YEAR END LISTS! (yea)

Sorry for the long hiatus. I've been on the campaign trail fucking up candidates' campaigns one sucker at a time. Obviously, I started with John McCain - everything went wrong for that guy. (You're welcome.) Then Rudy looked to be making a surge so I went over to that piss-ant's corner and started dropping bombs about mistresses and NYC police escorts and such. And wouldn't you know, that shithead sicked Bernie Kerik on my ass. One morning I wake up and my Funky, my pet turtle, is dead at the foot of my bed. So of course you know I'm not done with that fucker. But I had to quickly move on to Huckabee and alert the world of the rapist he set free as governor of Arkansas - you know, that guy that went on to rape and kill another woman a few months after being released. Romney's a Mormon so I'll just let that take care of itself. And I may have to visit McCain before it's all said and done. As for the Democrats, I got Edwards in '04, putting him on Kerry's ticket, so I'm not too worried about him in '08. I've been working on Obama for years - black, absent father, drug use, but the guy's like a cockroach. He keeps coming back. So I went to Iowa and started spreading some last minute rumors. His poll numbers sank like a stone over night. (I'm the king.) Hillary...to be honest, Hillary scares me a little. A lot. She's fucking evil. Not a damn thing I do works. Doesn't even phase her. The woman's maniacal. I must say, I do believe I've met my match.

So, with my tail between my legs, let me dip back into the things I love most - music and movies. Now, if I were a better blogger, in addition to writing more than once every 5 months, I'd make it a point to listen to EVERY ALBUM and watch EVERY MOVIE, but, you know what, that's what Pitchfork and Rotten Tomatoes are for. As it is, you'll just have to respect that I can only make lists based on what I've actually had the good fortune of experiencing. And, in regards to music, by experiencing I don't mean having listened to once while reading a book or browsing the internet. I mean that I was able to listen to these albums many many times - on the road in my car, in airplanes, in my bedroom in the dark. These are albums I've had the opportunity to get to know intimately.

Therefore, there are some GLARING omissions. For instance, I've only listened to M.I.A.'s Kala once while she streamed the whole album on her myspace page. (WARNING: If you have epilepsy, you probably shouldn't go to this site. Seriously. She's from Sri Lanka. They don't know nothing but flashing lights.) But by all accounts, Kala is one of the best albums of the year.

Similarly, I only recently received Battles' Mirrored. I've listened to it a few times but not enough to include it on any year end lists, even though Pitchfork named it the number 8 album of the year. (Kala was number 3). A brilliant synthesis of live and electronic music, almost exclusively instrumental and unlike anything I've ever heard on this scale. (Some smaller bands, I'm thinking of a couple on Ann Arbor's Ghostly label, have made similar phonic leaps, but not with this level of production and imagination.) I do love this album and it may very well make it on a revised list sometime in the near future. (As will a few other albums, I'm sure.)

Other albums not making the list due to lack of adequate listening exposure:

Jens Lekman: "Night Falls Over Kortedala" - beautiful Swedish disco pop with elegant compositions and witty, whimsical narratives. I've always loved Jens Lekman and I really love this album but it's just too new for me right now to be able to make a qualified judgement about its positioning.

Nina Nastasia & Jim White: You Follow Me - produced by Steve Albini, and featuring little more than guitar, vocals, and drums, this album is working its way into heavy rotation for me. Jim White is a virtuoso on drums, yet he manages to perfectly support Nina Nastasia's sublime songs which drift in and out of despair and anger like a fresh widow trying to fall in love too soon.

Ola Podrida: Ola Podrida - a film composer by day, David Wingo's debut with his new band is a stunning effort of folkey guitars and subtle song craft that come together into a beuatiful album of 11 songs. Oh, and he had his album artwork before Interpol (who used the same design from the same graphic arts company. Photos taken from the Natural History Museum of Los Angeles County.)

As for everything else, you're just going to have to assume that either I haven't heard it, or, more likely, I've heard it and it just, for whatever reason, didn't make the list.

YEA! THE LIST!

1. The National: Boxer

Pretty much the reason I started this blog. I've been addicted to this album since the day it came out. With every listen, new doors open to reveal hidden passages, witty jokes, and dolorous images. Matt Berninger weaves a metaphor like a poet and his voice acts like a black storm on the horizon - ominous and beautiful, predicting an explosion that hasn't yet come to pass. The band, dynamic and endlessly versatile, drawing comparisons to both Joy Division and Bruce Springsteen, their 21st century malaise is all encompassing, like a group trying to break out of the jail cell that is adulthood.

2. LCD Soundsystem: Sound of Silver

This album had just about all of my favorite songs of the year: "North American Scum," "Someone Great," "All My Friends." The title of the first song is "Get Innocuous!" for godssakes. James Murphy, the consummate king of the audiophiles outdid his first album as LCD Soundsystem with a sophomore masterpiece that meshes dance and rock, utilizing about a gazillion influences from the last 50 years of music - from Yello to Steve Reich, Bowie to Eno, Beatles to Velvet Underground, Kraftwerk to New Order - you name it, he referenced it and the result is a towering monolith that doesn't bow down to the sublime history of sonic orgasms, but rather stands as an example by which all music should aspire to.

3. Carribou: Andorra

This is Dan Snaith's masterpiece. Taking us back in time from the 90's shoe gaze of Up in Flames under his old moniker Manitoba, to the 70's krautrock and electronica of Milk of Human Kindness, to this year's beautiful psychedelic 60's omage Andorra, the guy only seems to get better. Focussing more on songwriting, and naming most of the songs after girl's whose names can only be found in songs, this Beach Boys inspired album balances between lush harmonies and his trademark exploding drums. This feels like a summer album, all beauty and sunshine, but even in the grey winter, it manages to come through, not necessarily through warmth, but perhaps in the memory of warmth, of young crushes and better times. This album is about days gone by, but makes a kick ass soundtrack for the day at hand.

(Side note: The Beach Boys had quite a resurgence this year, perhaps due to Brian Wilson's Smile finally being released a couple years ago. In addition to Andorra, Panda Bear's Person Pitch feels almost like a direct spawn of Wilson's harmonic palettes, albeit quite a bit more avant garde. Ironically, Pet Sounds is one of the long lost masterpieces of pop music, that seems to be gaining relevance only now, 40 years after its release.)

4. Spoon: Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga

Six albums in and these guys just seem to get better and better. Kill the Moonlight was a great album. It's bare bones economy countered Britt Daniels' songs and created some of the catchiest R&B tracks we've heard in a long time. Gimme Fiction saw the band add a little more in terms of composition and instrumentation. But with Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga, the band and Britt stepped up to a whole 'nother level. These bones are anything but bare and many of the songs on this album surpass not just anything they've done to date, but anything most anybody is doing. "You Got Yr. Cherry Bomb," "Black Like Me," and, of course, "The Underdog" are the highlights but the other 7 tracks are no less fantastic. Every song is so packed with ideas, it's amazing they were able to confine them to under four minutes. By the way, doesn't The Underdog sound just like a Billy Joel song? I can't place my finger on it (I'm thinking "Uptown Girl"). Anyway, amazing song, but the Billy Joel thing has been bothering me for a while.

5. Okkervil River: The Stage Names

I fell in love with Okkervil River a little over a year ago when I discovered Black Sheep Boy, which I was sure couldn't be surpassed. And I'm not willing, now, to say that The Stage Names is better, but it's at least in the same echelon. Part autobiography, part love letter to poet, John Berryman, this is the album that solidifies Okkervil River as one of the most arresting bands of the past decade. Will Sheff's always passionate, desperate voice calms a little from its zenith on Black Sheep Boy but maintains enough strength to break down the fourth wall, ever winking, ironically referenential, and builds an album that not only rocks but manages to stay exciting and interesting with every listen as we decode the songs, verse by verse. The crowning achievement of the album is closer "John Allyn Smith Sails," which reinvents "Sloop John B." (see? more Pet Sounds!) as a suicide note. John Allyn Smith is the birth name of John Berryman who killed himself in 1972.

I was going to stop at five albums but I'll continue the list in abridged form all the way to 10!

6. Beirut: The Flying Club Cup

His first album, Gulag Orkestar had one great song and a bunch of other songs that were interesting but didn't really have much substance to keep me listening. Not so on his sophomore follow up. This love letter to the baroque music of a distant Paris, was on constant repeat for a long time. Not only is the music exciting in its uniqueness, the songs are better than good and Zach Condon, at only 21, is just hitting his stride. Who can say if his old European sound can avoid becoming stale or gimmicky if he never strays in his ensuing albums, but for now, it's sublime. The band is in top form, the lyrics are...well, the band does more than make up for their shortcomings, and Condon's voice is a beautiful counterpart to the mandolins, acordians, and horns that make you yearn for a cup of coffee in a Paris courtyard.

7. The Twilight Sad: Fourteen Autumns & Fifteen Winters

God that voice! That fucking Scottish accent is so fucking awesome. This is another album I was addicted to for a while this year. A little shoe gaze, some epic tendencies, wonderful song writing - all the ingredients I need to fall in love.

8. Feist: The Reminder

Don't forget. Sometimes songs get overplayed and artists get overexposed because they deserve it. Yes, that's almost exactly what they said on Pitchfork's end of the year list, but so what, it's true. The only problem I have with this album is that it's a bit too long for my tastes. I've said it once, I'll say it again: Albums shouldn't be longer than 11 songs. 10 is the best. I've never listened to an album with more than 11 full songs that didn't seem just a tad too long. The last three songs on this album, I couldn't care less about. I just check out somewhere around track 10 or 11. I know there are 3 more songs, but they go over my head like a wave.

9. Panda Bear: Person Pitch

Hey! It made the list. I almost didn't think it would. Pitchfork says this is the best album of the year. So, you know, that's cool. I just didn't find myself reaching for it often enough. But I couldn't keep it out of the top ten. It is, without a doubt, one of the most ambitious and accomplished albums not just of this year but in recent memory, right up there with Sufjan Stevens' Illinois. Like a train chugging past musical influences, Panda Bear (of Animal Collective) pulls them all aboard and crafts this Beach Boys-esque homage that is, at times, more poetry than music. And that's not such a bad thing.

10. A Place to Bury Strangers: A Place to Bury Strangers

Joy Division meets Jesus and Mary Chain meets My Bloody Valentine. And it's loud as fuck, too. Put this on your headphones and walk around town. Tell me you don't feel like the baddest mother fucker around. Just great shit from some kids out of Brooklyn.

HONORABLE MENTION:

Yeah Yeah Yeah's: IsIs (ep)
Black Kids: Wizard of Ahhs (ep)

The White Stripes: Icky Thump

WORST ALBUM OF THE YEAR:

Arcade Fire: Neon Bible

Yeah, Funeral was great. It was amazing. That doesn't mean this piece of crap should get residual accolades.

NOTE:

I also want to mention Radiohead's In Rainbows. Great album, certainly, but not spectacular. Not even in their top four albums. It's like a Radiohead sampler - not a far cry from any of their various incarnations over the years. In no ways a landmark nor a change of direction. There aren't really any new ideas nor is the band taking any chances. Rather, the album comes off like the work of some very talented, very satisfied musicians sitting on their porch like old men, completely content. Therefore, if you wanted to introduce someone to Radiohead, you might give them this album. From In Rainbows, none of their other albums are a far cry. It's the center of the bullseye, connecting The Bends and Kid A, OK Computer and Hail to the Thief. It's a great album, but it needs to be seen for what it is. Nothing special.

That's it for now. I'll try to do better next time. And I'll try to keep the posts coming a little more frequently.

As soon as I see There Will Be Blood, I'll put out my movie list.

Oh, and if you read this, can you send me a little comment. I just want to know if I'm writing this strictly for myself now or if I have a chance to get some of my readers back.

Happy Holidays! Happy New Year!

The New Pornographers: Challengers

Really cool new video from The New Pornographers directed by Darren Posemko. I've never heard of this guy but I bet we'll be hearing a lot more from him soon. This is the title track and first single off their 2007 LP.

Free Speech!

So the editors of The Yuba Post have declared war on the First Amendment, the freedom of speech, and dirty limericks, which, as defined by the good people at Wikipedia, are really the only kind of true limerick. It states, "the true limerick, as a folk form, is always obscene." The clean limerick, it goes on to say, is "a periodic fad and object of magazine contests, rarely rising above mediocrity."

Furthermore, I'd like to point out that the "faddy" and "mediocre" Yuba Post actually stipulated in the rules of the "Submit a LimerickPic Contest," that "dirty limericks are allowed." Thus, not only does the Yuba Post support the categorical stamping out of free expression, they seem to have no problem lying and breaking the rules on a whim. Like some kind of lark.

Well, far be it for me to tell the snide little people of Yuba how to run their show, but I am here, breaking form from the traditional music and movie content of The Static, to take a stand for free speech and dirty limericks. Posted below are three LimerickPics, which the Post either rejected, or, in a cruel twist of events, edited without so much as asking permission from the writer to do so. How dare you, Yuba Post. No wonder your writers have quit on you.

SANTORUM #1

I once knew a douche named Santorum
We tried but we couldn't ignore him
Now the frothy mix
Of cum and shit
Is something we call a Santorum

SANTORUM #2

His daughter matches her doll
His sleezy intolerance appalls
He thinks sex in the butt
Is like fucking a duck
But he can kindly suck my balls!

LOST IN THE ABYSS

I entered the ice cave on my nightly hunt
But quickly regretted that silly stunt
For weeks I sought
To change my lot
When a shaft of light led me out of that cunt.

Sally Shapiro - He Keeps Me Alive

I'm kind of, sort of, very addicted to this song by Swedish synth-pop princess Sally Shapiro. It's a cover of a song by Swedish twee group, Nixon, and it's on her album Disco Romance which will finally come out in the U.S. later this year. It feels like the perfect preamble to Fall. I can't wait for the leaves to change color, to crunch under my feet like broken glass, for that brisk breeze on my cheek as I walk through the park past children playing soccer... Oh, wait. I live in LA. We don't get seasons. Well, at least I have Sally Shapiro and her cool, brisk voice. It'll do for now.

The National - Apartment Story

Lameness

So, what used to be the coolest thing ever is now pretty much the lamest thing ever. On my computer, each song on the Static Sounds playlist played in full. However, I soon discovered that most of the songs - namely the ones I uploaded myself as opposed to finding online - only played for about 30 seconds on everyone else's machine. This sucks large sasquatch balls. I was not trying to tease you. I am not a tease.

So, basically, instead of being a feature of The Static, I'll leave the playlist as is for that single post. In the future, I will post tracks, but unfortunately, I will not be able to upload tracks to play for you. Rather, I'll have to post tracks already cleared by the artists on Imeem. And I probably won't incorporate a playlist.

I hope we can all move on. I might need some time, though.

Pretty Much the Coolest Thing Ever

Plug your computers into your speakers and turn up the volume! The Static introduces STATIC SOUNDS, a playlist for the adventurous and the literate. As often as possible, I will post music from albums or artists I've written about or that I just plain enjoy. Honestly, this is a dream come true for me. I've never been much of a musician - 10 years of the alto sax, but I couldn't write a chord progression to save my life, let alone melody, hook, or bridge - but I get absolutely geeked when someone will let me play new music for them. I don't know what it is, but playing music for people, whether new music they've never heard, or old favorites that bind us, just sets me off. I want you to love what I love. I want you to hear these songs and need to hear them again. I want you to wake up in the morning with the song playing over and over in your head. I want you to hum these songs when you're brushing your teeth, sing them in the shower, and pine for them on the way to the record store (or, god help us, iTunes). To totally psychoanalyze myself, if you love a song that I love, then we have that in common. When we're singing along together to the same nasty bridge, we're not alone. Some people have religion...

I don't want to write a blurb about every track because there are 22 but I'm going to pick my spots. The first six tracks are by artists that have all been blogged about on The Static.

This version of "Sheela-Na-Gig" comes from The Peel Sessions as written about in the "Some Great Albums You May Have Missed" section.

"Slow Show" by the National was the frame-work song of my review for Boxer, their latest LP.

I first heard "The Moon" by The Microphones in a coffee shop in Ann Arbor, MI. The song hit me like a Japanese monsoon. I couldn't believe what was coming from the overhead speakers. I immediately stopped a conversation I was having in order to listen. After a couple verses, I rushed up to the counter to ask who the band was. The barista didn't know but was cool enough to duck into the back room to check. This nameless hero introduced me to the Microphones. I immediately left the coffee shop and hauled ass to Wazoo, the most wonderful record store in Southeastern Michigan, where I bought the Microphones' The Glow Pt. 2 I haven't been the same since.

"Bone Broke" comes off the White Stripes' new album Icky Thump. I've chosen not to review the album because the world doesn't need another review of the White Stripes. The album is fantastic, by the way. And this is one of my favorite songs from it. Listen to the break down. When it hits, it twists your insides in a nasty, filthy minor key change* that just fucking kicks you in the ass. It is the dirtiest shit you'll hear this year.
(*When I say "minor key change," I'm pretty much making that up. Like I said, I don't know anything about making music. It sounds like a minor key change to me, but I also think I look exactly like Brad Pitt.)





It's like we were separated at birth or something.

"Heartbeats" by Swedish band the Knife was covered by Jose Gonzalez (a fellow Swede, obviously) on his wonderful debut album, Veneer. His cover is great, but I'm putting up the original right now because, if anything, it shows that Jose has great taste. This song appears on Deep Cuts and I can't get enough of it. Incidentally, The Knife's latest LP, Silent Shouts garnered Pitchfork's #1 album of 2006. Not too shabby.

I don't want to say too much about Nelly Furtado's "Say it Right." Just, please don't right it off. It's addictive and hypnotic. With the right speakers the bass plays in your gut, and the synth chimes, congos, and electric guitar pulsate just beneath the wonderfully ethereal hook. It's Timbaland at his absolute best and you can't deny that man's talent. Seriously, this song is fucking awesome.

Joanna Newsom is somebody you need to know. Last year's album Ys (pronounced "ees") was my favorite album of the year. Five epic songs, 55 minutes. Each one an absolute spectacle of beauty and sincerity. She's a harpist with a nymphish voice, a penchant for intricately wound, often opaque stories, and the most archaic vernacular pop music's ever been burdened with. Recently she released an EP, Joanna Newsom and the Ys Street Band (seriously) on which this song appeared. This is the band she toured with in support of Ys. Side note: men tend to use their guitars as extensions of their penises on stage. It's phallic and violent. When Joanna's on stage, the harp cradled in the nook between her shoulder and neck, her arms extended to the strings, she looks as though she's holding the face of her lover, caressing his jaw line, gazing into his eyes. It's the complete opposite. It's completely, wonderfully, feminine.

Just say it with me: "Sleater-Kinney are on a temporary hiatus. It's just temporary." This song comes from the album Dig Me Out which essentially dug Sleater-Kinney out of the "riot grrrrl" masses and thrust them into the neo-punk foreground. It's an amazing song and the last song they played at their "last" show in their home city of Portland, OR. Apparently they were all crying as they pumped their way through its tortured three minutes.

"No Children" - one of my favorite songs, and the full version of the song I'm singing my heart out to in the clip posted here. Sing it with me, "I hope I cut myself shaving tomorrow. I hope it bleeds all day long!"

Yes, you all know about the Decemberists. Good for you. Capital records yanks a verbose, Victorian-obsessed, prog-pop band out of the indie gutters and suddenly everybody's so over them. Well guess what, The Crane Wife 3 is terrific. How 'bout that moment when the bass drops? And the tortured despair in Colin Meloy's voice when he howls, "I will hang my head, hang my head low?" Oh my God. You don't get chills?

Patrick Wolf's new album is called The Magic Position. I don't know what the "magic position" is, but it sounds dirty. I'll keep looking and get back to you when I find it. I think it might even be on this album. Maybe in this song. Oh yeah. That's good. Right there. Right--oh OH!

Here's a little story about the creation of Fleetwood Mac's "The Chain." They had written a song and decided it needed a bridge. So they went into the studio and recorded the bridge. Problem was, they liked the bridge better than the original song. So they turned the bridge into what is now "The Chain," whose title comes from all the different pieces they "chained" together to create the song. The only part of the original that remains is at the very end. You'll know it when you hear it.

"Holland, 1945" is from Neutral Milk Hotel's In the Aeroplane Over the Sea, maybe one of the greatest albums ever recorded. Most of the album, oddly enough, is directly inspired by and in reference to The Diary of Ann Frank, which was apparently intensely inspirational and devastating for singer/songwriter Jeff Mangum. The album was recorded in 1997. It was Neutral Milk Hotel's second album. We've not heard from Mr. Mangum since. I don't know if anybody knows where he is or what happened to him.

Both Beirut and Okkervil River have new albums out. These songs are from their previous albums. They are amazing. Please enjoy. I'm sure I'll be talking much more about both bands in the very near future.

By the way, if you have a song you think belongs on Static Sounds, please send it to me. If I like it, I'll put it on the playlist.

See? Pretty much the coolest thing ever!

Some Great Albums You May Have Missed

I've been away for a while, battling egotists and slaying incompetence so I haven't been able to write about music or movies. But there have been some really wonderful albums this year and I'd like to catch you up to date on some you may have missed.

THE TWILIGHT SAD - FOURTEEN AUTUMNS AND FIFTEEN WINTERS

Reigning from Glasgow, this Scottish band's debut is one of my favorite albums this year. They soar above shoegazer white noise with profundity in their lyrics and stunning beauty in their compositions. But don't let the "shoegazer" description scare you. They're entirely accessible and sound a bit like My Bloody Valentine got knocked up by 80s U2, who bailed as soon as he discovered MBV was pregnant, because U2's a deadbeat and went on a serious drug binge in the 90s. Meanwhile MBV raised The Twilight Sad into the sweet, sad, anthemic men they are. And while they enjoy the lushness of atmospheric soundscapes, the main concern for these boys is melody and heartbreak. "That Summer, at Home I Became the Invisible Boy" is the finest track on the album. Over the shimmering guitars and pounding drums, James Graham's fantastically thick accent curls its way around a portrait of a 14 year old boy and even manages to make a line like, "The kids are on fire in the bedroom," quite tender. To put it simply, they rock. They rock really really hard.

If you're in New York, they're playing in Williamsburg on Sept. 30th. If you're in Ann Arbor, they'll be playing The Blind Pig on Oct. 3rd. I highly recommend you check them out.




LCD SOUNDSYSTEM - SOUND OF SILVER
This is where dance meets indie rock. I mean, this is the apex. With sonic allusions to Brian Eno, David Bowie, Talking Heads, Joy Division, The Velvet Underground, new wave, IDM, punk, and pop, James Murphy (who is LCD Soundsystem) doesn't just talk about his immense encyclopedic knowledge of music - like he did on his wonderful "I'm Losing my Edge" - on this album he meshes all of his loves and inspirations into one spectacular album that's just as fun to listen to as it is to dance to.

"North American Scum" music video



FEIST - THE REMINDER
I don't know how you could have missed it but just in case, let this be a reminder: This album is beautiful. Really, sincerely. I've posted videos for "1,2,3,4" and "My Moon, My Man," so I don't feel it necessary to post more for her. That would just be superfluous and people might start to talk. "Senator Murphy's in love with Feist." "I saw them together at that one cool spot down town. You know, the one where all the cool people go." "But Senator Murphy's not cool." "Yeah, but he's a senator." "That's an honorary term. He's not really a senator. That's like a philosophy professor making people call him 'doctor.' He's not a real doctor. He was just too lazy to quit school and get a real job." "Oh."

And if I may, David Letterman is an Indie rock Pimp. You heard that right. David Letterman of Late Night with David Letterman is the stone cold pimp of indie rock. Every big name in the indie scene plays on Letterman. It's basically Conan O'Brien and/or David Letterman. But with a bigger set and (slightly) more money, cool things like this can happen:

Within that amazing chorus behind her, you will find Grizzly Bear, members from The National, both Mates of State, AC Newman from the New Pornographers, members of Broken Social Scene AND MORE! Cheers, Mr. Letterman. You are a rocker among rockers. (That actually sounded rather geriatric.)

PJ HARVEY - THE PEEL SESSIONS 1991-2004

First of all, if you don't know about Polly Jean Harvey, we can't be friends until you do. She was Karen O before Karen O. She was Alanis before Dave Coulier. She was Gwen Stefani before she was Just a Girl. Sleater-Kinney before lesbian experimentation. (To be fair, Kristin Hersh of Throwing Muses was PJ before PJ and we can all bow down to the golden idol of Pat Benetar.) Still, PJ Harvey has been making the most kick ass music for almost 20 years now. The stuff she did in 1991 (hell, in the 1987 demo tapes, even) will rock your fucking socks off today. She held her own with the rawest 90s alt. rockers - I'm talking Nirvana, Sebadoh, Pavement - yeah, that's right - and she's still STILL relevant. 20 years!!!! So please get on the PJ Harvey wagon. And feel free to do it with this album. John Peel was a BBC DJ who cultivated very personal relationships with some of the finest musicians of the last 30 years. He passed a few years ago and this album, a compilation of songs recorded by PJ on Peel's radio broadcasts over this 13 year period, are essentially PJ's thank you and good bye. Every song on this album (Seriously. Every song.) is a stunner. I dare say it's the best complete PJ Harvey album, which is at once understandable - she hand picked the best of the best - and frustrating. I say frustrating, only because every album (with the exception of Rid of Me - her best studio release) usually has between 4 and 7 great songs, while the rest depend on personal taste and can be a bit off putting, or even boring. But this collection is superb from beginning to end. It's raw and beautiful and oh so passionate. In the single page liner notes, PJ writes, "John's opinion mattered to me. More than I would ever care to admit, for fear of embarrassment on both sides. But I sought his approval always. It mattered. Every Peel Session I did, I did FOR HIM." And it shows.




PETER BJORN & JOHN - WRITER'S BLOCK

This actually came out last year and the song "Young Folks" was pretty much the hottest thing since burnt bread. Still, I sincerely love this album and would be remiss not to mention it. The orchestration is stunning, the production is on point, the hooks are catchy, the lyrics are adequately interesting. I actually find something new to like about this album every time I listen to it. It's the finest kind of pop/rock. Rather, it's what pop/rock should aspire to be - if you have to be poppy at all. Personally, I'm up in the air about that.

Listen to their music! It's a place for friends.


YEAH YEAH YEAHS - IS IS

This might actually be my favorite Yeah Yeah Yeahs' album. Swear to God. It rocks as hard as they've ever rocked. And it manages to be just as vulnerable as they've ever been. In fact, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs always seem to be at their best on their EPs. The full length albums just give them too much time to get lost. They lose focus over the course of 12 tracks, some songs start to blend together in your memory, some feel forced or, especially with Show Your Bones, over produced. But in five songs, they rip and tear and scream and fuck and...God! it's thrilling. "Down Boy" is my personal favorite. I posted the video a couple months ago, but you'll find the link below. In fact, I just saw them live for the first time in LA. God, what a performance. It was a week ago and I'm still flush from it. If any of you know Karen O, can you have her give me a call? I'd be happy to show her what rockers to swallow. (For those of you thinking I'm getting lewd here, "Rockers to Swallow" is the opener on the EP. Although, I was being a bit lewd, actually.) These songs were recorded between their two LPs, Fever to Tell and Show Your Bones. It may be the Yeah Yeah Yeahs most accessible album (so says Pitchfork), but I tend to agree. It's everything good about the YYYs and nothing less.

Down Boy Video


And just for good measure:

GRIZZLY BEAR - YELLOW HOUSE

This album was also released last year, but people are still talking about it. So if you want to try to hold your own with a bunch of pretentious hipsters, you better at least know this album. Now I can't give you all the tools you'll need to battle the hipster hordes, but I'm trying, god damnit. I'm trying. This album was recorded in the lead singer/songwriter, Edward Droste's mother's living room. Yes, she lives in a yellow house. The album is packed with some of the most lush, atmospheric orchestration you're likely to hear on any album, pop, rock, indie or otherwise. The harmonies are beautiful and interesting and the songs really embody the album's cover art, as though scoring a walk through an old creaky house with generations of dust dancing in beams of sunlight that fall off into dark corners and deep secrets. The songs on this album can be comforting or frightening and most of it depends on what mood your in. The song "Marla" is actually a waltz written by Droste's aunt some time in the 30's. If that doesn't seem cool to you, then you'll just have to take my word for it: it's very, very cool. Besides, what did your aunt ever do that was so great? Huh? Did she ever write a waltz? Huh? Oh, she did? Oh. Sorry...

(awkward...)

Grizzly Bear draw comparisons to Animal Collective, Sufjan Stevens, Chicago experimentalist and Wilco producer/member Jim O'Rourke, and even, occasionally The Velvet Underground. Everyone should own this album. Who knows, it may actually turn out to be one of the most influential albums of the decade. I mean, literally, everyone is talking about these guys. And now you can, too.

The Knife video

The Static Returns!

Keith Olbermann Special Comment 7/3/07

I'm posting this because it is a brilliantly written speech that deserves to be heard. I was stunned when happened upon this in my hotel room a few nights ago and found myself cheering aloud at what is semantically rhetorical, yet devastatingly honest and honestly passionate. If only we had more people like Mr. Olbermann, with the integrity and the balls to say what needs to be said on a national stage - that Bush and Cheney have subverted the law for too long and must be removed from office via impeachment or resignation - then there might be hope to salvage this last year. Sadly, neither will happen. But thank you, Mr. Olbermann, for your poignant rage.

Yes, The Static is slowly becoming more political. I'm sorry. I can't help it. My name, after all, is Senator Murphy.

Greatest Political Ad of All Time

Please please please watch this ad from former senator and presidential hopeful Mike Gravel. It is hands down the greatest political ad I've ever seen. There is a voice over trying to explain what the hell is going on. This is from Slate's Video magazine. Seriously. Do yourselves a favor. Watch. And then smoke some weed and watch it again. And again. And again...

Well Worth the Price of the Static

Man, can this guy move! I know this isn't typical fare her at the Static but I was so impressed with this man's moves, I just had to post it.

Worst Albums of the Year (so to speak)

Is it unfair to hold a band to the standards of its previous successes or failures? Certain arguments can be made either way. On the one hand, artists should be expected to fail, otherwise none would take any risks. And those who don't take risks could hardly be called artists, anyway. However, when talented people do fail, it's magnified under the light of their former brilliance.

The two most disappointing albums of the year share at least two things in common. They have the finest, most creative packaging on any album you'll see all year. One comes with a decoder to reveal a seemingly endless array of gypsy-like art work; the other comes in a holographic box inside which are two flip books and a transparent plastic CD sleeve that looks like an abstract film frame. The packaging alone is almost worth the price of the CDs. But before you open your wallets, the second thing they have in common is that each artists' previous album was brilliant by most accounts whereas their follow up efforts are considerably less than, to say the least. The first of these two albums, Bright Eyes's Cassadaga showcases an artist on autopilot, building on a formula he's been developing for a few years, while eschewing the personal poignancy that made his previous album, I'm Wide Awake It's Morning so stunning. The second album is Arcade Fire's sophomore effort, Neon Bible, on which the band tries to broaden their sound and scope to disastrous results.

Cassadaga really wouldn't be so bad were it not for I'm Wide Awake. There are some decent songs on this album, particularly "Make a Plan to Love Me" and "Lime Tree," but these songs are aberrations on an album of condescending bumper sticker activism from his high perch as a moral authority. The reason these two songs succeed is the same reason nearly every song on I'm Wide Awake was so powerful. They are introspective, subtle songs about love, loss, and loneliness. The orchestration on each remains subdued enough not to overshadow the lyrics, while managing to buttress and shape Oberst's sentiments into stirring dramatic ballads.

Yet, Conor Oberst, the singer/songwriter of Bright Eyes, spends most of the album attacking groups, ideas, governments, wars, etc. And it isn't that I don't agree with most of his sentiments, but with out any introspection, he becomes a mouthpiece and a finger wagger. Oberst's most powerful weapon has always been the devastating glare he would cast on himself. I'm Wide Awake was rife with stories about love and loss, failures as a man, and confusion as an American. He still managed to protest against the war but he did it subtly, via allegory, weaving stories and imagery over traditional country-folk orchestration that broke your heart without wasting a breath on a soap box, preaching. Not a single song on Cassadaga carries the same weight or pathos that "Poison Oak," "We are Nowhere and it's Now," or "Land Locked Blues." Nor is there any song as accessible or sweet as "First Day of My Life."

On Cassadaga, Oberst continues to swim in the country waters, but he's lost all his soul. Too many songs are orchestrated like a hootenanny where you can never have enough instruments. It is without a doubt, the most heavily produced Bright Eyes album, but that only seems to strip it of its sincerity. There's really very little on this album that feels honest or personal and it kind of feels like Oberst was preoccupied during the creation of these songs. A girl, perhaps? He makes no effort to cloak his message. When he wants to attack religion, for instance, he doesn't skirt the issue with metaphor, he rants of "Satan...the whore of babylon," and says things like, " The Bible's blind, the Torah's deaf, the Qu'ran's mute." On I'm Wide Awake, a similar sentiment likely would have been tucked away in a description of a young man clutching his bible while stealing a car and driving all the way to nowhere. Not that that happened, but my point is, when an artist insists on hitting the nail on the head, I feel like he or she's pounding that nail through my skull.

Ultimately, this album feels insincere and that's a horrible thing for someone who made I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning which came off as the pinnacle of sincerity because he attacked himself before he ever looked toward anyone else.

As for Neon Bible, there's only one word to describe this album: irritating. It is absolutely, unequivocally average. It has two great tracks, "Ocean of Noise" and "No Cars Go," two absolutely awful tracks, "Keep the Car Running" and "Neon Bible," and seven tracks that reside somewhere between awful and good. Combine this with the absolute punch drunk infatuation the critics have with Arcade Fire to the point that they're high off the hype and utterly unable to see think objectively, and this album becomes an irritating thorn. It doesn't even draw blood, it just sticks there every time someone looks at me aghast to exclaim, "How can you not like the new Arcade Fire?" as though it were a requirement of all indie music fans. But I sincerely doubt that two weeks after writing such glowing praise (Pitchfork I'm looking at you) the critics were still listening to this trite drivel called Neon Bible.

After Funeral there was a small but significant backlash in certain circles to Arcade Fire's meteoric popularity. Now, if you don't like the music, that's legitimate, but to base your opinions on the opinions of other people, even if it's to counter those opinions, is to be a pod person without a self. Therefore, I sincerely believe the backlash against Funeral was unwarranted on the whole. So many people flocked to that album because it was legitimately quality from start to finish and an album like that is a rarity. When they come along, you know it, because they bridge all tastes and genres. I would put it alongside Yankee Hotel Foxtrot and An Airplane Over the Sea in regards to albums that seem to have no ceiling and are able to appeal to nearly everybody who listens to it. Unfortunately, they were christened after that album (and aided by their subsequent raucous tour) as the Messiahs of independent rock, which stipulates somewhere that "Arcade Fire can do no wrong." And thus, they took a shit on record and everyone called it gold. (OK. That was an overstatement).

So what happened? Well, you could argue sophomore slump and you'd be pretty spot on. Taking after Mr. Oberst, they extended their songs' scope, seeking meaning in religion, government, socio-economic disparity, war, love, loss, disappointment, etc. They also tried to expand musically, tempering their "anthems" for which they became known, to build restrained, heavily orchestrated songs that rarely if ever explode into the cathartic release of Funeral. Occasionally the lyrics are a bit on the nose, but I don't really have a problem with them, because I spend too much time cringing at the god-awful melodies. As I mentioned before, "Keep the Car Running" and "Neon Bible" are just devastating coming from a band and a song writer that have proven themselves as quality song writers. The melodies in each of these songs sounds like something written for a children's show on PBS, with a repetitive descending structure that nearly caused me to gouge my inner ear with a toothpick.

Almost equally annoying are the paired tracks, "(Antichrist Television Blues)" and "Windowsill," if only for their utter lack of lyrical creativity and the overbearingly repetitive structure of their refrains. "(Antichrist Television Blues)" begins with "I don't want to work in a building down town, no I don't want to work in a building down town..." and repeat. This is immediately followed by "Windowsill" which begins "I don't want to hear the noises on TV, I don't want the salesman coming after me, I don't want to live in my father's house no more..." and he proceeds to recount all the things he doesn't want to do. You see my problem here?

On the other hand, "Ocean of Noise" is a stunning track holds up with the best written by Arcade Fire. It opens in a torrential thunderstorm, out of which grows the rhythm section and piano as though brought in on the tempestuous winds. The song builds into a beautiful conclusion replete with steel drums, jazzy percussion, an elegant horn section, and Win Butler's soaring vocals. "No Cars Go," is the one track on the album that feels like it could have existed on Funeral. It's anthemic machine gun percussion, sweeping strings, and communal singing (not to mention shouts of elation) give the track an energy and impetuous drive otherwise completely absent on the rest of the album. The song is a thrill ride with soft contemplative moments bookended by towering instrumental breaks that take off like a rocket for the heavens.

In all honesty, Neon Bible isn't as horrible as I make it sound. It's actually just completely average. But that isn't good enough and artists shouldn't get free passes because of their previous successes. All in all, Arcade Fire made a concerted effort to expand their sound and their song writing. Kudos for that, at least. An artist without balls is no artist. (Figurative balls, of course.) Fortunately for them, critics don't possess their same testicular fortitude. Neon Bible really ought to be regarded as a failure. Still, the band remains intriguing enough, and occasionally thrilling enough, that I am all too anxious for their hopefully much improved third album. May it be their best, yet.

So is it fair to hold an artist up to the standards of their previous successes or failures? It may not be fair, but its impossible to do otherwise. Oddly enough, the one band that seems incapable of the occasional failure, Radiohead, was nearly torn apart after the constant accolades bestowed upon OK Computer, the minions of critics declaring it an inarguable, inimitable masterpiece. It's that word - inimitable that's so damning. How do you follow up something that's inimitable? Thom Yorke knew they couldn't remake OK Computer. Not if they wanted to remain relevant, so they scrapped the guitar rock formula in favor of new age IDM and Industrial soundscapes to create a follow-up masterpiece. This is ultimately unfair. We can't all be Radiohead.

The irony, I suppose, is that Cassadaga was probably unfairly underrated because it didn't hold up to I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning, while Neon Bible was overrated because everyone was so in love with Funeral. Now that's unfair. Still, both albums are utter disappointments and that's why they are, so far, my least favorite albums of the year. I expected more.

Down Boy Video

Remember when the Yeah Yeah Yeahs got so much hype for so many years before ever releasing their first LP? This is why. Before anyone knew who they were, this was the kind of show they put on all over New York. I would have been smitten, too. I am.



I guess dreams do come true.

Requiem for the Trailer Voice

I don't know if you've noticed it. I haven't heard anybody talk about it. Yet something very wonderful has happened at the movies. It started in the mid 90s by my best estimation. Now, in 2007, the deep overbearing "trailer voice" is all but dead. He rests somewhere between Crystal Clear Pepsi and Urkle. No longer will you go to the movies to hear the rumbling proclamation: "IN A WORLD...TORN BY INCOMPETENCE...THERE IS ONLY ONE MAN TO GET...THINGS...DONE" Or something like that. Now trailers use the art of montage (what a concept), coupled with manipulative music, actual scenes from the movie, and, this is my favorite part, THE WRITTEN WORD to convey the story. After decades of the exact same trailer format, the "trailer voice" has become iconic. A cliché. Everyone has that annoying ass friend who insists on narrating your mundane activities in the "trailer voice."

HE IS A PLAGUE ON SOCIETY AND MUST BE DEALT WITH!

Sorry. I lost my head. Thankfully, the trailer gods have taken up the cause and done away with the voice. Instead, trailers have become akin to short films, drawing the audience in the same way a dramatic montage would in the film itself. There's actually creativity involved in their structure, utilizing dialog from the movie instead of some third party narrator, lacing in jokes or making up jokes through editing that sometimes aren't even in the movie, and pumping up the score. I think I could argue that there is not a more visceral, nor a more manipulative art form than music. Through a conjunction of a few chords, a variance in rhythm and orchestration, music can do in 30 seconds what a movie takes 2 hours to accomplish, a novel 500 pages. It can suck you in, get your adrenaline pumping, make you feel happy, sad, frightened, in love, or annoyed. Matched with the proper visual imagery, you can make the shittiest movie look enticing. And that's really what a trailer is for: to convince people to watch your movie on the merits of the 60 second trailer rather than the quality of the film itself. If anything, opening weekend numbers should be attributed to the power of the trailer and marketing campaign, not the quality of the movie. The movie itself is tertiary.

And with the prevalent use of text - god knows, it's probably just a fad - Hollywood is belying a very positive assumption about the American populace - we're literate! Now if this isn't a cause for celebration, I don't know what is. The current estimation of American society is that we don't need someone to tell us what to think, they can write it down for us and we can read it! Well, I am just tickled pink by this.

Below is a requiem for the trailer voice. If only we could burn it in effigy.

One of the most annoying trailers I can remember:
A River Runs Through It

Loving LOVING the trailer voice in this classic:
Home Alone

Here, we notice the trailer voice on its death bed. Used in introduction, it disappears completely, never to return:
Independence Day

And one of my favorite trailers today, from yet to be released
Superbad.

It's funny, after every trailer and before every feature, you get an annoying PSA that says, "Please. No talking during the movie." Well, it seems the trailer gods have taken that advice to heart. Finally.

Bush Vetoes Stem Cell Bill

Sorry to get political, here on the Static, but today, President (*barf) Bush vetoed a bill promoting embryonic stem cell research, supported by 70% of America, saying that the bill "disregards the sanctity of human life."

Since the start of the Iraq War, it is estimated that as many as 655,000+ people have died either directly or indirectly due to the war. This includes 3,466 American soldiers. That doesn't include the thousands of seriously, often permanently, injured men and women. As of May 29, 2007, the number of American soldiers wounded in action was 25,549.

Above is a picture of baby George W. Bush, about a year too late. Just imagine, if this embryo would have been used for stem cell research, it would have saved the lives of over 655,000 people, roughly the population of the Kingdom of Bhutan. Not to mention the lives saved by the actual results of the research.

This makes me sick. I am actually sick. The only life this man cares about begins at conception and ends at birth. That goes for his administration and a majority of the Republican legislature - they could still come to their senses and override Bush's veto. But who really sees that happening?

I'm giddy! You understand? GIDDY!

Interpol, whose new album, Our Love to Admire, will finally be released this July after a three year wait, has just offered up the album's opener, "Pioneer to the Falls." The track starts off moody and subdued, because they're Interpol, and just before the rhythm section comes to life, Paul Banks reassures us, "The soul can wait." My soul can't wait, Paul! I'm impatient, god damnit! But the band notes a little impatience of their own as the emotional prowess of the song builds perpetually and elegantly into a thrilling conclusion of percussion and strings prefigured by Paul's admission, "I felt you so much today." Everybody sing: "I FELT YOU SO MUCH TODAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!"

New Music from Yeah Yeah Yeahs

Fuck yeah! New song from the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and their forthcoming LP Is Is. The song is nasty, reminiscent of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs I used to love - which was pretty much everything before Show Your Bones. Nick Zinner's guitar is epically huge and Karen O sounds like her old mocking, condescending self, all the while acquiescing some derring do, no doubt - "count me down, boy." Who knows, maybe she'll start spitting on audience members again. One can only hope.

Yeah Yeah Yeahs: "Down Boy"

Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band

40 years ago, the Beatles released Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band and, somehow, oddly, amazingly changed the Western world. A hyperbolic statement to be sure, but this would be the only album from a rock band to which such a sentiment could feasibly be applied. Or at least give you pause. This is a great article in this weekend's Slate about the album. Please enjoy.

Thank You, Judd

A review of Knocked Up would be superfluous. If you haven't heard of this film or read its nearly unanimous, universal praise, you probably live in a cave with an army of woolly mammoths, or are perpetually drunk off your ass. And I mean perpetually. Like, you probably have a martini IV hooked right into your aorta.

I saw Knocked up the other night against my body's better judgment - I hadn't slept in a few days, yet I decided to see the last show of the night. It should be a testament to the quality of this film and its subsequent word-of-mouth-hurricane, that the theater was literally packed at 10:35 on a Monday night.

And I can almost guarantee not a single person left that theater disappointed. It was singular in its constant humor - out and out riotous, leaving at least a few of the people sitting around me giggling uncontrollably long after the jokes landed and the story had moved on - and in its poignancy. And this is all I want to say: Thank you, Judd Apatow. Thank you for becoming the new "King of Comedy." Thank you for making tragedy funny, again. Thank you for understanding that insecurities can be celebrated, that losers really are lovable, that life hurts, but that its unbearable if you can't laugh at it. 10 years ago, when Adam Sandler and Jim Carey ruled the comedy scene, humor equaled slapstick, gross-out, buffoonery. Of course they were funny. They embodied escapist entertainment at its highest. But now, as Mr. Apatow prepares to take over the world, he's giving us comedies seeped in reality, with stories that legitimately sting, and characters that, as a fellow human being, are almost impossible not to love. His protagonists aren't heroic because they save the day, they don't stand out as an exemplar among his fellow men, and they're not necessarily the funniest guys in the room. They're heroes simply because they do their best, and they try to do the right thing, no matter how hard, or how silly it makes them look.

It's a simple equation: humor = tragedy + time. Nobody knows this better than Judd. His characters honestly hurt. So no matter how hard you laugh during his movies - and you will laugh your ass off - you'll still walk away with a lump in your throat, knowing that what you've just seen wasn't a cartoon. It was real. Life is funny, once you stop crying. Thank you, Judd.

The Mountain Goats - No Children (Live at Pitchfork)

I happened upon this video last summer by accident. I have no idea who shot this, or why they decided to post only 49 seconds of the performance. Pay particularly close attention to the :28 second mark. There's an absurdly sexy guy singing his heart out. I mean, so sexy it hurts. Consider yourselves warned.

Blind Melon - No Rain

When a music video can choke you up, you know you've seen something special. Here's to all the little bumble bees.

The Field - From Here We Go Sublime

From Here We Go Sublime is the debut album from The Field, which consists of one dude – trance producer, Axel Wilner – straight out of Stockholm, Sweden. Axel really wasn’t shittin’ us when he named his album – more often than not it really and truly is sublime. Whether driving down the highway at night, watching red and white lights bend around the enveloping city, alone in bed with the lights off, or, hell, working out, if you’re into that sort of thing, From Here We Go Sublime manages to lift and carry the emotional intangibles to a higher place.

Unfortunately, I really don’t know enough about electronic music to give a thorough review of the album. I can’t compare and contrast to other artists or talk about influences. I don’t know how this album will affect the genre, if at all. And I certainly don’t know what ideas are especially groundbreaking, and what choices would be considered trite. What I do know is that, since buying the album a month ago, I’ve fallen in love with it. It’s not much for physical intimacy but it’s been known to hold me at night, which is nice. And so I feel obligated to review this album in some fashion or another. I feel like you need to know.

Therefore, I’ve decided to write a “running review.” I’m going to write the review in stream of consciousness fashion as I listen to the album. The process will only take as long as the album runs. I will not pause it, stop it, rewind it, etc. I will start when the album starts and end when it ends. Whatever I’ve committed to paper at the end will be the official review. Who knows if this will work? My guess is no, but there’s only one way to find out.

So, without further ado, I bring you…From Here We Go Sublime:

1. Over the Ice
Beautiful beginning to the album. Dubbed, fuzzy sounds over a persistent 4/4 beat. A dubbed woman’s voice comes in suddenly and disappears tantalizingly. The bass just fell away in favor of a wonderfully syncopated synth melody. Then the bass came back with a vengeance, accompanied by at least seven different sounds, all playing off one another to create a thrilling, jazzy syncopated melody.

This song, like so many of the songs on this album is quite hypnotic. In spite of the driving, yet muffled 4/4 bass, Over the Ice is a relaxing trip, like being thrust through the open plains in a train cabin, watching the world quietly rush past. I mean you really feel like you’re moving fast, but it’s the most peaceful bullet you’ve ever taken a ride on. The song ends with only the bass beating away, like a heart beat that will continue through the album.

2. A Paw in My Face
This track begins with an insistent high hat, like rain drops on a tin roof, coupled with dueling percussive keyboards, and the same 4/4 beat. As the song builds, picking up speed, and doubling the high hat rhythm, it all begins to feel like walking on the beach at sunrise, as the waves roll in over the sandy shore. There are a few people walking with you. An old man, trying to hang on to his youth, runs by in biker shorts. Five surfers battle for the right position to catch the right wave. The sun continues to rise and everything falls away into a funky sounding sample from the seventies.

3. Good Things End
As the title might suggest, this track opens with an incredibly ominous feel. The drum beat sounds like it’s being pounded out on a trashcan in a basement. An accompanying digital beat seems to build from the abscesses of your subconscious. Then, as if coming from miles away, a symphonic drone rises and is joined by the sporadic humming of an all male choir.

Someone keeps asking, “Hello?” and her voice echoes.

This song, if you haven’t figured, is both exciting and terrifying. It soars over a dark city defined by David Fincher (Se7en, Fight Club), over criminals, despair, and mayhem. It’s almost tribal in its insistence. Listening to this makes you feel not like a victim, but powerful, like this is your city.

4. The Little Heart Beats So Fast
Looped, staccato female moaning takes us immediately in a different direction. Coupled with an upbeat tempo, this is immediately an accessible, sexually charged…I want to say dance track, but it’s not nearly. I can’t imagine dancing to this, although I’m currently bouncing. It makes you want to move, there’s no doubt, and the synth melody and rhythms are downright nasty.

Here comes a second, counter melody crescendoing from the background to take over. The flanger, which is just a cyclical pitch adjuster, is working hard to give us momentum through the looping rhythms and melodies. I keep thinking someone is saying “Informer” in the background, but maybe that’s just my imagination.

5. Everyday
My first impression is that this song sounds like something Four Tet would produce. But that ended pretty quickly. It’s far too trance-like for Four Tet and it doesn’t bog itself down with nearly as many layers. All in all, The Field seems to thrive in its minimalism. The beats never get boring, and the musical through lines manage to be interesting as well as addictive.

Oh! He just ran the music backwards for a second, until we heard the sound of a woman’s voice being spun backwards as well. This short transition unleashed a beautiful sonic apex, in which all the previous elements were exposed as merely kinetic potential. The snare is popping harder than the bass drum which is relegated to the background. The looped voices build over fluttering notes giving wings to the butterflies in my stomach. I wonder why it’s called Everyday? Wup, no time to discuss now, we’re on to…

6. Silent
This was the first song I heard from the album. Pitchfork posted it not once but twice on their Forkcast. The Forkcast, by the way, is an amazing little playlist my dear friends at Pitchfork throw together every week with their favorite tracks. They just keep adding new songs. I think there are close to a hundred songs on the list by now. You can just press play and listen to the Pitchfork staffers favorite songs while you’re at work.

OK. That’s enough plugging for what most people dismiss as an overly pretentious online music ‘zine. But that’s what people thought of Rolling Stone when they were still relevant.

Sorry. This is actually my favorite track on the album. You wouldn’t know by how much I’ve decided to write about it. It’s the most hypnotic and it builds beautifully for 7 minutes, one element on top of another. For instance, the snare was just brought in at the 4 minute mark. Throughout, there’s been a looped voice-like sound providing the melody, by way of “Oooh”-ing. I can’t describe it well, I’m sorry, but it’s actually lovely.

If I were drowning in a green sea near the arctic, this is the song I would want playing as polar bears swim around my body in an underwater ballet, and penguins break-dance on the ice above my blue head.

7. The Deal
“The Deal” begins by pounding stakes into the ground. It’s somewhat of a return to the sinister feel of “Good Things End.” I believe a woman is calling to me from the depths of a canyon or bottomless abyss. It’s the kind of sound the Cocteau Twins built an entire career out of. Here, as is The Field’s tendency, the reverberating voice comes sparsely and cryptically. What does she want? I can’t tell if she’s happy. Perhaps, she’s mother earth, neither happy nor sad. She’s just building the world around her with every bellow and coo.

That’s ridiculous – “bellow and coo.” That’s not what she’s doing at all. I don’t even know what that means. I like this song but I feel like it’s something I might hear at Sea World. It’s kind of Enya-ish. Maybe that’s just the woman’s voice. But, the song seems to be using her quite a bit. Looped. The same few notes over and over again, as the music builds around her.

Yeah. Sea World. I feel like I’m watching fish. That’s OK, I suppose. It’s very relaxing.

Oh, he just used a weird electronic sound that sounded like it came out of an old Super Nintendo game, like Star Fox, and seemed completely out of place. Why did he do that? Man, a running diary right now is this guy’s worst enemy. Most reviews would just skip over that shit, but not me, motherfucker! I’m on to you! Don’t bring that shit in my house!

Jesus, this review is getting long. So is this song. We’re up to 8 minutes. I’ve run out of anything to say about it. Let’s just wait until the next track comes along.

Ten minutes.

8. Sun & Ice
Really beautiful opening. The high hat is gently working its way into the picture. 4/4 thumping – classic heart beat.

I’m tired. I should have done this review when it wasn’t so late and I wasn’t so tired. I’m impressed if you’re still reading. I probably would have quit by now.

Have you ever been inside a cave as a storm blows in and the wind howls outside? You can smell the rain, and if you look beyond the trees, you can see it coming and heading right for you. A big wall of rain, behind the howling wind. That’s what this song feels like.

Really cool thing just happened, the song broke, popped, scratched, and stopped, like the needle on the record was being jerked around. It only lasted for a second, followed by a brief moment of silence, and then the music dropped in right on the One. It was actually quite delightful and a very clever way to hit the apex without needing a long building crescendo.

9. Mobilia
This is a really cool song that sounds like two records with different bpm’s are being played simultaneously. For a while things seem to be working well, but every 20 seconds or so, the beats digress from one another creating a very trippy, anxious feeling.

As the song progresses, it begins to feel almost self-righteous, using horn-sounding melodies and a wild rhythm on the high-hat. I almost feel like I’m being led into battle. Albeit a battle in which all the soldiers are hopped up on codeine. But a battle, nonetheless. Freedo-[yawn]!

Eat your heart out, Mel Gibson.

And stop torturing people, you sick fuck!

10. From Here We Go Sublime
The eponymous track, and the last song on the album. As with all great albums, this one has only 10 songs, but this is another topic for another day.

The piano is being tapped insistently. Over which, a plethora of samples come and go along with a throbbing something that, for the life of me, I can’t describe. But the album does end with an old sample from a 60s song that I can’t pin point. It’s a bunch of guys, their voices distorted, singing “Shoo-bop, Shoo-bop.” It’s awesome and creepy. I bet this guy loves the Shining. That would make a lot of sense.

And that’s the end of the album! Yea! It’s over! I know this review was ungodly long and I’m currently just making it longer, but if you’ve made it this far, I’m sure you’ve gathered that this is a wonderful album and I hope you have the opportunity to listen to it.

Actually, you could have gotten that from reading just the first three paragraphs. Oh, well!

I will never do this again.

Weak

It's been brought to my attention that I seem incapable of differentiating between "week" and "weak;" "heel" and "heal."

This is truly weak writing, and I feel like a heel. Please know that starting this week, I will do my best to heal my egregious spelling. May God have mercy on my soul.

Wait. What?

Feist - My Moon My Man

And while I'm at it: another gem from Feist and Patrick Daughters (dir.)

Keep Dancing, Baby!

Feist - 1 2 3 4

This video is fantastic. I just thought I'd post it...

Because Dancing is Awesome

Body Collector in Detroit Answers When Death Calls

Because Detroit isn't...

Or Is It?

The TV Set

The TV Set is a tragicomedy, written and directed by Jake Kasdan, about a television pilot and the TV industry, which is universally funny, although not universally relatable. And that's the real tragedy; the reason why this little film never made it out of LA and NY.

I made it a point to see this film before it left theaters here in LA - it was only playing in one - because it was obviously, if not officially based on Judd Apatow's struggles with the networks throughout the 90s to get his vision onto the TV screen. The Times Sunday Magazine has a fantastic article about Apatow, his torturous struggles, and his current stratospheric success. For those who don't know, Judd Apatow has been a writer, comedian, producer, and director in Hollywood for over 17 years. He was an integral creative member of the Larry Sanders Show. He is responsible for the "greatest show of all time" Freaks and Geeks. (I'm quoting myself because it makes it seem more legitimate.) And another show shortly thereafter, Undeclared, which I am sadly unfamiliar with, although I'll do my best to rectify that situation shortly. In both cases, his shows were criminally dismissed by executives and network heads, moved around to different time slots, almost on a weekly basis, erratically pulled and brought back, and ultimately canceled after only one season. Freaks and Geeks won myriad awards after the network brass had already pulled the plug. You see, the thing about the entertainment industry is: they're not really in the business of entertaining. The people who control what gets sent out to the viewing public have no artistic integrity of their own. They have no concept of quality. They care only about making money and the least risky way to do so. Which is why they rely solely on precedent, why every show looks exactly like every other show, and why every movie has the same formula. It's the reason for 6 Rockys, 3 X-men, 3 Shreks, 4 Die Hards, 3 Spidermans, 3 Pirates of the Caribbean, endless Batmans and James Bonds, and every three camera studio sit com ever made. So when an original, artistic vision comes along, the "brass" do everything in their power - and they have a lot of power - to shut it down or at least manipulate in such a way that it becomes a disgusting, evil, bubbling aberration of what it used to be. One of the best lines of The TV Set comes from the wonderfully awful Sigourney Weaver who plays Nelly, a network exec in charge of Mike's (the Apatow character complete with beard, pot belly and bad back played by David Duchovny) pilot says, "I don't know if I like originality. Originality scares me."

For any artist who has ever been forced to compromise his art or, worse, himself in order to survive, this film gut wrenching and sublime. The only problem is: artists, I mean real artists who try to make money with their art, are such a minority in this country that this movie couldn't sell enough seats to get a broader distribution deal. In middle America, it'd be lucky to last longer than a week in most theaters. It's such a shame, too. Because the humor, like I said, is universal. Kasdan, who worked with Apatow on the greatest show of all time, does a superb job of letting us inside the minds and hearts of our two tragic heroes, so that we can share their pain. And every joke lands sublimely only because it hurts so much. In true Apatow fashion, the humor is in the horror. It's the same kind of comedy that makes Apatow's recent batch of movies so exciting and refreshing. Anchorman, Talladega Nights, The 40 Year Old Virgin, and Knocked Up all find their laughs in the heroes' insecurities, embarrassments, and failures. The difference is in the universality of those characters.

Still, David Duchovny's understated performance is delightful throughout. I'm perpetually surprised he's not a bigger star than he is. Not to be forgotten, Ioan Gruffudd, who plays Richard McAllister, the President of Prime Time programming, gives a heart breaking performance as a British transplant who loses his family and his standards of quality television within the spin cycle of the network morons.

Humor = tragedy + time, so, hopefully, Mr. Apatow is laughing his ass off. And he should be, considering the success he's gained. Unfortunately for someone like me, The TV Set lays out the tragedy yet to come. I walked out of the theater completely depressed. Having a network commission my script, then put the pilot into production, and, holy smokes, PICK IT UP! would be, essentially a dream come true. The tag line for The TV SET is: "A place where dreams are canceled." So if everything goes well, this is the future I have to look forward to. This is why I'm giving the movie a thumbs up at the top, and a frown at the bottom. If you get a chance, see the movie when it comes out on DVD. I promise you'll laugh. But if you fancy yourself an artist, grab a bucket of Haagen Dasz and a box of tissues. Just kidding.

No, seriously.