(Dischord)
When most bands' lifespans reach the decade mark, it is often the case that their artistic momentum is in decline. On the other hand, most of the best bands are defined by their seemingly endless capacity for great music and their ability to progress with the kind of style that seems only possible from veterans. After 14 years, Washington, D.C.-based Fugazi's greatness is defined by many things: its commitment to keeping tickets to its shows at $5 to $6 and accessible to all ages, its uncompromising independence, and its total avoidance of material success in an industry that is defined by it. But above all, Fugazi's greatness is defined by its passionate, uninhibited style of hardcore rock. Released last Tuesday, its seventh album, The Argument, is one of their most vital to date. Though now all hovering around 40 years old, drummer Brendan Canty, bassist Joe Lally, guitarist Ian Mackaye, and guitarist Guy Picciotto show no signs of softening their momentum or slowing down around the corner.
The only signs of aging the band shows is its musical growth, adding newer elements to the music like cellos, female backing vocals, acoustic guitars and even a little whistling on 'The Kill.' While most bands tone down their intensity over the years, Fugazi still hits as hard as ever on tracks like 'Epic Problem' and 'Full Disclosure.' Ian Mackaye's commanding voice has not lost any intensity throughout his years with Minor Threat and Fugazi, but even seems to be more in tune than ever as he balances his intensity with more gentle melodies throughout the album. Picciotto's voice also remains fully charged, still complimenting Mackaye's booming vocals with his higher-pitched wailing. Lally also makes another nice appearance behind the microphone with the subtle, but dark 'The Kill.' Musically, the band is as tight as ever with its stripped down, hard-hitting rhythm section and the sonic dueling of its two guitarists.
Although the band's intensity is still as forceful as it ever was, it does tone things down nicely throughout The Argument. 'Life and Limb' holds back with a surfy, up-tempo beat while 'The Kill''s mellow tone and eerie, ambient guitars add an effective backdrop for the darkly monotonous vocal by Lally.
Whatever tone the band wishes to present them in, the group's lyrics are as angst-ridden and anti-establishment as ever. If there is one thing that helps us recognize Fugazi, it's the uninhibited stance against corporate America and the trappings it produces in the American way of life. On 'Oh,' Picciotto sings 'I'm pissing on your modems, I'm shredding all the stock' while on 'Strangelight' he declares 'nothing grows right anymore.' Mackaye may sum up his stance against a culture that is defined by assimilation on 'The Kill' when he proclaims: 'I'm not a citizen.' Thirteen years after 13 Songs, The Argument still finds Fugazi on its quest for justice.
Of all the things that can be said about the album, the simplest and most vital is that it was well worth the wait. If Fugazi was greedy enough to want to sell out arenas or arrogant enough to think that it could save the current rock climate from its tits-and-ass virtue, The Argument could be remembered as one of the albums that helped to define an era of music. Instead, the band remains earnest enough to stay underground and intelligent enough to associate its music only with itself. Still, one can't help wanting Fugazi to help remind this re-patriotized generation at war that 'America's just a word,' or be recognized by mainstream music fans as one of the last great rock bands left that keeps its fans wondering if its best is still yet to come.
(DeSoto)
The favorite foursome of Washington, D.C., Dismemberment Plan, has enjoyed much exposure due to the critical success of its 1999 album Emergency and I and its opening for Pearl Jam shortly after. Since the band's high-profile success, it has gone on to tour several colleges, including a stop in Madison last spring. After releasing a split EP with label-mate Juno, D-Plan has released its fourth full-length, titled Change. The title is a bit misleading as it eludes to a deviation from D-Plan's tried and true style. However, anyone who has heard Emergency and I can immediately pick out the similarities between the '99 release and Change. There are carbon copy hooks and instrumentation as well as similar drum and bass-heavy styles.
The only thing different about Change is that the number of songs worth listening to are far fewer than the number on Emergency. This fact may be misleading, however, since the listenable tracks on Change are amazing at times. The opening track, 'Sentimental Man,' breaks out with the funk infused drum and bass beat familiar to D-Plan along with the effect heavy guitar strumming of guitarist Jason Caddell. 'Sentimental Man' is perfectly accompanied by the sincere voice of Travis Morrison, whose lyrics are unparalleled'sinister, reflective and accessible all at once. In addition to 'Sentimental Man,' the only saving graces on Change are tracks 3 and 9, titled 'Super Powers' and 'Time Bomb.' 'Super Powers' utilizes D-Plan's trademark organ sounding keyboards to push the melody and structure of the song. The track stretches out into a choppy jam session at the end to display D-Plan's expressiveness on their respective instruments.
'Time Bomb' contains much less funk and jazz overtones and 10 times more in-your-face rock. It's filled with a gritty guitar wall of sound and feedback layered with pounding drums. The vocals and lyrics on 'Time Bomb' are also particularly powerful as Morrison screams, 'I am a time bomb and I lay forgotten at the bottom of your heart/I'm fine, ticking away the years, till I blow your world apart.'
Besides the three mentioned tracks, Change is composed of a rehash of Emergency and I sound experimentation that is only tolerable. Change is nothing close to the refreshing sound that Emergency and I was. Listeners will unfortunately find themselves hitting the skip button more than the volume. If you're a serious fan of D-Plan, Change is worth a listen as a sort of Emergency B-side. Otherwise don't bother.
(Atlantic)
The British foursome have little to recommend themselves in Golden State save for the fact that their new CD capitalizes on the popularity of everything they've already done. For fans of the band's early work, that's good news.
The percentage of softer songs has decreased from the debut, perhaps marking an attempt by Bush to veer from the Top 40 listening crowd which brought them to popularity seven years ago.
However, 'Inflatable,' the disc's token ballad, is reminiscent of Sixteen Stone's 'Glycerine' and remains one of the highlights of the disc despite lyrics that make little sense. The repetition of 'You're pretty in white / Pretty when you're faithful' drags the song down and detracts from the overall effect, but for every redundancy the song contains, it makes up for it in well-structured melody, smooth vocals and rich emotion.
The opening chords of 'Hurricane' are solid, setting the tone for the album's best offering. Like the phenomenon it emulates, the song grows dynamically and churns tumultuously.
Some of the greatest pleasure from the album is derived from songs like 'Out of this World,' in which lyrics are unnecessary, serving as only another instrument contributing to the song's overall effect. 'World' is remarkable as neither a ballad nor a rocking piece.
'Solutions' echoes the style of Bush's breakthrough hit, 'Comedown' alternating between gentle, melodic verses and harder choruses, to good effect.
However, songs like 'Headful of Ghosts' and 'The People That We Love' disappoint in comparison, sounding like any of a dozen songs Bush has already done before, serving only to fill out the album with average tracks.
'My Engine Is With You' sounds like an attempt to capture the sound of Red Hot Chili Peppers' 'Around the World,' but falls short as it is busy without a purpose.
It seems in the end, the album is Bush's answer to Matchbox 20 with over-emoted lyrics that make little sense upon closer examination. Bush's Golden State, like the recent efforts of Rob Thomas and company, appeases the mainstream fan of rock with a few catchy singles and the standard fare in which it specializes.
(Matador)
It was only a matter of time before Mogwai released a 20-minute, one track EP. My Father My King presents results just as predictable as the endeavor. Of course, if anyone can pull it off, it's Mogwai. Synonymous with lengthy, noisy, repetitive jams which usually gain their dramatic flair from a protracted stacking of sounds and general dynamic build-up, Mogwai has a sensibility that allows it to pass off the pretension of it all as excusable.
The April release of the Rock Action LP saw a band not much transformed from 1997's classic Young Team, at least in theory. New ideas had formed, but songs are almost always on the long side and follow a similar recipe: start with a soft guitar, build to a wall of climactic mayhem with harmonies getting piled onto a simple melody. Both remain essential listening, especially the noisier Rock Action.
My Father My King is meant to be a companion piece to Rock Action and won't surprise any Mogwai fans. Building on a quiet, minor guitar melody more or less repeated for 10 minutes with varying degrees of rockability, until almost perfectly halfway through, Mogwai takes it to 11 and ends the work with a musical collapse and a shimmering wall of sound. The promotional sticker on the album describes its contents as 'two parts beautiful serenity and one part death metal,' but perhaps 'two parts death, one part 'Bolero'' would have been more appropriate.
It's a surprise something like My Father My King didn't happen sooner. While Mogwai's LPs can be difficult to get into at times, imagine how they would be chock full of half-hour works of a symphonic scope. But you know it's what they've always wanted to do.
My King isn't easy, and for maximum enjoyment, you're going to need, at the very least, 20 minutes. Headphones may help, too. Be careful, however, should you find yourself listening to this'you're going to have to turn it down a little bit around the four minute mark.
(Kranky)
Triple Point is best introduced by Kranky's release notes: 'Vancouver resident Scott Morgan records and performs under the name Locsil, using sampler, synths, fx and a dose of computer programming. The album is based on the concepts of thermodynamics, the physical science that investigates the conversion of heat into mechanical force or energy and vice versa.'
Other than song titles like 'Enthalpy,' 'Conductivity' and 'Pressure,' there is little to nothing in the music that a non-specialist of the musical aspects of thermodynamics would be able to point out as heat-related. So is Loscil pulling our respective chains by merely claiming to employ thermodynamic inspiration and generative methods?
The music is somewhat minimal: sparse, repetitive and static. When Brian Eno defined ambient music in 1978, he said it was supposed to be 'as ignorable as it is interesting.' At sufficiently low volume Triple Point is certainly easy to ignore: perfect for reading a book to. However, at high volume it could potentially be quite annoying even without the white noise of the tape (or sound card) hiss. A careful listen to Triple Point will reveal some interesting noises, but the noises aren't used in ways that convey any real emotion and only occasionally stick out from the otherwise awesome mix of droning electronic lulls.
Each song has a brilliant underlying pulse that throbs and echoes like the empty heartbeat of a giant machine. While this method was used beautifully by guitar-based drone groups like Main and Flying Saucer Attack, the notable difference here is that the music doesn't have many other elements, rendering it a somewhat plain listen. In other words, the echoing clank of an electronic drumstick on a steel pipe made of software can be interesting when used in the right context, but it falls short when there isn't much else supporting it.
An endeavor for the very patient (and that's by ambient-music-listener standards), Triple Point leaves something to be desired in the first several listens. However, the pure charm of its simplicity does take time to gestate in the mind, and it does eventually (as the release notes say) 'give the listener ample reward.'
(Virgin)
Do not expect Song Yet to Be Sung to be a spitting image of Perry Farrell's former material from Jane's Addiction or Porno For Pyros. Expect something different. Picture blue and gold that drape Farrell along with an elongated horn in his clutches.
Aside from Farrell's duds, the album notably showcases Farrell as a solo artist. His arduous efforts as the frontman of Porno For Pyros and the recently re-grouped Jane's Addiction, as well as his elbow grease in the creation of Lollapalooza, paved the way for a product that encapsulates an eclectic assortment of musical variety. It's about time for Farrell to have his own soapbox to stand on, independent of his musical track record.
What exactly are the ingredients for the album that cannot compare to Farrell's early alternative days?
Simply add colorful lyrics, an overworked digital synthesizer, splashy horns, video-game-esque effects, and the subtleness of a piano'this is by no means an exhaustive list'and the end result will not resemble anything from a Jane's Addiction album. Well, somewhat.
Farrell's well-known voice still rings true in songs like 'Admit I' and 'Shekina,' despite the distortion of a random studio computer. Guitar work is also evident in 'Shekina.'
Passion, however, is the most active ingredient of Song Yet to be Sung. Song is Farrell's debut solo album as well as his virgin experience with the Virgin record company. The album is intended as a reflection of Farrell's spiritual beliefs and his hippie lifestyle, as illustrated in the first track, 'Happy Birthday Jubilee.'
Song celebrates now as Lollapalooza rocked the early '90s. The union (pun intended, especially in the eighth track, 'Seeds') of turntables and rock is enough for anybody to join the celebration.
Overall, Farrell's debut solo album shares ethereal similarities with Lollapalooza. With Lollapalooza, Farrell fused the big names in rap, rock and other musical genres into one venue. Farrell applies said technique in Song Yet to Be Sung with a sundry mixture of turntable experimentation.
(Capitol)
It's not so unlikely, is it? A talented kid from South Wales shifts from smashing heads on the football field to writing sensitive songs about life, death, loss and love. Such is the story of Matthew Jay, whose debut album, Draw, could mellow out any linebacker out there.
Jay's acoustic thumbing and electric ripples create a sound that hovers between the likes of Nick Drake and Coldplay. Weighty words surf on his swift, streamlined beats and wispy melodies. Jay's voice is shy and soft-spoken, hitting each note with robotic precision almost unfit for the passionate themes of his songs. But perhaps this wallflower subtlety is what makes the rest of Draw so intriguing. Despite his distant whisper, Jay's words are remarkably startling and clever. 'You licked the tears right off my face,' he chants in the kickoff song, 'Let Your Shoulder Fall,' while spewing sunshine harmonies and a swiveling beat. Jay's melodic groove continues in the steady 'Meteorology,' and 'You're Always Going Too Soon,' a dazed, jittery verse that sounds as lonely as its title.
Throughout Draw's cloudy overtones, Jay maintains a paper-cut edge that's lyrically bittersweet. His best work comes from the more experimental tracks: The instrumental 'Molasses' is eerie and pushy, 'The Clearing' is refreshingly jumpy and 'Please Don't Send Me Away' tackles the theme of 'a bloke trying to get into heaven.' These would make great blueprints for Jay's future endeavors.
At first listen, Draw may seem a bit backgroundish and lost in space. Jay's fading voice often drifts so much that one may wonder if he's left the studio, maybe to take a bath in his own introspectiveness. But whenever the listener hears Jay wander off, he or she ought to move quickly to catch up. After a few spins, Draw becomes wistful, flowing and surprisingly addictive.
(E-Squared/Artemis Records)
There's a particular kind of earnest indie rocker who, it seems, doesn't like to be classified. As soon as some intrepid music magazine comes up with a good label like, say, 'insurgent country,' these guys defiantly confound their sound and eschew the steel guitars for instruments with a different stigma. Wilco chose synthesizers, Joe Pernice chose cellos and crunch-rock boy genius Anders Parker, who is now calling himself Varnaline, chose pump organs, xylophones and distortion pedals.
As a result, Songs in a Northern Key is an interesting thing to listen to, but ultimately the album's ambition proves to be its undoing. Piling track upon track, Parker (also the album's producer) fails to achieve the wall-of-sound magic he's going for and is left with a muddled, impenetrable and non-cohesive album. The problem isn't just in the production: Parker is still writing relatively straightforward songs that are simply more suited for acoustic guitar than an orchestra of muted trombones. The few bright moments on Songs occur when Parker's voice doesn't have to contend with anything more than a few instruments at a time. 'Still Dream' is a pleasantly unassuming and atmospheric ballad, of the type that made Jay Farrar's recent Sebastopol so enjoyable.
Parker obviously has a masterpiece in mind, somewhere between The Flaming Lips' The Soft Bulletin and Wilco's Summerteeth. If this vision is ever to materialize, Parker will definitely have to narrow his scope and take his recordings one instrument at a time.
