They may have been celebrating their quarter-century anniversary when Sonic Youth released Rather Ripped in 2006, and they certainly had an iconic body of work prior to that album. Nevertheless, "Incinerate" -- a single from that album -- was my first exposure to the noise punk specialists.
After purchasing 86's EVOL the other day, I've come to find out their usual style is markedly different from this. But this I love. Lead guitar is low-key but just enough to subtly wow me.
"You doused my soul with gasoline / You flicked a match into my brain."
Whoa. Emo.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Nothing Left For Me To Tell You
"The White Stripes do not belong to Meg and Jack anymore. The White Stripes belong to you now and you can do with it whatever you want. The beauty of art and music is that it can last forever if people want it to. Thank you for sharing this experience. Your involvement will never be lost on us and we are truly grateful."
And so, on Groundhog Day 2011, Jack and Meg White dissolved one of the most influential and popular bands of the last decade.
Although there were rumblings of a new album, the break-up wasn't a huge surprise. In recent years, now-uberstar and all-around badass Jack White had become involved in other projects like The Raconteurs and The Dead Weather, soaring to new heights of popularity. (As my brother quipped, "Jack was really holding Meg back.")
And while tragic (especially the fact that I never saw them live), there's a bit of satisfaction in knowing that The White Stripes didn't wear out their welcome by sticking around too long, denying their decline, cranking out mediocre album after mediocre album. There's something to be said about a graceful exit that enhances the reputation of a legend.
If you know me, then you know that my love for The White Stripes will always run deep. It's amazing that they were able to accomplish so much with such elementary, uncomplicated, almost crude songwriting. Drummer Meg White picked up a pair of drumsticks for the first time only months before The White Stripes came into being, having received no formal training, instead learning as she went. Many songs (Icky Thump's closer "Effect & Cause" comes to mind) manage to fill 3 minutes of time using only 3 chords -- and it actually sounded good. If you ever see the rock-umentary It Might Get Loud, you'll see that the song that most influenced Jack White ("Son House") consists of a single man crooning the blues while clapping a rhythm. No instrumentation. Just emotion.
With great anticipation, I look forward to the day when I totally embarrass my future children by driving them to school with "Hotel Yorba" cranked all the way up and the windows rolled all the way down. But because that's at least a decade away, this will have to do:
(Oh, by the way, if you want a little more energy with that, check out the live version.)
And so, on Groundhog Day 2011, Jack and Meg White dissolved one of the most influential and popular bands of the last decade.Although there were rumblings of a new album, the break-up wasn't a huge surprise. In recent years, now-uberstar and all-around badass Jack White had become involved in other projects like The Raconteurs and The Dead Weather, soaring to new heights of popularity. (As my brother quipped, "Jack was really holding Meg back.")
And while tragic (especially the fact that I never saw them live), there's a bit of satisfaction in knowing that The White Stripes didn't wear out their welcome by sticking around too long, denying their decline, cranking out mediocre album after mediocre album. There's something to be said about a graceful exit that enhances the reputation of a legend.
If you know me, then you know that my love for The White Stripes will always run deep. It's amazing that they were able to accomplish so much with such elementary, uncomplicated, almost crude songwriting. Drummer Meg White picked up a pair of drumsticks for the first time only months before The White Stripes came into being, having received no formal training, instead learning as she went. Many songs (Icky Thump's closer "Effect & Cause" comes to mind) manage to fill 3 minutes of time using only 3 chords -- and it actually sounded good. If you ever see the rock-umentary It Might Get Loud, you'll see that the song that most influenced Jack White ("Son House") consists of a single man crooning the blues while clapping a rhythm. No instrumentation. Just emotion.
With great anticipation, I look forward to the day when I totally embarrass my future children by driving them to school with "Hotel Yorba" cranked all the way up and the windows rolled all the way down. But because that's at least a decade away, this will have to do:
(Oh, by the way, if you want a little more energy with that, check out the live version.)
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
A Case Study in Music and Memory
"There are things you can't avoid; You have to face them, when you're not prepared to face them."
-- "Fight Test", by The Flaming Lips
I hear over and over that, of the five senses, smell is most closely linked to memory. I'm sure this is generally true, and there's no doubt I experience this phenomenon often. (For instance, oddly, the scent of a spring dawn always elicits images of Hudson Elementary School from my days as a 2nd grader. I don't know why, but it does.)
You may have noticed I have a strong affinity for music, and I think this influences the fact that sound -- and music, in particular -- randomly forges permanent bonds to certain memories. Some good, some neutral, some not-so-great. An interesting psychological phenomenon, for sure.
Whenever I hear "Glide" by Stone Temple Pilots, I'm immediately transported to nights during fall 2002, when I would drive home from my job as a Tony Roma's busboy at one in the morning in my '89 Jeep Comanche, windows cracked.
Whenever I hear "Merry Christmas From the Family" by Robert Earl Keen, I'm brought to a December concert back in '06, when I was sipping Coronas and hanging with old high school friends at a roadhouse in Tyler, Texas.
Whenever I hear "What Is Love" by Haddaway...
OK, so I'm kidding on that last one, but you get my point.
I don't really love the above songs, but they nevertheless became permanently associated with my past experiences. This is the way it's always worked for me, but recently, the stars aligned in an odd way.
In the last handful of years, my musical tastes have broadened considerably to encompass indie rock (Whatever "indie" is. Tangent: "Is Indie Dead?", a very interesting article by Paste magazine). The Flaming Lips is considered by some to pioneer this genre. A little less than a year ago, I decided I needed to see what all the fuss was about, and I bought their highly acclaimed '02 release, Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots. Then I saw them live.
I was impressed. Very impressed. Yoshimi remained stuck in my car's CD player for several days straight. But interestingly, over time, the album became associated with an experience I didn't like to dwell on. It wasn't a BAD experience per se (the opposite, actually), but it was something from which I needed to move forward. Listening to that album, however, would inevitably conjure images from that period of my life to rush back into my head.
So I avoided it. To hell with my love of the musical qualities of Yoshimi; I just needed to ignore it for a while, letting that memory play out its course and exit my mind, stage left. But months went by, and I remained shy to glance at the CD cover art, much less play it.
Then one day I decided I needed to change things. It may have made sense at the time to avoid the album, but so many months removed, it started to feel silly to go to such lengths. So I put it in my work computer and listened from track 1 to 11, start to finish.
And you know, it was an oddly gratifying experience. The first track spoke directly to me (see the start of the entry), understanding that I felt like I wasn't mentally prepared to clear this psychological hurdle, but reassuring me that I actually was. Afterwards, I got to thinking: Why did I think this would be difficult? And how much did avoiding the album reinforce my overcautiousness?
I'll probably never shake the mental association I have with The Flaming Lips, just like I never will dissociate "Glide" from Tony Roma's. But at least now, as my emotional attachment with it diminishes, I can appreciate Yoshimi for what it is.
A damn good CD.
-- "Fight Test", by The Flaming Lips
I hear over and over that, of the five senses, smell is most closely linked to memory. I'm sure this is generally true, and there's no doubt I experience this phenomenon often. (For instance, oddly, the scent of a spring dawn always elicits images of Hudson Elementary School from my days as a 2nd grader. I don't know why, but it does.)
You may have noticed I have a strong affinity for music, and I think this influences the fact that sound -- and music, in particular -- randomly forges permanent bonds to certain memories. Some good, some neutral, some not-so-great. An interesting psychological phenomenon, for sure.
Whenever I hear "Glide" by Stone Temple Pilots, I'm immediately transported to nights during fall 2002, when I would drive home from my job as a Tony Roma's busboy at one in the morning in my '89 Jeep Comanche, windows cracked.
Whenever I hear "Merry Christmas From the Family" by Robert Earl Keen, I'm brought to a December concert back in '06, when I was sipping Coronas and hanging with old high school friends at a roadhouse in Tyler, Texas.
Whenever I hear "What Is Love" by Haddaway...
OK, so I'm kidding on that last one, but you get my point.
I don't really love the above songs, but they nevertheless became permanently associated with my past experiences. This is the way it's always worked for me, but recently, the stars aligned in an odd way.
In the last handful of years, my musical tastes have broadened considerably to encompass indie rock (Whatever "indie" is. Tangent: "Is Indie Dead?", a very interesting article by Paste magazine). The Flaming Lips is considered by some to pioneer this genre. A little less than a year ago, I decided I needed to see what all the fuss was about, and I bought their highly acclaimed '02 release, Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots. Then I saw them live.
I was impressed. Very impressed. Yoshimi remained stuck in my car's CD player for several days straight. But interestingly, over time, the album became associated with an experience I didn't like to dwell on. It wasn't a BAD experience per se (the opposite, actually), but it was something from which I needed to move forward. Listening to that album, however, would inevitably conjure images from that period of my life to rush back into my head.So I avoided it. To hell with my love of the musical qualities of Yoshimi; I just needed to ignore it for a while, letting that memory play out its course and exit my mind, stage left. But months went by, and I remained shy to glance at the CD cover art, much less play it.
Then one day I decided I needed to change things. It may have made sense at the time to avoid the album, but so many months removed, it started to feel silly to go to such lengths. So I put it in my work computer and listened from track 1 to 11, start to finish.
And you know, it was an oddly gratifying experience. The first track spoke directly to me (see the start of the entry), understanding that I felt like I wasn't mentally prepared to clear this psychological hurdle, but reassuring me that I actually was. Afterwards, I got to thinking: Why did I think this would be difficult? And how much did avoiding the album reinforce my overcautiousness?
I'll probably never shake the mental association I have with The Flaming Lips, just like I never will dissociate "Glide" from Tony Roma's. But at least now, as my emotional attachment with it diminishes, I can appreciate Yoshimi for what it is.
A damn good CD.
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