Radio Free Chicago

Wiping Off The Dust... Of Montreal's The Sunlandic Twins

 

I recall meeting Of Montreal in 2006 back stage at the Blind Pig in Ann Arbor. The Sunlandic Twins had debuted via Polyvinyl in April 2005. After questioning bassist Bryan Poole, also The Late B.P. Helium, about how the psychedelic/ synth/ pop band elected their name, he narrated a tale of how Kevin Barnes supposedly used to be a skilled gymnast but devastatingly injured his ankle at Olympic trials in Montreal one year. Shortly thereafter, I discovered the story varied by article and interview. A failed romance with a woman in Montreal is another such explaination.

An upbeat drum machine drives many of the album’s tracks. Cheerful nostalgia valiantly saturates the melody of “Requiem for O.M.M.2.”  “I don’t want to make a wake out of my life/ I just have to let you go,” sings Barnes. I can all too well relate to this mantra of ruminating over a romantic ember from the past while taking a momentary gulp of hopeless yearning. In fact, just before I started this review, I swallowed such an instant. The suitor fused to my first monumental heartbreak happened to be courting me during the time I discovered Of Montreal. Memories of how excited I’d be over doing even traditionally mundane endeavors with him like hiking up the road a couple miles to a shopping center ensue. Times we’d walk to the railroad tracks and playfully shoot photos … and that one dewy eyed moment he kissed me ‘just because,’ as sizable snowflakes delicately fell on a January day. Upon falling for my first love, the all too temporary euphoria of my new relationship naturally blinded me to the possibility of romantic finiteness. After all, how could two beings that complimented and flowed together so well conceivably ever pull apart? 

Requiem For O.M.M.2

 

Wiping off the Dust... Sunset Rubdown - Dragonslayer!

I know the length of time since Dragonslayer was released is pretty miniscule compared to the average of most WotD entries but I can't help it- I've fallen much too deeply in love with this album this summer to not write a million jillion (or a couple hundred, mundred) words about it! When Dragonslayer dropped in 2009, I liked Sunset Rubdown and the rest of Spencer Krug's work but was not fully enamored by it. Not that I felt it was lacking, oftentimes it just felt like too much and I couldn't give it the focus it asked for. Two years and almost three Krug releases later, thank God it's finally clicked.

Sunset Rubdown - Idiot Heart

Dragonslayer is an epic, romantic yarn. Not "epic" in the sense of a buzzword from a new Doritos ad-campaign but epic in the sense that the name of the album is Dragonslayer. Pretty much every song is a muscular machine filled to the brim with emotionally resonant moments! Krug's gotten a reputation for inscrutable lyricism- here his words remain as fanciful as ever but with an ever-present (and welcome) hand outreached to you and yours. His songwriting hasn't been simplified, just streamlined; my imagination sees a white board in the studio with "MOVEMENT" and "FEELING!!!" underlined and circled a few times at the top of the 'do not erase' section. The songs here don't dawdle, they hurdle, or gallop, or soar, or at the very least scuttle slyly before erupting in pieces like the stirring, melancholic finale of "Apollo And The Buffalo And Anna Anna Anna Oh!"

Sunset Rubdown - Apollo and the Buffalo and Anna Anna Anna Oh!

The best song of this set of some of the best songs I've ever heard in my life (IMHO!!!) is "You Go On Ahead (Trumpet Trumpet II)." It's danceable, it's beautiful, it's a cry-while-smiling/smile-while-crying masterpiece, as Krug makes promise after promise to a strained lover. "I'd like to have to you navigate to hills where no musicians live, and on the way decide which mendings of your will you're willing to allow," flows into "I'd like to throw this trumpet down and go on empty handed, and I'd like to think I am not one of them- but I know I am. So I'd like to just, follow you a while," and the song rolls higher and higher into a climax that even the backseat of a car can't tarnish.

Sunset Rubdown - You Go on Ahead (Trumpet Trumpet II)

I always felt Spencer Krug was brilliant, but brilliance doesn't necessarily translate to favorites. With the rise of Dragonslayer, Krug has handily become one of my favorite songwriters. Between this and his 2010 Moonface EP "Dreamland: Marimbas and Shit-drums" alone he's been taking up a whole lot of space in my head, heart, and body. To my ears, Dragonslayer is a genuine opus and achievement even from someone as endlessly prolific and ambitious as Spencer Krug. It's a blessing! Look at you go!

Wiping Off the Dust... The Rentals's Return of the Rentals

I want to make this perfectly clear, right from the get-go: The Rentals’s 1995 debut, Return of the Rentals, is a small masterpiece of power pop. It’s a record that easily stands on its own, to the point that its utterly unavoidable association with the early releases of bandleader Matt Sharp’s other band--you know, the one with the songs about Buddy Holly and sweaters and butterflies--is very much a double-edged sword. On the one hand, it’s really too bad that Return of the Rentals has never been allowed to exist by itself--you really can’t even talk about it without delving into ancient Weezer lore. On the other, its inextricability from Weezer history provides a sense of time and place in which Return can both exist and shine.

Listening to Return of the Rentals, it’s very easy to attribute Weezer’s less-than-credible current position to the absence of Matt Sharp. Whether that’s fair to say is impossible to know for anyone outside of the band. What we do know is this: Sharp was Weezer’s founding bassist, and played with them from the band’s founding in 1992 until 1998. He appears, then, on two of the band’s albums--the classics Weezer (The Blue Album) and Pinkerton. Watching some of the Pinkerton-era videos, he can be seen--usually accompanied by drummer Patrick Wilson--being kind of hilarious:

 

Stairway To Zeppelin: One Skeptic's Journey To Fandom (Part Three)

Led Zeppelin III


The Immigrant Song: Led Zeppelin’s softest album ironically opens with a bang. Like “Heartbreaker,” I was familiar with “The Immigrant Song” before I started these reviews. Actually, I’m pretty sure it was the first Zeppelin song I ever heard. The riff is one of Zeppelin’s catchiest, and Plant’s vocals are perfect. The lyrics are seemingly about Norse vikings or something. John is the real star here, his bass runs during the chorus sound effortless. At two minutes and thirty seconds, “The Immigrant Song” doesn’t overstay its welcome. Zeppelin is usually at their best when they keep things short and sweet. So far things are off to a good start, but will they stay that way?

Friends: “Friends” kicks off with a little studio chatter before the ensemble comes in. None of the riffs are particularly catchy or virtuosic. Page is clearly out of his vocal range here, and his voice is uncomfortable to listen to. John’s string arrangements don’t really add much to the song. “Friends” is too heavy to be a ballad, but too soft to be rock. It limply hangs in limbo for the duration of the song, never really going anywhere or shifting dynamics or tempo. Near the end the song speeds up a little, but Zeppelin feels out of control, and the psychedelic Moog riff at the end is irritating. “Friends” is one of the worst Zeppelin songs I’ve heard, let’s hope the rest of the album doesn’t continue this downward trend.

Celebration Day: “Celebration Day” starts off with the annoying Moog riff from before droning on for a while until Page comes in playing rather sloppily. When Bonham and Plant enter, the song gains a bit of composure. By the one minute mark everybody is locked into a tight groove. Bonham really shines here. His drum charts are nothing spectacular, but his sense of rhythm is strangely melodic. Page’s guitar solo is a short and sweet variation on the main melody. The song ends with Page noodling around and the rest of the band rocking out slightly harder. Overall, it’s a fantastic tune. A great recovery from the piss poor “Friends.”

Since I’ve Been Loving You: The song opens with some blues noodling by Page before Bonham locks the groove in. John’s organ playing adds a nice touch. Seemingly out of nowhere, the song gets drastically louder and everyone begins to rock out harder but still in control. Plant seems to be testing out his “sexy voice” and fails miserably. Fortunately the majority of the song is an instrumental showcase, specifically Page. John is fantastic, his organ playing adds a layer of emotion that just wouldn’t be here otherwise. Page’s guitar solo is one of the most famous in rock ’n’ roll history, and does the hype justice. “Since I’ve Been Loving You” is Zeppelin finally doing blues rock right. It’s one of the strongest songs in their discography. I’m starting to wonder why this album got negative reviews on its initial release. So far Led Zeppelin III is shaping up to be stronger than its predecessors.

Out On The Tiles: “Out On The Tiles” starts out balls to wall aggressive and only continues to get angrier as it continues. Plant’s verses are shoddy but the chorus is catchy enough to make up for it. The ensemble is at top form here. My only real complaint is that “Out On The Tiles” is very repetitive, but fortunately its repetitiveness recalls good punk rock instead of top forty pop. Overall, it’s another fantastic song. With the exception of “Friends”, the first side of Led Zeppelin III is extremely strong. Let’s hope the second side can match it.

Gallows Pole: “Gallows Pole” is a traditional folk song arranged by Page and Plant. Influenced by Fred Gerlach’s arrangement, “Gallows Pole” begins with some soft acoustic guitar picking accompanied by Plant’s vocals, which surprisingly fit well. The song is pretty boring until a minute in, when things speed up and Jones begins playing. By the time Bonham joins halfway through, there’s a nice country groove going. The ensemble is very tight, and despite “Gallows Pole” sounding unlike traditional Zeppelin, it works. I wouldn’t say it’s a great song, but it’s a nice refresher from classic rock’s status quo.

Tangerine: “Tangerine” is an old Yardbirds song reworked by Page for his new ensemble. Like “Gallows Pole,” “Tangerine” opens with some acoustic guitar riffing before Plant joins in. Unlike Zeppelin’s earlier acoustic songs, Plant’s vocals are subdued and fit the song perfectly. The song switches between the full ensemble and acoustic strumming for the first half before solidifying itself. Page’s first solo is melodic, but his guitar tone sounds like a dying mosquito. Thankfully Page redeems himself on his second solo. “Tangerine” ends before you know it and leaves you hungry for more. I’m really digging this new, acoustic Zeppelin.

That’s The Way: Completely devoid of Bonham’s drumming, “That’s The Way” is Zeppelin’s softest song thus far. Plant’s lyrics are nothing special, but yet again his vocals are good, downright pretty. Page’s guitar is smooth and flowing. Jones’ mandolin is very subtle. What’s best about “That’s The Way” is nobody is competing for the spotlight. Every member of the ensemble is sacrificing for the other. The true mark of a great band. I’m shocked how much Zeppelin is starting to shape up. By the time this review series is over, I might actually be a fan.

Bron-Y-Aur Stomp: Named after a cottage in Wales, “Bron-Y-Aur Stomp” is a catchy acoustic tune accompanied by Bonham on spoons and Jones on acoustic bass. The riff is really catchy, but Plant is over-singing again. “Bron-Y-Aur Stomp” relies on rhythm rather than melody to keep the listener interested, and about halfway through, the problem with this becomes apparent. I stopped caring. Without something to hook me along, I had no reason to keep listening. It’s not a bad song by any means, but it certainly is boring. So much for momentum.

Hats Off To (Roy) Harper: Led Zeppelin III's final track is a psychedelic acoustic ballad. Problem is, the psychedelia is REALLY annoying and distracting. I feel like slicing Page’s strings and pouring glue down Plant’s throat. I can’t hear Jones or Bonham, but perhaps they’re there. As if it couldn’t get any more annoying, Plant loves to do this “na-na-na-na-na” thing over and over again throughout the song. This is easily Zeppelin’s worst song. I wonder if it’s some kind of practical joke on the listener? Fortunately “Hats Off To (Roy) Harper” is mercifully short. What a shame to end what was shaping up to be a fantastic album on such a sour note.

Despite some weak tracks, Led Zeppelin III is the bands best album thus far. I was fully prepared to give it a perfect score until I heard “Hats Off To (Roy) Harper”. It made me resent my eardrums, so three out of four it is.

Wiping Off The Dust... Sean Lennon's Friendly Fire.

I feel like one of the most shocking statements I've ever said is "You know who's really underrated? Sean Lennon!" This isn't shocking because Sean Lennon is overrated or because he doesn't deserve to be given accolades. To see the looks on my friends and colleagues faces, however, when I proclaim that the youngest Lennon is, in fact, a talent, you'd think I'd just told a the Pope, "You know who's really underrated? Satan!"

It's easy to dismiss the career of Sean Lennon, much as it was easy in the mid-90's to ignore the alternative rock of The Wallflowers due to the inclusion of Jakob Dylan. A progeny of someone as prolific as Bob Dylan or John Lennon, after all, has no possible way to live up to the legacy of their parents. Granted in recent years, Lennon has gotten more press for his presence during some grade A antics than his music (Those pictures of Vanessa Manillo and Lindsay Lohan holding knives to each other? Taken at Sean Lennon's digs!) but what Lennon did on his last official release, 2006's Friendly Fire, lead to Lennon producing one of the most criminally unlistened to albums of the year.

From the opening notes of "Dead Meat", a track starting with lilting piano that's later joined by strings and layered vocals that paint a dreamy picture of - fittingly enough - lush, Beatles-esque pop, it's glaringly obvious that Lennon is his father's son and he will not spend his time playing pretend, dressing up in the clothes of some rock star so unlike his ancestoral predessor, perhaps even downplaying the relation like Jakob Dylan did at the height of The Wallflowers's success. More than recalling The Beatles, however, Lennon recalls artists that weren't influenced by his father. Shades of Jon Brion and Elliott Smith are many, with the precise guitar of "Parachute" recalling a more upbeat version of Brion's "Hook, Line, And Sinker" and "Wait For Me" sounding as though Smith were attempting to compose his own version of one of his favorite Beatles tunes, the oft-covered by Smith "I'm Only Sleeping".

Sean Lennon - Wait For Me

I feel as if it weren't for the strength of "Wait For Me", album opener "Dead Meat" would be Friendly Fire's stand out tune. "Wait For Me", however, has found itself becoming one of my favorite songs of all time. It's a simple pop song, yes. The chords are so simple that I managed to learn to play the song by ear. There's little lyrical substance but each line, no matter how forced its rhyme, has the type of vague relatability that anyone can find meaning or comfort in. "Wait For Me" is the best pop song that no one's heard. I remember driving home from work back in '06, when Lennon's sophomore release first came out, and first taking note of "Wait For Me". I ended up taking the long way home, circling the lake of the small town I lived in twice before turning towards my house, just so I could listen to "Wait For Me" again. It was as if the song were a composition from the guy I'd fall in love with one day, telling me that he was waiting and he hoped I would be too. Maybe it's ridiculous thoughts like this that keep my single. Or maybe "Wait For Me" is just that perfect.

Wiping Off The Dust... Jon Brion's "Meaningless".

There are certain moments in your life when you realize that you've stumbled across something special that's going to stick with you for a while. It could be at a bar, locking eyes with the most beautiful person you've ever seen. Or at a concert, hearing a band you'd never heard of before that you find yourself so taken with that you have an inkling they're going to soundtrack some very important events in your future. Regardless of the who, what, when, or where, we've all gone through those moments when we first see or hear something and we know without knowing: We've stumbled across something special.

I remember vividly the first time I heard Jon Brion. I was thirteen and listening to Aimee Mann's I'm With Stupid. I was taken from the get go with the sounds - There was an inherit idiosyncratic quality about Mann's music that I fell in love with and was desperate to find out where it came from. And at the end of the album, on a hidden track, I got my answer: Jon Brion. The first bit of Brion's vocals I heard was a thirty second snippet, tucked away at the end of I'm With Stupid, after closing track "It's Not Safe", when Brion, amidst an array of masterfully played guitar, twinkling instruments, and radio static, sings "But you're the idiot who keeps believing in luck." That was all I needed to hear because at that moment, I just knew it: Jon Brion was something special.

I spent my high school years after that obsessing over Brion, cultivating tracks he'd produced, buying cds simply because he guested on them. It was a mix of his musical oddities and John Lennon-esque voice that had me so rapt with Brion's music and it's fairly common knowledge that Brion's gone on to score some of the most amazing films of our generation, including Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and Stepbrothers. Brion's tour de force of a score for the David O. Russell shit-show that was I Heart Huckabee's remains my favorite soundtrack to a film I hated and I do believe that "Knock Yourself Out" might be the best song ever written. This is all widely known. What isn't widely known, however, is that Jon Brion released an amazing solo cd called Meaningless in 2001.

Meaningless was originally slated for a major label release but, much like Mann's Bachelor No. 2 and Wilco's genius Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, the disc was deemed unsuitable for a wide release for whatever ridiculous reason - Commercial viability? Pure spite? - and eventually, Brion released the CD himself to criminally little fanfare. Meaningless should have been a hit. It should have watched over the other releases from 2001 from a perch high atop every best-of list. It should have been raved about in Rolling Stone and Entertainment Weekly and it should have made Jon Brion famous in the mainstream's consciousness. At the very least, it should have gotten a vast amount of attention from NPR and the indie scene. Meaningless, however, went almost completely unnoticed and it's not incredibly uncommon to talk to a Brion fan who hasn't even heard the record. To me, this is tragic because not only is the album one of my favorite records of all time but I hold it as the best produced album I've ever heard. Fact of the matter is that Brion is a great musician but he's a genius producer, as evidenced by the vast number of huge hits he had a hand in (Kanye's "Golddigger", anyone?) and his talent shines better than it ever has, and perhaps ever will, on Meaningless.

 Brion has an uncanny ability like no one else to be able to write a song in just about any genre and make it impeccable. While Brion's ballads and pop songs tend to garner him the most attention on his soundtracks (See the remarkably affecting "Here We Go" from Punch Drunk Love and the aforementioned "Knock Yourself Out" for great examples), Meaningless proves just how amazing of a musician Brion is. The album starts on a clever note with "Gotta Start Somewhere", an introspective song worthy of any indie rocker but peppered with affects that are distinctly Brion, from an interspersed whistle to the opening of a robotic voice, stating the time. It's with the second song, "I Believe She's Lying", that Brion really gains his foothold, letting his mile-a-minute wordplay and offbeat production elements take center stage. Why this song wasn't a huge deal is beyond me.

Jon Brion - I Believe She's Lying

Wiping Off The Dust: RFC Reviews Vs by Mission of Burma

In 1979 Peter Dayton recorded Mission of Burma’s first single Peaking Spring/This Is Not A Photograph. The singles weren’t for stores. Instead, they were given out to college radio stations with the hope of promoting the then unknown Mission of Burma. It worked. MIT’s radio station WMBR loved “Peaking Spring” so much it became their most played song of 1979. The band was off to a great start. Everyone in Boston was talking about them.

The band was generating enough buzz that Rick Harte, owner of indie label Ace Of Hearts Records, went to go see them in concert. He didn’t understand their music, but he liked two of their songs. Figuring two songs was good enough for a single, Rick signed Burma and released their first commercial single Academy Fight Song/Max Ernst. Released on June 1980, within weeks the single sold out its initial 7,500 pressings and received heavy airplay on college radio throughout Massachusetts. It was good enough that music magazine Boston Rock crowned them best local band and Academy Fight Song/Max Ernst best new single. Even more impressively Academy was featured on influential magazine New York Rocker’s list of the top 10 best singles of 1980, sharing print space with mega rock stars like The Clash, Elvis Costello, and The Pretenders. Pretty soon Burma was opening for major label bands like Gang of Four, The Cure, The Buzzcocks, The Dead Kennedys, and The Fall.

On July 4, 1981 Mission of Burma released their first EP Signals, Calls, and Marches. The band received heavy airplay on Boston FM super-station WBCN, lead single “That’s When I Reach For My Revolver” topping their charts at number six. Because Signals was released over the summer it didn’t receive any college radio airplay, but regardless Signals snagged fifth place on Rockpool’s progressive charts between superstar artists Siouxsie and the Banshees and The Pretenders. By the time 1982 rolled around, Signals had sold out all ten thousand of its initial pressings.

You’d think with all the exposure and critical acclaim a major label would have sucked them up by now. Problem was, Mission of Burma sounded so different live then they did on record that people often mistook them for two different bands. On vinyl Burma sounded like a very arty punk band with smart pop sensibilities and a little avant-garde eccentricity injected into the mix. Live, Mission of Burma was impossibly loud; a sonic maelstrom of frenzied chaotic sounds. A common insult the press would write was “Mission of Burma would sound good live if they were all playing the same song”. Peter Prescott played his drum kit like he was soloing the whole time. Clint Conley shredded impossibly fast up and down his bass like he was Jimi Hendrix, while Roger Miller’s guitar amp was cranked up so loud he would wear industrial strength earplugs underneath the noise cancelling headphones they give you at gun ranges to avoid going deaf. While all this was going on Martin Swope would manipulate their sound live with a tape deck from the PA system. An impressive feat considering the sampler hadn’t been invented yet and wouldn’t for many more years.

That's How I Escaped My Certain Fate - Mission Of Burma

Wiping Off The Dust: RFC Reviews Neutral Milk Hotel's In The Aeroplane Over The Sea

I feel incredibly banal writing this review, because it seems like anyone who’s even remotely interested in music has heard of In The Aeroplane Over The Sea before. According to besteveralbums.com it’s the 21st most critically acclaimed album of all time. Hipster bible pitchfork.com lists it as the fourth best album of the 90s. Try this, go to a place where hipsters hang out, approach one, and ask them what their favorite album is. If they’re a poser who doesn’t care about music, chances are they’ll say In The Aeroplane...

Sometime during 1994 Jeff Magnum along with high school friends William Cullen Heart and Bill Doss formed the band Olivia Tremor Control and released their first EP California Demise. Afterwards Magnum left the group and began sleeping on friends floors, unemployed. During this time he recorded four cassettes, Pygmie Barn In E Minor, Invent Yourself A Shortcake, Beauty, and Hype City Soundtrack under the name Milk. The cassettes were very advant garde and weird. Two of the tracks were just spoken conversations between Magnum and his friends.

In late 1994 Magnum and whoever was around him at the time recorded the four song EP Everything Is as Neutral Milk Hotel. Frankly, it sucks. Have you ever been to a museum and wandered through the modern art gallery, wondering if any of this shit is really art? Everything Is is the musical equivalent of that. Magnum only made fifty copies and they sold poorly.

In 1996 Magnum moved to Denver, Colorado where he recorded Neutral Milk Hotel’s first LP On Avery Island. At the time, Neutral Milk Hotel was composed of Magnum, The Apples In Stereo’s Robert Schneider, The Perry Weissman 3’s Rick Benjamin, and Secret Square’s Lisa Janssen. The album sold poorly and received mildly positive critical response.

After the release of On Avery Island, the Neutral Milk Hotel as most know them formed, featuring Magnum, Scott Spillane on horns, Jeremy Barnes on drums and organ, and Julian Koster on bass, banjo, and saw. From July through September 1997 they recorded In The Aeroplane... which was released February 10th, 1998. It sold poorly on its initial release and was met with mixed critical response. Critics would later change their negative reviews to postive ones.

Neutral Milk Hotel - The King Of Carrot Flowers Pt. One

The album opens with “King Of Carrot Flowers Pt. 1”. The song begins with a basic, folky acoustic guitar and Magnum's obscure vocals, slowly gaining intensity until Magnum’s voice is soaring above the explosion of horns, violin, and synth. The song depicts two violently fighting parents and an incestuous pair of siblings “learning what each others bodies are for”. Some parts of the song make no sense. What’s a carrot flower or a holy rattlesnake? Other parts, however, are far to clear. I’m sure many of us can relate to Mom “drinking until she was no longer speaking” and Daddy “dreaming of different ways to die”.

The album then seamlessly transitions into “King Of Carrot Flowers Pt. 2 & 3”.  Opening with an arpeggio guitar riff plucked over grainy synth chords. Magnum sings about how much he loves Jesus Christ. Fifty seconds in the song begins to increase in tempo, volume, and instrumentation, becoming more and more chaotic until it can be contained no longer and explodes at 1:40. All the while Magnum sings about floating “Inside my Mom inside a garbage bin”, and marrying a “dead dog singing and a synthetic flying machine”.

Neutral Milk Hotel - In The Aeroplane Over The Sea

 

Stairway To Zeppelin: One Skeptic's Journey To Fandom (Part Two)

Led Zeppelin II

Whole Lotta Love: Led Zeppelin’s sophomore album opens with the bass and guitar repeating the same catchy riff over and over. When Plant’s vocals begin occasionally Page’s guitar will buzz in and out like a lazy bee. Around 1:30 things slow down for some random psychedelia while Bonham solos. It’s annoying and distracting. I’m sure it’s supposed to represent sex or something. When Page’s guitar does his buzz thing again with an added whine this time, I feel like punching him out. Fortunately at 3 minutes Page decides to use his guitar for good and lays down a short, melodic solo. After the solo, the song resumes the pre-psychedelia tempo for a little bit before launching into a far too melodramatic breakdown. The song ends with Plant doing some weird vocal echos while the guitar, bass, and drums beat the signature riff like a dead horse. Now I know “Whole Lotta Love” is one of the most important hard rock songs of all time and whatnot, but honestly, apart from the catchy riff, it’s annoying and obnoxious. The psychedelia and two breakdowns detract from what would otherwise be a concise, kick-ass rock song. It drags on far too long, and by the time it’s over the hooky riff has wormed it’s way into your skull so deep you’re eager to hear the next track to flush it out. I’m not impressed.

What Is And What Should Never Be: One thing Zeppelin doesn’t do well is slow songs. Robert Plant doesn’t have the voice and Zeppelin’s instrumentals are boring otherwise. Much like “Babe I’m Gonna Leave You”, “What Is And What Should Never Be” alternates between soft balladry and in-your-face rock ‘n’ roll, and just like before, it doesn’t work well. To make things worse, during the slow sections Plant feels the need to distort his voice to the point where he sounds like someone with down syndrome trying to sing underwater. Near the end Page’s guitar alternates between your left and right ear. At first it’s fun in a gimmicky way but quickly loses its charm. Once again, I’m not impressed.

The Lemon Song: Finally this album begins to show some promise. Page’s riff is the perfect balance between blues and rock. However, the real highlight here is John Paul Jones, who’s clearly showing off. At 1:30 things speed up and Page breaks out a jangly, weird sounding solo that becomes melodic as time goes on. Eventually the song resumes the riffs and tempo it established at the beginning. Halfway through the song Bonham and Page get real quiet so Jones can take center stage. Plant’s vocals are annoying as usual, but the innuendo of the song combined with Jones virtuosity is so distracting you don’t notice. During the last thirty seconds of the song, the band speeds up for a rather anti-climactic ending. “The Lemon Song” is a bit long and repetitive, but thankfully John Paul Jones bass improvisation makes the length worth it. It’s not a bad song, but it’s not spectacular either. So far Led Zeppelin II is a let down. Let’s hope the next track doesn’t continue the trend.

Thank You: Led Zeppelin II’s fourth track opens with quiet guitar plucking and organ playing. Finally Zeppelin manages to do a slow ballad right. Plant sings with dynamics and range appropriate to his voice. Page’s guitar is pretty, but the real highlight is John Paul Jones organ playing. Page’s guitar solo halfway through is very mellow and unobtrusive. The song switches dynamics between whisper soft and mezzo forte, but maintains intensity throughout. It’s a very pretty song. Exactly the opposite of what you would expect from Led Zeppelin. The song fades out early, tricking you into believing it’s ended before playing again for two seconds and then ending for real. I’m not sure what the point of the faux fade out was. It doesn't add anything. Overall, “Thank You” is a stand out track not only for Led Zeppelin II but also for Led Zeppelin’s discography. Proving that the heaviest band making music during the sixties also knew how to be gentle.   

Heartbreaker: Finally! One of the few Zeppelin songs I liked before starting these reviews. “Heartbreaker” is not only the definitive Led Zeppelin riff but also contains one of the greatest guitar solos in rock ‘n’ roll history. Bonham and John Paul Jones are no slouches either, and Plant’s vocals don’t movie beyond his capabilities, which is pleasant. Page’s stand alone solo starts slow and eccentric, then gradually builds speed and complexity until it reaches a boiling point. After a solid thirty seconds of soloing, Bonham and John Paul Jones join in while Page continues to solo. Eventually Plant joins for the last thirty seconds of the song before the track abruptly ends. I’m not familiar with the final four tracks of Led Zeppelin II, so perhaps another track will prove to be better than “Heartbreaker”, but I doubt it. So for now, I’ll make the bold assumption that “Heartbreaker” is the magnum opus of Led Zeppelin’s 1960’s discography. Will the next track be able to carry the torch?

Heartbreaker - Led Zeppelin

Wiping Off The Dust: RFC Reviews Pavement's Slanted and Enchanted

Discovering your favorite band in high school is just as important and meaningful as choosing your group of friends. Besides providing catharsis for all those teenage hormone fueled emotions, it’s about discovering and expressing yourself. Even the high school jocks have a favorite band, and it means as much to them as yours does to you.

The stereotypical music obsessive is underweight, weak, nerdy, and emotionally scarred. They’re people that feel different from everybody else. Most rock stars began their lives as the kids who always got picked on. They turned to music to either provide a release for their pent up emotions or to get the girl and become popular, sometimes both.

Typically the music obsessives first band is something angry and violent that will piss off their parents. Virtually all music, everything from The Beatles to Bob Dylan to The Clash to Black Flag, is written by and for pissed off youth. Teenage angst has been the driving force behind music since the jazz explosion of the 1920s.

If Nirvana had existed ten years earlier they would have been just another underground indie band who ran their own label and toured by spending days crammed into a cheap van and nights sleeping on strangers floors. Instead they existed in the right place at the right time. Thanks to Kurt Cobain’s sexy looks and catchy hooks, MTV, and an incredibly tight rhythm section, Nirvana became the biggest band the world had seen since The Beatles. Teenagers across the world hailed Cobain as a god. Much like Bob Dylan’s The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan turned him into the unwitting face of the early ‘60s, Nirvana’s Nevermind turned Cobain into the spokesman of the early ‘90s. And just like Dylan, Cobain loathed the title.

Part of what made Cobain so appealing was how much adults detested him. He was constantly strung out on heroin, rarely bathed, and his music was simplistic. Teenage girls fantasized about bearing his children while teenage boys learned the guitar riff to “Smells Like Teen Spirit” and pretended to know what the lyrics were.

Every teenager in America, from the geeks to the football players to the cheerleaders to the stoners loved Nirvana, and that’s exactly why Pavement became so popular and critically acclaimed. Halfway through my sophomore year Radiohead became my favorite band and stayed that way throughout high school. While my peers were listening to The Strokes, Arcade Fire, and Coheed and Cambria, I had Radiohead all to myself. They helped define me as an individual, and it was a great feeling.

Pavement’s debut LP Slanted and Enchanted kicks off with a screech. Scott Kanberg’s guitar lick on album opener “Summer Babe (Winter Version)” cuts through the lo-fi noise like a gunshot through your eardrums. Second track “Trigger Cut/Wounded Kite at :17” continues Pavement's signature piercing guitar, sloppy, minimalistic drumming/percussion, and basic bass riffs. God only knows what Malkmus is singing about. Yet, he has a gift for making you feel in your heart he’s singing about something important. Third track “No Life Singed Her” opens with Malkmus screaming like he got his hand caught in a toaster before launching into one of the dirtiest, sloppiest, most lively lo-fi pop rock songs written before or since. “No Life Singed Her” is a mere two minutes, but it hits you so hard and fast it feels like one. The first twenty seconds of fourth track “In The Mouth A Desert” opens with the band playing languid and slow before launching into a steady, gritty, lo-fi groove. The next four tracks on Slanted and Enchanted pleasantly assault your ears like Mike Tyson jabs, none of them exceeding the three minute mark.

Pavement - No Life Singed Her

Stairway To Zeppelin: One Skeptic's Journey To Fandom (Part One)

For those of you that don’t know, I was a hipster in high school. By the time I was a senior, my musical criticism was legendary. It was the butt of jokes. Some people were offended by it, others respected it.

At the time I was friends with two guys who owned a music store. The majority of my taste came from them. They introduced me to Okkervil River, The Smiths, Jeff Buckley, The Hold Steady, The Mountain Goats, and Joy Division to name a few.

Nothing pissed me off more than the kids who listened to classic rock and mouthed off about how all post seventies music sucked. I took every opportunity I got to argue with them about great modern music. My rivalry with them was so intense I found it impossible to enjoy anything that got played on a classic rock station.

Fast forward to the summer of 2010. I was no longer a hipster and beginning to really enjoy classic rock. I was a big fan of Hendrix, Dylan, and The Beatles. I was constantly driving in my car, and my radio dial was permanently stuck on the classic rock station. I listened to it so religiously within seconds of a song being played I could name it and the artist.

Just about every band I bashed in high school I now enjoyed with one exception: Led Zeppelin. As far as I was concerned, Rolling Stone had them pegged back in the late sixties. Sure they had a few good songs (Rock ‘N’ Roll, Immigrant Song, Heartbreaker), but they were wildly overrated. I didn’t understand why nearly everyone worshiped them.

However, I want to change that. I consider myself to be a very open minded person now. You name it, I listen to it. Country, jazz, techno, ska, classical, rap, pop, reggae, soul, funk, metal, punk, gospel, blues, and of course my beloved rock ‘n’ roll. Perhaps a little bit of my high school hipster is still lingering in my brain somewhere, refusing to let me appreciate Zeppelin for what they have to offer.

So to combat that and prove once and for all if Zeppelin are gods or hacks, I’m going to listen to Zeppelin’s six critically acclaimed albums (Led Zeppelin, Led Zeppelin II, Led Zeppelin III, Led Zeppelin IV, Houses Of The Holy, and Physical Graffiti. Presence, In Through The Out Door, and Coda are widely considered to be mediocre at best even by die-hard fans.), and review them track by track. I assure you I’m leaving personal bias out of the equation. I want to like Led Zeppelin. Will I become a fan? Only one way to find out. Time to rock ‘n’ roll!

Led Zeppelin


Good Times, Bad Times: The first thing that stands out when you spin Led Zeppelin’s debut album is John Bonham’s drumming. Unlike most modern metal bands, it’s very rhythmic. Every member of the band is featured equally. Jimmy Page’s solo pales in comparison to Hendrix and Clapton, but it’s still compelling nonetheless. None of the riffs are overly catchy, but they’ve still got that traditional rock and roll pulse. Amid all the rhythm, soloing, and shrieking John Paul Jones bass riffs are both easily audible and the highlight of the song. I’ve never been a fan of Robert Plant’s vocals, but they aren’t annoying me here. I really dig this song. Good Times, Bad Times has set the bar fairly high. Hopefully, the rest of the album can compare.

Good Times, Bad Times - Led Zeppelin

Wiping Off The Dust...Shining a light on The Glow Pt. 2

I’m in a dream. It’s taking place in the living room of my apartment. I’m sitting on my couch playing my guitar; a cup of coffee is sitting on the fittingly titled coffee table in front of me. My appearance is relatively unchanged, save for a mysterious scar on my left hand. I’m not sure what it means, but I’m sure it has to do with money. Possibly gambling debts. Regardless, things appear as they would in my conscious state. I take a revitalizing sip from my mug with a picture of a Pug on it (Thank you, Grandma). I begin to strum on my guitar, my left hand moving effortlessly up and down the fretboard, my right hand plucking and strumming the strings as if I’ve been practicing the instrument for a lifetime. I close my eyes, draw in a deep breath, and then exhale. I’ve attained Zen. I’m on the astral plane. Is this a dream within a dream? Is Inception really possible? Leonardo, you genius.

“You didn’t write that.”

I know that voice. My astral plane evaporates beneath me. My vessel comes to a shrieking standstill. Though I’m still in a catatonic state, I feel like I’m wide awake. I look to my left, where my other couch is. It should be vacant, but instead, two bodies occupy it. It’s two of my exes. They sit, cross legged, ostensibly staring through me. Red hair drapes across the shoulder of one. The voice I heard comes from the other. She waits, pursing the most beautiful lips I’ve ever kissed.

“What do you mean I didn’t write that?” I don’t bother to ask why they are here.

“Phil Elvrum wrote that song. You’re playing ‘I Felt Your Shape’ by The Microphones. I’m not surprised. How many times have you sat alone in the dark listening to that song, wallowing in self-pity thinking about us? It’s everything you’ve wanted to say to us, you just weren’t able to write it first.” The red-head says this with a wry smile across her face, as if to spurn any chance of me attempting to take credit for penning the lyrics while at the same time condemning my writing skills. Touché. (I’m also taken aback seeing as how I don’t think any of my former paramours know who Elvrum is. But I suppose this is my dream, and thus they are merely manifestations of my own psyche).

They’re right, though. In their own snarky, bitchy way, they’re right. I spent countless nights lost in thought while searching for meaning in The Glow Pt. 2 by The Microphones. Along with Neutral Milk Hotel, The Smiths and Okkervil River, The Microphones were a band that opened my eyes to a whole new landscape of music. Traditional song structures and overproduced, radio-friendly schlock didn’t even warrant an afterthought after pouring over the 67 minutes of what could only be called The Microphone’s “definitive” album.  I would even go so far as to call it fate that the first Microphone’s song I ever heard was “I Felt Your Shape” after my first real breakup. But even then, I only heard the song on a wholly superficial level. It was after my second (and albeit vastly more serious) breakup did I start to absorb every little lyric that Elvrum was dispatching.

The Microphones - I Want Wind To Blow

Wiping Off The Dust: Tripping Daisy - I Am An Elastic Firecracker

It was 1994 when my formative years of music appreciation began. I'd always loved music before that, and have always loved it since; it has been a most major part of my life. But there's something about those junior high school days, the mid-'90s, when everything was so intensely relevant. Music was an all-encompassing experience.

I'm not sure if it is because of my age, or because that era of music was especially poignant, but nothing has ever mattered more than it did then, despite what amazing, sometimes better, music to which I've been exposed since.

At a time when CDs were a fairly new format and I had a little desktop stereo with detachable speakers, I could hear music in a way I hadn't before. I began listening to rock radio and spent my lunch money in record stores. I would go to shows at the community teen center and make mixed tapes for my friends. We would talk about music together, we became inspired to listen to music from past generations and would gush with one another about the ABBA or Queen or Doors albums we'd ordered from Columbia House, and our horizons were broadened. It was an era not only of heightened appreciation and accessibility of music, but of discovery. I imagine many others of my generation would say the same.

In 1995, I bought Tripping Daisy's I Am an Elastic Firecracker. The main single off the album, "I Got a Girl," played frequently on the radio, and it was good. It was electric, it was melodic, and bandleader Tim DeLaughter used the word “bitching” in the bridge. To a 13-year-old, that's all it takes — power chords and naughty language. That’s rock 'n' roll, babe.

 

Yes, you heard me correctly, kids. DeLaughter wasn't always donning robes for The Polyphonic Spree. Until 1999, the Texan was rocking out with the alterna-nation, wailing out fuzzy verses with the best of them. The radio hit was a gas, but like many major label singles, it did not speak well for the album as a whole. Elastic Firecracker was not the light-hearted lark "I Got a Girl" suggested. That song was a fun introduction, but the meat of the album is in the grunge-infested guitars bleeding all over the remainder of the tracklist.

I was a dork in 7th and 8th grade. I didn't know how to dress well, boys didn't like me and the popular kids made fun of me. You could say I've always sort of ran with the outcasts. Music was some of my favorite company. While I can say that many of the other CDs I owned had more meaning to me, Tripping Daisy became part of a pretty regular after-school routine I had.

I'd get home, put Elastic Firecracker in the machine and switch on my Sega Genesis to play "Toy Story" with the volume on my little 13-inch TV turned all the way down. It was so frequent that I could actually time the game by where I was in the CD. Woody would leap through Andy's bedroom catching stars during the driving chords of "Rocketpop," and sometimes the bouncing of his spindly legs would move along perfectly with the echoes of DeLaughter's shouts. I'll forever associate the goofy smile plastered on his face with Tripping Daisy's lyrics. "Well all is great, and everything's nice, with H.R. Pufnstuf by our side," Woody assured me.

 

Tripping Daisy - Rocketpop

Wiping Off The Dust: RFC Reviews Nirvana's Nevermind

It was the summer of 2007, and I would soon be turning 17. Like so many others that age, I was depressed and felt powerless. I had been listening to music voraciously for the past 20-21 months. My taste was very eclectic and not limited to one genre like most teens. My two favorite bands were Radiohead and Rage Against The Machine, but I was also a huge fan of Red Hot Chilli Peppers, Primus, Muse, Brand New, Coheed & Cambria, and Boys Night Out. My passion for listening to albums went beyond mere enjoyment. I felt lost inside my own body. I didn’t know who “I” was, so I searched for my identity in music.

It was during this period in my life I finally listened to Nevermind. I knew about the album since middle school, but the hipster in me hated popular things. High schoolers love few things more than Nirvana.

After spinning Nevermind for the first time, I wasn’t impressed. The songwriting was ridiculously simple. Certain tracks were so repetitive and catchy I had a hard time believing Cobain and not some label executive wrote them. I understood roughly 25% of the lyrics. I liked “Smells Like Teen Spirit” and that was it. So I took the album, threw it in a drawer, and forgot about it for a while.

Smells Like Teen Spirit - Nirvana

I don’t remember exactly when, but sometime during my junior year I became obsessed with the song “Heart Shaped Box”. Because I was broke, instead of buying In Utero I decided to give Nevermind a second chance. Suddenly, I understood why so many teenagers loved this album and revered Cobain like a god. He was an incredibly beautiful man for starters, but it went beyond mere looks. He was a sloppy guitarist and vocalist, but made music anyway. No matter what problems life threw at him, he was apathetic. His development was arrested as a depressed teenager, so he understood the anger, pain, and confusion of growing up. Best of all, he wouldn't judge you. “Come as you are/As you were/As you always have been”.

Come As You Are - Nirvana

Wiping Off The Dust… Reminisces of The Music Tapes’ For Clouds and Tornadoes

It was just after 10 p.m. last Tuesday night when I got word that The Music Tapes were playing in Hyde Park. Actually, it was the last of three thirty-minute sets in three Chicago homes as part of the band’s Lullaby Tour, and it would begin in less than 30 minutes. There was no way I could make the ten mile bike ride in that time, so instead I comforted myself by listening to The Music Tapes' discography, enjoying a few beers in my warm apartment, and re-sparking an old obsession.

The amorphous Athens, GA-based experimental collective has been making albums since 1999, but my particular obsession began in 2008 when I came across their third album For Clouds and Tornadoes entirely by accident during a Pirate Bay search. The seeder to leecher ratio was pleasing, so I snatched it up, took a listen, and fell in love with its strange and emotional sound - lead man Julian Koster’s endearingly quavering croon, the warbly rhythms of his singing saw, and the vast collection of unusual instruments, such as tape organ, flugelhorn, clarinet, accordion, and euphonium.

I was lucky enough to catch them live a few months later at the AV-aerie in Chicago’s West Loop just before the venue was closed down due to zoning and licensing issues. They performed a long and remarkable set that incorporated sprinklings of each of their four albums. Much of the show was like story time in kindergarten - the audience sat on the floor encircling Koster as he performed holiday songs from The Singing Saw at Christmastime, off-stage and without amplification.

Julian Koster - Jingle Bells

Toward the end of the night, we played a game: everyone in the audience wrote a memory on a piece of paper, folded it, and dropped it in a bucket. We followed Koster outside where he lit them on fire, and one at a time we jumped over the fire while concentrating of our specific memories. What the point was, I don’t know. But it was fun, no one caught on fire, and Koster ended the night with an improvised song based on a memory he pulled out of the flames. When the show finished and the band began packing up, I of course took the opportunity to drunkenly profess my love for Koster and though clearly creeped out, he obliged me with a hug.

Before I came across The Music Tapes, I was already familiar with Koster’s other collaborations, Elephant 6 and Neutral Milk Hotel, who seem to have lately come out of hiding and are inspiring long-time fans to rediscover old favorites. But The Music Tapes take prominence in my collection, specifically For Clouds and Tornadoes, which I find myself returning to again and again, particularly during winter when the warm, cozy melodies offer comfort from the biting Chicago cold.

The Music Tapes - Freeing Song for Reindeer