- joiezabel in Scarlett Johansson - Anywhere I Lay My Head it really is brilliant, scott. i hate you.
- hotshotrobot in Scarlett Johansson - Anywhere I Lay My Head Goddammit, Borch, now how am i supposed to review this? I can’t top that!
- Borch in The Avett Brothers - House of Blues - May 14th Good Lord, that’s a beautiful song! The Avett Bros. were in Chicago? Why wasn’t I notified?!
It’s pretty cool when a friend lends you a CD. It’s even cooler when said friend knows what kind of music you’re in to. Cool takes an even bigger leap when the band being traded is good. I was so happy to have a friend lend me a copy of a metal album recently. It was a band I hadn’t heard of before, but I was sold when he said that they were Swedish, considering my favorite stuff hails from many of the long-hairs from the cold country. Hello In Flames?
Have you ever been in the mood to listen to music that just makes you want to bang your whole body around so hard that you’re sore and bruised for the next 4 days? No? Perhaps you’re like me and you are just in the mood for face-ripping metal on your way to work at 6 in the morning. Either way, if face ripping is what you want, face ripping is what you’ll get with Bloodbath’s Nightmares Made Flesh.
I’m pretty sure I’d buy anything that Micheal Akerfeld is a part of. The frontman of the megaband Opeth was the original frontman of Bloodbath, which, I’m sure, was a good part of getting them noticed. That’s not to say that the musicians didn’t have a hand in it, but have you ever listened to Akerfeld? Yeah. Versatility isn’t quite the word. My point exactly.
So, Bloodbath officially formed in 2000, a zombie of a band formed from bloody remnants of the likes of other Swedish death-metallers Opeth, Katatonia, Edge of Sanity, Nightingale, and others, and released a 3-song EP called Breeding Death. Catchy. Listeners loved the mayhem so much, the guys decided to do a full album, Resurrection Through Carnage. This, however, was Akerfeld’s last scream with the band. He left to devote more time to Opeth, which I can’t say I blame him for, considering the fact that Opeth is BRILLIANT. So, now vocalist-less, Bloodbath brought on Peter Tagtgren from Hypocrisy. It is Tagtgren that you hear roaring his throat bloody on Nightmares Made Flesh.
To get things to a nice, feel-good start, Cancer of the Soul hits the ears first. I can’t say is surprises you, really. Rather it smacks you across the face and then knees you in the groin, then picks you up and pats you on the back and apologizes…then slaps you in the back of the head just for good measure. Tagtgren’s vocals are fierce, rivaling Akerfeld’s guttural chantings very…um…elegantly.
The album is full of utter explosions of sound. Between the gut-punching riffs and the scattering-yet-controlled drumming, little flits of melody manage to fight their way out, brightly giving away the fact that Bloodbath are, indeed, Swedish. These melodies are the most apparent in Cancer of the Soul, Outnumbering The Day, Year Of The Cadaver Race, and Draped In Disease.
One thing I really like about this album is the fact that even though it is so devoid of light-hearted-ness, so full of distortion, so packed with multi-layered riffs and slow sludge breakdowns; the musical patterns and progressions of the songs are still recognizable. Unlike black metal bands like Deicide, where it sounds like a 4 year old got a hold of some cocaine and a drum set and invited the rest of his friends over to play around with guitars and let Satan scream into a mic; Bloodbath actually controls their mayhem. To an untrained ear, sure, it sounds like a bunch of fucked up idiots making a bunch of noise. To me, though, these guys know what they are doing when it comes to song construction.
Alright, so the band is comedic. You can’t listen to songs like Eaten and actually take them seriously. In Eaten, Tagtgren drones on about how his one desire is to be EATOOOOONNN! “To see my flesh devoured before my eyes, only for you I volunteer as a human sacrifice, carve me up, slash me apart, suck my cock say it my love, Eaten, my one desire is to be eaten.” Come on. It’s funny! Alright, maybe it isn’t (it is), but my point here is to say that in order to actively listen to this catastrophe of melody and actually enjoy it, you have to just take it as is. Bloodbath isn’t looking for a Grammy.
So, Scott, thanks to you, I now have another band I plan on checking out further. Hopefully many of you metal-heads out there will check this band out. It’s worth at least a listen, but I’m telling you, the more you play this thing, the more you’ll love it.
You own the VHS, and you’ve watched it to such wear that you would hesitate to put it on with guests around - grainy, pleasantly defective, personalized. Then the Criterion Collection comes out and tempts you with deleted scenes, commentary and interviews… you ask, “Do these little differences justify the expenditure?” And then your Favorite Album is re-released and remastered with bonus tracks, outtakes, remixes… but you’ve heard the core songs tens of times, and wonder if the extras are worth it.
Dick Prall’s Weightless will sell on the little bonuses it has over the myriad of other singer-songwriters whose melodies are all familiar, appearances fashionably disheveled and autobiographical lyrics sung in universal tones. Whether or not it’s enough to put away your Ryan Adams or Elvis Perkins depends on how important are the tiny variations and bits you haven’t seen, because it’s far from a new material.
Bonus features: Prall does good work with simple motifs by emphasizing the basic, and keeping light on filler noise. His cadence also atones for the intentionally ambiguous lyrics by delivering them in a conversational tone that helps you forget that lines like, “Suitably praised, for checking out this way; ingest and engage in happy roundelay,” are forcedly vague. And he’s a likeable, buy-this-dude-a-beer kind of guy - you may have heard the story before, but never with quite the flair that Prall imparts on the tale (that’s a metaphor for his songs, people).
What’s not a surprise: Every song is immediately accessible and carefully doctored, so much so that he’s realized the dream of every young lion artist: to be featured in a Volkswagen commercial. The hooks are effective for their clarity, but they’re not all his… I give credit to a media-addicted friend of mine (I mean that kindly) for noticing that the violin outro riff on ‘Long Play’ is identical to the main guitar line in ‘Leave’ on New Adventures in Hi-Fi (and it also shows up on ‘You’ll Be in the Air’ by the Microphones). It would be foolish to accuse Prall of vamping on obscure lines from paltry mid-90’s REM albums, but it goes to show that Weightless is not new ground.
For someone touted as such a capable songsmith it’s disappointing that Weightless isn’t more engaging, but it is so goddamn comfortable to the point of Easy Listening. Songs and albums with such a grand countenance should at least be gripping or loathsome - Weightless is neither. Prall has a nice voice and compositional potential, but he must begin to casually cover new ground before boisterously staking claim on well-tread territory.
Authentic Records
September 22, 2007
*/10
* I will no longer be giving grades to any album I review. More on this later.
Ladies and gents, we all know ABBA: the Swedish pop sensations of the Seventies. And we all know the reputation that they have. Everything comes back around in hipness one of these days, but ABBA’s not even close. Me, I make no secret of my deep appreciation for their music. No, really. This isn’t some sort of hipster irony; I love ABBA. Ask anyone. But most people I mention this to can’t seem to understand. I told a friend tonight of my love for them, and she cringed. And then she told me that I share this love with a well-respected presidential hopeful:
During a campaign bus swing through South Carolina today, Sen. John McCain demonstrated his love of hot dogs and declared his love of ABBA. The comments about the Swedish group came up on the bus as he talked about what’s on his iPod.
“Dare I say ABBA. Everybody says, ‘Ehhh, ABBA.’ Why is that? ABBA was the largest selling (recording act ever). Nobody likes them but they sold more records than anybody in the history of the world, including the Beatles. But everybody hates them. (But) you’re a no-class guy if you like ABBA. Why does everybody go see ‘Mamma Mia?’ Hypocrisy! Rank hypocrisy! I’m not embarassed to say I like ABBA, ‘Dancing Queen.’”
More from McCain. If elected, “the background music would be ABBA in the elevators all over the White House.”
And even more.
“‘Take a Chance on Me.’ Maybe that’s what we should have as our (campaign) theme song. That would be good.”
And this, fellow Superstarcastians, may be what it takes to bring ABBA back to where they belong! So let’s do this, America! Embrace the pop genius! It’s okay! In fact, it feels damn good!
I mean, I’m not voting Mccain. But at least the fella’s got taste.
I have this bad habit when it comes to following a band’s musical output. Typically, when a given ensemble kicks off their career with a couple face-melting, rollicking releases, only to stumble at some point with a record that falls off, quality-wise, i tend to check out and not give future releases a chance. It’s shitty, i know, but let’s get real: there are too many bands out there putting out too much quality stuff for me to waste my time with a band that’s already peaked. Plus, i think i have indie-band ADD, so there’s that.
But Enon and i…we have a history. A history that dates back to 1994 and involves guitarist/vocalist John Schmersal’s previous band, Brainiac (whom i’m sure bassist/vocalist Toko Yasuda and drummer Matt Schultz are tired of hearing about…sorry guys). Look, i’ll spare the details…if you’re a regular SSC reader, you know that i’m basically an unabashed Brainiac fanboy who considers them the greatest band that ever existed, period. So i won’t bore you with the rehash (if you’re unfamiliar, my review of their Bonsai Superstar record from 1994 is here). Just accept my strong pro-Enon bias for what it is, and roll with it.
Long story short, i owe John & the boys my musical identity, and thus, even though their most recent release of new material, 2003’s Hocus Pocus, was remarkably lackluster (bias notwithstanding, it was pretty boring), i swore that i’d listen to whatever they released next. And this promise has rewarded me with Grass Geysers…Carbon Clouds, possibly the best indie-dance record you will hear this year and easily the best Enon release since their mindfuck of a 2000 debut, Believo! (and since John’s the only member of the band left from that release, how much does that even count, really?).
While Hocus Pocus meandered through an uneven collection of mellow, midtempo nappytime tracks interrupted by the occasional burst of dance fever, Grass Geysers apparently benefits from the four-year layoff between new releases in that the band has come out of the gates as balls full of energy that have been waiting since ‘03 to go off. Thus, the record is nonstop high-impact driving rock from start to finish, demanding the listener to get the hell up off their ass and shake it.
All the trappings of an Enon release are still here; the band continues to mine the electro-influenced indie rock that has become their trademark. Synth sequences and effects pedals abound, anchored by rhythms that Matt and Toko establish with businesslike efficiency. All the while, Toko and John trade off lead vocal duties, making the most out of the complimentary textures of their accents (American midwest vs. Japanese).
It’s sort of difficult to pick a standout track or three on Grass Geysers, as there’s not a piece of filler in the whole disc. “Mirror on You” kicks things off with a minute-forty-six blast of atomic indie-funk and slams straight into “Colette” and the infectious, synth-bass-laden “Dr. Freeze.” Perhaps the catchiest track, though, is the majestic “Mr. Ratatatatat,” an epic fuzz-stomper that plays the trading vocals card expertly. I heard this song for the first time when Enon played the last day of Touch & Go’s 25 Anniversary Block Party at the Hideout in Chicago last September; that i recognized it immediately as a song i had heard once before during a live show a year prior should be sufficient evidence of its infectiousness.
If there’s any justice, Grass Geysers…Carbon Clouds will be at the fingertips of every hipster with a half-assed DJ night at every local dive in every artsy soon-to-be-gentrified neighborhood in America. The record is made to be played loud, in public, with many bottles of Blatz or Pabst being consumed with the prospect of random hook-uppery looming at the evening’s precipice. Look, simply put: this is party music–i can’t think of anyone i know who wouldn’t like this record, least of all a snotty music nerd douchebag with indie-band ADD who, were it not for an unspoken one-sided pact made years ago, would have foolishly given up on these guys already. Enon, you motherfuckers, are BACK.
Release Date: Oct. 9th, 2007
Label: Touch & Go Records
A verdict was reached Friday in the case of Jeanette Sliwinski, as Judge Garritt Howard ruled her guilty but mentally ill of the charge of reckless homicide, which was a lesser charge than the three counts of First Degree Murder the prosecution was seeking:
A young woman who rammed her car into another in a bid to commit suicide but instead killed three musicians was found guilty but mentally ill Friday in Cook County’s Skokie courthouse.
The prosecution had charged Jeanette Sliwinski, 25, with three counts of first-degree murder, but the judge convicted her of the lesser charge of reckless homicide. A conviction of guilty but mentally ill means she will receive treatment while serving her sentence.
Sliwinski could be sentenced to a maximum of 10 years. Had she been convicted of first-degree murder, she could have gotten a life sentence.
* * *
After the verdict was announced, Gemskie said prosecutors were disappointed.
“We believe the evidence did support a finding of first-degree murder,” she said. “The families of the victims also … of course, they are disappointed. But nothing is ever going to bring their sons and brothers and friends back.”
Musicians remembered
Dahlquist played drums for Silkworm, a band that had played around the Midwest as well as in England, Italy and Japan. After he died the group stopped playing shows together. Glick played guitar and sang with the Returnables, which also disbanded after the crash. Meis played drums with Glick’s wife in The Dials, a group that continued performing.
Friends and family members have tried to keep the memory of the men alive, posting on Internet message boards and Web sites, recording tribute albums and organizing benefit shows.
“For many of us, the passing of a single day without one of these men was difficult to endure,” read a statement on the Web site for The Dials. “They will be longed for always.”
Sentencing is set for Nov. 26.
Everyone here at Superstarcastic sends their thoughts, prayers, and well-wishes to the family of these three friends.
Ah, the Christmas record. A long and sometimes glorious tradition for artists you might expect (Bing Crosby, Mariah Carey, Hilary Duff) as well as some you might not (Low? The Charlie Daniels Band? New Order?) and some artists who seem to exist solely to produce such releases (thank you, Mannheim Steamroller and Trans-Siberian Orchestra). After all, enough music has to be supplied to satisfy all those radio stations that switch over to an all-holiday format on November 1st and keep going until January…
Anyway, for all of their punk-pop pretensions, Relient K are a Christian band at heart, and so the appearance of the painfully-titled Let it Snow Baby…Let it Reindeer is hardly a surprise. Especially since, don’t you know, it’s actually their second Christmas album. If you happened to miss last year’s Deck the Halls, Bruise Your Hand, however, never fear — Relient K have helpfully included that entire album within their new effort. If you did buy the other one…well, now you’ll have something to trade in the next time you go to FYE, eh?
Some of the material is about what you might perhaps expect — “Angels We Have Heard On High” is given a straight-up mallpunk arrangement, complete with the whininess that such bands all-too-commonly mistake for “attitude.” “12 Days of Christmas” starts out that way, but it gets gradually sillier and sillier, eventually including massive choirs, nu-metal screaming, and a whole lot of missing words. It’s kind of fun, actually, in the same way that, say, the better moments of Weird Al Yankovic are fun — good for one nice laugh, though I’d hate to have to listen to it repeatedly. (I can’t even say that much for “I’m Getting Nuttin’ For Christmas,” alas, though it tries the same formula.)
A fair amount of the material, however, tends toward the staid. “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” which is full of busy electric guitars that don’t actually do anything, is sort of like an attempt to update the sound of The Beach Boys’ Christmas album, a nod that’s even more obvious on the surprisingly good (with the exception of the smarmy spoken-word break) a capella rendition of Auld Lang Syne that closes the disc. Most of the original material — and there are six of those on the disc — is even blander; “I Celebrate the Day,” “In Like A Lion (Always Winter),” and especially the Fray-lite “I Hate Christmas Parties” sound like half-hearted attempts to get the band booked for a Very Special Holiday Episode of Grey’s Anatomy. If there’s anything worse than faux-snottiness, it’s faux-weepiness.
I love Christmas, believe it or not, and I’m always on the lookout for something new to add to my collection of seasonal music. But trust me, this isn’t a good choice. The interpretations of standards are subpar, and the originals aren’t going to be entering the holiday canon anytime soon. And beyond that, over half of this forty-eight minute album has been previously released, which means that they’ve padded out their EP with stuff fans probably already own so they can charge them for a full-length. Icky.
Release date: October 23, 2007
Label: Capitol
Rating: 3/10
