Fleetwood Mac, a pretty awful band that has turned out a few songs that fit comfortably into the above category. The band was initially formed as a blues outfit in London in 1967 by Peter Green, drummer Mick Fleetwood and bassist John McVie. Green enticed McVie to join by naming the band Fleetwood Mac after the drummer and the bassist. During their early years the band was a straight blues outfit that achieved moderate success in England. Over the course of the band’s first three years, Green experimented with LSD, which contributed to the onset of schizophrenia. By early 1970, Green’s mental state had deteriorated and he recommended giving all of the band’s profits to charity. The rest of the band respectfully disagreed, and Green left in May of 1970.

After five years in which the band shuffled through several members, they met guitarist Lindsay Buckingham, who was currently heading American band Buckingham Nicks. The band asked him to join and he agreed, so long as his partner and girlfriend (and, if South Park is to be trusted, professional goat look-alike) Stevie Nicks could come along. This new line-up became the iconic incarnation of the band and released a self-titled album in 1975.

The next year, John and Christine McVie got divorced, Buckingham and Nicks ended their relationship and Fleetwood entered divorce proceedings as well (presumably because everyone in the band was a terrible human being and wanted to keep from being privately associated with one another before they released their next shitshow of an album). All of the emotional turmoil was laid bare (read: sung out over melodies so upbeat they begin to feel almost as soulless as Boston) on the group’s eleventh studio album, and Collin’s pick this week, Rumors. The album is by far the band’s most successful release, selling over 40 million copies and peaking at the top of the charts in the U.S. and the U.K.

“Dreams,” the second track on the album, was written by sentient goat Stevie Nicks as an optimistic look back at the dissolution of her relationship with Buckingham. Nicks bleats through an endless series of clichés (you see, “players only love you when they’re playing”) and less than subtle digs at Buckingham for an interminable four minutes of faux-folk-pop. “Women they will come and they will go,” to be sure, but at times during “Dreams” I wondered when, if ever, the song would follow suit and get the hell out of my ear canal. “Don’t Stop” is a slightly better song, reflecting Christine McVie’s feelings after her separation from John following eight years of marriage. The song is relentlessly optimistic, to the point where it feels more like McVie was putting on a happy face to get at her ex-husband, while secretly taking several trips a day to the ladies room to ball her eyes out. Her pain was probably very real, but none of that makes it into this song, a standard “tomorrow’s another day” ditty that rings completely hollow. At least to my ears. Bill Clinton really likes this song, at least if nearly all of his campaign appearances over the last two decades are to be believed. And we all know that Bill Clinton’s taste in music, like his taste in women, is unimpeachable (couldn’t be helped).

“Go Your Own Way” was written by Lindsay Buckingham and was the first single off the album. Just like every other song on Rumors, it is about a break up, with Buckingham seemingly more pessimistic than Nicks about the future of their relationship. “Go Your Own Way” is definitely the best song on the album by far, which is kind of like calling it the skinniest kid at fat camp. I can’t help but think of the song as a punchline, the “driving off into the sunset” song at the end of a terrible movie, but at the same time, I have to admit that my enjoyment of it isn’t ironic, at least not entirely. Like “Total Eclipse of the Heart,” it is a god damn catchy song, fun to belt out, especially while drinking heavily to mask the fact that the song isn’t particularly good. The less we say about “Songbird,” the better, which brings us to “The Chain,” the only song on the album written by all five members of the band at the time, a song with a basic rock structure and folk influences. In some ways it feels like the most meaningful song on the album, mostly because it is obviously pretty meaningless, a string of “let’s stay together” gobbledygook sung over strumming guitars. By writing a completely meaningless song, Fleetwood Mac was able to find a shred of meaning to throw into an album that, from the circumstances that created it should have been chock full of authentic pain.

Following a discussion of Fleetwood Mac and “guilty pleasures” with a look at Throbbing Gristle and industrial music is like doing a double feature of Beverly Hills Chihuahua and Ichi the Killer, which is to say, the kids should leave at this point unless they want to see a man dangling on hooks. Throbbing Gristle evolved out of the performance art group COUM Transmissions and in fact, the last performance of COUM Transmissions was also the debut of Throbbing Gristle. The band is known for their confrontational live performances using disturbing images including pornography and pictures of concentration camps to rile up the crowd. The group maintained that their mission was to challenge audiences while exploring the darker, more obsessive side of human nature, rather than make attractive music. Basically, Throbbing Gristle is the anti-Fleetwood Mac. They pioneered the use of pre-recorded samples and made extensive use of special effects to produce a distinct, highly distorted background, which was generally accompanied by lyrics or spoken word pieces. Their first album, Second Annual Report, was released in an initial run of 786 copies. When that sold out and demand remained high, the group did a re-release, reversing the track order and playing each track backwards.

The band’s second album, and Tab’s pick this week, D.o.A: The Third and Final Report of Throbbing Gristle was released in 1978, just one year after Rumors and a sonic universe apart. “United,” the album’s third track, is a 16 second version of the song from an earlier EP (which we will look at next week). The original song runs five minutes, and is simply sped up to fit within the time allotted. “Weeping” uses four types of acoustic violin, is played through a space-echo and is a song about crushing defeat.

“Hamburger Lady” was inspired by a letter from Dr. Al Ackerman, the mail artist, and discusses a deeply scarred and mutilated woman. “AB7/A” is by far the most melodic song on the album, a reprieve from all of the darkness and depression that surrounds it. We will discuss several more Throbbing Gristle releases next week, but for now it must be said that the band’s sonic experiments on their second album are largely successful, and that the work exists as a fully realized journey into the dark side of man’s soul.

Jumping forward again, we turn now to the formation of Pixies in Boston, Massachusetts in 1986. The band consists of Black Francis on vocals and rhythm guitar, Joey Santiago on lead guitar, Kim Deal on bass and vocals and David Lovering on drums. Santiago and Francis first met at the University of Massachusetts Amherst. Francis eventually dropped out and the two formed a band in January of 1986. Kim Deal joined the band two weeks later in answer to an ad seeking a female bassist who liked Peter, Paul, and Mary and Husker DU. Deal was the only person to respond, but arrived without a bass guitar, as she had never played the instrument before. The band’s name was chosen at random from a dictionary.

As this year winds down we will revisit Pixies and look at several of their other releases, but this week we will examine the band’s second full album, and Ashley’s pick, Doolittle. The album’s working title was Whore, though when the cover art was revealed to be a depiction of a monkey with a halo around it’s head, Francis decided he did not want to be pinned down as anti-Catholic and changed the name to Doolittle from a lyric in “Mr. Grieves.”

“Debaser,” the album’s opening track, is based around the Luis Bunuel and Salvador Dali film Un Chien Andalou (known to those who have seen it as the “HOLY SHIT! That woman’s eye just got slit open by a razor!” movie). The song’s title is a reference to the film as a debasement of morality and artistic standards, but also to Amherst film studies professor Don Eric Levine, who screened the film for Black and was known as “the debaser” because he often spoiled the endings of films.

“Here Comes Your Man” is one of those songs that you know is great from the opening riff. By the first lyric, you’re completely in love and by the chorus on a different place of awesome. In other words, it’s a very good song. Originally written by Black Francis when he was a teenager but not included on earlier releases due to his reluctance and fears about its quality, Jon Dolan of Spin magazine called it, “the most accessible song ever by an underground-type band.” While I wouldn’t say I have the authority to make that assertion, “Here Comes Your Man” is an amazing song, catchy without lapsing into bubble gum pop, grungy without losing its upbeat whimsy and imminently listenable, the type of song I imagine will rack up hundreds of plays on my ipod without me ever getting tired of it.

“Monkey Gone to Heaven” references environmentalism and biblical numerology, a song Rolling Stone’s David Fricke called “a corrosive, compelling meditation on God and garbage.” The song simultaneously deals with man’s destruction of the environment and confusion about man’s place in the universe, two potentially heady ideas that should feel at odds packed into less than three minutes of music, and yet somehow work well together, even complementing each other. If you had told me prior to my first listen that a song on the album dealt with the environment, confusion about man’s purpose, and biblical numerology, I would have believed you (you are, after all, a trustworthy source), but I would have expected it to be a total mess. Instead, “Monkey Gone to Heaven” is sonically clean, with a clear message behind each of its several themes, never sacrificing clarity yet always remaining interesting and entertaining. In other words, it’s awesome. “Crackity Jones” describes a crazy roommate, and is a propulsive roller coaster ride of a song, clocking in at 1:24. The song is a rocket powered, punk-ish discourse wish a distinctly Spanish sound.

We will look more into the legacy of Pixies later this year, but the band, and this album in particular, were instrumental to the alt-explosion of the ‘90s and the beginning of the grunge movement. Kurt Cobain was a huge fan and feared that people would criticize “Smells Like Teen Spirit” (which we’ll talk about next month) as derivative of Pixies’ sound. Spoiler alert: they didn’t. The Smashing Pumpkins and PJ Harvey also cite Doolittle as a huge influence on the shape of music as the ‘90s prepared to dawn. The album is a near-perfect collection of songs, pulled together by recurring themes and a consistent sound, and hearkening toward what the alternative movement would become over the next several years, making it an absolutely essential listen for fans of the ‘90s, or of music in general.

Ultimately, Fleetwood Mac, like Boston before them, feels like a band that was more a part of tearing down the old musical system than a force for driving music forward. Where Throbbing Gristle and Pixies both experimented and helped to shape the musical landscape that would follow them, Fleetwood Mac seems mostly to be gnawing on the corpse of “classic rock,” hoping to get a few more bucks before their teeth hits bone. Still, though, there’s a pretty good chance I’ll listen to “Go Your Own Way” again before the day is out. That is, if I can stop listening to “Here Comes Your Man” for long enough to fit it in.

Read more My Year in Lists here

Next week on My Year in Lists:

Elvis Costello and the Attractions display This Year’s Model, we take a crash course in Throbbing Gristle with United/Zyklon B Zombie, We Hate You (Little Girls)/ Five Knuckle Shuffle, Journey Through a Body, Subhuman/Something Came Over Me, Adrenalin/Distant Dreams (Part Two) and 20 Jazz Funk Greats, and close out Ashley’s examination of the ‘80s with Fugazi’s 13 Songs.

Want to keep tabs on all of our updates? follow us on twitter @reviewtobenamed (follow us here).

Jordan's Review: Community, Season 2, Episodes 23-24: A Fistful of Paintballs/For a Few Paintballs More

2011-05-13T13:46:00.001-07:00

First off, apologies for missing last week. There were graduation duties to attend to and ultimately, it just couldn’t be helped. Fortunately, last week was just part one of a two parter, so let’s just pretend that I did this on purpose to write about the whole saga as one big piece, shall we? Because I’m sure many of you have digested “A Fistful of Paintballs” pretty completely by this point, I’ll spend less time on it than on “For a Few Paintballs More,” but first, let’s just talk about these episodes in general.

I’ve said before that the idea of going back to the paintball well worried me. Community is a show that often goes to very high concept places for an episode, and while I think “Modern Warfare” was one of the best episodes of the show’s first season (and one of the best episodes on television in that season), I wasn’t exactly giddy about the idea of the show repeating itself, especially after I’ve been disappointed by the back half of this season. Community is one of my favorite shows on television. Not just one of my favorite comedies, mind you, but one of my favorite shows. I hold it up to very high standards because of this, and most of the back half of this season just didn’t live up to those standards. I never flat out hated a single episode, which is two the show’s credit, but I also never loved one of these episodes as much as I loved the first half of this season. So I was worried that the show was going to go out with a glorified re-run.

Fortunately, that was not the case. “A Fistful of Paintballs” had a lot of set up to deal with, mainly in why in god’s name this was all happening AGAIN. Fortunately it has The Dean to take the fall for that in the squealy, terrified and overwhelmed way he does best. Add in an old time-y flashback to the Wild West end of the year picnic and a talking ice cream cone promising $100,000 to the winner (directly after the Dean joked the prize wouldn’t be anything insane like last year’s) and I was in on the premise.

The question of how to top “Modern Warfare” had to be crossing the minds of the writers when they decided to take on their most universally beloved episode (it isn’t my favorite, but I recognize that is the consensus). They did this largely by reminding us why the first half of season two was better than season one (though the season as a whole has been much more uneven and ultimately, I’m not sure which I like better this soon). Where “Modern Warfare” killed off the show’s “supporting cast” pretty quickly (think of how fast Troy and Annie died, a fact that would be insane to consider in an episode of this scope at this point in the series) to tell a story about the show’s ostensible main characters, Jeff and Britta, “A Fistful of Paintballs” let’s us know that this story is about everyone. Annie is at the center of part one as Jeff was in “Modern Warfare,” but really, it’s more of a Pierce story.

While the episode gave the whole cast a lot to do, it played most directly with these two, an important choice in my eyes for the fact that they have had the most problematic arcs this season. With Pierce, the problem is obvious, and addressed head on: after all the man has done to these people, all the truly awful things he’s put them through, he really shouldn’t be in the group. We learn that the group voted on whether to keep him in, and that Annie was the lone hold out that kept him from being expelled. This is an important character beat for Annie, who I think has been most underserved in season two. Most of the time this year, Annie has been brought up as part of a romantic subplot (see the second part, which I’ll get to in a minute) and used sparingly otherwise. She is the character most clearly tied to Greendale-related plotlines (as the one truly dedicated student in the group, and the one who considers leaving the school for greener pastures whenever that’s convenient), and since season two has had fewer of those, there has been less for her to do. Letting her be the lone gunman drawn into this episodes plotline was a smart choice, and seeing her bitterness at the rest of the group’s willingness to splinter makes perfect sense. Part one ending with even Annie deciding it was time for Pierce to go was a pretty dramatic endpoint for the episode, and for Pierce’s arc this season.

Moving into the actual finale, I was pretty happy, if a little disappointed. Look, the show was going to do a Star Wars episode at some point, and as things go, it went off pretty well. There were plenty of well crafted in-jokes, and it was damn exciting, which always impresses me (when the show manages to invest me in the story its telling beyond just the parody elements, I give it extra credit points, just how I like Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz more because they are both parodies and work as members of the zombie and buddy cop genres, respectively). But I can’t help feeling like this was a little bit of a letdown, hurting the progress made with Annie’s character last week and playing similar (Though maybe different enough) beats in the Pierce storyline.

I know a lot of you will be upset that the show didn’t do all of that much with Star Wars outside of making Greendale into an Alliance of Rebels and having Abed beat Jeff to being Han Solo (both of which were nice), but personally I don’t mind. Star Wars parodies have been done to death, and I would have been very disappointed if the finale was more interested in being a parody than an investigation of the characters and their dynamics.

Again, I was upset that Annie was reduced here to “romantic interest” for Abed’s Han Solo. I think that just confuses things, especially when she remains interested after he drops the act, and I think it delegitimizes her supposedly real feelings for Jeff. If Annie kisses people whenever there’s a moment of drama and remains interested in them afterward, the thing between her and Jeff feels more like a reaction than an honest development. Plus, at this point she has been interested in every male cast member who isn’t Pierce, and that’s just a bit too sitcom-y for me, especially since we’re only at the end of season two. As for Pierce, this episode ended on the exact same cliffhanger as last week’s, which is kind of cheap, honestly. But I forgive it for the kind-of-obvious-but-still-pretty-affecting reveal that Pierce has been going to Greendale for 12 years, and never hung out with anyone for more than a semester until them. At the end of the episode, Pierce leaves the group of his own accord, and while we all know he’ll be back next season, I hope the show takes its time getting us there and doesn’t rush things in the finale. This is a storyline that needs to play out a bit.

While I did have minor complaints here and there, what I really loved about this episode was its focus not on our core cast members but on Greendale in general as a place for people in need of a second chance to gather. Greendale is a terrible college run by an incompetent Dean and filled with teachers completely unqualified to be teaching their subjects, but that has actually made it into a very special place. Greendale will take anyone, and that means that it accepts everyone for their flaws. The show has very slowly and naturally expanded its supporting cast into a huge band of misfits and miscreants, and many (though not all) of them get an appearance here. We get to see Leonard (who has been in two real wars but thinks this is the scariest thing he’s ever seen), Magnitude (who dies, hilariously, jumping on a paintball grenade, giving Troy maybe my favorite single line of the night), Quendra, Fat Neil, the return of Anthony Michael Hall’s ineffective bully, and several other recurring characters who may or may not actually have names, but who its nice to see rise up to defend their school.

And after two seasons and 49 episodes, that may be my favorite thing about Community. It really cares about all of these characters, and about giving them their second chances to be better people. It wants them to get better, to ultimately succeed over their own weaknesses, but when they fail, it supports them and encourages them to try again. Greendale is a completely insane place to be, but its perfectly understandable why everyone there begrudgingly loves the place and why Pierce gives the money to Greendale when he wins, even though he wasn’t there for the rousing speech that told everyone else to do so. For Pierce, it’s Greendale that will never abandon him, not any particular person at the school, and this strong sense of place gives me hope again that the show can return and deliver a third season that will dwarf the first two.

Grade: A-

Notes:

-These come only from this week’s episode, “For a Few Paintballs More.”

-“Why would someone who gets paid to do things be at Greendale?”

-I loved the City College reveal. It was obvious, yes, but I think City College as the fairly shapeless but obviously superior rival to Greendale is a great recurring gag, sort of on par with Eagleton over in Parks and Rec (though to this point, Eagleton has been handled better).

-“You’re the worst!” “Ok, she’s just saying that to fit in!” Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE kind of hate Britta. Except Troy.

-“Easy, Paradox. We’re all on one side.”

-“I think it’s called a taint.”

-“I’m calling dibs on the Han Solo role before Jeff slouches into it by default.” Which is exactly what would’ve happened.

-“Pop What? Pop what?!?!? What is he trying to say? POP WHAT MAGNITUDE?!?!?” I laughed so hard at this, I hurt. GREAT delivery by Donald Glover, as always.

-Nice callback to Troy’s incredible, Good Will Hunting parodying plumbing skills.

-“CHAAAAR…Well, I’m out.”

-“I had a dream it would end this way…”

-See you guys in season three!

Jordan's Review: How I Met Your Mother, Season 6, Episode 23: Landmarks

2011-05-10T08:10:00.000-07:00

Ultimately, the Zoey storyline has been a complete failure, a one-note plotline that didn't really service the masterplot at all (except in the one way I'll discuss below, which is arguable but a huge stretch in my estimation). But that wasn't really the problem with "Landmarks," the episode that finally, belatedly, mercifully brought this never-ending trainwreck to an end. The real problem with tonight's episode was that it was horribly, awfully, terribly unfunny.

Earlier this year, I posed the theoretically ridiculous question, "does a sitcom have to be funny?" I pondered whether, after six years of knowing and loving these characters, a show like How I Met Your Mother could get by basically on good will, could manage a good episode with no laughs or drama just because we cared about the people the events were happening to, even if we didn't care about the events. I decided that, no, a sitcom could not just stop being funny, and "Landmarks" takes the fact that it's theoretically an event episode as an excuse to drop the jokes. If the show had turned in a dramatic episode with stakes I cared about, I might not have noticed the lack of laughs, but this episode failed on that front too, and the dearth of laughter was all the more noticeable for this.

The episode basically comes down to Ted's struggle over whether to save The Arcadian (I know, I can't believe we're STILL talking about that either) and his relationship with Zoey, or to destroy both for the sake of his career, and Barney's. If there was any masterplot movement in the Zoey plot, it occurs in Ted's answer to this question. Back when he was prepared to marry Stella, Ted was willing to leave his beloved New York City for New Jersey, a placer that would make him miserable for the rest of his life, just to spend that life with the woman he thought was "the one." This time around, it's different. Ted realized that the sort of sacrifice Zoey asked of him (and, in hindsight, Stella asked of him) would breed resentment, and so he chose the selfish choice. I don't want to give the writers too much credit for what I think was pretty much an epic stall tactic of a plotline, bbut I can see how Ted choosing his ultimate happiness over his current relaitonship could be argued as a step forward, a necessary maturation before Ted meets the mother. But GOOD GOD, I hope that's soon.

Even in the worst episodes of HIMYM, the cast is pretty stellar, and that's true tonight. Many times I thought about writing down a quote for the notes section, only to realize the joke itself was terrible without the solid delivery by one of the cast members. The few laughs I did get came from the delivery, like when Barney mimed the letter Robin was reading. Also, "Landmarks" gets credit for finally giving Bob Odenkirk some material worthy of his abilities, and watching him scream at an adorable puppy was by far the best moment of the episode. This was a bad episode for How I Met Your Mother, but hopefully it was a brush-clearing episode that got Zoey out of the way in time to give us real, actual, mother-meeting progress in the finale. Otherwise this episode, and really, this whole season (or even the last two seasons) will feel like a giant waste of time.

Grade: C-

Notes:

-"You're not tugboat! You'll NEVER be tugboat!" That was it. That was the only quote I felt compelled to write down, and even this was mostly the delivery.

My Year in Lists: Week Eighteen

2011-05-06T19:41:00.000-07:00

By Jordan

My Year in Lists chronicles one blogger’s quest to understand why music matters to us and what makes it a lasting aspect of our existence. To facilitate this examination, three music fans have contributed a list of 52 essential albums. Each week this year, one album off of each list will be analyzed in an attempt to understand why some music sticks with us and what it means for our lives.

“That Seventies stuff, the Journey, Boston, Foreigner stuff, it was lame. If it weren’t for those types of bands, we would never have had the nerve to be a band. But I guess you need bad things to make good things. It’s like with farming—if you want to grow a good crop, you need a lot of manure.”-Mike Watt of The Minutemen

“Bollocks to Morrissey at Wolverhampton, to The Sundays at The Falcon, to PWEI at Brixton—I’m already drafting a letter to my grandchildren telling them that I saw The Stone Roses at The Hacienda.”-Andrew Collins, NME

Music, like most of life, is really a series of reactions to what came before. The conservativism of the 1950’s post-war era begat the counterculture that grew into the hippie, free love movement of the ‘60s, which in turn created the conservative backlash of the Reagan-era ‘80s. Similarly, rock and roll grew out of opposition to be crooners and big band that dominated the airwaves at the time. Opposition to rock and roll created first the experimental and psychedelic movements (the latter of which was helped by the insane amount of drugs everyone was taking at the time), and then punk rock. Punk bisected, as punk bands either lost their edge and became post-punk New Wavers or just got angrier and became hardcore bands out to show punk rockers that they could push things even further. Most of culture is in some way a reaction to the things we like or hate about what came before. Sometimes we get nostalgic for what came before (remember when swing music was a thing for a bit in the late ‘90s? I wish I didn’t) and create retro sounds that hearken back to what we loved about the past and maybe attempt to improve on it. And sometimes we hate what came before and our anger drives us to try to subvert it as much as possible. Either way, as the good book says, we may be through with the past, but the past ain’t through with us (for those of you worried I’m waxing religious, that’s a Magnolia quote there. I haven’t gone crazy since last week).

When Tom Scholz started writing music while attending MIT in 1969, I don’t think he was too angry about anything. Scholz has never been the type of guy to create a movement or to innovate anything in the musical spectrum. Mostly, I think Tom Scholz liked rock and roll. I think he liked it a lot. I think he liked it so much, he decided to go out there and make some for himself. While at MIT he joined the band Freehold, where he met guitarist Barry Goudreau and drummer Jim Masdea. In 1970 vocalist Brad Delp was added. In 1974, after Freehold had fallen apart, Scholz worked with Masdea and Delp to produce demos for a new project. Scholz played all of the instruments on each of the demos. By the time the band got around to recording anything, Jim Masdea had been fired at the request of the band’s prospective label epic (though he was allowed to play drums on one track, entitled “Rock and Roll Band”) and Goudreau had joined the band as a second guitarist, a necessity to play Scholz’ music live. The band didn’t have to look far for a name, settling on just calling themselves after the town in which they formed. And with that complete lack of thought or originality, Boston was born.

The band’s self-titled debut, and Collin’s pick this week, has become the second best selling debut of all time in the United States, behind Guns N’ Roses’ Appetite for Destruction. Almost all of the tracks on the album were recorded alone by Scholz in his home recording studio, while the rest of the band “created a diversion” and recorded in a real studio, again per Epic’s request. I don’t want to impugn the talent of Scholz when I spend the next several paragraphs talking about how Boston isn’t very good (in fact, they’re pretty terrible)—the man plays multiple instruments, all well enough to be in a prominent rock band, and is responsible for almost every sound heard on Boston. He just needed a band because he couldn’t do it all himself live. Yet the simple ability to play a bunch of instruments does not a rock and roll star make. There is something else, something far more elusive, that makes a rock and roll star. Ability is one thing, but being a real musician involves a level of artistry that I just don’t think Scholz has ever had in him. It seems to me (and to be fair, I’ve never met the man, so this is just speculation) that Tom Scholz loved rock and roll so much, he wanted to make some. But his love just isn’t enough.

The opening track of the album, “More Than A Feeling,” is really the apex of the band’s entire career. To my mind, it was all downhill from there. “More Than A Feeling” really is a pretty good rock song, an ode to love that is about a thousand miles ahead of anything else the band ever did. The problem with the song, and really, with the whole band, is that it feels completely hollow. Boston sounds like rock and roll with the soul sapped out; all of the elements are in place, but something feels wrong about the whole thing. The band’s second best song, “Peace of Mind” is a commentary on the growing materialism of the baby boomer generation, a concept the band rejects. That is allegedly the case, but honestly, the less thought you put into “Peace of Mind” and Boston in general, the more likely you are to enjoy them. Boston is sort of the anti-idea band, if you buy the concept I introduced a while back when discussing Devo [WEEK TWO LINK HERE]. There isn’t much thought put into this music at all; its mostly just “I want to make a rock song.”

“Rock and Roll Band” is ostensibly an origin story for the band, telling of their hardscrabble early days and their road to success. But for some reason, whether it’s the overbearing electric guitar, the shockingly cliché lyrics, or the fact that the band met at MIT (which doesn’t exactl scream “hardscrabble” to me), I don’t buy a second of it. “Rock and Roll Band” is the type of song that real rock bands write all the time. Hell, just last week we were talking about “Tenth Avenue Freeze Out,” a Bruce Springsteen song about the origins of the E Street Band, and I was raving about it. Yet when Boston does it, it feels like they wrote the song because they felt like they needed to write an origin story about how they made it to the top and then did it, not because they wanted to but because they felt it was something they should want to do.

If, as Lester Bangs once said, rock and roll died in the 1970’s, it was bands like Boston, Styx, and Foreigner that killed it. These were bands that knew what rock and roll required and so did that and called themselves rock and roll. These were zombies, going through the motions of making music without putting any thought or feeling into it. These were bands that did what just a few years earlier would have seemed impossible: they made rock and roll uncool. In that way, and ONLY in that way, I guess Boston is an important band. As Mike Watt said above, “if you want to grow a good crop, you need a lot of manure,” and Boston provided plenty of shit to fuel the growth of the punk movement.

At the center of the reaction to the husk of rock and roll that Boston and associated acts were rolling out was Wire, who as we discussed last week started out at the beginning of the punk movement and began fairly quickly to move toward post-punk. Wire’s third album, and one of Tab’s picks this week, 154, was named after the number of gigs the band had played at the time and released in 1979. The album is a departure from the band’s punk roots and continues their movement towards post-punk. The opening track “I Should Have Known Better” is a dark, New Wave-y discursion that sounds almost like Joy Division.

“The 15th” is an upbeat, melody driven composition, a clear departure from their earlier vocally focused work. At this point, the guys in Wire actually sing their songs instead of utilizing the speak-singing techniques and punk howls that often showed up on their first two albums. “A Touching Display,” a shockingly long song by the band’s standards at nearly 7 minutes, mixes sounds in a very experimental way before descending into a prog-rock sound that wouldn’t feel out of place on a Pink Floyd album from the mid-‘70s. “Map Ref. 41N 93W” is a reference to the town of Centerville, Iowa. The album’s closing track, “40 Versions” sounds as if it is ushering in the sound of the ‘80s, a song about identity confusion that plays like a sonic forebear of a lot of the post-punk New Wave bands we’ve been listening to with Ashley this year.

The Ideal Copy is the band’s fourth album, released after a seven year hiatus. While Wire had used electronic instruments on Chairs Missing and 154, the return of the band openly embraces synthesizers, sequencers and drum machines, prompting comparisons of the band to New Order. This is ironic, as Wire’s early work was a huge influence on New Order, thus the band’s new work was in a way being compared to work the band itself had inspired.

The opening track “The Point of Collapse” is a heavily synthesized return for the band, maintaining their sound while indicating that the band recognized the music world had changed while they were away. The Ideal Copy sounds much more electronic than any of its predecessors, especially in tracks like “Ahead” and “Madman’s Honey.” The song “Cheeking Tongues” is actually most similar to the band’s initial style in length, tempo and message, though the electronic sound and the band’s singing style indicate a permanent change had occurred, as the band had ushered in post-punk and now reveled in the sounds of the genre they had helped create.

Wire is one of those bands that has never attained huge success but is loved by musicians and has caused bands inspired by their work to spring up for decades. In the late ‘60s it was said that not many people heard The Velvet Underground & Nico , but everyone who did formed a band, and a similar statement seems to apply to the effect Wire has had on the development of music over the past 30 years. Bands like The Urinals, The Minutemen, Minor Threat, Black Flag, R.E.M., The Cure, Guided By Voices, My Bloody Valentine, Fischerspooner, Bloc Party, Franz Ferdinand, and Blur all cite Wire as a major influence and the band quickly went from one of the forefathers of punk rock to one of the founding fathers of the post-punk movement, excelling at both and paving the way for what was to come in the process.

Not much is ever made of the reaction to the post-punk movement (at least not until we get to grunge in a few weeks), but there was a movement in the late ‘80s and early ‘90s in Manchester, England known as Madchester. Formed in 1983 by Ian Brown on vocals, John Squire on guitar, Gary “Mani” Mounfield on bass and Allan “Reni” Wren on drums, The Stone Roses formed the center of this scene. They released their self-titled debut album, and Ashley’s pick this week, in 1989. The album is arguably a thesis statement for the Madchester movement, which was known for mixing alternative rock, psychedelic rock, and dance music in an attempt to create something that is at once familiar and new.

Having released several singles prior to recording the album, the band went into the studio with producer John Leckie, who had worked with Pink Floyd on Meddle. The opening track “I Wanna Be Adored” is an atmospheric bass driven song, using hushed and minimal vocals throughout. “Waterfall” is about a girl who manages to make it through the worst of situations, an upbeat ode to a lady that is almost guaranteed to put a smile on your face.

“Made of Stone” references Jackson Pollock, an important influence on John Squire, who did all of the band’s artwork, including this album’s cover. As Squire describes it, “‘Made of Stone’ is about making a wish and watching it happen. Like scoring a goal in a cup final…on a Harley Electra Glide…dressed as Spider-Man.” The album’s closing track, “I am the Resurrection” is an 8 minute long epic, featuring a four minute outro and foreshadowing the title of their follow-up album, Second Coming.

The Stone Roses is a completely self-assured debut, an album that knows what it wants to do and pulls it off with nary a misstep. The album is fun, contemplative, and imminently listenable, one of the rare records that comes to an end and leaves you wanting to replay it immediately. Though the band only made one more album before disbanding, and the Madchester movement never became as prominent as others, the band has left their mark on music, and The Stone Roses is still considered one of the greatest albums ever recorded.

Much of music is at least somewhat reactionary, but that shouldn’t take any of the power away from it. Most of culture is about a search for something meaningful that we can all share, and in a world as diverse as ours, that can often seem like an effort in vain. Yet when an aspect of culture alienates some part of our population, there is often a reaction against that culture, and a new form of expression is created that can allow the alienated to feel like they belong again. As our world grows ever more complicated and culture becomes increasingly niche, these reactions may shape a smaller portion of our society, but they can rock those smaller groups even more profoundly as a result, offering a safe harbor for people who have long felt adrift at sea, searching for that one song or that one band that makes them feel, at least for a few minutes, like someone else understands.

Read more My Year in Lists here

Next week on My Year in Lists:
Fleetwood Mac spreads some Rumors, we hear D.o.A.: The Third and Final Report of Throbbing Gristle, and The Pixies Doolittle.

Want to keep tabs on all of our updates? follow us on twitter @reviewtobenamed (follow us here).

Jordan's Review: How I Met Your Mother, Season 6, Episode 22: The Perfect Cocktail

2011-05-02T21:51:00.001-07:00

I am tired of the Arcadian plotline. I see why it was important at first, being that it introduced Zoey (who is presumably important to the masterplot in some way still, right?) to the show, but I thought it pretty much played itself out in the first episode involving her. Then, next time she was around, the show did pretty much the same thing. And it has been playing slight deviaitons on this stupid fight for most of the season now. Tonight's revelation that Zoey grew up in the Arcadian gave her a reason to want it to stand, and we've always known that Ted wants to build a skyscraper, so they both have reasons for their positions. But that doesn't make me care about this any more. The Arcadian drama has been a big drag on this season every time it has appeared, and tonight it kind of trashes what could have been a pretty good episode, if not for the fact that it was a pretty bad episode.

The best thing about this episode, honestly, were the callbacks to previous episodes and ongoing jokes. I always love that about this show, but unfortunately tonight they were about all the show had going for it in terms of big laughs or excitement. I liked that Barney still does the "sending a picture of him defiling whatever the person is touching/eating/drinking." Lily still hits on Robin, which I guess is good continuity, but it isn't all that funny and it never really was. The best moment in this episode, in a landslide, was the return of the cockamouse, a fantastic creation from way back in season one. Nothing was done with this, which again demonstrates the laziness of this episode, but at least the writers remembered the existence of the cockamouse for long enough to drop a reference.

The worst thing was everything else. The Zoey and Ted in the Arcadian plot was something we've seen before (the couple in a horrible place but trying to stick it out) topped with Ted springing "I Love You," a declaration he's made so many times on this show that it might be sapped of all meaning by the time he finally gets to the mother (if he ever does at this point). Marshall and Barney's feud was funny at times, but it felt incredibly rushed and didn't really build to anything. It seemed like the writers thought it would be cute to see which types of liquor effect everyone in which ways. Which is fine as a montage, but as the driving plot of the episode felt very lacking. Worst perhaps was the "gang is banned from the bar" plotline, which should by all reason have been hilarious but was instead completely wasted, not even being used at all. The group was banned, sure, and mentioned it once, but Barney and Marshall were able to go into the bar without trouble later, and Ted apparently didn't even realize they had been banned. It's ok, Ted. Neither did I.

Look, honestly I'm just tired. At this point there is so much fatigue hampering the masterplot of this show that it can be tough to keep caring. Most weeks I strain to remember what it was about this show that made me fall so in love with it in its early seasons. How I Met Your Mother was never the best comedy on television, but for a few years there it was maybe my favorite and I was excited every week for what the show would turn out. When Ted was with Victoria, I thought it was cute. I loved the balls it took for the show to spend a year on Ted and Robin (even though we knew they wouldn't end up together), and I loved that I really cared about how those two would fall apart. I even liked the Stella arc, at least enough for the short time we spent on it, and for the fact that it was more about where Ted was at the time than about actual romance. But since then, we've been stalled. In season one, I loved Marshall and Lily. When they broke up, I cared about that and worried for the characters, and when they finally got married it was one of the series' best moments. But for years now, they've been in the same place. Hell, they've been making pregnancy jokes and contemplating having kids for TWO SEASONS NOW.

I used to be excited by this show, stimulated by it, moved by it, intrigued by it. Now, I watch it. I watch, and I wait, and I hope that the show gets back to where it should be going. I cared about this show when it was telling a story, and damn it, as cynical and tired as I get, I still want to see the ending. Carter Bays and Craig Thomas are contracted for two more seasons. So is the cast. I haven't given up hope that this show can rebound, especially if it finally moves to the endgame and introduces the mother. But mostly, I'm scared of how much further this show could fall in two more years, hoe much it could tarnish its legacy by going on far, far, far too long. I'm scared, and yes, I'm tired.

Grade: C

Notes:

-"We fired him when we caught him clubbing a seal in his office with an even cuter seal."

-"I'm sorry, but your crabs have super herpes."

-"We're a dream of babies having a dream of babies having a dream." "I keep telling you that didn't hap-..." "It happened, and it changed me!"

-"Look, I can handle you trying to prevent me from achieving a lifelong dream. That's just being in a relationship." Even Ted is cynical now.

-"Kids, don't drink tequila." Amen.