Goff's Pick of the Week- More Lights by Primal Scream

There is nothing that impresses me more in music then a band that can put out good records continually. In a world of internet upstarts and overnight explosions in popularity that fizzle out as quickly as they came; bands like Spiritualized, Sonic Youth, Destroyer, and Belle & Sebastian prove to be slow burns that deliver untold listening pleasure. Primal Scream is also one of those bands.  For the most part it is the lifelong dedication to music that harbors the most rewarding of musical experiences for the fans, and fans of the 1991 breakout classic Screamadelica have no doubt continued to find things in Primal Scream’s discography that have kept them coming back for more and more. More Light is no exception. It is, if nothing else a continuation of the party that Primal Scream started twenty two years ago, and while other bands have released classics and then have been unable to find that same magic again (I am looking at you Guided by Voices) Primal Scream proves that they still deserve to occupy some of your headspace.

The appropriately titled first song on More Light is called 2013, and in case you were wondering what Primal Scream might sound like if they were to release an album twenty two years after Screamadelica More Light is a very good place to start. Everything about that track is obvious, its name and its sound. Of course Primal Scream were never really known for their subtlety.  To me More Light sounds like something that a fan could have thought up and wrote, that is not to say that it is a bad album, not at all. The record just feels far more like extrapolation as opposed to innovation. Where fans of Loveless would have an impossible time imagining what m b v would sound like, Primal Scream fans would have a less difficult time of it. But really that’s okay. There is nothing wrong with a band delivering what the audience expects, and while surprises on More Light are few and far between, there is enough ingenuity and really strong songwriting to keep pretty much any audience satisfied. And while an opening track called 2013 is a little obvious they can get away with it, because after all they are Primal Scream. 

 

One thing I love about bands like Primal Scream, bands that have their fingers to the pulses of American music and hover on the edge of genres outside of their own, mainly electronic music, is that after making music for nearly twenty five years you can clearly follow the development of said electronic music over time. Where Screamadelica was written for the children of the rave, More Light is undoubtedly an album for our generation, made to be listened to at whatever it is dance parties are called these days. And while I can’t really see any of the tracks on More Light actually getting playtime at any run of the mill bar and/or dance establishment, a few of the tracks feel like they come close and you can certainly feel the influence of dance music and modern production techniques on the record. Having such influence on a record really shows that the band is trying, as opposed to say U2 who haven’t changed their sound since Joshua Tree. Call it a reinterpretation a reconstruction or whatever you will, Primal Scream know what they are doing.

On More Light most of the innovation comes in the form of unique drum beats, interesting electronic noises, distorted horn sections and of course the lyrics. Highlights from the album prove to be the tracks with the most things going on. And while that type of album makes me feel like if the band had only taken their sound a bit further it would have resulted in music that was that much better, the music is satisfying enough that any listener could hardly ask for more without coming across as greedy or ungrateful. Overall More Light is a very solid release, certainly one that adds something to the Primal Scream discography. While it may not pop up on many end of the year lists, it certainly was worth listening to. Oh and if you haven’t heard Screamadelica, you are wasting your time reading this. Go do that right now. Right now. Go.

Goff's Pick of the Week- Obsidian by Baths

I remembered liking Cerulean, Baths first release, when it came out back in the day. In fact, it was one of the first electronic albums that I really got into. Minimalist, danceable, and with more glitches then the PS3 version of Skyrim its no wonder I liked it and still listen to it now. Obsidian is those things as well, but in a very different way. If I were writing a review of Cerulean right now there are two words that might not appear at all in that post, or at the very least I wouldn’t use them until the last paragraph. But it’s not, and in Obsidian’s review I am going to use those two words in the first paragraph. Those words are Will Wiesenfeld, the name of the guy behind Baths. There is no getting around it, Wiesenfeld’s latest outing is a personal affair, and while the chasm between his releases is wide, it’s a gap worth jumping with gusto Evel Knievel style.

Despite being comprised of love songs and barely having any words, Baths previous music managed to be incredibly varied in tone. Aminals was cute, Maximalist was optimistic, You’re My Excuse to Travel was sad, and the music underneath was consistently good. And the glitch! Oh the glitch. Glitch was a sign that everything was working just fine. On Obsidian glitch is bad; not that Wiesenfeld forgot how to produce well, but rather he uses glitch as a device to create tension in the songs as opposed to using it as the whole song. Most of the tracks, even those with really cut up drum beats, have at least some non-cut up instrument behind them, whether it be a lone piano or violins and other string instruments. Its different for certain, but the listener gets the sense that Wiesenfeld has really matured in terms of his production skills...

...and in content as well. Obsidian is dark; duh, that just makes good sense. It’s like they are still love songs, just written by a man whose idea of love has drastically changed. Or possibly Wiesenfeld felt this way all along and only now feels confident enough with his music to write songs openly about it. Whichever the case is, the record comes off as very personal and very dark. Even songs that probably aren’t directly about Wiesenfeld come across as personal sounding, something about their presentation makes them take the form of confessions. The last song doesn’t even have words but still manages to feel like it is trying to say something and we the listeners are left to pick up the pieces. Making an album like that is gutsy, to borrow a line from Maximalist, “it takes a lot of courage to go out there and radiate your essence.” Wiesenfeld does it very well, and when you are a producer like he is, good production will always trump lyrics in terms of importance. That is not to say that the lyrics are bad. Far from it, I just mean that if you are not looking to be bummed out by the music you are listening to Obsidian is still worth a listen.

Oh and the singing! The singing is worth mentioning. Cerulean almost felt sacrilegious in the way that Wiesenfeld put his voice on the record.  There was just something a little bit weird about someone who is clearly billing themselves as a producer to be singing on their records without featuring a single other artist. Just imagine if Burial tried that, you can’t because you don’t know what Burial sounds like. Wiesenfeld’s voice is weird, not the type of thing that you could hear and immediately think was good, but like I already said it works. The vocals on Obsidian feel very natural, and I give credit to anyone who can make the transition from guy who doesn’t sing to guy who does. Obsidian is a good album.  It might be unbearably sad, but there is a touch of hope on it and a few danceable numbers. What more can you really ask for?

Goff's Pick of the Week- m b v by My Bloody Valentine

Could I have written this post back in February when m b v was first released? No I could not, though let me tell you I desperately wanted to. I wanted to sit down and listen to m b v, I really did, but for a cacophony reasons it alluded me. Mainly it was apprehension that did me in though, the same apprehension to a lesser extent that kept Kevin Shields out of the studio for twenty plus years I imagine. Would it be good? Would it be the same? I wasn’t sure, and these things in all honesty dissuaded me from listening to the music. On top of that I knew I would never be able to give the record the fair listen it deserved right when it came out, so here I am over two months later writing about it finally. I take a breadth and push play.

Have you played Bioshock Infinite? I am not sure, but if you have recall back to the very beginning. Booker DeWitt straps himself down into a chair and is sent rocketing into the sky. Tension is high, Booker loses hold of his gun, his only sense of security and he is left strapped to a flying chair. Then he sees Columbia, both the city and the statue that comprises its center, the monotone voice announcing altitude coarsely utters a hallelujah. That moment reminds me of what it was like to first listen to m b v. Its first song, She Found Now seems takes you by the hand and whisper into your ear that it’s going to be okay, Kevin Shields does a solid job of reassuring the listener. It does more than that, though. The cooing vocals also seem to eulogize and who or what is in the coffin is left deliciously ambiguous. Is it something literal, something or someone who is alluded to in the lyrics? Perhaps, but as the lyrics are barely audible in true My Bloody Valentine fashion to that we can only guess. Rather I imagine it is the twenty two years of lost time being mourned over, the sanity that Kevin Shields seems to have abandoned but regained, the loss of self, and yes, the loss of the imagination.

 By that I mean that before m b v, the follow up to Loveless could have been anything. The possibilities were limitless and m b v is perhaps the album that has been written the most times by many an idle fan crafting the record in their heads. But no more, and to think that Shields bids a last farewell to what could have been is a rather poetic notion. Enough imagining, Shields seems to say, here is what you have all been waiting for.

He delivers. I don’t really think that there could be a My Bloody Valentine fan that does not like m b v. This has proven to be a difficult review to write, not only for the previously mentioned reasons but also because there is only one other album to compare this one to, and its Loveless. M b v is not as good as Loveless, but that should not matter. What does matter is that the record is strikingly different from Loveles. I would even go as far to say that m b v is more varied than Loveless; richer in sound and more well rounded in terms of the production. And while all of it works it never quite is as brilliant as its predecessor, but really is it fair to mention any album in the same breath as Loveless? Still, it is a darn good record. If m b v had come out during the 1990’s it very well could have been considered better than Loveless purely for the quality of the production.

And of course the songwriting is as good as ever. What surprised me most about m b v is how much early My Bloody Valentine is present on the record. Certainly the drowned out sounds of the early nineties wins the day, but there is a little bit of late eighties, pre-Isn’t Anything thrown in there that is refreshing and works well in contrast with their regular sound, a sound that by no means sounds stale after sitting on the shelf for two decades. One of the things I liked most of Loveless was how undecipherable the words were. I found myself screaming out lyrics that I thought were in the song without really caring what the real words were. The lyrics on m b v are still fairly incomprehensible, but I didn’t find myself striving to come up with my own lyrics. Does that say anything about the quality of the record? Probably it does not.

            All things aside, m b v is a record that stands great on its own but will never get the chance to do so. And while it’s no Loveless, m b v almost has more lore associated with it, it was after all probably the most anticipated album of all time, right next to the follow ups to Madvilliany and Since I Left You (balls in your court DOOM/The Avalanches). It’s a shame then that the music is impossible to listen to without bias, because really it deserves that, Kevin Shields deserves that. Certainly m b v answers questions, most notably what a follow up to Loveless would sound like, but also it raises plenty of its own. It makes me wonder, and at the end of the day that makes it all the more worthwhile.

Goff's Pick of the Week- Modern Vampires of the City by Vampire Weekend

 

There has always been a sense of childish mirth associated with Vampire Weekend. Their self-titled debut was a folly, albeit an extremely well written one; fit for parties with chandeliers champagne and vests as opposed to the cheap beer flannel affairs that often are associated with reality. They were perhaps the most pretentious sounding band at large, and it worked because that is what Vampire Weekend were trying to do, that was what Vampire Weekend was all about. Of course Contra saw them grow up a bit, the whole album felt very well rehearsed, like a well planned outfit saved for Saturday night in comparison to Friday night’s spontaneous rags, and to stick with that metaphor next comes Sunday, and with it Modern Vampires of the City. Is the Vampire Weekend trilogy a coming of age story? Absolutely it is, but not for the band alone; rather for us, the alternative culture that Vampire Weekend very much has had a hand in shaping. For the first time in their career Vampire Weekend is not trying to beat you over the head with how clever they are, and boy does it make them sound clever.

Modern Vampires of the City is by far the most fleshed out consistent album Vampire Weekend has put out to date. I had always applauded their first album for its consistency, but that record doesn’t stand up quite as well as it used to. It really makes we question their debut, something that happens pretty much every time a band puts out an album that is undoubtedly better than the one you fell in love with a few years back, a feeling ever the more efficacious because of the themes of Modern Vampires. When you make an album that is a de facto reset, a burning of the Saab so to speak that attacks what you have previously been all about it better well be better than what you are leaving behind, and Vampire Weekend really nailed it. Could they have made another preppy record like Contra? Probably not, and while that may well be what fans would have preferred, Modern Vampires is good enough for no one to care that its different. 

The songwriting. The songwriting on Modern Vampires is so much more than what Vampire Weekend had previously put out. Sure, the band had hinted at greater themes than prep, like the undeniably poetic “Here comes a feeling you thought you’d forgotten,” of Horchata, but still they hid behind the obscure Spanish drink reference. Here they drop those references as the main vehicle of the songs, and while there are a few precocious allusions they don’t dominate the writing. It just feels so much more adult, where the first album felt like it was written by a guy who got into an Ivy league school, this new one feels like it was written by that same guy who now maybe doesn’t care where he went to college, or maybe even is ashamed of the advantages that come with the money in his pockets. Modern Vampire is regretful for certain, but not for us the listener. There is no regret associated with buying the album, and it very well may be one of the best reviewed albums come end of the year time. Without a doubt, the gutsy direction that Vampire Weekend chose paid off for them, the record is likely as rewarding to listen to as I’m sure it will be for them to have made.

Goff's Pick of the Week- I Get Wet by Andrew W.K.

 

I wanted to write a comparison piece. It has been ten years since Andrew W. K. released his partying opus I Get Wet, and I thought I would take the opportunity to compare his works, his personality, and his love affair with the party to other artists. But then I came to a startling conclusion, that really there weren’t any artists that in comparison did him justice. Sure, could I compare W.K.’s love of partying with a sonnet maybe, or a rococo painting that captures the unrelenting desire of its creator? Probably. Could I have contrasted Andrew’s desire to get down with obsession, perhaps through the lens of Ahab in Moby Dick or of Jimmy Stewart’s character in Hitchcock’s Vertigo? Again probably, even the idea of taking the character Party Pat from Adventure Time and chalking him up beside W.K. was a possibility, but those comparisons would not have sufficed. They would have left too many questions unanswered, taking that approach, never would I be able to get at the true enigma that is Andrew W.K.. At the heart of this riddle is a simple question, who is the man behind the mask? Two more questions, is there a mask at all? A man? I don’t know, but here we will explore those issues, in the guise of a review of I Get Wet. So without further adieu let’s get a party going party hard party hard.

First I conceive of party. Is party a religion? Is party a metaphor, an allegory, some sort of zen philosophy, a metaphysical conceit, a reflection on our times, all of these things? Is it party to think about and review music? I have no answers, only Andrew W.K. has answers and he plays them on a guitar shaped like pizza. One of the central questions that I have about party is whether or not its any fun, every image I have of Andrew W.K. seems to suggest that it is. He hovers about, all clad in white (that’s not a literary device or anything W.K. only ever wears white), with a smile that can only be described as goofy. Every picture, the exact same smile, every picture except for one, and ironically it’s the photo that dons the cover of I Get Wet. A bloodied W.K. looks like a fighter retreating to his corner, a horny teenager from a monster movie slasher, or yeah a guy who partied way to hardy. I stare into his distant and seemingly empty eyes and think maybe party isn’t worth it. That cover is like a window, a reflection of the partier who, too involved in what they are doing, does not realize that their dis-contentedness is written on their face. Or maybe not, W.K.’s idealistic take on partying seems in direct contrast with that notion, that cover. Is it instead some commentary on how the world of party is under attack? Is the message one of resilience in the face of adversity as opposed to the previously postulated one of defeat? More questions, and never have the answers seemed further. I party on.

The face of a genius?

 A fighter retreating to his corner, a horny teenager from a monster movie slasher, a guy who partied way to hardy. It’s not hard to imagine W.K. in any of those roles. The only role I find it difficult to picture W.K. in is normalcy. An avid pinball enthusiast, all white clothes even after Labor Day, the pizza guitar, hosting a show on Cartoon Network, these elements don’t add up. I cant think of a single person in history or fiction who’s tastes are as eclectic, as diffuse, as appealing, as weird as W.K.’s are. Call it art, call it a joke, Andrew W.K. has devoted his life to something that is as impossible to understand as it is to describe, and whether you prescribe to party or not that is pretty admirable. W.K. falls into a vapid category of people who are more idea than people, but what that idea is and what its limits are is anyone’s guess. 

So how is I Get Wet, how is the music? Eh, it’s okay. Many things have been said about the record, like that it is the crappiest album ever, that it is stupid, juvenile, jejune, sophomoric, you get the picture. While those descriptors do have some truth to them, writing the album off as bad music is a clear showing of ignorance. The record is more of an art piece, and it demands to be thought of as such to fully be appreciated. This is a very strange sentiment because most art pieces end up being more fun to think about then listen to, I Get Wet is a rare mixture of both. I have often heard of modern art described as being a race to the bottom, an attempt to depict something as sublime as say The Mona Lisa without actually putting that much work into it, instead making the observer do the work. Andrew W.K. very well may have won that race, and I Get Wet is as good a Mona Lisa as they come, ambiguous smile on the cover and all. It’s like a bad movie e.g. The Room or Jesus Christ Vampire Hunter, come in for a laugh, leave with a new appreciation on life. Movies like those are very endearing, as is I Get Wet, push play and camaraderie ensues, it is almost easier to love them for their flaws than for what they do right. 

It is true, party may not be for everyone, and likewise I Get Wet. In fact the only person party may truly be fit for is W.K. himself. I Get Wet serves as a window into his world, a world where party is on hot and cold tap, a world were sleep is death and the week only has two days. It is a kinder, gentler world I think, and whether W.K. is its master or its slave I cannot be certain. What I do know is this; Andrew W.K. is out there somewhere. He is wearing a white shirt and white jeans. He is smiling, and yes he is partying, party hard party hard.