For me, Pokémon started and ended with the Red version (or Blue, if that happened to be more your style). They've made abundant follow-ups to those versions which I lost track of years ago, but it's not that I'm too stubborn to continue the journey. And actually, in retrospect, my favorite part about Pokemon was that it never ended. Completing the game only meant that you (or rather, Ash) were prepared to venture into the world on your own accord to overcome even more obstacles. The end was just the start. The entire game was nothing but a caption of process, detailing the various stages that typify the collaborative growth of a greater whole.
That's what I think about when I think of the new record by the Dodos, too—evolution in stages. The duo's debut, Beware of the Maniacs, is an easily forgotten arrangement of miscues that occasionally stumbled onto something big—like during the first few days of your journey when Ash hasn't fully won over Charmander, and sometimes the wily youngster will disobey and fire off the wrong attack or get distracted (though usually the two can manage to lock up a few Pidgeys or Rattatas for the road).
The duo's follow-up, Visiter, then, is when Charmander becomes an obedient monster. Unhinged, ferocious and primal, it marks the point in history where the two are both at their most endearing and (I'm willing to argue) enduring. It is by all accounts unorganized and hyperactive, but those are just parts of the vulnerabilities and harmless ignorance that become too charming to deny.
But then we got Time To Die. The duo became a trio and handed their loose, boisterous arrangements over to the hands of forever-parsimonious producer Phil Ek. Ek cut out the fatty exterior and emphasized only where they meshed, ignoring the dynamic interplay that cluttered the edges of their earlier sounds. Without the full context, the record often seemed lost in a forest of its own potential. Charmander's evolved incarnation, Charmeleon, is likewise trapped in a state of adolescence. He gains new attack potential, but they often focus more on tactical maneuvers than productive aggression—he explores his utilities without really knowing what they're any good for. Not to mention, Charmeleon is without question the ugliest dragon of the bunch.
So if you've been keeping track at home, you already know what I think about the Dodos' newly released fourth album, No Color. Its Pokémon relative, Charizard, is the most dominant Pokémon in the whole universe, a force of sheer strength that has mastered the full utility of Nature's most awesome monster, the dragon.
The Dodos lost some of the youthful excitability of Visiter, but in the process they've perfected their faculties, crafting heart-strung flourishes (""When Will You Go"") and beer-commercial rompers on command, all with matured sensibilities to corral their wild tendencies.
The Dodos' stages of development are modest in the grand scheme of things, and certainly no match for the leaps made most recently by Chazwick Bundick, the man behind Toro Y Moi. After asserting his role as one of the leaders of the chillwave movement, Bundick dropped Beneath the Pines, a far more ambitious and grand affair that borrows more from Philly Soul than any California stoner pop.
The two are totally different sounds and took different avenues through their history, but I appreciate them both as stages of progress because they explore their personal abilities while still remaining true to their core ingredients. At the root of it, the Dodos are still a guitar-and-drums rock band, and Toro Y Moi still use the hazy loops and wobbly percussion that served as the impetus of a budding genre that was never as much his own than we gave him credit for.
And that brings me to YouTube's latest teen queen, Rebecca Black. On her big hit, ""Friday,"" she speak-sings about ""partyin', partying. Yeah!"" behind the careful guise of Autotune and an Old Navy wardrobe probably picked out by her mother to make what I've taken to calling ""Ke$ha, Girl Scout version."" She takes the tropes of an anarcho-pop riot grrrl but rids them of the leather jackets, studded belts and hooker boot rebel fare. Instead, Black puts herself next to a blinged-out rapper—ostensibly to provide some street cred—without taking into account the fact that the rapper's flow is wack as shit.
The reason Black looks so uncomfortable through the whole thing is likely because she skipped the process of, well, high school, among other things. She doesn't even really know what ""angst"" means, let alone how to use it profitably. In other words, she's like a Squirtle posturing as a Blastoise—which will get you burned up by Charizard or stoned by Onyx in no time. Unless, of course, she manages to abate them with enough Thin Mints.
Kyle's current Twitter avatar is a picture of Charmander, though it's been argued that an image of Snorlax would be more fitting. Give Kyle your own ideas at ktsparks@wisc.edu.
