- Aaron L. in Replicator US tour Blog - Day 22 - “9 lbs of Awexome in a 10 lb sack.” Man….I just found this. Don’t mean to get all spammy but Songbird on Linux (Ubuntu in my...
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For a band that has spawned so many imitators, it’s a shame that Interpol doesn’t inspire itself far beyond their own emulous template. “But they haven’t changed all that much since Bright Lights and you liked that one, so what’s wrong with Our Love?” my conscience wonders, wanting to give a good rating to an album that is almost really, really good, but is missing some essential load-bearing elements. Of course, the question answers itself, and beefing up the tone of one-note riffs and swelling dynamics 
doesn’t make for brilliance. In fact, it is a detraction because while Interpol have never been profoundly melodious, the slow burn of the first two albums was captivating; Our Love doesn’t change form but it isn’t quite as engaging, due to some puerile lyrics (specifically ‘No I in Threesome’) and excessive technical minimalism.
Let’s talk about threesomes. The subject of <I>menage a trois</I> on David Crosby’s overeager Triad was already quaint and smirkish in 1968, and now Banks makes his own straight-faced claim on track 2, ”There’s No I in Threesome,” that a gangbang would count for something “new.” Sure, I love a good sex song, but “Threesome” is too lame to offend the prudish, hardly convincing, and reflects a cache of songs that should be effective and even alarming were they not oddly flat.
To their credit, they didn’t give in to any industry demands, expressed or implied, as they made the leap to major labeldom. Still present are the same Interpol, replete with ominous soundscapes (dialed up a few notches this time) and worthy lyrical hooks, but is mysteriously bereft of suspense (even as Banks ironically sings “Spare me the suspense!” on “Mammoth”), which speaks to the arrangements that could have used a little more attention at the foundation and less eye-level decoration.
The bright spots are very good indeed. “Pioneer to the Falls” is a savory, solid opener that’s suggestive that the best Interpol release to date will follow, but … “Threesome” should never have been put in the second slot — it is momentum-killing, B-side fare. Fortunately, batting third — the slot historically reserved for the best song on the album, I postulate – is “Scale,” followed by ”Heinrich Maneuver.” These songs do the job of priming the listener for more–a job that, sadly, is co-opted by the following two tracks, which do little better than keep things in neutral.
By the end of the album, it becomes noticeable that maybe one or two tracks could be described as dynamic. Nearly every cut on the album finds a neutral space and stays there until its time for the next track to change the pace, and too few of them actually do. This is too bad, because the songs are, for the most part, well-written and could have been much more powerful if they hadn’t been so obviously layered with an excess of sonic icing. Lights and Antics were perfectly noisy, yet commodious enough to give each song room to expand; to engage the listener without having to wait for the next track. All the pieces were there for Our Love to be masterful, but it ends up big on sound and short on finesse.
Rating: 7/10
Label: Capitol
Release Date: July 10, 2007
There is no one in the world who loves Emily Haines more than me. No one! Hmm. Okay maybe her gynecologist and that midget who has her face tattooed all over his body in different expressions. But after them, it is totally me. And when I found out she had a solo album from 1996 I was considering stabbing a few fellow Superstarcastics to get the chance to review it first. I don’t mess around. Like I said, I LOVE EMILY HAINES. (disclaimer: the current restraining order is a complete misunderstanding. I mean, her bedroom window was totally open! It was just begging to be climbed into!)
Emily Haines didn’t hit my aural radar until her work with the Oakland, Californian electro-pop band, Metric. Metric’s three albums, ‘Grown up and Blown Away’, ‘Old World Underground, where are you now?’ and ‘Live it out‘ are brilliantly seductive with their poppy melodies and surprisingly witty lyrics. So obviously I was an instant convert to the Metric system. But honestly, it was mostly for the subtle and wispy voice of their front-woman, Emily Haines. After their 2005 release, the band went on to produce and work on side projects. in 2006, Haines’ released her solo endeavor with her Soft Skeleton called ‘Knives don’t have your back‘. Where it didn’t have the fun synthesizers and bedroom dancing rhythms, it did have the wit and spunk known of Emily Haines.
But yes, yes, I digress. This retro review is about her first release ‘Cut in Half and Double‘. I was Fifteen in 1996 when this album dropped and I am sure the teenage douche bag I was would have never been able to appreciate this album for what it is, was, err will be! Right from the beginning you can hear the building blocks of what would become Emily Haines‘ distinctive sound. Her haunting voice strains through the microphone on ‘Pretty head’ where she whines about the pitfalls of being beautiful. During ‘Eden‘, Haines convinces you of her street cred and musical genius. ‘Dog‘, the albums opening song, is a playful ballad of the life of her canine companion and it’s self existential crisis. There are some tracks that date this album though. ‘Freak’ sounds a bit like the girl-y angst songs that were running rampant during that time. (I blame you, Alanis) ‘Eau De Toilette’ could have been sung by kinky blond haired ‘What if God was one of us’ bitch. But, those are the only dated sounding songs on this nine track album. It’s amazing how timeless most of Emily Haines work sounds. Or maybe music has already revolved to the point that old is now new new, and new is the new old. Or old is the new young and Darfur is the new hotel Rwanda… well you get my point.
Maybe I am not the best person to review this album since I seem to be taking notes from Fox news, neither fair nor balanced. But my personal bias aside, ‘Cut in Half and Double‘ has the charm and wit that is expected of Emily Haines. Is it Metric? No. Is it Soft Skeleton? Almost. Listening to this album has been the like flipping through the childhood photos of a pop songstress. There is a lot going on here, and when you look of all the musical magic that has come afterward, it’s hard to not like Emily Haines from the beginning.
7/10
Release Date: 1996
Label: Self Released
With so much of his career predicated on antics and unpredictability it’s no wonder that Ryan Adams’ apologists insist that his uneven output is a function of his genius and to find fault would be like disparaging Lou Reed for doing heroin. He has hit well from both sides of the alt-country plate, channeling Highway 61 Revisited on Heartbreaker and then Graham Parsons on Jacksonville City Nights, but not much of it, in his words, has been the whole shebang: all his cards on the table, all together. On Easy Tiger Adams finally shows us what side his bread is buttered on by delivering an album of his best punk-roots, stadium rock and country sensibilities, all standing comfortably next to each other. Lest anyone tire of rocking out a la Who, he sends a couple of tracks back to the truck stop and drops the rest off somewhere around the corner of After the Gold Rush and Zeppelin III.
For such a firebrand, his music is approachable, albeit far from mild. His ability to write memorable riffs gets the best of him on ‘Rip Off’, which is just too catchy to appreciate. That aside, almost every other song is memorable, powerful and pretty goddamn funny.
As usual, Adams has the gift of turning colloquialisms into art. “Tomorrow will be your day, and who knows? Maybe we’ll win, the whole shebang,” he sings on ‘Goodnight Rose’ may look and sound silly on paper, but is served up with the optimism of a dim,
lovable guy who’s going to swing for the fences and go for it. And that makes you feel good.
Dabbling in unabashed country styling isn’t out of place here, and tracks like the bluegrassy ‘Pearls on a String’ and straight up roadhouse jukebox ‘Tears of Gold’ fit nicely, but it’s the rockers that own the album. ‘Halloweenhead’ is stadium dirt rock that lifts up, lights up, and begs the question, “So is that really a guitar, or has someone been listening to too much ELP?” Not the best song on the album by far, but indicative of the kind of juxtaposition that you expect from an Adams album, but are still surprised when it arrives.
Of course, he runs a gamut of famous guest players, one whom happens to be married to (or divorced from? so hard to keep up these days…) Lance Armstrong. And as usual they are incidental to the music beyond fans proselytizing to the uninitiated that, “he plays with Willie, Sheryl Crow and Emmylou - how can you not respect the guy?” But street cred has to amount to something, and Adams has got plenty of it, both the good and bad kinds. Great to hear him record a new disc with results to back up his rep.
Adams’ fans will hail Easy Tiger as his best to date - it’s close - but anyone not already swayed by ‘Come Pick Me Up’ or ‘A Kiss Before I Go’ will think it more of the same and leave it alone the way they have been since Whiskeytown. Suckers.
Label: Lost Highway
Release Date: June 26, 2007
Rating: 7/10
Dear World,
Superstarcastic has spent the past few days in a ‘frozen state. We have migrated to new web hosting so we can actually handle our growing popularity. Our new hosting provider actually LIKES it when we get lots of traffic, rather than our old provider who would shut us off to penalize us.
We here at Superstarcastic know that you DEPEND on us to bring the best in unpretentious music reviews, and without us you’d have to read some shitty music blog where the authors are just trying to meet band members and get laid.
Thank you for your patience and keep checking back. The next few weeks will have some changes so big you’ll think David Bowie was behind this website.
The Beastie Boys are always getting praise for the unfathomable ability to play 
their own instruments. Even when they’re sampling, they still get props for musicality, so it’s not a really big deal that The Mix-Up is completely instrumental–its only words, spoken or sung, coming from studio banter left in for ‘authenticity’.
Beyond the mere virtue of playing their own music, Beastie Boys also a pretty good band. The Mix-Up is surprisingly tight for what appears to be the result of a few hazy jam sessions spent with some paper-bagged bottles of beer. That’s also its main weakness. There isn’t anything captivating on the disc, and the songs are better suited for background music than anything else the typically anthemic Beastie Boys have done.
But you get the idea that they said, “Fuck it, let the tapes roll,” and that worked to accomplish a nice 12-track groove to peck at, due in no small part to the fine specimens of Hammond Organ playing. Some nice B-3/Leslie Speaker action comes from Beastie pal Monkey Mark, and it gives the album the texture it needs to remain listenable while Yauch, D and Horovitz dick around on the same riff for five minutes.
These are the songs that were always your sleeper-favorites on the other albums - the tasty groove that fleshes out the disc and gives you some time to nod your head and stare at the floor. The cuts sans vox on Ill Communication are the glue that holds the album together, but it’s good that they didn’t swell across the whole disc. These would have been great tracks to release in piecemeal fashion on-line, or through the fan club, but hearing twelve consecutive tracks of this ilk becomes redundant. Consider yourself lucky if your iPod shuffle lands on one of these tracks, but there’s no need to run the album from start to finish.
The ’70s throwback, rootsy rock herein isn’t exactly bold, but constitutes the part of the Beastie’s canon that sets them saliently apart from their peers, even if it drones on for an hour. Best enjoyed one track at a time, The Mix-Up amounts to an hour-long sonic recreation of walking into a party and being recognized by some babe across the room.
Label: Capitol
Release Date: June 26, 2007
5/10
There’s a sense, I think, in which guitars are kind of like gingersnaps: they both have a certain magic to them when they’re nice and crunchy.
Chicago’s The Red Tie Affair are a band that understands this. Their particular brand of angular rock is heavy on gloriously crunchy guitars playing riffs that fit together as precisely as the links in a chain fence. It’s a sound that’s reminiscent of some of the older “emo” bands (they kind of remind me of Mineral in places, though you can tell their songs apart), but without the affectation that’s made the genre a punchline over the last several years. It’s just a guess, but I don’t think you’ll see them break down in tears halfway through their setlist.
But if the overall texture is like a chain-link fence, lead singer Brooke Blary’s voice cuts through it all like one of those as-seen-on-TV Amazing Ginsu 2000 knives. (I’ve always wanted one of those, by the way; you never know when your life is going to depend on your ability to cut through a three-inch metal pipe or a handful of rusty nails — feats that are impossible for ordinary knives.) She’s got a powerful instrument, sort of like a hybrid between Cristina Scabbia and that girl who sings for The Donnas, and she uses it to inject a measure of passion into the music that really raises it to another level. I’ve not seen her or the rest of The Red Tie Affair before, but they seem like the sort of singer and group that would be very good live.
Which, of course, is yet another reason that I’m heading up to Superstarcastival on June 2nd, something that I can’t recommend to you highly enough. In the meantime, their myspace page features three songs from their album Photographs and Broken Glass, that should tide you and the rest of the proletariat over, at least until that great day arrives. “Don’t Even” is my favorite, I think, (and it’s downloadable!) but all three of them are quite good, and worth a listen or several.
