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I’ve seen this V-Cast commercial a few times tonight, in which a guy meets a girl, who asks him what music he has on his phone. They end up falling in love, getting married, having kids, and growing old together, all the while, still listing what music he has on his phone. Presumably, he’s talking for at least 50 years. But he starts his list with Alanis Morissette. For someone who has enough music to talk for 50 years, wouldn’t he at least have AC/DC? He couldn’t start at Al-, right?
It’s official. September 12. Fall 2008. Death Magnetic. Brand new Metallica.
Hearing the new album title is much like learning the title of the newest Harry Potter months in advance so as to ponder its contents. “Death Magnetic” does not fit linguistically with the previous albums, “old” and “new.” It’s not a phrase, like “Ride The Lightning” or “…And Justice For All.” It’s not a double entendre, like “Load” or “ReLoad.” It’s most god-lovedly not a deity or a revamped city name like “St. Anger,” …at least let’s hope to Christ it’s not. “Death Magnetic” is something new.
There is one HUGE and GOOD significantly different aspect of this album. Rick Rubin holds the responsibility of producing it. You know Rick Rubin. I know you do. He’s responsible for some of the most amazing albums put out by a small army of bands…including Slayer, The Mars Volta, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Public Enemy, System of a Down, Rage Against the Machine, Johnny Cash, and Slipknot, for God’s sake.
For those that don’t know, the original Metallica producer was Paul Curcio for Kill ‘Em All. Flemming Rasmussen took the reigns from Ride The Lightning to ‘Justice. Rasmussen basically just gave Metallica freedom in the studio and let them do what they did naturally. From there, the infamous Bob Rock took the artisic overseeing helm of Producer/Desecrater/Manipulator/Shit-Tizer-Of Metallica. He brought the market to the eyes of the then up-and-coming metal gods. He took the “fuck you, mainstream” vibe of Metallica’s natural sound and threw it a bit by adding none other than…a mainsteam vibe. Metallica hit sextuple platinum record sales with the new sound and decided to stick with it. Thank you Bob Fucking Rock. They guys haven’t been the same since.
It’s not like they never tried to change that. After the departure of Jason Newsted in 2000 and the battle with Napster by drummer Lars Ulrich, therapy was what Metallica thought they needed. They also made the…new age?… decision to let their therapy be filmed. While interesting to see a rich megaband’s weakest moments and commemorate the balls (or lack of, however you respond to it) of the band to allow it, it was a snuffing glimpse for many metal-heads. The horrendous result of the therapy sessions was none other than the bathroom break of St. Anger that knocked even die-hards to their fuckin’ knees.
Rick Rubin’s utter wonder of a history in music suggests good things not only could be but should be in store for the new album. Surely Rubin knocked some sense back into the aging metal legends, right? The rumors are that Metallica is bringing it back to the old-school on this new album. This could be from the leadings-on that Rubin is doing much the same type of overseeing that Rasmussen did; letting Metallica do their thing…not allowing a sweater-donned therapist tell a metal band how to create. Let’s all hope for the love of hope itself that that is the case.
If Death Magnetic kicks some old-school ass, it could be a new beginning for Metallica. If it’s another shit-sandwich, a term Ulrich is fond of using, it’ll probably be the last thing we’ll ever hear from the metal behemoth.
Lollapalooza ‘08, as of print time, is just four hours old, and you are not there because…
1) Ticket prices were too high due to insufficient corporate sponsorship
Sure gas prices are a bitch this summer, but tickets… whew! How can we be expected to pony up $200 for three days of music unless AT&T, Budweiser, and friends lend a bigger hand and put their names in more nooks and crannies? Write your Congressman and as him to vote for more endorsements to help make tickets more affordable. Outright selfish.
2) Everyone there is just like you.
The experience will remind you that everyone else will also blog out it for weeks to come, likes the same bands as you, and has at least three songs they’ve recorded on GarageBand sitting in their computer at home just waiting to be uploaded to myspace.
3) You’re too old for this.
You won’t admit it, but even during the first three years that you did go to Lollapalooza, you wished you were at home with a margarita that didn’t cost a week’s pay, air conditioning and predictability. You went so you didn’t have to avoid eye contact w/ friends who would come back the next day and say, “Oh, I saw [this band], and [that band], and [this other band] rocked…”. But don’t worry - they secretly wanted to stay home all along, just like you.
4) You’re too young for this.
This isn’t a Phish show, so don’t expect to walk into Grant Park and magically get high, or find some dude hocking pot brownies and rough crispies. That’s what you go to shows for anyway, so stay at home and don’t burn through the political capital you have w/ your parents… you’ll need it when they find your poorly hidden stash.
5) You don’t know any of the bands there.
Wait, that was Pitchfork… you mean…
5) It’s not indie enough.
You’ve seen Wilco before, so who cares? No one over 21 really likes the Raconteurs anyway. It’s just too mainstream.
So that’s why you’re at home wondering what you and your friends are going to do tonight. Maybe a Lollapalooza after-party! But that’s kind of lame seeing as how you didn’t go to the party in the first place. Fuck you.
Rock ‘n’ Roll High School is the greatest movie of all-time. Okay, maybe it’s no Godfather or Dark Knight. But it’s fucking awesome. My DVD of the movie is almost completely scratched from overuse. It’s perfect. I won’t argue that there’s anything…well, smart…about it, but it just doesn’t get old (even though the movie itself is very dated). I could go on about how in love I am with Riff Randell, or the whole rock music defeats tyranny (and mice) angle, but of course, the one thing that’s really important about the movie is the Ramones. If you take out the Ramones, the movie would be nothing.
Of course, the news sweeping the internet is that Howard Stern is backing a remake of Rock ‘n’ Roll High School. I have a little soft spot for Stern since he was at my college graduation (his daughter was in my class), so I don’t want to really bash him. But the important question (after “why?”) is who will replace the Ramones? There’s really no one who can do it. It’s important to note that the Ramones were never the first choice for the movie, which was originally planned as Disco High, so the remake could very easily be made without a punk band (hopefully, not with a disco band, either). But, not only did the Ramones perfectly fit the movie’s stupid-but-awesome theme, they’re the type of band that could lead a rebellion. They don’t fuck around, they just get right to business. Their attacks are quick and overwhelming. And they had already hit the Billboard Top 50 by the time the movie was released. What, in today’s pop culture, can replace that?
A rapper seems fitting (although, I don’t know which one, Nas seems like he wants to revolt), but it’s hard to imagine Howard Stern wanting to stray away from the whole rock ‘n’ roll aspect. Jay Reatard could work, but who has heard of Jay Reatard? The Hold Steady has hit the top 30, but they’re not appropriate for high school. My guess: a reunited Rage Against the Machine. If they don’t just have a bunch of kids listening to Rocket to Russia and deciding to defeat their al Qaeda run school. What do you think?
Sure the warbling voice is frustrating, but are Bright Eyes and Conor Oberst irredeemable beyond the bleating vocals? Frankly, I couldn’t get past Oberst’s contrived sincerity in time to listen closely to the music or the words he was yodeling as Bright Eyes, so Conor Oberst’s solo album was my first real study of his work. I was ready for some hating, but then…
The first track played through and it’s really good. ‘Cape Canaveral’ wouldn’t stand up under academic poetic analysis for hanging on the same rhyme scheme for four stanzas, but it’s a mature and evocative love letter to thinkers that Oberst admires for being out of reach and also deep in the psyche. I’m absolutely hooked on this number. Bastard.
And just like the better moments of Bright Eyes cause me to say, “Maybe I’m missing something because [this one track] is kinda sweet,” the opening solo number suggested that the worst is over. But there is an entire album that follows…
In this era there is a different criteria by which we judge rock, and tracks 2-12 remind me what a bunch of pussies are the curs who have claimed the throne of rock ‘n roll. Conor Oberst, unlike the oft-compared Bob Dylan, is not of a lineage of men who fought with their battle axes the way to the top; who snarled their way to glory; who fucked to immortality. The new crew, of whom Oberst is a ringleader, can’t be bothered to put up their dukes, lest they spill some wine on their pants while posing as rockers. And unlike our forefathers and foremothers of Rock who demanded (and got) sex and drugs, these insouciants are begging to get laid. In that way, I guess rock ‘n roll is still about getting chicks, at least…
Back to Conor’s music…
Oberst hints at but fails to land the bulls-eye of Bon Iver’s facile moments of quiet underscore. So he takes a rocker’s stance, right? He doesn’t exactly do that either. Some advice to disregard: If you’re going to rock then rock, or just relax and quit the half-assery! He even sings it straight until track 6 ‘I Don’t Want to Die (In the Hospital)’ when someone handed him a working jackhammer during the vocal takes. Vibratory urgency aside, it all feels stiff where ‘Canaveral’ is slick. From loud to soft to adult contemporary, the album (sans excellent track 1) goes from track to track w/o a single emotional groundswell or a ballzy moment that doesn’t fall as flat a that one racist joke you once told when the black guy from accounting came up silently behind you during the punch line.
Forget relaxing to Conor Oberst, but I’m more ready for bed than ready to rock. The fans will love this shit because most are men who also beg for sex, or women that fall for it. Despite (or because of) my bandmates’ attempts to get me to dig this guy, I fail to see the imperfections as the sycophants do, that is, as genius. To my credit, I might add.
Merge Records
August 5, 2008
M.I.A. is a dirty dirty sellout. Never mind that she is ostensibly retired from performing, there is absolutely no reason to listen to her again, and her albums should be stricken from the historical record.
Alas, that is not possible. Many people, perhaps one or two of the readers of this blog, have listened to and professed to liking her albums. And now, thanks to Judd Apatow and Seth Rogen, she’s a pop sensation. So, you, with your superior musical knowledge, will inevitably be asked if you have listened to M.I.A. This will put you in a very tricky situation. You can’t say no, lest you lose yor well-deserved feeling of superiority. But if you simply say yes, you will admit that you listen to something the masses listen to, and that just isn’t possible. You’re better than them! Your response must reflect that. So, here is a guide that hopefully will allow you to deftly answer this question.
First, you must display a wry smile. A small, quick chuckle would also be appropriate. “Yeah, I listen to Ms. Arulpragasam,” you start, with a weary tone to your voice. Make sure you don’t confuse M.I.A.’s given surname with that of Iranian President Mahmoud Ahminedjad. Nor do you actually say “M.I.A.” Quickly, you correct yourself. “Or, I used to.”
Your counterpart will surely have a quizzical look on his or her face. So, you’ll elaborate, “Her first album, Arular, was incredible. It was so real. It dealt with living in a state of extreme poverty and constant war. Her dad was in the Tamil Tigers, you know (you don’t know. I didn’t until I googled it just now. And I’m still not sure. Just go with it.). She’s much more of a gangsta rapper than someone like fuckin’ (insert contemporary gangsta rapper). Arular combined punk and electropop and Britpop and…” Now your voice will trail off. Shake your head and mutter, “it was unreal.”
Here’s where things get tricky. Her second album, Kala, wasn’t any worse (or so I’m told. I never actually listened to either album. Not really my style. But I digress). But “Paper Planes” was on the album. So say something like, “And Kala was great too. But they fucking (pronounce the g) censored it. ‘Paper Planes,’ you know, the song from the commercial, had these gunshots in them. Of course, the shithead suits didn’t like that. And now it’s in that fuckin’ commercial.” As you can tell, the level of profanity will rise exponentially as you get away from actually talking about the music.
At this point, you should have a diatribe prepared about how capitalism is ruining art. Something like, “She was explaining the awful conditions in Sri Lanka. And now she’s being used to shill stoner movies. Movies made by men who don’t care about the poor, and if they ever saw someone like Ms. Arulpragasam before she became famous, they would just walk right by them, not even stopping for a second. What a disgrace.” (You can also go into how great Freaks and Geeks was here also).
By now, the other member of the conversation, if he or she is still around, will regret even asking the question. You will have retained your elitist status, even if you, like me, haven’t listened to it. And if you have (which you probably should, people seemed to really like it), you can talk about how it made you feel or how you couldn’t stop singing it or something like that. There is only one way to end the conversation, however:
“Santogold is so much better anyway.”
