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Songs For Socks: A Three Hour Tour

In the spirit of the 18-inning marathon the other night between the Sox and hated Dodgers, as well as an equally epic recent show, I thought I’d drop in with a soundtrack for Socks to close out your weekends. The latter individual accompanied me to said show, the latest appearance of ever-prolific fave Guided by Voices, who amazingly played my favorite venue in town and dropped another near-three hour, fifty song fun bomb on the crowd. They sounded great as always — and who’s going to complain about getting nearly 180 minutes of music in a room as cozy as your living room? (assuming of course it’s not something dreadful like The Chainsmokers or Imagine Dragons) — but it wasn’t a home run like usual. The difference this time was in how they sequenced the show, opting to frontload a lot of new stuff at the top — including multiple songs from the THREE ALBUMS the band plans to release next year, let alone the two they’ve released in the past year — which kept the energy lower than normal as the crowd waited to hear something they recognized.

This isn’t a knock on the quality of the newer material — in particular songs like “My Future in Barcelona” and “Cohesive Scoops” sounded pretty great — it’s just that thanks to the relentless pace of the band’s releases, it’s virtually impossible to keep up and connect with everything they put out. Normally the band will sandwich new stuff between some old favorites, allowing the crowd to sing along to the songs they know while appreciating the unfamiliar in smaller doses. For whatever reason they changed things up that night, with frontman Bob Pollard (aka “Robert Fucking Pollard” as the shirt someone from the crowd gifted him said) kept telling the crowd it was going to be like a fireworks show where all the hits would come at the end (after also reminding folks several times the band HAD no “hits,” which outside of chart position and name recognition I would strongly disagree with).

That got me to thinking about Socks and other noobs in the crowd who might be seeing the band for the first time and missing what makes them so great. The value and technical skill shine through (because again — three hours, fifty-plus songs for guys who can rip when they want to is nothing to sneeze at), but burying the best stuff til the end might not make the best case. It’s sort of like showing up to a first date in cargo pants and ordering seltzer and a side salad (both things wifey did on ours) — you might be obscuring your best qualities and making the other person work a little harder to see them than you should in a first impression.

That’s where I come in — because I love this band so much and because I think it’s nearly impossible with someone as prolific as they are to not find SOMETHING you like in their holdings — I came up with what my setlist would be if I were king for a day. (Which I’m sure will happen any day now…) That way the Sockses of the world can get a better sense of what these guys can do and maybe fall for them like I did. (Just like I did my cargo-wearing wife.) Because these guys are really good — as I’ve written before, despite needing an editor from time to time (a position I will gladly fill if asked), they go from sounding like the Who and Kinks one minute to Stone Temple Pilots, Neutral Milk Hotel, and REM the next, all without sounding hackneyed or cliched. And with close to thirty albums and hundreds of songs under their belt — a quantity that would impress regardless of the commensurate quality (honestly, seeing them live and play songs called out from the crowd, I’m amazed they remember the music for so many songs, let alone Bobbo remembering all the words) — there’s a lot to like.

So give it a spin and see what you think. I treated it like a setlist and not a greatest hits list, and therefore folded in stuff from Bobbo’s side projects (mainly the Boston Spaceships), songs sung by other members of the group (vs just those by Uncle Bob), and some covers, and tried to capture a little bit of everything — the polished and the raw, the rippers and the retro, the new stuff and the classics. I kept it in line with a regular GBV show (ie the fifty-odd song, three hour range) and thus inevitably left a ton of great stuff out, but there should be more than enough here to pique your interest and show you a good time. Soft, loud, pretty, weird, I tossed em all in and tried to build to a crescendo, leaving you with your fist in the air and ready to take the day. (Just like I hope the Sox do tonight…) So Socks, here you go — THIS is Guided by Voices…

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We’ll close with a couple one offs from the past few weeks, just to keep the party going. First up is the latest single from Run the Jewels, who tossed a track out for the recent Venom movie, “Let’s Go (The Royal We).” Thankfully the song sounds better than the movie looks (despite the excellent Tom Hardy starring) and it finds Mike and El still in top form. Nothing new or crazy here, just hard hitting beats and lyrics from the pair as always. They’re allegedly in the midst of recording their fourth album, so hopefully we don’t have long to wait for more. In the meantime, give it a listen here:

Next we’ve got the product of another collaboration, this time mega-DJ Diplo, producer Labrinth, and pop star Sia, as the collective LSD. The trio released a mini-EP last month with three songs, one of which is the relentlessly catchy “Thunderclouds.” The other two tracks were a bit underwhelming to me, but this one is a hands-down winner, particularly the stuttering “HEY-EY-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooo!” hooks that get lodged in my brain for hours every time I hear it. Pretty good time at the shopping mall — give it a spin and see how resistant you are:

Last up is the surprise reappearance of half the legendary Daft Punk, this being Frenchbot Thomas Bangalter who resurfaced with a short set masquerading as a single, “Riga (Take 5).” In line with the lengthy spirit of this post, it’s a 14-minute slow burn that, similar to the best stuff from his normal act, relentlessly builds towards an explosion. Recorded last year for the film of the same name (a small Latvian film apparently, so don’t beat yourself up for not having heard of it), Bangalter cut this in one take, which is pretty impressive and reminds you of how amazing their live sets were. (In contrast to a lot of the electro crap now, which is all pre-programmed, pre-recorded bullshit.) It sounds just like Daft and gets you moving just the same, which is never a bad thing. Hopefully there’s more to come (either from him or the duo) in the near future. See what you think here:

That’s it for now — until next time, amici…

–BS

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Macarons, Stones, and the Kings of the Dirty South

Thought I’d kick off the long weekend by giving the country what it’s clamoring for, three days of rest and more idle thoughts from yours truly. First thing to highlight was the quiet passing of a legend this week, that of the French Frank Sinatra, Charles Aznavour. I stumbled on Aznavour years ago, hearing him playing at some anonymous spot during my travels and immediately falling for his voice, a rich, warm croon that oozed class, charm, and a time long forgotten. Similar to Sinatra in all those regards, he was equally prolific, releasing dozens of albums over his decades long career.

He sang predominantly in French, but also recorded songs in Italian, German, and Spanish, and while I often have no idea what he’s saying, as I wrote last week regarding the Lizard, that really doesn’t matter. (The one and only time Aznavour has ever been compared to Jesus Lizard in his 65 year career.) You sense what he’s after and feel the emotion in the music, which is often as (if not more) powerful as understanding the words. There’s loads to like (his 40 Chansons d’Or album is a good starting point), but one of my favorites has always been “A Ma Fille,” which is like a time capsule to another era. Luxuriant, lovely, and instantly familiar, it draws you in like a warm bowl of your grandma (or meme’s, in this case) stew. Give it a listen here:

Next comes another pair of anniversary albums, reminding me (yet again) I am O.A.F. (and also that I’ve got pretty good taste). First up is an article from Stereogum on the 20th anniversary of beloved Queens of the Stone Age’s self-titled debut, which does a good job recounting how the band formed from the wreckage of frontman Josh Homme’s outfit of sludge rocking outlaws, Kyuss. Similar to that band, early era Queens was a family affair, a rotating roundhouse of members and kicks to the head, centered as always around the red-headed wrecking ball Homme. And while the band has continuously evolved in the intervening years, sometimes in directions that make you long a little for the grit and grime of their earlier efforts, the core elements have remained the same throughout — killer riffs, bludgeoning drums, and an irresistible groove (either to make you dance as on their last album, or to make you rock out as on most others.)

As the article notes, this album remains their most unadulterated — they hadn’t yet added Oliveri’s insanity or Hannegan’s grime (or Grohl’s, and subsequently Jon Theodore’s, demolition derby on drums) — but it shows how powerful those core elements are, still hitting hard 20 years later. I remember sitting in my basement, teaching myself how to play this thing front to back, yowling along in embarrassing “unison” and wishing I could capture a fraction of Homme’s cool. (20 years later that’s still got me like Godot…) Several setlist staples remain from this one — “If Only” and “Mexicola” are perennial favorites, but “You Can’t Quit Me Baby” remains the purest distillation of why this band rules. The slinking, slightly ominous bass line, the building groove of the drums, Homme’s inviting croon, all leading to an eruption at the end that’ll leave you panting and breathless once the dust has settled. It’s vintage Queens, a trick they’ve replicated dozens of times over the years (most recently/satisfyingly on the last album’s “The Evil has Landed”), but it never gets old. Crank this one to 11 and rock out to one of the originals…

Last up is another Stereogum retrospective, this one for the 20th anniversary of Outkast’s classic Aquemini, which as the article recounts is the fulcrum between the classic gangsta lean so wickedly deployed on their first two albums and the weirder, more experimental sounds of their later albums. This one blends both quite well, and at 16 songs, nearly an hour and fifteen minutes long, gives you a lot to enjoy. There’s the more classic sounding “Return of the G,” “Skew it on the Bar-B,” and title track right alongside funkier, stranger songs like “Synthesizer,” “Liberation,” and “Chonkyfire.” And then there’s the monster single “Rosa Parks,” which blends both and somewhat inexplicably was a runaway hit. (Besides the harmonica solo you’d think the cartoonish “BOINK!” that forms the backbone of the beat would be enough to turn people away — and yet this song remains an eminently quotable favorite for folks young and old.)

The article does a good job advocating for the importance of this album, and going back to listen to it it holds up well (“SpottieOttieDopaliscious” is still a sick, sexy little thing), but for my blood the ‘Kast of the first two albums is the one I’ll always love most. I recently watched a documentary on these guys and their producers Organized Noize, and while not a must see affair (note to music documentaries — talking about music in lieu of HEARING said music often isn’t the best way to roll), it was interesting to see the tiny Atlanta house where the Dungeon Family dwelled and hear some stories about the duo cutting their teeth. Case in point was learning that their first single, the permafave “Player’s Ball,” was supposed to be a Christmas song and was released on a compilation CD of other holiday tunes. The guys being who they were, though, thought that was a stupid idea and instead recorded their version of a holiday song, relaying how a bunch of ballers would celebrate while throwing enough allusions to the holiday to appease their label. It’s a great song made all the better by knowing that backdrop, showing both the pair’s creativity and independence. So celebrate the anniversary and give the album another listen, but when you’re done dine on an even older classic and see how many of those references you can catch:

We’ll close with a quickie, the latest single from Thom Yorke’s upcoming Suspiria soundtrack, which I wrote about a few weeks ago. It’s another winner, in line with the previous offering “Suspirium,” slowly slinking along in all its atmospheric glory with Yorke’s lovely voice as its companion. He’s two for two so far, so hopefully he keeps it up (unlike my beloved Cubs who couldn’t hit a baseball if it was the size of a weather balloon lately and thus are done for the year). We’ll find out shortly — in the meantime, give “Has Ended” a listen here:

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Embrace the Whirlwind: Random Offerings from the Windy Shores

It’s been a wild couple of weeks — I successfully survived a weekend in New Jersey (although DID nearly die in a creek in the woods) and another in South Carolina (my kidnappers missed the hurricane by a week or so — NICE try, suckers), spending the remaining time stuck at the office dealing with one crisis after another. Thankfully there were a few musical items of note caught in the nanoseconds available between sleep and work, so in the spirit of the typhoons and hurricanes pummeling various parts of the planet right now, here’s a swirl of songs to sample this Sunday.

First up comes from eighties icons Echo and the Bunnymen who are releasing an album reinterpreting their biggest hits in a couple weeks. It’s an interesting concept — it’s something bands like this naturally do when you see them live. If you’ve got to play the same songs for decades, you inevitably are going to change elements up as you go along so you don’t go insane — but it’s rare to put those changes down officially. It’s the difference between a rub-on tattoo and a sleeve — one’s nice to try on for a while, sorta spice up the day a little, but the other’s a much more lasting commitment. Always the outsiders, the lads are opting for the ink and permanently putting down the products of their playtime, along with a couple new tunes to boot. I’ve heard a couple of the re-envisioned tunes so far and they’re not bad, but odds are I’ll stay with the originals after this much time (no offense, guys). The first original song I’ve heard is pretty good, conjuring the same sweeping feel the band is known for — check out “The Somnambulist” here:

Next comes a lovely cover of Richard Swift’s “Most of What I Know” by Death Cab’s Ben Gibbard. As the faithful eight of you know, Swift recently passed away unexpectedly and a slew of musicians have paid tribute to him in the intervening weeks, including Hamilton Leithauser, Dan Auerbach, and the War on Drugs. Add Gibbard to the list, who took time from promoting his band’s latest album (the pleasant, yet underwhelming Thank You for Today) to perform his tribute, a poignant pick as the refrain of “your love will keep my heart alive” seems apropos. Give it a listen here (and check out Swift’s The Atlantic Ocean for another lovely Sunday spin):

Last up from the softer side of the aisle comes the first single from Radiohead frontman Thom Yorke’s score for the upcoming horror film Suspiria, a remake of the 70s cult classic of the same name. It might seem an odd choice at first — both the movie and who’s soundtracking it — but when you remember Hollywood has no new ideas and just re-purposes every good (and mediocre) idea from previous generations, and that Yorke almost willfully picks projects seemingly intent on alienating his legions of followers (of which I am one), then it makes perfect sense. So I considered it a victory when I heard this first offering and it wasn’t six minutes of robots bleeping and blooping or chainsaws distorted alongside drum machine sounds — there actually were words and a pretty melody. It’s a minor miracle! We’ll see how the rest of the songs sound, but this one’s a winner — just Yorke’s lovely voice atop a delicate piano. Check out “Suspirium” here:

Now it’s time for a walk on the wild side, first with the skatepunks of FIDLAR, who despite being known for hilarious, catchy songs about drugs, drinking, and partying (as written about here before), are back with a pointed swipe at our current situation. Taking a swing at the government, politicians on the left and right, and our obsession with our phones and technology, it’s a surprisingly mature song from the California kids. (Their biggest hit — the fantastic “Cocaine” — sported Ron Swanson running around w/ a boner peeing on things, after all.) It’s a promising step forward, and has a pretty sweet little riff riding along throughout, too, which makes this a double win. See what you think (and watch the Swanson video from my old post for another flavor) here:

Speaking of Kanye (whether you followed that link or not, someone’s ALWAYS talkin’ ’bout ‘Ye so is not a non sequitur), he popped up again this week, thankfully for his music and not for some fool fucking thing he said about Chump (again). This time it’s for a song/video that debuted during the Pornhub awards (which, apparently is a thing? What are the categories — “most convincing groan” and “most creative use of an orifice?”) and it keeps with Kanye’s trend of late of dropping tracks that seem like throwaway thoughts in need of a little polish. As seen on his recent spate of five EPs (NOT albums) in five weeks, sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t, and appropriately this song falls in both camps. The meat of the song, the line “you’re such a fucking ho — I love it” is both stupid and tin-eared in the #metoo era (or just generally if you’re not into the whole “demeaning women” thing), and Lil Pump’s opening verse is similarly weak (though apparently he’s got quite the SoundCloud following, so what do I know). But then Kanye comes in, and despite not dropping any signature lines (four of his first ones are identical), something about his verse gets stuck in your head. (WOOP!) And the video, which looks like an homage to the Talking Heads and Minecraft, is visually interesting, too. So while only two minutes long, built around an idiotic/misogynistic line, and debuting at a porn gala — somehow I can’t get it out of my head. See what it does for you here:

We’ll close with the kings, hometown juggernaut punks The Jesus Lizard, who I miraculously got to catch again last week, which would have been memorable enough after ten years not touring, but the fact that I got to see them in my favorite venue in town, the Cat, made it even better. That the band played nearly thirty songs and sounded incredible, starting with frontman David Yow leaping into the crowd from the opening song and closing with a double encore, made it hands down the best thing I’ve seen this year (and rivals the first time I saw em ten years ago). These guys aren’t for everyone — wifey hates them and I understand why they’re not everyone’s cup of tea — they are loud, heavy, and often involve Yow screaming unintelligibly at the top of his lungs, but they are a force of nature and one of my absolute favorites.

They’re a perfect representation of the principle of the gestalt, a band where every member brings something so singular to the table that when you combine them as one, it’s absolutely devastating. Few bands can say that — another that immediately springs to mind is Sleater-Kinney (who wifey also hates) — but when it happens it’s undeniable. For the Lizard, it’s a potent mixture of Yow’s primal screams (and insane energy live), Duane Denison’s buzzsaw guitars, David Sims’ thundering bass, and Mac McNeilly’s Animalesque smashing of the cans that almost literally bowls you over. There’s nothing like these guys — most punk bands can nail the noise or energy to get you whipped into a frenzy, but do so at the expense of actual melody — something you can grab onto and get stuck in your head, bringing you back for more. It’s the difference between a sportfuck and a relationship — one’s good for three to five minutes of sweaty chaos (or hours, if you’re young/Sting), the other keeps you satisfied for years.

That’s how it is with these guys — they’re sledgehammer heavy, don’t worry about that — but the stuff Denison and Sims (or both) throw out there actually has melody. Whether it’s the guitar riff from “Boilermaker” or the bass line from “Blue Shot.” Or from “Glamorous” and “Monkey Trick.” Or umpteen others. It sounds like music — you can hum it, it’s catchy, you could play a snippet and the Jeopardy! answer would be “What is a song, Alex?” instead of the pointless screaming and shredding of so many other punk/metal bands. These guys are actual musicians — that they’re also loud/heavy AF makes it even better. So while I understand why some of you won’t like em, they have a special place in my heart — ever since I discovered em ten-odd years ago at fan’s night back home, where the audience picked the setlist and I was duly blown away (coincidentally ALSO the night I discovered similarly beloved Built to Spill, so despite being well on my way to a busted engagement at that point and spending the trip there/back in total silence is still a night I look back on as one of the best), these guys always amaze.

Looking up and down the setlist I can’t get over how many good songs they’ve got (and honestly can’t think of m/any they missed), but if I had to pick one to start you out, I think it’s best to go with what they used the other night — with a punch in the “Puss” from the get go. If you don’t like this, you probably won’t like anything else, but if you survive the first salvo you’ve got a bunch more winners to work through. Give it a try and see if it sends you into the crowd like Yow — I’ll GET. YOU. SOMETHING TO STOP. THE BLEEEEEEEEEEEDIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!:

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Pinched Nerves, Open Ears: Welcome Offerings from Old Friends

Since I can’t manage to do much else this weekend, having apparently obliterated a nerve in the midst of such strenuous activities as stretching when I woke up yesterday morning, I slowly clawed my way to the keyboard to throw out a few finds before I pass out from not being able to breathe. They’re all from folks I’ve written about before, so shouldn’t be too surprising — I’d hate to startle you and have you end up in the same state I am. #eldercare

First up comes the lead single from the Dodos’ upcoming album Certainty Waves, which will be the seventh for the San Fran duo. It’s been three years since their last one, Individ, which for whatever reason didn’t resonate with me as much as previous favorites (several of which have appeared on year end lists here). It’s not like they changed up their formula and adopted the dreaded synthesizers I lambaste so often. Then and now frontman Meric Long and drummer Logan Kroeber layer guitars and atypical rhythms up to surprising levels, balancing the noise with Long’s warm voice and lyrics. It’s worked really well in the past, but didn’t connect quite the same last time out. We’ll see if things hit differently this go round — step inside the “Forum” and see what you think:

Next comes two more songs from the upcoming debut from Big Red Machine, which as I wrote about a few weeks ago is the fusion of gents from beloved indie gems — Justin Vernon from Bon Iver and Aaron Dessner from the National. They’ve already released four songs from the album online, so with these two I think we’ve got a pretty good idea what the album will sound like, and thankfully it’s every bit as pleasant as you’d expect from those two alma maters. They continue to mine the electronics-infused vein both bands have been exploiting lately, while balancing the bloops and chill with Vernon’s angelic croon, which remains as bright and warming as a blast of sun through the clouds in the middle of winter. “I Won’t Run From It” is the favored of the new pair, another spare pairing of acoustic and that voice — give it a listen here:

Batting third we’ve got an odds and sods compilation of unreleased stuff from recent discovery Pile, the bombers from Boston I wrote about back in January after stumbling upon them in the midst of my annual scan of other folks’ best of lists. I didn’t quite agree with the album that landed them there, but it piqued my interest enough to go back through their older material and I’m sure glad I did, as they frequently call to mind fave thrashers Jesus Lizard. The first cut from this collection (due out next month apparently) is more subdued then some of their other stuff, but showcase how effectively the band builds tension in their songs (AND how compelling a voice frontman Rick Maguire has). I’m excited to see them when they come to town in a few months — I might not be able to hear after it, but if that’s the case it’s been a fun run. Enjoy it while you can:

In the cleanup spot we’ve got a couple aging veterans, two albums that’ve been around for twenty years and walked very different paths (the thought of Ben Gibbard hanging out with the wild-eyed Keith Flint is pretty comical actually), but whose impact was felt far beyond their niche communities in the intervening years. The two albums are Something About Airplanes from Death Cab for Cutie and Fat of the Land from Prodigy, whose histories and resonance are recounted by Stereogum and Pitchfork, respectively, from their weekly trips in the wayback machine.

As suggested, the two bands couldn’t be more different — Death Cab were the soft, sensitive band from Seattle who quietly and earnestly tried to make you fall in love with them with their lovely lyrics and melodies. Prodigy were the hard, bombastic band from Britain who loudly and belligerently tried to make you move (ZFG for falling in love with them) with their bludgeoning beats and non-sensical (and occasionally insipid) lyrics. Despite those differences, both albums had outsized impact on the population and have continued to for over twenty years — Death Cab became the poster children for the sentimental set, soundtracking untold dozens of shows and movies as the sonic synonym for angst and unrequited love; Prodigy fostered the first tsunami of electronica with fellow Britons the Chemical Brothers, helping create the wave that laid waste to the country in the late 90s/early 2000s (and is still doing so with second wave acts like Skrillex, Steve Aoki, etc). Both articles are worth a read and albums worth a listen, if for some reason you haven’t done so dozens of times already. I disagree with Pitchfork’s panning Prodigy and look back more fondly on Fat than they do — the lyrics may be inane/misogynistic, but those beats are hard to deny even now. “Diesel Power” was always one of my favorite bangers — check it out here:

We’ll close with a pretty ditty from the soundtrack to The Fundamentals of Caring, a charming little movie with the ever-winning Paul Rudd we found on Netflix recently. The song (and broader soundtrack) is done by Guster frontman Ryan Miller, a formerly beloved band that has gone down that dark path of synthesized pop in recent years, much to my chagrin. (I used to love these guys and they’re three of the funniest, nicest people to boot, having interviewed them several times over the years in my former life as a paid scribbler.) This song calls to mind some of the band’s old strengths, Miller’s endearing voice and disarming lyrics, so often on display in their heyday. All that’s missing is the juxtaposition with fellow singer Adam Gardner, whose bass always balanced Miller’s more nasally tones, and drummer Brian Rosenworcel’s hand percussion and it could have been from the trio’s early albums. It’s a nice reminder of those outings and a nice listen regardless, so give it a spin (and give the movie a try too — who doesn’t like Paul Rudd?!?):

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The Wayback Machine: Nails, Creedence, and Some Busted-up Pumpkins

It’s been a rather wild week at the office, and with no end in sight — and no pilgrimage back to my city by the lake for Lolla to ease the pain (the first time in 11 years!) — thought I’d come bask in the glow of the internet and my little cave of melodies. In the midst of all the insanity — and an unholy number of meetings (I was averaging 6 hours a day this week) — I managed to find a couple items of note to share with the Elite Eight. First up is an interview with Nine Inch Nails frontman Trent Reznor from Rolling Stone. He talks about his recent release, Bad Witch (which similar to my admonitions to Kanye for recently trying to call his six/seven song, half hour releases “albums” is an EP, no matter what they say — I know this is the era of saying whatever we want and thinking that inherently makes it true (#fakenews, Bobby…), but there has to be a limit. Otherwise I’d like to be considered for an NAACP Image Award and be allowed to join the Canadian women’s lacrosse team.) He also talks about how he’s coping with the chaotic times and for him that’s meant a look back to simpler, more nostalgic times, which is a response I wholeheartedly identify with.

I found myself rummaging around the archives a few months ago, trying to find something new, familiar, and/or comforting from the dusty bins in the back (and increasingly front these days) of my brain. For Reznor his hunt took him to The Twilight Zone and stacks of vinyl, for me it was (in part) back to one of the bands my dad often listened to when I was a kid, CCR. As The Dude would gladly tell you, Creedence is a fantastic band — one whose songs are ubiquitous parts of the culture and so synonymous with the 60s that you start sprouting sideburns and looking for a protest march the minute you hear them. I used to religiously listen to the two Chronicle albums, which are stuffed with so many gigantic hits it’s ridiculous — particularly when you realize the band released almost all of them within a torrid six albums in three years span.

I’d never gone too much deeper, though, so found myself looking through the tracks that didn’t make those masterful monoliths to see what I could unearth. Unsurprisingly, there were plenty of gems — Pitchfork did a good review of Cosmo’s Factory a week or so ago, which showcases one of the best finds, the scorching “Ramble Tamble” that opens their fifth album. (It also does a nice job recounting some of the history of the legendary band, so is definitely worth a read.) There was “Bootleg” from their second album, Bayou Country, which sounds instantly recognizable despite it never getting much airplay. And “Porterville” from their self-titled debut, whose background shouts of “I DON’T CARE!” feel particularly familiar/liberating these days. Each of them (and several others) are good enough to be hits in their own right, which just reiterates The Dude’s point — this is a fantastic band. Check em out and see if you agree (and go back to those Chronicle albums and enjoy the glow — you’ll be glad you did):

Speaking of nostalgia, I just got back from seeing the Smashing Pumpkins who are currently touring for the band’s 30th anniversary (exhibit #9754 I am O.A.F.) As many of you know, one of the Sunshine Commandments is to steer clear of shows like this, where bands well past their prime look to cash in on golden memories while subjecting crowds to whatever flabby new songs they’ve recently recorded. The call of the original lineup (minus D’arcy), only playing songs from their best/early albums, was too much to pass up, though, so we packed up the Sun Bus and headed to Philadelphia. (Big ups to Reading Market for fueling my gluttonous rampage yet again…) And I’m mostly glad I did — the pluses were they sounded great (though Jimmy’s drums could have been a bit louder), played a bunch of good stuff (including an opening trio of “Disarm,” “Rocket,” and a smoking “Siva”), and played for three straight hours. The minuses were the sequencing (for example, their encore was the “meh” new song “Solara” and the kids song “Baby Mine,” sung — because Billy is about as subtle as a sledgehammer — with his kid in his arms), the visuals behind the songs (which were cool looking, but a little distracting and for some reason had Sugar Ray frontman Mark McGrath speaking to the crowd twice), and some of the selections (these shows always play it a bit safe, sticking to the hits, but it was unfortunate they passed on deeper fan favorites like “I Am One” and “Silverfuck” for — again, sledgehammer obvious — covers like “Space Oddity” and “Stairway.” That’s right, Stairway to fucking Heaven. Geezus. Christ…)

Part of my bigger problem, though, was with the imagery of Billy as a saint or god that was sprinkled throughout the set. We all know Corgan has a God complex as insatiable, oppressive, and obnoxious as similar talents from the law firm of West and White. There was just something about seeing all the iconography flashing behind the songs, culminating with a literal statue of Billy as a saint get carted through the crowd that reminded me why this band sadly fell apart — because Billy misunderstands why people love(d) this band. Billy thinks what made the band great was him — he wrote the songs, he came up with the cool visuals and art, he was the face of the band and the outlandish, larger than life persona staring back at you while you were rocking out to their biggest hits. Unfortunately, what made them great was the balance of those elements — the sentiment balancing out the rock, the sincerity balancing out the bombast, the sweetness balancing out the snarl. It was all of those things together, not one or two of them on their own. And Billy just does not seem to understand.

It was evident on the band’s first attempted return post-breakup, 2007’s Zeitgeist. Billy seems to have thought, “people love rocking out to our songs, so I’m gonna give em what they want — a RAWK ALBUM” and what we got was a sludgy, one-note affair where the band made a terrific racket at the expense of all those other elements. The next album Oceania was a similar affair — Billy seems to have said, “folks not only love it when we rock for long periods of time (see ramblers like “Porcelina of the Vast Oceans,” “Starla,” “Glass and the Ghost Children,” etc), they also love it when I sing about trippy, cliched bullshit like the sun/dawn/moon/oceans/etc.” So that’s what we got — another forgettable album that just reminds you of how great the band once was. It’d be like seeing Jordan try to win the dunk contest now or Carl Lewis win the 100m dash — it just hurts (and thankfully both of those legends have the sense to know better than to try).

So it’s frustrating even in a venue such as this, where he seems to be acknowledging what worked best for the band and attempting to embrace/recapture it, to still see him miss the point. “The folks love me and my goofy spaceman Jesus routine, therefore I shall give them three straight hours of it and they shall rejoice!” It’s like looking at a Monet up close or eating a deconstructed version of your favorite dish — there’s a reason these things work and it’s when everything is harmony, not a disjointed, magnified affair. So what could have been an amazing time ended up being a mostly fine one — but hey, at least I wasn’t at the Jersey show where it seems like he really missed the point (despite the author’s sentiments).

At least we’ve got our memories — here’s a couple of those golden moments where Billy was in balance and things were alright, if only for a few moments. Check out two of my favorites, “Stumbleine” and “Silverfuck,” to explore the yin and yang of the band’s two sides:

We’ll close with a look forward and the upcoming release from Jungle, the Brit band whose 2014 debut landed on my year end list. They’ve shared a few more tracks from the album, including the catchy little “Cherry,” and it thankfully sounds like they aren’t deviating from the eclectic formula that won them so many fans. Give em (and the previous two singles “Happy Man” and “House in LA”) a listen.

Until next time… –BS

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The Echo Chamber: A Fleet of Massive Death Cabs

Finally dried out enough after the monsoon to touch electronics again, so wanted to chime in with a few offerings. They’re all updates from bands/things I’ve posted about recently, so hopefully won’t be too jarring for you on your lazy Sunday. First is the latest single from Death Cab’s upcoming album Thank You for Today (not something I say much these days after watching the news), “I Dreamt We Spoke Again.” It follows on the heels of the lead single “Gold Rush,” which I found a little underwhelming, but this one (plus the previously posted “Summer Years”) still have me cautiously optimistic about the new album. It’s a simple yet pretty little tune, combining lead singer Ben Gibbard’s bread and butter — heartfelt, confessional lyrics about a lost love — with a Cure-like riff that swims along and already feels familiar. It’s a good listen and highlights what these guys (and Gibbard in particular) do best — don’t try to overthink or overcook the songs, keep it simple and straight from the heart. I can imagine Gibbard finding it limiting or boring even to have to keep singing all these songs about love and his constant nostalgia for what was — he’s just so good at capturing those feelings that you don’t want him to do anything else. The band falters when they try to be macho or rockers or cool as they have increasingly on recent albums (it’d be like me trying to hide my looks by wearing cargo shorts or pleated pants — I can’t help how handsome I am people!), so hopefully this is an indication they’re embracing their strengths and sticking with what works. Give it a ride here:

Next comes the latest single from the Mystery from Michigan (what’s really happening in that upper peninsula?), the four lads from Greta van Fleet, and the track “When the Curtain Falls.” I’ve posted about these guys before and they were just in town, surprisingly selling out the enormous new arena — some six thousand seats! — after also selling out a show the night before. It’s a hell of a feat for a band of teenagers with only one album and a whopping eight songs (only seven of which are originals) under their belt. The new one doesn’t stray far from what’s been working so well — it samples a little later from the Zeppelin catalog than their other stuff (maybe Houses of Holy era instead of I and II), but still sports a pretty wicked Page-like riff that buttresses the song and gets stuck in your head. I still think the challenge for these guys long-term will be how long they can keep mining this vein before it becomes tiresome or tips into parody, but for now it still works, reminding you of the excellence of the source material while injecting some new flavors and ideas to the mix. Let’s hope they keep the hot streak alive — so far, so good. Give this one a listen here:

Last up comes the latest installment from Pitchfork’s great “Explore X (In 5 Minutes)” series, which this time chronicles the legendary Mezzanine from Massive Attack. As I posted recently, this somehow is turning 20 this year, which besides making me wonder where the fuck the last 20 years have gone, since I’ve never really stopped listening to this album, also reminds me how fantastic an album it is — since I’ve never really stopped listening to it. The video does a good job adding to the previous article and reiterates what a singular and spectacular thing it is. It was jarring then because nothing sounded even remotely like it, and it’s jarring now because nothing still does. It’s like a strange alien artifact that was discovered in a remote cave — it’s menacing, it’s inspiring, and it’s unlike anything else on the planet. If you didn’t take the plunge before, maybe this will get you to — see what all the fuss is about here:

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Big Red Sunday — Voices, Beasties, and a Champion in Waiting

With this month’s fantastic World Cup coming to a close in a few short hours, thought I’d pop in to make this a true champion of a day for you and highlight a few finds. First up is the latest from the relentlessly productive Bob Pollard and Sunshine fave Guided by Voices. Despite already putting out an album this year (on top of two last year and one the year before), they’re already teasing more new material — from their two already completed albums (one of which is a double album) that they’ll be releasing over the next two years.

Pollard’s definitely a “throw it at the wall and see what sticks” kind of guy — he’s released more albums under the GBV moniker than there have been World Cup champions (32 to a measly 20, plus umpteen other side projects and solo albums) — and at this point every offering highlights the dangers of that approach (vs bands who dote over material and go five or six years between albums). It’s impossible to both keep up and connect with so much new material (Tim Heidecker’s comments last year are hilarious and spot on), but there’s always some really good tunes in there so you can’t ignore them altogether. As the caller in that clip says the live shows are always the best place to find out which two/three/four songs you need to add to the arsenal (the band really is best at calling itself on its bullshit), which I’ll be doing in a few months when they roll through town. In the meantime, the first single’s not bad — the second half after the string interlude captures the uplift of some of the old GBV choruses nicely. Check it out here:

Next we’ll do a duo of offerings from the National — a couple new tracks that they debuted at a recent show in Croatia and the side project for guitarist Aaron Dessner. The former two are nothing earth-shaking — just two more solid songs from a band that’s quietly been putting out excellent albums for over a decade. I was reminded of this when they recently put out the live version of their exceptional 2007 album Boxer, which I still remember discovering accidentally back home, walking into long lost favorite Earwax Cafe for lunch and hearing this sad baritone coming out of the speakers. I initially thought it was Stephen Merritt from the Mag Fields, as it was a scorching hot day and I’d positioned myself next to the industrial-sized fan to cool down and couldn’t hear very well. Thankfully I asked the waitress what album it was of theirs (this being well before the days of Shazam) and she kindly corrected me as to who it really was. I’ve been a fan ever since, so hopefully they keep the trend going on the next album — “Quiet Light” is my initial favorite of the two:

As for the side project, it’s a hipster’s wet dream — Dessner from the National and Justin Vernon from Bon Iver releasing a surprise album as Big Red Machine. All that’s missing is some free trade coffee, hand stitched clothing, and eccentric facial hair and you’ve achieved their nirvana. It’s apparently a project that’s ten years in the making, and they recently debuted songs for it at Vernon’s Eaux Claires festival in his native Wisconsin and posted four studio versions online. It’s an interesting mix of Vernon’s recent more bleep-bloopy style Bon Iver and Dessner’s understated guitar riffs, but works well from what they’ve offered so far. Dessner’s looped part on “Gratitude” is pretty and hypnotic while Vernon again channels Bruce Hornsby (though I’m pretty sure Hornsby and his fans would have a heart attack if he ever sang a line like Vernon’s). My early fave from the four is “Hymnostic,” though, as it strips down the electronics and just showcases Vernon’s incredible voice, all warmth and soul over its three minute duration. We’ll see what the rest of the album holds — in the meantime, give it a listen here:

We’ll close with the latest in Stereogum’s ongoing series, “Things To Remind Everyone Sunshine is OAF,” this entry focusing on the 20th anniversary of the Beastie Boys’ Hello Nasty album. The article does a good job walking through some of the difficulties people had with the album and the trajectory the band was on (and where they subsequently ended up). I’ve always been hit or miss with them myself, liking a lot of what they put out, but then scratching my head on some of the songs/albums — I suppose they’re similar to GBV in that aspect, but the Beasties were always underwhelming if not terrible live for me (as most rap is) whereas GBV are always epic delights in person. I never struggled with this album as much as the author, though — I remember listening to it exhaustively the summer it came out (along with the Chili Peppers’ Stadium Arcadium), popping it in for the first time in the juco parking lot after class and loving it from the opening notes of “Super Disco Breaking.” It wasn’t “classic” Beasties with oodles of samples, it was weirder with different beats and sounds — and while it had monster hits like “Body Movin” and “Intergalactic” (which absolutely dominated MTV that summer), it also had quirkier favorites like “Just a Test,” “The Negotiation Limerick File,” and “Unite.” Baby Bobby spent a lot of time listening to those in his beat up old Probe that summer, testing the limits of his stock speakers while driving around causing mischief. Those are the three I’ll leave you with, too — the album as a whole still stands up, but those three remain faves, ones I still remember every word to despite not listening to them much in 20 years. Give em a ride yourself and get a little amped up before the big final.

Until next time! –BS

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Star-Spangled Sunshine: Swift Sheen, Fat(boy) Beats, and the Chaos of Kanye

As today will find many of you celebrating our nation’s independence, sweltering in the heat giving thanks for our many freedoms (such as seeing how much barbecue and Bud Light one patriot can consume in a single day), I thought I’d give you one more thing to be thankful for — thoughts and recommendations from yours truly. So without further ado, here’s how I’m making America greater today…

First up is a solid article from Pitchfork on the passing of indie artist Richard Swift, who while not being a household name likely has played in or produced bands who certainly are for you (including many who’ve shown up here over the years). He was a touring member of the Black Keys and the Shins in recent years, a member of the Arcs, and a producer/contributor for Hamilton Leithauser, Kevin Morby, Nathaniel Rateliff, and others. If that wasn’t enough, he also was a relatively prolific solo artist, releasing five albums of his own since his 2005 debut. The article does a good job mixing the latter offerings with his behind the scenes efforts, effectively introducing his wide-ranging talents to a mostly unknowing public. Sad to hear he passed so young…

Next we’ll honor the oeuvre of another and jarringly shift styles/mood in the manner he is so well known for, that of Fatboy Slim and his enormous, convulsive breaks. While Swift’s work is more introspective and subdued, Slim’s is pure, throbbing id, synonymous with sweaty masses of shirtless youth simultaneously losing their shit in some field or club to Slim’s sample-laden songs. Billboard is commemorating the 20th anniversary of his monster sophomore effort You’ve Come a Long Way Baby (exhibit #12493 I am O.A.F.) by running down the ten best songs from Slim’s career.

It seems like forever ago, but Slim was part of, if not the key driver, behind the tidal wave of electro that first hit the States in the late 90s. Along with Prodigy and the Chemical Brothers, these three dealt out wrecking ball after wrecking ball over that four/five year span, destroying the minds and inhibitions of the broods of beach bros on TRL and more reserved folks such as myself. That first wave eventually ebbed, with those three all but disappearing by the late 2000s (only the Chemicals still pop up with any regularity/quality), but you could hear their influences in the second wave that washed over the country at that time with acts like Diplo, Aoki, Afrojack, and others. The list does a good job capturing the hits, but does leave out one of my favorites (and his first true hit), “Going Out of my Head,” which harnessed the power of a classic Who riff (much like “Rockafeller Skank” did with the Stones) and makes you hear it in a whole new light. (While also shakin’ your ass and dancing.) Check it out here:

We’ll close with one more list, this one courtesy of Stereogum, and their reassembling the recent spate of offerings from Kanye into a single cohesive album. As you’re likely already aware unless you live under a rock (which if so, FYI Drake also released a double album this week — it’s been pretty hush hush so not surprising you’d miss it) Kanye recently completed his run of releasing five EPs-not-albums in as many weeks, items he either produced or starred on (or both). It started with Pusha T’s Daytona, was followed by the much ballyhooed one-two of Kanye’s solo Ye and his tandem affair with Kid Cudi, Kids See Ghosts, and then closed with offerings from Nas and Teyana Taylor. Five “albums” in five weeks sounds cool on paper and a good way to generate marketing buzz, but in reality is just another entry in the Stupid Human Olympics, dumb things we do for no reason other than we can. (Like taking the cinnamon challenge or running a marathon.)

Ever since week two I had been telling people “I wish he would have taken longer and just put out one really good album instead of (what would turn out to be) five mediocre mini-albums — sort of the follow up to Cruel Summer he’d been talking about doing for so long.” Well apparently I wasn’t alone, as Stereogum has gone and done just that, pulling the best two or three songs off each album (and aside from Taylor’s, which I didn’t really get into, each EP does have two or three really good songs worth listening to/downloading). They do a good job, too — aside from the three Taylor songs, which I can take or leave, they picked almost every other song from the five I would have selected. Only thing I would have also included was the opener from Ye (minus the three minute gibberish prelude), which has a pretty solid back end (just like yours truly). So give it a look and see what all the fuss is about.

And enjoy your day off! America loves you (and so do I…) –BS

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Gone Daddy Gone: Parting Wisdom, Returning Winner

Feels fitting on a day when I’m setting out to drive to his former homeland in the Dirty Jurrz to post this article I found on Anthony Bourdain. It’s on an interview the author did with him two-plus years ago, which is endearing enough to read as it has Tony swilling booze and telling tales in the corner of a dark bar, but it’s the closing advice Bourdain left him with that’s so good. Definitely give it a read (and live the words at the end)…

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Also thought since we’re going to the beach and officially embracing the season it was worth throwing out Death Cab’s new song “Summer Years” for a listen. It’s been a tumultuous few years for the band — founding member Chris Walla left, their last album Kintsugi was middling at best, and then there was the very public breakup of frontman Ben Gibbard’s marriage with Zooey Deschanel. Thankfully it looks like they might be righting the ship with this one, which hearkens back to another summer-titled track and its friends from their classic album Plans. We’ll see how the rest come out — in the meantime give it a listen here:

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Still Shaking: Three More Discoveries and Two Ghosts From the Past

Before I succumb too fully to Cup fever, thought I’d pop in again with a few more recommendations to keep the eight of you satiated. In addition to the bands I already highlighted from our trip down to JAWWWWjuh last month, there were three others worth a mention and some spins. First up is a band of literal brothers from Britain (two sets!), the Sherlocks, who started our second day of the festival nicely. The band doesn’t do anything earth shattering — they’re a relatively straightforward UK indie band along the lines of Catfish and the Bottlemen, the Editors, and the like — but similar to that band the Crooks and Davidsons (frontman Kiaran Crook and his drummer brother Brandon, guitarist Josh Davidson and his bassist brother Andy) convey a sense of urgency and energy that sucks you in. The songs showcase bright hooks and catchy melodies, and Crook’s soaring voice gives the proceedings a semi-anthemic vibe. It won’t change your life, but it’s a perfect summer soundtrack to stick on while you’re basking in the sun. Check out “Chasing Shadows” from their winning debut:

Next comes a husband and wife team from Nashville, *repeat repeat, who kicked the entire festival off for us and really got things off on the right foot. The band is pretty infectious, both musically and in personality, and it’s provided a spike of sunshine and energy whenever it’s come on in the intervening weeks. Their sound marries the aforementioned marriage’s voices together really well — guitarist Jared Corder and his wife, keyboardist Kristyn (along with drummer Andy Herrin) — and bounces them off of songs that walk the line between surf rock and pop. It brings to mind similar personal/professional pairings like Mates of State (albeit a rockier, less synthy version) with nice melodies and a little bit of heart. Enjoy the ear candy — check out “Mostly” from their second album, Floral Canyon:

Lastly, we’ll close with the shaggy string bean from Ozark, Arkansas, Jeh-Sea Wells (not lyin’), who performs under the more distinguished version of his last name, Welles. I caught this guy right on the heels of the last one and it was a rather stark contrast — go from sunny, shiny songs of love to raw, riotous songs of sex, drugs, and rock and roll. (Literally — his debut includes tracks “Do You Know How to Fuck,” “Codeine,” and “Rock N Roll,” among others.) Once I got past the whiplash, though, it was every bit as enjoyable — Wells’ voice can quickly shift from pretty croon to ragged roar and he’s a pretty solid guitar player too. My only fault with his set was that he didn’t take the full 45 minutes (first rule of festivals — don’t leave a single second on the table), but I suppose he was simply cementing the axiom to leave ’em wanting more. He certainly did that — his debut finally dropped this week and it’s just as good as he was live. Instant fave remains “Life Like Mine” — check it out here:

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We’ll close with a couple articles on two bands I struggle with — bands I used to really like (in one case going road dog for and traveling to see in multiple nearby states), but who I’ve long since given up on and/or come to mostly loathe: Dave Matthews Band and Coldplay. They’re both big bands — both have been around for a long time, have legions of fans and a comparable number of albums, and yet saying you like them immediately makes people question your taste, sort of like admitting you like bubble baths or drinking rose. (Lay off you judgy fucks — sometimes even Sunshine needs to relax!) For Dave, similar to the article’s author they represent a period in my life where I was younger, definitively dumber, and yet SUPER into the band. They were constantly on TV, friends constantly had them on at parties, and my younger, dumber self somehow didn’t notice or mind the occasionally cringe-worthy lyrics and camp, instead seeing wisdom and sincerity. (In addition to touring around to see these guys a bunch, I must also admit I used several of their songs on tapes I made for girls trying to convince of my love/depth over the years — oh Baby Bobby…)

Maybe I was less discerning or the music was better (or both), but now every mediocre/subpar new release (like this week) sort of twists the knife and makes me shake my head, if not shudder with embarrassment at my younger self. The article does a valiant job trying to convince you that your younger self was on to something, highlighting “22 Dave Matthews Songs That Don’t Suck,” but while I listened to each song open to the possibility I had in fact missed something, I still think those early albums — Under the Table and Crash — are the only two that really matter. That was when the band was still hungry, was still riding the wave to being household names, and still keeping the jazzy, world music bullshit (and self-fellating “jam master” noodling) to a minimum. Take a listen and see for yourself, but I stand by my earlier incarnation — those were some good songs, but that train (just like that younger version) has long since departed.

The second article tackles Coldplay, a band who is similarly uncool, similarly self-aggrandizing and -assured of their own epic legend (and thus similarly infuriating and repellent), and similarly a story of what once was. Just like Dave, I used to really like this band — their first album was really good (and remains my favorite), something I discovered while living in London, and their second album was pretty solid too. It was also everywhere at the time — all over the TV and radio, all over the stereos of my flatmates and friends, as the world fell in love with Chris Martin and his broken-hearted beauty. Then, seemingly concurrent with them becoming international superstars, they became self-important, silly twits whose music became bloated, over-engineered nonsense. Gone was the heart and sincerity of the early years, here by the truck full was formulaic slop for the masses — take a lyric about love, throw in a fun new instrument (did someone say sitar?), and have Chris Martin look at you with his sad blue eyes while he sings to your soul. Certified masterpiece!

Similar to the last one, the article does good job trying to absolve you of the guilt of liking the early versions of the band while lambasting the bombast of latter years, in this case using the 10th anniversary of Viva la Vida as the reason for revisiting the band. The author is right that the album was a rebound from X&Y and an interesting step forward before things went completely off the rails, but similar to Dave I think the earliest stuff is all that stands up all these years out. Sparks an interesting debate, though, both for the album and the band writ large. See what you think — as for me, I’m off to watch the second half… –BS