We took the day off yesterday in recognition of Memorial Day. This is how we at RIJR celebrated, with Gary Clark Jr.’s superb rendition of the National Anthem from this year’s NBA All-Star Game.
Chris Cornell gave a quick interview to Rolling Stone talking about looking back to the days of Superunknown. The best part of the interview was the discussion about his interactions with Artis the Spoonman, giving new insight into their relationship.
Finally, I think that I need to inform our audience that a banjo cover of Slayer’s “Raining Blood” exists. And it’s not bad.
We hope everyone has an enjoyable Memorial Day weekend, and if you find yourself with some time on your hands, here are a few handy #longreads.
We’ve had previous coverage on the Will Ferrell/Chad Smith drum-off before, and last night the two finally battled it out to see who is the superior look-alike. Rolling Stone has a write-up and video of their joint appearance on The Tonight Show, and yes cowbell is involved. For those who want to minimize their exposure to Jimmy Fallon, here’s the footage of the face-off.
Jack White is doing the rounds in preparation for the release of his newest solo effort, and a wide-ranging interview with Rolling Stone is getting some attention. Since I got the news secondhand, I’m linking to the SPIN article discussing some of the highlights, such as his relationship these days with Meg White and the fact that he doesn’t use a cell phone.
SPIN got their own scoop when they interviewed The Antlers for their upcoming album, and the band discusses their different approach for Familiars.
Normally, I’m not the kind of person to go out of my way to trash other people’s reviews.* No matter how authoritative the tone, in the end, the review is merely the opinion of one writer. Arguments can be made about the effectiveness about certain tactics or styles, but there is little point in quibbling when there is no single determinate answer to be found.
That said, there are certainly some dumb ways to approach writing a review. Take the AV Club’s review of Turn Blue for example. In a three paragraph review of a Black Keys album, the first third is entirely devoted to their lyrics. To anyone that has ever spent time listening to the band, this is a patently ridiculous approach to reviewing the group (if you look at the review we ran yesterday, you’ll notice that we gave the lyrics only a passing mention). That of course is not to say that lyrics are unimportant; it’s just that for a blues-rock group like The Black Keys, lyrics are usually an afterthought and are written in more as placeholders than anything (as mentioned in this interview with NPR). Sure, those that are new to the group may not expect this to be the case, but the writer is reviewing the work of an established band with roots in a genre that doesn’t place an emphasis on the words. This isn’t true of the blues only; when people listen to a techno or heavy metal song, they tend to not focus on the lyrics (though for the latter this apparently isn’t always the case). Over a career that spans eight albums, I can hardly think of any significant lyrical turns of phrases or bon mots from the group, outside of a few catchy (and generally meaningless) choruses designed just to get the crowd singing along.
This book may have been used as research in one of the reviews
Not only are the lyrics unnecessarily emphasized in the review, but they are viewed through a lens that makes no sense in context. The writer applies half-assed feminist theory in his critique, stating that the band portrays “a view of women that…is glaringly reductive” and that “women are mere caricatures, often painted as temptresses in desperate need of the guidance and fulfillment that can be provided by a man.” The fact that the band hails from a tradition of the blues is tossed aside, instead of being cited as the primary reason why this would be the case. One can make it a goal to point out the stereotypes of past generations or go against the perceived boundaries of certain genres, but when it’s clear from the outset that there is no interest in doing so, it doesn’t seem smart to knock a band for failing to engage in that particular fight, especially if one has trouble citing noteworthy examples. Since in general The Black Keys are not particularly interested in their lyrics (and neither are their fans), it makes little sense to deride them for not bucking against the history of the genre.
This would be bad enough, but from an errant statement it becomes clear that the writer did not do the necessary research before writing this review. In picking apart the song “It’s Up To You Now”, the author writes “he can’t help but feel exploited by a woman who’s left him,” and then uses that as his conclusion of the band’s foray into typical stereotypes. Of course, there may be a particular reason why this sentiment may have been present–Dan Auerbach recently went through a divorce, and the tone of the album reflects that difficult ordeal.** It’s one thing for a reviewer to not know this vital piece of information for an up-and-coming band, but considering that The Black Keys have been the biggest rock band in the country for the past few years (and were well-established in the indie community which is the AV Club’s audience well before then), it’s inexcusable to not know that information.
The other problem with this approach is the utterly reductive notion that if a woman is portrayed in any sort of antagonistic manner in a song, it is a symptom of a serious malady like sexism. The Pitchfork review runs with this premise and makes the argument explicitly, stating “[l]yrically, the Black Keys’ casual chauvinism has gone from ‘Girl, you look so good’ to ‘Woman, you done me wrong[.]'” This kind of assertion is troubling on some levels, and utterly ridiculous on others. First, the idea that noticing the attractiveness of a potential partner is a concept that is inherently chauvinistic shows a total lack of regard for both context and human nature (yes, leering and catcalling is bad, but not all examples of noting attractiveness are inherently evil–without it, it’s difficult to imagine how most relationships would ever start); and second, that if when discussing a relationship one cannot attempt to assess blame on another party without coming off as a misogynist, then we are truly fucked. Let’s brush aside the fact that this attitude is more paternalistic than anything, that denying the other party any agency and indulging in only the most protectionist of assumptions is a bad approach to any situation. It’s utterly remarkable that the reviewer has attempted to brush aside the subject matter of 90% of music of the last half century in only a few words; if you take away the joy of falling in love and the despair in falling out of it, you’re not left with much to discuss, and we already had Rage Against The Machine cover politics and The Decemberists cover 19th century literature.*** Also, it ignores the various lyrics where Dan assigns blame to himself, but who cares, it doesn’t fit the narrative.
The entire approach reeks of someone attempting to pass off a superficial understanding of critical theory, as if they learned the vocabulary but failed to pay attention when the class discussion switched to their proper application. It’s one thing to view cultural trends and their impact, but it’s quite another to expect everyone to suddenly align with the same worldview and create a product that conforms to it. Merely invoking a general trope is not enough to warrant such condemnation; make your argument when you can cite something concrete and of substance instead of a lazy generality.
Again, this isn’t to say that lyrics are unimportant–it’s just that the people interested in reading a review of The Black Keys generally do not care.
*This isn’t true at all–I’ve been known to trash reviews to my friends on several occasions. I just don’t write articles about them.
**It’s possible to interpret this as a possible contradiction to my main argument, that in fact the lyrics do matter. However, I think this information is more important to understand the general tone of the lyrics (and the music as well), and that the individual lines themselves hardly matter at all.
***This wasn’t even my biggest problem with the Pitchfork review. There were several issues I had with the discussion of the music itself–the clear problem that the reviewer had with Danger Mouse as a producer (a bias that is good to admit to, but then you wonder why if someone comes in with a negative attitude at the start why they are assigned the review), the idea that covering the Beatles is somehow a sign of artistic bankruptcy (and implicitly that nobody innovative ever covered the Beatles), but most of all that the keyboard in “Fever” is…”farty”. I expressed serious concerns for the reviewers health (and for his ears as well) if he thought that kind of tone was “farty”. At least Mr. Fitzmaurice had the good humor to favorite that tweet.
It’s a bit odd that for a band that got its start and first achieved fame as a blues band, that it wasn’t until their eighth album that anyone would call an album by The Black Keys “sad”. Part of that is the nature of the blues: even when you’re writing about how life has done you wrong, the goal is to keep it from letting you stay down for too long.
Turn Blue isn’t a typical “sad” album however. There is no overwhelming aura of depression or melancholy; it’s marked more by a sense of restraint and internal contemplation, especially compared to their most recent work (most notably the built-for-arena-touring El Camino and their crossover breakthrough Brothers). Instead of outsized swagger and riffs, the album relies on intimate grooves and swirling psychedelic touches. It’s definitely of a piece of their post-Magic Potion work (i.e., it’s not the down-and-dirty two-man grimey blues of their early work), but it’s examining a different aspect of that style.
The album kicks off with the fantastic “Weight of Love”, a slow-burner that begs for repeated listens–a desire that I’ve indulged in several times already. A ballad that takes its time to gradually build over six minutes before carefully fading away, it serves as a great mission statement for the album. The song signals the return to prominence of guitar to The Black Keys’ sound, with three separate, gorgeous solos from Dan Auerbach, culminating in a thrilling double-tracked ripper at the climax. While the solos are definitely worthy of being singled out for praise, the song works so well because of the efforts of all the musicians involved. The breakdowns to the bare grooves of the verses lead into gorgeous swells of the chorus and climax as instruments are added to the mix, and Patrick Carney’s fills in the solo mark some of his finest work to date.
[There originally was a YouTube clip of the song included in this post, but it has since been taken down. We will attempt to post a replacement when one becomes available.]
The album maintains a mysterious, somewhat ethereal mood throughout, with 60’s/70’s soul replacing the blues and classic rock as the primary influence this time around. It’s noticeable even on the tracks meant to get the crowd moving, like on the lead single “Fever”. The keyboard melody is catchy, but there is a slight air of disturbed menace that gives the whole song a delirious quality, especially considering the lyrics. Though it has escaped attention from most people, the ending should be given some special praise, as it does a great job of inverting the melody to build up the mild paranoia evoked in the song before falling apart at the end.
The blues influences haven’t completely disappeared, however. “It’s Up To You Now” relies on a similar groove to The Stooges’ “1969” (with the addition of typical eighth-note drum hits from Carney to accent the end of each phrase), and the halftime breakdown features an especially sleazy guitar solo. The ingratiatingly fun closer “Gotta Get Away” is the closest the band gets to big dumb classic rock, and it serves as an excellent epilogue to the seriousness preceding it. Considering how easily it puts a smile on your face, it wouldn’t be a surprise if it ended up being a single down the line.
Danger Mouse contributes a lot of his signature touches to the album, but his production doesn’t overwhelm the group. Some of his trademarks do show up, like the muted staccato bass, the subtle organ flourishes, and the spaghetti western-influenced strings (the last of which is most clearly heard in “Year in Review” and “10 Lovers”). But the band has incorporated a lot of these aspects into their sound already at this point, and they never push Dan’s guitar and vocals away from the spotlight. It’s clear that since Danger Mouse’s initial contributions to Attack & Release that the group has evolved into a different entity; at the time, it was a necessary injection of new blood, as the original formula had begun to deliver diminished returns (though I believe that Magic Potion doesn’t deserve the poor reputation that it seems to have received). Though the sound of present-day Black Keys differs in many ways from the Rubber Factory and thickfreakness days, one can still feel the basic DNA of their sound still present in the music, that it’s simply exploring different sonic territory through their own unique lens.
Coveredis a feature where we examine the merits of various cover songs, debating whether or not they capture the spirit and intent of the original, if the cover adds anything new, and whether or not it perhaps surpasses the original. If we fail on those counts, at the very least we may expose you to different versions of great songs you hadn’t heard before.
Today’s inspiration comes from the simple fact that I was listening to the underrated punk band Mclusky this afternoon. They’re now defunct, but they left us with some classic post-hardcore albums that are an excellent mix of fiery intensity and bitterly sarcastic humor. Just taking a look at their album titles should give a clue about the latter (My Pain and Sadness Is More Sad and Painful Than Yours and The Difference Between Me and You Is That I’m Not On Fire come to mind, but knowing the allusion of Mclusky Do Dallas is hilarious as well).
“To Hell With Good Intentions” is one of my favorites, with its string of ridiculous boasts for each verse, mirrored by the nonsensical response of “My love is bigger than your love” and punctuated by the simple warning of the chorus: “We’re all going straight to hell.” Musically, it’s spare, simple, and direct, marked most notably by a rhythmic bass hit that emphasizes each line.
It turns out that these elements help make the song an excellent song to cover. I had a friend whose band used to cover this song, and honestly, it was probably the best song they did–and all they had to do was pretty much play it note-for-note. The song has a natural energy and bounce, and accomplishes the trick of allowing the vocalist to attempt to be more theatrical while the backing instrumentation can focus on the tight music. Also, by the end of the song, even if the audience wasn’t familiar with the song, they’ll be able to sing along.
Japandroids are a much much much much better band than my friend’s band, so it should be no surprise that they perform an excellent version of the song. There’s the necessary musical adjustment from a bass-guitar-drums trio to a guitar-drums duo, with Brian King merging the original’s bassline into a denser overall guitar part. Japandroids also indulge the natural tendency that occurs when covering punk songs, and that’s to play it faster–but they don’t let the tempo get away from them, meaning that they’re able to convey all the urgency they want from the song, but they keep it constrained well enough that it never feels like rushing. A lot of credit should be given to David Prowse’s excellent drumming, both for his timekeeping and his spot-on fills.
BONUS VERSION
Here’s a live version of the Japandroids cover, this time in a more sedate setting:
We’ve got a lot of fun videos and other distractions for your pre-Memorial Day week, so let’s get going.
First, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah released an intense and haunting video for their new single “As Always”. The song is an interesting change in direction for the band, with spare guitar melodies filtering in and out of a spectral synth track, and propelled by a galloping drum track that stutters a bit with its inventive use of ghost notes.
Damon Albarn (Blur, Gorillaz, The Good, The Bad & The Queen, and even more groups) released his solo debut Everyday Robots a few weeks back, and while we’re still processing the spare and melancholic nature of the album, that hasn’t stopped Damon from releasing a video for one of the more upbeat tracks on the album. He released a video for “Mr Tembo”, a song about an orphaned baby elephant he met in Tanzania, and the video features clips of the little guy in action. I think this is one of the few times I would prefer less footage of the musicians, just so we can get more baby elephant scenes.
AllMusic conducted an interview with The Dandy Warhols, where they do the usual thing of talking about influences and songwriting goals, which actually are rather revealing when you consider the trajectory of their career. In addition, they have the premiere of the lyric video for their classic “Bohemian Like You”. It’s actually the version from their recent release Thirteen Tales From Urban Bohemia Live at the Wonder, and features some goofy animation. So, there’s that.
Last weekend’s Saturday Night Live had one of my favorite sketches of the season, with an Andy Samberg Digital Short that was a vicious parody of the inherent ridiculousness of the current EDM scene. Radio.com picked up some of the reactions from various famous DJs, and many seemed to enjoy the joke, though who knows how many thought that they were not themselves the target.
SPIN has an article talking about the first public performance of the reunited Slowdive and includes some video footage from the secret gig. It’s great to see the band together again, though expectations should be tempered a bit considering the (understandably) low quality of the footage.
The weather up here in the Pacific NW has decided to morph into summer early this year, but for those of you who aren’t as lucky, we have plenty of #longreads to keep you busy this weekend.
As a musician, I’ve heard and shared my fair share of drummer jokes. Here’s one of my favorites:
A new customer walks into the new store on the block that sells brains. There are three glass cases, each containing a nice wet quivering grey brain. The first one says “Doctor”, and it costs $10. The second says “Astrophysicist” and costs $100. The third says “Drummer” and costs $10,000. The customer is confused, and questions the salesperson. “I don’t get it…why would I want a drummer’s brain for $10,000 when I can get an a doctor’s for $10?”. The salesman replies, “Because it’s never been used.”
A couple of weeks back, we linked to an article which detailed some of the circumstances of Kliph Scurlock’s firing from the Flaming Lips, and we feel it would probably be good to link to an update on the reasoning behind the move.
In a recent post, we discussed the random brilliance of parts of the Godzilla soundtrack, and asked why aren’t there more songs with random Godzilla noises. Apparently, we weren’t alone with such questions, and someone took it upon themselves to make sure that the world is filled with more Godzilla “remixes”.
This week, the AV Club had a couple of good appreciation pieces. First, they updated their series “Fear of a Punk Decade” with a look back at 1998, mainly through the lens of the release of Refused’s seminal album The Shape of Punk to Come. You can probably tell that we’re pretty big fans of Refused (take a look at our cover banner), so we’re always grateful for any mention of the band. The other big event covered is the release of At the Drive-In’s In/Casino/Out, which mirrored Refused’s attempts to shape post-hardcore punk, and served as a glimpse to their magnum opus Relationship of Command which would be released a few years later. Then there’s a piece on Ratatat’s self-titled debut, and how it would unknowingly influence alternative and electronic music later on in the decade.
Every year brings some new rumor that The Avalanches are working on a new album, and each year we hold out hope that one day these rumors hold true. It’s perfectly understandable, considering how beloved their debut (and so far only) album Since I Left You was. I remember they first grabbed my attention with the memorable video for “Frontier Psychiatrist”, from back in the days when MTV2 showed music videos (yes, I’m of that rare age where I mourn the philosophical changes of both MTV (Original Recipe) and MTV2). The concept was simple but genius: have each sample, no matter how esoteric or outlandish, performed by live actors as if part of some bizarre variety show.
It wasn’t until years later that I found out that they created another music video, this one for the title track. While “Frontier Psychiatrist” has its charms and still makes me chuckle after all these years, in terms of sheer brilliance “Since I Left You” has it beat. It begins with two coal miners stuck deep underground, when the faint strains of distant music begin to drift in, guiding the miners to a passageway out of the shaft. The visual component perfectly captures the audio shift in the song, as the moment the miners open the trap door, the music swells to fully envelop the room. We are then transported from a bleak world of gritty black-and-white to a much more modern dance style full of vibrancy and life, as the miners are greeted by two lovely female ballet dancer counterparts.
It’s at this point that we get to the main action of the video, as one of the miners seizes the moment and begins to perform an intricate and elegant dance, belying the expectations one would expect from his gruff appearance. In that sense, it bears more than a passing resemblance to the Fatboy Slim video “Weapon of Choice”, which was released a few months before. The dance of the miner captures the elation felt in both the music and the vocals; though the lyrics are “since I left you, I found the world so new”, the action focuses on the euphoric emotion and not the specific act (at least at first).
Everything seems to be going so well, but unfortunately reality has to intrude. The other miner who stays on the sidelines begins to fade out, and he has to leave his friend behind. The video ends with the epilogue of the returned miner informing us “Three days later, they dug me out; I never saw Arthur again. But I’ll bet wherever he’s gone, he’s having a damn good time.” It’s a melancholic twist that nonetheless maintains a certain sweetness, because even though his friend is gone, he can still remember that last moment of bliss.
Now knowing the full context of the video, the events depicted take on a new meaning. It’s almost certain that the miraculous discovery of the secret portal is representative of the moment that the two miners lose consciousness, and that the events depicted in the dance studio are some sort of hallucination. Even though this is purely in the realm of the imaginary, there are still touches that help ground the scene and keep it as realistic as possible. One example is the inclusion of the two judges, who act as both witnesses to the events and as an audience surrogate. Unlike the Christopher Walken/Fatboy Slim video, it seems in this case that there seems to be an interaction with the outside world.
However, it is when you consider the hallucination framing that you realize the true extent of the heartbreaking nature of the surviving minor. Notice how unsure he is of himself and his reluctance to join in, even though it’s clear he feels a strong urge to participate. Even when the beautiful girl comes over to provide some gentle encouragement, he still can’t get over his self-doubt to fully join in and instead remains on the sideline providing the occasional tambourine beat. This means that even in his fantasies, the surviving miner still retains all his insecurities and can’t indulge in his desire to be happy. For some people, this hits a little close to home.
Even considering this probability, one can still take the ending as a joyous one if the lyrics are considered once again–“since I left you, I found the world so new.” We can hope that as the surviving miner went on to live long after the events depicted in the video, that perhaps he took to heart the lesson that his departed friend taught him, that to find happiness one must take the opportunity and seize it. It’s not just his friend that’s having a damn good time, but hopefully the survivor as well.
With the newest iteration of Godzilla being released this Friday, now is as good a time as any to ask this question: how did possibly the greatest song in the entire Rage Against The Machine catalog end up on the soundtrack to an incredibly shitty film?
Mind you, I have no answers or inside knowledge as to how it occurred. Yes, there is a mention of the beloved monster in the lyrics. Of course, the full line is “Godzilla? Pure motherfuckin’ filler, get your eyes off the real killer.” I would never excuse entertainment executives of ignoring salient context, but you would think someone would have said at some point “this song is kind of mocking the very existence of this movie, is it a great idea to include it on the soundtrack?” I would imagine if this question was so posed, that the answer was “Any publicity is good publicity; we’re just being edgy, kids eat that shit up.”
But that distracts a bit from my original point, that this is some of Rage Against The Machine’s finest work. It doesn’t feature any incredible guitar theatrics from Tom Morello (the solo is basically just one tremolo’d wah note played multiple times, like a whacked-out version of the memorable one-note solo from Neil Young’s “Cinnamon Girl”), but it does feature a groovy riff and a rocking coda, and some of Zach de la Rocha’s best lyrics. It’s such a great song that I spent years trying to find the Australian import of The Battle of Los Angeles so I could have the song on an actual Rage album, and not some crappy soundtrack where I’d have to skip around to get to the good stuff. I did end up finding a certain version of the “Guerrilla Radio” single that included the track, so it all ended up working pretty well.
That said, there were some hidden gems on that soundtrack. I always thought that “A320” fitted nicely along with other well-known classic Foo Fighters tracks, and is definitely their most underrated song. I could listen to that ever-escalating coda forever. And then there’s “Deeper Underground”, which I’m told is one of Jamiroquai’s better songs, at least from that period (confirmation from RIJR has yet to take place). Finally, we have the remixed version of “Brain Stew” which not only adds some nice electronic touches, but also includes well-placed Godzilla screams. I’ve always said that we need more Godzilla remixes of songs, and it’s too bad that no one has taken on that mantle. Can’t you imagine how bitching a Godzilla remix of The Shins’ “New Slang” would be? It would totally take that song to another level.
I can only hope to be pleasantly surprised this weekend, and that we find out that history repeats itself and we randomly get another brilliant Rage Against The Machine song. It would definitely help take the sting out of the Blazers’ elimination a little bit.
Back in 2004, the descendants of Alternative Nation celebrated the return of the Pixies, perhaps the greatest band to come out of the underground music scene of the late 80’s and early 90’s. For many of those fans, this was especially welcome because they had grown up well past the band’s heyday, and had figured they would never get the chance to see such a legendary band live, this author included. I’m not using the term “legendary” lightly either–savvy music fans were well aware of the debt that their favorite bands of the 90’s had to the Pixies and realized the scope of their influence on alternative music from that era. We discovered their genius when we heard bands like Weezer cover their songs and saw Kurt Cobain name-drop them in numerous interviews, after which we headed to the record store as if we were completing a homework assignment to study up on what helped create our favorite music.
My personal introduction to the band was hearing “Where Is My Mind?” play over the ending of Fight Club, an experience I imagine many others shared. It was a perfect companion to a film that had just blown my mind, a moment that is unsullied years later even after thousands of people have misinterpreted the movie and turned into some sort of cinematic Bro Bible. Though the official soundtrack didn’t include the song, it still stuck with me for a long time.
My next experience was when a friend brought along a copy of the Greatest Hits compilation Death to the Pixies for one of our road-trips up I-5. I was immediately impressed by their cover of “Cecilia Ann”, and was hoping to hear more of this cool surf-rock. However, the compilation is not set up in a manner really suited to the Pixies novice, though to be fair it does a good job of representing the different eras of their career. The easier-to-swallow pop songs were mixed haphazardly throughout, and as a result the harder-edged rockers predominated in my mind (it didn’t help that driving on the interstate would cause road noise to swallow up most of the nuances either). Still, besides the aforementioned “Cecilia Ann”, I remember loving every second of “Debaser” as soon as I heard it.
The song had everything I would come to love about the Pixies: the catchy and smooth leads of Joey Santiago, the whacked-out lyrics and delirious intensity of Black Francis, the (metaphorically) steady hand of Kim Deal to provide the counterpoint, and those driving and energetic drums from Dave Lovering. The melodies were instantly memorable, and the song said everything that needed to be said in less than three minutes. Hell, even the lyrics about watching weird movies about slicin’ up eyeballs were appealing to a guy branching out into the more obscure subfields of cinema, and also just being of a juvenile mindset of HEY LOOK AT THIS TERRIBLE THING.
But while the love of “Debaser” was instantaneous, and appreciation for other songs quickly followed (“Velouria”, “La La Love You”, “Monkey Gone to Heaven”, and especially “Here Comes Your Man” (which is so catchy that it boggles my mind as to how it never became a crossover smash)), it would still be time before I would have total adoration for the entire Pixies catalog. It would take a few listens to appreciate the raucous nature of “Tame” or “Something Against You”, and realize that the genius of the band was how they were both the pop craftsmen of “Wave of Mutilation” and the harsh punks of “Crackity Jones”. If this were a more pretentious piece, now would be the time to drop some reference to Jungian archetypes or something along those lines, but I’ll just trust you the reader to fill those in as you see fit.
Over the years, my love and respect for the band deepened. I consider Doolittle to be the greatest album of the 80’s, with Surfer Rosa only a few notches behind, and Bossanova remains a personal favorite (my early love of “Cecilia Ann” and “Velouria” paving the way for years of endless repeated listens probably helped elevate my opinion of that particular album as compared to most of my peers, but fuck them, because it’s a great album top-to-bottom). Seeing Doolittle performed in its entirety live was one of the highlights of my concert-going experience, one that I am unlikely to forget.
However, after years of touring on the backs of (their admittedly great) previous work, many fans yearned to hear something new from the band. Sure, it was great to see our old favorites performed live, but we needed more variety, especially considering how closely the songs align with their album versions. And thus, we have the dilemma–what happens when our expectations of a band have outstripped their abilities? In other words, fans were soon faced with the lesson that countless others have faced over thousands of years of human history: be careful what you wish for.
*******
Perhaps we were a bit spoiled, considering how Dinosaur Jr. was able to reunite its classic lineup and toss off three fantastic albums that measure up to their early work, and how My Bloody Valentine just last year made the 20+ year wait for a follow-up to Loveless nearly worth it. Touring behind the same old songs made the Pixies suffer in comparison, and we were eager for something new to replace the diminishing returns of seeing the same material once again. In response, the Pixies released their first new album since 1991’s Trompe le Monde, with Indie Cindy hitting the shelves two weeks ago. But where was the celebration this time?
The muted reaction was an understandable response to the drawn-out release of the record, as we heard bits and pieces over the previous months as the songs were released in various EPs. Some of the initial reactions from fans (and critics) were quite vicious, and the result was that the eventual compilation of the three EPs came and went with little fanfare. The reviews haven’t been kind, with some publications ignoring it altogether. All that considered, I’d say that a lot of this intense reaction is misplaced.
Let’s make this clear: Indie Cindy is a decent, but definitely not great album. There are certainly several issues with this record, many of which bother long-time Pixies fans. The production is too loud, and the band attempts to do too much all the time instead of letting each element breathe on its own. Consider how some of the greatest moments from Pixies songs are when an instrument are given a few seconds of spotlight, from the bass in “Gigantic” or “Tame”, to the drum intro of “La La Love You”, to the simple acoustic strums of “Where Is My Mind?” or the broken arpeggios of “Hey”. Even when everybody comes together, these moments stand out in contrast to the rest of the song. The lack of a bass presence throughout the album also hurts, as the band didn’t care to flesh out those parts (Joey in a recent interview when discussing Kim’s departure said, “She would have had input, sure, but at the end of the day, a bass part is kind of like a bass part, y’know?”). While Kim didn’t play the most complicated parts in the world, they did provide an effective counter to the other guitar parts and melodies. The biggest problem may be Joey’s leads–before, he was a almost surgical in providing concise and memorable melodies, like the descending line in “Velouria” or the bouncy melody in “Here Comes Your Man”. On Indie Cindy, few guitar lines stick out, and more often than not play out as just an additional layer of sludge on top of ordinary material. The worst part may be that all these songs are too long–for a guy who once cited Buddy Holly as an inspiration, saying that if two-minute songs were good enough for him, they should be good enough for anybody, it’s disheartening to see an album with songs around three and four minutes each.
All those problems aside, Indie Cindy still is on the whole a worthwhile record and not at all the black eye that its most hardened critics proclaim. “Greens and Blues”, embedded above, would fit in perfectly with one of the bands more melodic ballads, and features the most memorable melody and guitar lead on the album. “Blue Eyed Hexe” is a pretty good rip-off of their own “U-Mass”, and is part of a back half of an album that in general bears a closer resemblance to the golden era of the band. The album overall holds up better with repeated listens, and there isn’t a single song that I would outright skip (though the album doesn’t do itself any favors by opening up with the weak “What Goes Boom”). In my mind, the album rates about the same as Trompe le Monde, a record that I rarely consider whenever I feel in the mood for some Pixies, and usually only listen to as a reminder that, hey, I should probably do a better job of trying to like this album. In that regard, Indie Cindy doesn’t stand out as some outlier among a continued line of brilliance, but more of a typical example of a band’s evolution.
It’s interesting that the band has inspired in some such a hysterical reaction; while the Pixies are one of my all-time favorite bands who put out some classic albums, in the end they’re a group that treads in catchy melodies and some fun rockers. I can see how people create a certain bond with artists, depending on their deeply-seated philosophical beliefs or their fiercely personal lyrics, but these aren’t characteristics that one uses to describe the Pixies. It’s not as if Elliott Smith or Neutral Milk Hotel decided to change course and start writing jingles for soft drink companies. Even the band has no idea what their lyrics are about.
I think the real reason why the reaction to Indie Cindy was so intense was not only the intense devotion that many of these reviewers had to a band from their youth, but as a protection against the possibility that the next generation would never understand the Pixies’ brilliance if this album was their first exposure to the band. While I see some merits to that outlook, in practice it doesn’t mean much. As I pointed out before, I came to the band from the backdoor, though it was through one of their greatest songs. But people all the time discover their favorite artists through unconventional means, and yes, sometimes their worst work is the gateway. The first album I ever bought by The Jam was their mediocre swan song The Gift, because it was cheap and I knew I had to learn about the band. Years later, I listen to The Jam regularly and The Gift rarely comes up in the rotation of superior albums like All Mod Cons, Setting Sons, or Sound Affects. What’s funny is that many people are now getting their first taste of the Pixies not through Indie Cindy, but through an awful iPhone commercial featuring a terrible cover of their classic “Gigantic”. Ironically, it would have been far better for everyone if they used a mediocre Pixies album as their entrance point instead.
Rust Is Just Right 