 Today I have achieved absolute nought XPN is at it again, this time it's the 885 All Time Greatest Albums. To be honest, I've kind of stopped listening to XPN as much. I can't really put my finger on why, except that a lot of the music they play is kind of boring now. Maybe too old? Ha. Anyway, that's not going to stop me from participating in their latest promotion. In some ways this was easier than the greatest song thing. As it turns out, there are only a handful of albums that I can still listen to and not be completely bored halfway through. I don't claim to have comprehensive knowledge of all the "great" albums that routinely show up on these sorts of lists, nor do I ever really want to spend the time with a Rolling Stone in hand listening to every last Bob Dylan album that made it in the top 500 (I know, blasphemy). I'm also guilty of being very fickle with my albums; I own several "great" Beatles albums, but I'd be fine with never listening to them again, even though. So this time, no ground rules, no complicated formulas involving average itunes ratings of the songs normalized by the year of release and smoothed by the NASDAQ-100 index. If the album is a great album, not just a collection of great songs but a cohesive whole, then it made the list, because as it turns out there are not too many of them. I listened to all the albums on the list over the course of a few days, and came up with the top 10 as follows:
1. R.E.M. - Automatic for the People (1992). Quite simply, this album is a masterpiece, and even a dozen years' worth of changing musical tastes and incessant radio play of Everybody Hurts haven't affected the awe I have for this album. It was the first CD I ever owned, so maybe there's a bit of a sentimental bias here, but not much.
2. Pink Floyd - Dark Side of the Moon (1973). When it came down to it, DSotM has the whole of Wish You Were Here beat, even though the single is one of my favorite songs ever. The Wall is also a fine album, but dare I say, a bit too ponderous?
3. Sufjan Stevens - Illinois (2005). Whoa there, partner, where did this one come from? Sufjan caught my interest with Seven Swans (just close your eyes and try not to think about all the Christian imagery, you know, if that's not your thing), but Illinois blew me away. Over the past month, I think I've on average listened to the album once a day. Unfortunately I don't have the luxury of waiting a year to see if I still love the album, but I'm just going to trust my cochlea on this one.
4. Matthew Good - Avalanche (2003). Aww, Matt Good lost out to a newcomer. You tour the U.S., and then we can talk about moving you back into the top 3.
5. Broken Social Scene - You Forgot It in People (2003). Still the finest example of post rock I've heard (bigger indie snobs than I would make a hot fuss about this).
6. The Streets - A Grand Don't Come for Free (2004). Of the concept albums on this list, the most concepty. There are of course gems on Original Pirate Material, but this one's got character.
7. Coldplay - Parachutes (2000). When did Coldplay become a guilty pleasure? Radiohead wannabes, blah blah. Rush of Blood had great moments -- namely, The Scientist and the Green Eyes/Warning Sign double punch -- but Parachutes is way more consistent. Do not get me started on X&Y. OK, one observation: there are a couple of template songs (like Clocks) that you can sing with every one of the tracks on X&Y, all the while thinking, "yeah, that's the same song, isn't it." Annoyingly, the album still grew on me. Lights will guide me home. And ignite my bones. (wtf??)
8. Sufjan Stevens - Seven Swans (2004). What, again? It's a beautiful album; I can't help this. It won the head-to-head against everything else below this point.
9. Tori Amos - Little Earthquakes (1992). I'm not entirely sure about this one. I have great respect for the album and for Tori, but I don't feel it all the way through. It definitely falls on this side of "collection of great songs" rather than "great collection of songs." But still worthy to be in the top 10.
10. Toad the Wet Sprocket - Coil (1997). I've mentioned before that Toad is one of my all time favorite artists (maybe next year I'll make a list). The problem with Toad albums, though, is that they start out amazingly strong but get relatively weaker halfway through. Dulcinea would be the perfect EP, starting with the upbeat "Fly from Heaven" and ending with the hauntingly gorgeous "Windmills." In actuality, there are another 5 songs on the album that just don't inspire me as much. The landscape of Coil is more hilly, but at least it ends as strongly as it begins.
Also-rans Elliott Smith - From a Basement on a Hill (2004). I might be guilty of not having given enough time to XO or self-titled. Basement wins over Either/Or though. Radiohead - The Bends (1995). OK Computer was never in contention. The Bends takes a nosedive around "Nice Dream." R.E.M. - Reckoning (1984), New Adventures in Hi Fi (1996). New Adventures is a highly underrated album. Draws from the melancholy of Automatic and gives it a harder edge. It belongs in the top 10, but I couldn't make it work. Sigur Ros - Agaetis Byrjun (2001). A mood album. Smashing Pumpkins - Siamese Dream (1993). Perfectly captures the various aspects of the "modern rock" feel of the early nineties on one album. They Might Be Giants - Flood (1990). It's cute and nostalgic, but just didn't hold up to the rest. Toad the Wet Sprocket - Fear (1991), Dulcinea (1994).
-M.L., 11:41p 18Aug05 |
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Moments of gold, flashes of light I've been called a music snob on a couple different occasions. This is probably because I can be very vocal about my disdain for certain contemporary radio-friendly artists, and that whenever someone asks me who I listen to, invariably the artists I name no one has ever heard of. I might add that an alarming number of musicians I like make it onto one of the OC soundtracks, so maybe all my friends are just out of it. Or maybe I am a music snob. I do object to the fact that people think I am unfairly prejudiced against certain genres of music. Not so! To show this, I've decided to bare my soul to the web and provide you with a few of my "guilty pleasures" -- songs from artists and genres that I don't usually have kind things to say about. It's just a taste. It really goes much deeper, but I'm not sure how comfortable I am sharing everything with you all at once. The "I wear my emo hoodie proudly" guilty pleasure Dashboard Confessional, Screaming Infidelities The "I'm really a fourteen-year-old girl on the inside" guilty pleasure Ashlee Simpson, Pieces of Me The "But they claim they're not a Christian band" guilty pleasure Lifehouse, You and Me (this one always makes me feel a little bit dirtier than the rest...wait, is it too late to change my answer to Good Charlotte?) The "I actually watched a full season of American Idol and voted" guilty pleasure a tie between Kimberly Locke's 8th World Wonder and Josh Gracin's I Want to Live. Take that, Clay Aiken! The "Cher???!!!" guilty pleasure Cher, Song for the Lonely The "Technically, it's not a country song" guilty pleasure Faith Hill, Breathe
-M.L., 12:00a 27May05 |
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Top n songs of all time? The uber-cool radio station I listen to in Philly, 88.5 WXPN, is gearing up to open their new studio/playspace on the Walnut St. bridge, and I'm pretty stoked. Presumeably timed for this opening is a listener poll to find out just what the "885 all time greatest songs" are. Just what I've been wondering all my life. Anyway, my job is to produce my very own top 10 list by Sept. 8 and send it along. I happen to love top 10/top 50/top 32,768 lists, if only to mock the editors of so-and-so silly magazine (*cough* rollingstone *cough*) for having the gall to include X band or leave off Y, or the occasional "you think Green is a better album than Reckoning???" moment. I don't, however, think that I'd be able to do much better. I get sick of music really easily, and so I'm never sure how to objectively compare recent stuff that I'm excited about with stuff that I remember being excited about five or 10 years ago. The other thing that worries me about top song lists (as well as the ranking system in itunes) is that oftentimes the album as a whole is far greater than the individual songs. Matthew Good's Avalanche (see below) is easily a top-10 album for me, but I'd be hard pressed to identify a particular track that I would call my favorite. So I think that I'd feel obligated to choose a song from a great album and would end up ranking it based on the strength of the entire album rather than independently. Still, since it's my civic duty to vote, I might as well try. In generating this list, I set a few rules for myself: 1. No songs from the last 10 years. This unfortunately excludes most of the talented indie artists I listen to, but such is life. 2. Include at least one song from each of my all-time favorite artists -- that means R.E.M., Pink Floyd, and Toad the Wet Sprocket. 3. No two songs by the same artist. No matter how worthy. 4. Make no attempt to rank songs until I've narrowed the list down to 15ish. Ready? OK, here we go. Top 10 songs of all time according to me: 1. Pink Floyd - Wish You Were Here (1975). That was easy. 2. Toad the Wet Sprocket - Walk on the Ocean (1991). Though Coil, not Fear, is my favorite Toad album, and the acoustic Glen Phillips solo version of Crowing from Live at Largo very nearly tops everything. 3. Peter Gabriel - Solsbury Hill (1976). 4. R.E.M. - Fall on Me (1986). Beat out several worthy tracks off of Automatic for the People and Reckoning 5. Simon & Garfunkel - America (1968). Other choice was The Boxer. 6. U2 - One (1991). 7. Tori Amos - Tear in Your Hand (1992). I think I like this, Silent All These Years, and Winter about equally. 8. Kate Bush - Running up That Hill (1985). Jig of Life is up there too. 9. Billy Joel - Piano Man (1973). 10. Dire Straits - Romeo & Juliet (1980). --------------------------- 11. ABBA - Dancing Queen (1976). So very close. 12. Beatles - Hey Jude (1968). That's right, no Beatles in the top 10. 13. They Might Be Giants - Birdhouse in Your Soul (1990). 14. Jeff Buckley - Last Goodbye (August 1994, just old enough). 15. Smashing Pumpkins - Today (1993). 16. Journey - Don't Stop Believing (1981). I'm sure I left something out, but that's the best I can do for now. I am
very sad about leaving ABBA out of the cut. No apologies for liking kitsch.
One of these days I'll see if I can do a top 10 from the last decade or something.
Howie Beck Hollow 
What do you get when you mate Howie Day with Jeff Beck? Why,
Howie Beck of
course.
OK, so actually he's more of a musical offshoot of Elliot Smith dipped in
Molson Light.
Like all great albums, Hollow was recorded in Howie Beck's Toronto bedroom on his own label, all the way back in 1999. As such, the production is refreshingly non-intrusive, with the focus being on the man and his guitar, and rightly so. Comparisons to the late Elliot Smith are not misplaced -- both artists channel the pleasant melancholy of everyday miseries with their fragile tenors and minor chord progressions. About half the album has the slow-motion feel of the moment just before a car crash, with lyrics to match: "All you see is all I meant to be / I wasted three weeks for nothing." Now cue the fatalism, "But maybe I belong this way / it's over / it's over now." Aww Howie, come now, everybody hurts. The other half ranges from the Latin-jazzy Charlie Brown anthem "Baby Plays Around on Me" to the cheery defiance of "I won't be sorry / for the things inside my head," to the vitriolic zingers of "Serves You Right" ("I'll let you drown in a minute / serves you right"). Most of the way through the album, and we're quite prepared for Howie to slink on home and pop a prozac. The last song, "The One You Wanted," does appear to end on a desperately optimistic note, as Howie repeats his mantra, "If I could be the one you wanted" enough times that you almost believe that things could work out. But then you realize he's probably just deluding himself. Howie Beck has apparently been signed over the summer and has released a new album in Canada. Maybe things are finally looking up.
-M.L., 9:17p 05Sept04 |
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I liked you better before you sold out I have that on a t-shirt that my friend Lauren gave me (from Diesel Sweeties). Really, I don't think I'm that much of an indie snob; it's just that most mainstream music is not terribly listenable. Still, I do admit that it's kind of cool to be listening to artists that none of my friends have heard of (I plead less cool than my friend C in Seattle in that regard, however). So I guess I'm ambivalent about all of these semi-indie acts now appearing on the mainstream radar. I was home for a week off last month, during which time I managed to catch MTV playing Modest Mouse, Franz Ferdinand, and the Beastie Boys (I know, not at all indie, but still) all within a few minutes of one another...uh, where's the Britney? At the last Matt Nathanson concert, I was acutely aware of being surrounded by all these in-crowd high school kids, who inexplicably knew all the words to Matt's songs better than I did. Of course, this means I have to be on the search for crap that no one's ever heard of, except most of it is just that, crap. Sigh. Is it such a bad thing to just be getting into Interpol, the Shins, Badly Drawn Boy, *after* people have heard of them? :P Here's a guy whom a lot of people have heard of. Probably in a different context though. Steve Burns Songs for Dustmites 
You might remember Steve Burns from such educational programs as
Blue's Clues -- Shapes and Colors
and
Blue's Clues -- Telling Time with Blue.
Yup, he's that Steve. After 100 or so episodes of Blue's Clues, Steve Burns called it quits to become a rock star. Perfectly understandable, I think. The result is this odd yet thoroughly enjoyable album that reflects Burns' quirky sense of humor -- the same sense of humor that Steve who sat in the big chair and hung out with large dogs and salt and pepper shakers had. But in no way is this album a Blue's Clues -- Indie Rocking with Blue sort of thing. Just making that clear. Citing heavy influences from pals the Flaming Lips, Burns sets his at times TMBG-esque subject matter to simple yet effective guitar work overlaid with cute little synthy-indie-electro percussions. His singing is very matter-of-fact, almost speak-singing in places. He's just an ordinary everyman making music (neverminding the whole kids' show host thing). 
The album starts with the high-energy "Mighty Little Man" -- absolutely not at
all a reference to Burns' untall 3-foot-2 stature -- which paints an allegory of a
man suddenly transformed into superhero by his TV set (this is why you shouldn't sit
too close). So he can fly and do crazy superhero stuff, but it doesn't really go to his head.
As Burns reassures us, "Don't be alarmed, don't make a fuss, he's still like you,
he's one of us, and he'll come back before too long." An everyman indeed. Mighty little everyman.
In case that message wasn't clear, the next track What I Do On Saturday reiterates that "I'm just a boring example of everybody else". "Maintain" is a cheerful but mostly nonsensical song that happens to remind me of the Barenaked Ladies song "When I Fall," only because there's a line about floating above buildings ("When I Fall" is not the least bit cheery in case you're not familiar with it). But mostly it's a song filled with vivid but meaningless imagery, including "Turn it all into a harddrive / And plug me in / I don't want to know." My favorite track is "Troposphere", which is the (premature, I think) climax of the album, and a damned depressing nostalgic song if you concentrate too hard on the lyrics (I usually don't). He's still flying, but he's in an airplane this time, "upsidedown fighting gravity" -- which, in the grand tradition of this lovely artist, becomes a metaphor for the sad inevitability of love gone sour. At least I think that's what he's singing about...er, it sounds good, nuff said. Things go uber-mellow after this point, which is unfortunate, because it makes the album drag a little bit. Still, the cute-weird thing is ever-present in songs like "A Song for Dustmites" and "Superstrings" -- with the added bonus that I want to simultaneously sweep under my bed and read The Elegant Universe while listening to this part of the album. The final track, "Henry Krinkle's Lament," reminds us defiantly "I'll sit at home and watch TV / Go ahead an cry, I won't give a damn / It doesn't matter, I'm Superman," just in case we forgot. I know you don't love that guy, cause I can see right through you. I think more hosts of children's television should put out albums like these. Donovan Patton, I'm looking at you.
-M.L., 7:40p 05Jul04 |
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Neko Case is a gateway drug When the music reviewers at Pitchfork don't like something, they sure don't hold back on the pseudo-intellectual sarcastic sound bites, which tend to burn large gaping holes in your web browser (I'd like to think of myself as a much friendlier music reviewer, but I suppose most critics think that way about themselves). But still, the reviews are generally worth reading. One in particular cracks me up because it hits painfully close to home. An excerpt: "Sure, today it's a little bit of Neko Case, but pretty soon you'll be listening to 'Folsom Prison Blues' on the weekends, then before you know it you'll be twanging up every day after school and buying CDs by anyone named Travis or Loretta." I've always been a bit leary about country music, but lately I've been getting into that whole alt-country thing (see the Matthew Ryan entry below). And it was a really scary moment a few weeks ago when I actually considered giving Loretta Lynn's new album a try. So, because I'm feeling a bit self-conscious about the country thing, I will not be reviewing Grant-Lee Phillips' latest album, Virginia Creeper, as I had originally intended. It's an excellent album and all, and I'm going to see him in concert in Boston next week, but it's most decidedly alt-country. Ah well. Of course, that was back in May, and I was left with nothing interesting enough to comment on. Modest Mouse? Morrissey? The Streets? They're all in my itunes play list, but they're also all really hyped, so you don't really need to hear what I have to say about them. Just go visit Pitchfork, or even worse, Rolling Stone. Luckily, I found the following a week ago: Matthew Good Avalanche 
Wow.
OK, now that that's out of the way, a bit of history. One of my friends has been trying to get me to listen to Matthew Good's stuff for a while now; I'd never heard of him before, and unfortunately I kept thinking "Matthew Sweet" when I heard his name. Although I'm very good at doling out musical advice, I seem to have a bad track record when it comes to following up on other people's music suggestions. I'm sure much of this had to do with my distaste for the other bands said friend seems to like (won't mention them here to protect the innocent), but I did end up visiting Matt Good's website and downloaded a clip of something that at the time I thought was hopelessly political and not terribly enjoyable. Luckily, several months later, I decided to give him a second chance. As it turns out, the now dissolved Matthew Good Band was huge in Canada. Multi-platinum huge. Nickelback huge, except Nickelback has actually made a <shudder> successful foray into the U.S. alternacrap scene, so I guess it's not a terribly meaningful comparison. And Matt Good certainly had some nice things to say about Chad Kroeger and his pseudo-Creed wannabe sound, so pardon me for mentioning the two in the same sentence. MGB did have a U.S. release, but it was a mangled version of the Canadian version of the album -- tracks removed, tracks replaced by singles from previous albums -- so this did not go over well with the MG. Did I mention that that Matt Good is a very outspoken individual? Thus, Matthew Good is still rather anonymous in the States. Avalanche is Matthew Good's debut release as a solo artist, and is supposedly a slight departure from much of the MGB's work. I'm actually somewhat hard-pressed to describe it; the instrumentation has some elements of the neo-proggish Smashing Pumpkins sound (think Mellon Collie-era), but with heavy doses of 80s metal-influenced guitar (think Siamese Dream-era). The one constant is Good's lyricism/cynicism, which definitely shines on this album, and which I've come to appreciate despite the sometimes heavy-handed political messages -- the only other overtly political stuff I've ever liked has come out of the mouth of Michael Stipe, by the way. Song titles include "Pledge of Allegiance," "Lullaby for the New World Order," "In a World Called Catastrophe"...the list goes on. Good's voice has a haunting, weary bitterness that edges on desperation at times, never sounding melodramatic or trite. "Pledge" starts with a very simple synthish beat that becomes progressively more layered as Good's voice comes in: "This is a commercial for my army and my navy / This is a rehearsal for all the empty promises I will be / I won't let you down, I won't let you down / I won't let you down, done letting you down." The song is an anti-anthem, and the intended audience is painfully clear. "It's ok to be their disappointment baby / it's ok to fly the flag." Similarly, "Lullaby" is anything but. "How do you stop once you've started." Or, more bluntly, how do you make good when it's clear you've screwed up. The next track, "Weapon," continues in the same theme. The intro to "In a World" is a powerful guitar riff hook that drags you into an intensely paced lament about physically and mentally deteriorating under the pressure of battle, metaphorical or otherwise. Throughout the song, Good repeats the line "Remember how we started / Cause since then I'm a waste," and it is this image that carries the last minute or so of the song as the music dies to a whisper and leads into the title track. "Avalanche" starts as a death march with Good chanting "one foot in front of the other" and builds into a waltz of cataclysm, complete with prophetic zingers like "Avalanche, hell down through the trees...This key is to your kingdom / This key is to your heart / Neither one a doorway / But both of them a part" and overlaid with sound clips of rabble rousing from circa 1930s Germany. Yet again a prime example of the 3/4 rule. "21st Century Living," is an essay on 21st-century excesses -- the now infamous "super-size" mentality. Despite the vaguely annoying heavy-handed voiceovers (a la "How about we supersize third-world debt relief"), the song holds up well. It segues into the eight-minute epic "While We Were Hunting Rabbits." Good's forlorn voice is the perfect vehicle for the regret and uncertainty of the disillusioned soldier, the "monkey in a long line of kings," the "boat on the ocean." The chilling sounds of a war-hungry crowd make a second appearance here. "Rabbits" is like the end of the first act -- or side 1 of the record, though admittedly I've forgotten what that's like -- which clocks in at a full 40 minutes. The second half is almost as long, has it's share of power melodies and messages, and even another song in 3/4 -- "Song for the Girl," which additionally falls in the category of non-sappy love songs: "When she's beside you you're not nearly as dead...So a song for the girl." The finale, "House of Smoke and Mirrors" does a fine job eschewing the Hollywood ending: "I've fallen asleep again / And when I wake up you won't be here / Don't you think I don't know why? / I've been asleep for years...You can see right through me." Optimism is for whimps.
-M.L., 4:15p 05Jun04 |
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The hobbit on the rocks is crying Toad the Wet Sprocket's In Light Syrup is certainly not the only album with a Tolkien-inspired song on it (there's the obvious one of course), but it *is* the only one with a drawing of canned peaches on the front. That's gotta count for something. Ever since I started letting iTunes organize my music, I've been noticing just how finite the space of possible song titles is. For instance, both Tori Amos and Teitur have a song called "Josephine," while Grant-Lee Phillips has one called "Josephine of the Swamps." Both Toad and Ryan Adams have a "So Alive," both Guster and Sister Hazel have "So Long." "Untitled" and "Intro" are very popular too. I guess I really shouldn't be surprised. At least not until someone else decides to call their song "Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots Pt. 1." Album of the month: The Animators Home by Now 
The Animators are Devon Copley and Alex Wong. Alex guitars. Devon accordions.
They both sing. Other people contribute with various large stringed instruments and vocal percussion. It's all a very interesting, layered sound.
Most of the time. It can get a little dissonant.
I saw the Animators open for Vienna Teng at The Point in Bryn Mawr and was impressed enough to buy their album...or maybe I was guilt tripped. Well, it turned out to be not a bad purchase at all, though it took a little while to get into it. At first I thought it was kind of boring, which is not at all uncommon for me after I've seen musicians live. But it's been growing on me. The Animators are difficult to categorize. CDDB hedges and says "Rock/Pop." There's something about their sound that reminds me of slowly floating wavy lines. Lots of soft edges, mostly unplugged, harmonies, non-traditional pop/rock sounds. Definitely elements of the softer side of '90s alternative (read: Gin Blossoms) but much less conventional. Nowhere is this better exemplified than in the first track, "Nice Guy," which not surprisingly is an uber-non-threatening, almost whiny song about being the nice guy and all that entails with respect to mating rituals. However, the next track, "Rearrange," has more of a diet-Lenny Kravitz feel to it if anything. "It's not as if you have a terror of camraderie" exclaims Devon, as he spins a tale of relationship wanderlust. Back to synthy mid-tempo bittersweet on "Girl #3," which is about (not) making it big in Hollywood. Lines like "there's a light in her eyes that's still waiting to be televised" make this a very touching song actually. One of my favorites, though it gets a little weird when they start mashing their instruments together during the bridge. "The Drive" is also a strong song, also a sad song, in the way that driving at night in the middle of nowhere while on acid and then crashing is kind of sad. Literally? I don't actually know. Satisfies the 3/4 rule observed last month, except it's probably a little too fast actually to be in 3/4. "Medicine" is yet more synth and clapping, disturbingly reminiscent of Rick Springfield's "Jesse's Girl," except it's a social commentary about (again, surprisingly enough) over-medication. "Simple" is a feel-good snap-your-fingers love song. "She's simple like a circle, simple like a smile." If I remember correctly, they called this their Al Green song when they played it at The Point. Yup. It also wins the lyric ambiguity award for "her eyes are too wide for a city girl." Huh?? OK, I know what they mean now, but at first I was picturing someone with eyes like LM (won't actually say who that is for fear of being sued, but you can ask me personally if you're curious). Continuing with the soul funk thing is "If Only," which also continues on the whole driving as a metaphor for life thing: "If only you told me where we were going, if only you told me how I should feel." The rest of the album kind of peters out after that I think, but it's still an overall warm floating wavy line feeling. Definitely drinking music, if you happen to be drinking hot tomato soup on a rainy day.
-M.L., 6:01p 25Apr04 |
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musicforthenightof Most of my cool friends know I'm a bit of a music buff, more in the sense that I like looking for new artists who sound good and don't generally get radio play, than in the music trivia sense (I love music trivia, but I'm no Rob Gordon). So I figure, with all the time I spend on the internet when I should be working, I may as well put some of it to good use and share my music finds with the one or two people who actually visit this web site. Maybe one day I'll even make this page pretty. First off, three artists you should have heard of who aren't recent discoveries for me, but whom you should check out if you haven't already: Kate Bush, Jeff Buckley, Wilco (the only one on the list who isn't dead or a recluse) Next, three artists who occupy a warm place in my cochlea whom you might not have heard of: Matt Nathanson, Vienna Teng, Glen Phillips (remember Toad?) Finally, the artist/album of the month or whatever: Matthew Ryan 
I would classify Matthew Ryan
as "alt-country," if he didn't despise the term so much. Well, how about "good alt-country," which one of these days I'll get around to defining -- errr, basically, not country, not alternative, but a little bit of both (duh!).
It's not a caricature of itself (the former) and it's not mainstream with crappy hooks (the latter, at least as of late). The americana/roots influence is usually strong in the
vocals and the strings, but without the affected accents. The "alt" component adds layers of more modern or experimental sounds and rhythms on top of that -- which I think rules out acts like the Eagles (country-rock) or Emmylou Harris (neo-bluegrass) but includes artists as different as Ryan Adams and Wilco. OK, so maybe I did define it after all.
Anyway, from what I understand, his
original record company believed he was destined for greatness when he was
signed back in 1996 or so. He was compared to Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen, and that must have been the kiss of death, because I sure hadn't heard of him
before, and it's not because his first album sucked. Fast forward to fall 2003 and me listening to
World Cafe.
After an interview that I paid little attention to, Ryan started in on his set.
"Whoa, cool" I thought, filed away his name, and a few weeks ago when I finally bought Vienna Teng's new album, I added Regret Over the Wires to my order to get free shipping. Best music purchase I've made in a while.
The album starts out with an apology in "Return to Me," soft, vulnerable, but this juxtaposed with Ryan's rough cigarette-laden voice that is reminiscent of, well, Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen (with a good measure of Tom Petty thrown in). As the song ends, the instrumentation fades out, leaving just a simple piano melody that underscores the raw earnestness of Ryan's message. But this is a short-lived moment, and immediately he thrusts us into the decidedly louder and bleaker beats of "The Little Things," whose message includes the gem "Songs are souvenirs for the peace that hasn't come / and if it never does, better still that they be sung." "Long Blvd." is a love song, but the sort of love song that has lines like "We were two of a kind / you were the pretty one" and "I swear I'll be your ransom," which makes it ok to like, right? "Nails" is a gorgeously depressing lonely-in-a-bar song with a bluegrass twang and a 3/4 time signature. Every good album has a song in 3/4. Conversely, it's the rare album that contains a mention of "benzedrine" (well, I can think of only one other...). The final track, "Skylight" was inspired by a Seamus Heaney poem of approximately the same name and has Ryan "climbing walls to steal a pin of light," which about sums up how the album ends -- finding a little bit of optimism beyond the Caged Birds, Troubled Dolls and Corporate Merger Cutbacks. A great album for long car rides in the night.
-M.L., 11:53p 24Mar04 |
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