It's little secret that I am a QueenAdreena fan. Easily, the group is in my top 5 picks that define my musical interests. It is however, an interest fraught with less than desirable results. Katie Jane Garside, for better or for worse embodies the mantle of the band, she is in effect: Queen Adreena. The "wrecked nymph waif" that saunters onstage in a salacious, seemingly-possessed persona that eclipses all the senses is well-beyond any other element of the experience. And it is in that framework that KJG is vilified...
Let's be clear, in appearances alone, the emotionally unsound affect coupled with being barely-clothed and possibly naked and offering yourself to an audience of strangers to grope, molest, and violate is the blanket ingredients to shock value recipe. It is also akin to watching a schizophrenic attempt to coexist in a sterile world. It feels wrong, it feels dirty, it feels like it shouldn't be seen. And that's exactly at the core of what's transpiring. You should feel that way. Unfortunately - with much of society, what we don't want to see, we also don't want to understand.
There has been the obvious comparison to Courtney Love. Both women exude a tortured and unsettled emotion that is a pain that can't be exorcised... and it presents itself in a seething, volatile assault on the listener. But I would draw closed the comparison there. While we know much (probably too much) about the path Courtney Love has traveled, that same cannot be said about Katie Jane Garside. One can assume that there is a lifetime's worth of hurt that is personified in her lyrics and stage-persona, but we don't really know. And it's really not the point, and if you think KJG doesn't realize that, you are taking her wholly for granted. If for instance she made a statement that claimed she had been victimized as a child - it would make it so much easier to understand her presence; neatly categorized and packaged for individual judgment. And now suddenly, it's not as important, I can choose to care about this or not.
I will argue that Katie Jane Garside and Queen Adreena should draw more comparisons to Marilyn Manson than perhaps anyone. MM stoked the conservative rhetoric fire for choosing to be the embodiment of every parent's worst fear. A figurehead that questions organized religion, decency, morality, and packaged it into a fearsome, androgynous, educated and well-spoken antichrist. The image was so disconcerting that few could look past the spectacle to read and listen to the lyrics; to sit back and question what is happening and why? MM made the decision, quite reluctantly, to let America in on the joke... and now he is palatable enough for tv and film.
So, why in this morality lesson that Marilyn Manson, David Bowie, Alice Cooper, Rozz Williams chose to teach us that we aren't ready to go beyond the "transgressions" of KJG? I would offer that it's three reasons: Unlike MM, Bowie, etc., she is unwilling to give definition to this aspect of herself; the music is so seething and angry that it's off-putting; but I am willing to claim that the biggest reason is because sexuality is a much different monster than religion, morality, decency. A women using her body as a statement and eliciting a sexual response without explanation is simply too egregious an act to quantify.
Now, if you couple the image with the word, perhaps the revulsion seems absolutely correct. With song titles like, "Pretty Like Drugs", "Suck", "Kitty Collar Tight", "F.M. Doll" - surely this is all just shock value and that is all that should be elicited as a response. But what is painfully evident when you listen to those songs and read the lyrics is that even from Daisy Chainsaw days, that KJG was drawing parallels between a woman's sexuality being her only currency in a world hell-bent on exploiting that. And suddenly, the spectacle makes perfect sense. The trap has been baited with silence and that enticement was too much to refuse. Out fell, the basest of human decency, the double standards by which women live their lives, and the judgmental bubble by which we navigate life. Accepting that you are a victim of this trap is a bitter pill... thinking that somehow you are better than other's for not swallowing is worse. So much effort is spent on victimizing KJG, when the reality is quite the reverse.
But perhaps it's all a mute point now. The exposition of 10 years of QueenAdreena seems to have slithered away back into the dark... the band has continued on as The Dogbones, and Garside has devoted a lot of time to writing and Rubythroat. I feel it's worth noting, that despite song-writing that remains true to her nearly 3 decades in the music industry, somehow when the stage-stripping, writhing and screaming stopped - the press suddenly expressed a profound love for the "new KJG". It's laughable, I know she's laughing. Being a sedate, intellectual woman is clearly more respectable than an angry, hell-bent, intellectual woman... but I guess we already knew that.
KJG has a new book coming out, if it's anything like her previous efforts, it will be painstakingly constructed and a special piece in your collection:
Katie Jane Garside
Showing posts with label Personal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Personal. Show all posts
02 December, 2016
01 May, 2014
The Desert Island Post or Life-Affected Albums - Part Four
This is likely the final installment of this thread. I've perused over my list endlessly, and revisited many of the notes I've etched upon it, and honestly, these are the most challenging of my choices thus far. While listening to the albums, I try to transport myself to that moment of discovery and then weigh that effect. I then realized there were an equal number of discoveries that have occurred since my life became intertwined with the world network. Perhaps that's a another list? But the web, and the friends discovered therein have brought Zola Jesus, Austra, Die Antwoord, A Place To Bury Strangers, The December Sound, San Antonio's Guilty Strangers and Veronica's Veil, Audra, Akubi Object and so many more. Often that has ignited the same kind of fervor that picking up something completely foreign in a record store can create, but I think it's different in the visceral effect. Nothing really compares to sitting down to something new and pondering over liner notes, lyrics, artwork, and photos; not to mention that all senses come into one succinct investigation: the smell of the packaging, the texture of the material, the etchings in dead wax, the mysterious lyric unfolding into the ears. Oh, but what about taste?! Well, if you are me, you're teeth make quick work of shrink wrap.
With all of that said, the final 5 (or is it 6)?
SIGUR ROS: AGAETIS BYRJUN
Discovery came via a friend of my ex-wife, and I was immediately scouring my old friend, Napster, for what it could share. The only complete album I succeeded in obtaining was Agaetis Byrjun, and if I had never heard anything else, Sigur Ros would still haunt me unyieldingly. I was lulled into a web that vibrated with familiar shoegaze textures, and as if a sedative, the breathy Jonsi desiccated my apprehension. I did not know what was being sung, it was Icelandic for all I knew, it was some years before I learned that it often wasn't lyrics at all. There is not a more intoxicating beauty than what washes over this album. It at times recalls Pink Floyd, but they are subtle glimpses. In sharing this album with others, what I've come to realize is that it somehow evokes an emotional response particular to the listener. Whereas I might hear sadness and desolation, someone else finds warmth and beauty. In my experience, that's a remarkable and unique feat whether intended or not. Perhaps it's picking up on the different textures, translating rhythm as revisited memories. When I hear the percussion of "Staralfur", I am with Hannah and Ethan at Lake Eola watching 4th Of July fireworks. Up until their final moments, Sigur Ros remained inventive, unique, and a benchmark for being non-conformed.
BILL CALLAHAN: SOMETIMES I WISH WE WERE AN EAGLE
I think this is the only entry precipitated by a live performance. I was essentially oblivious to the career of Bill Callahan, and barely cognizant of Smog. One chilly, Orlando night all of that changed quite profoundly. This seemingly annoyed, older gentleman in blue jeans with a beat acoustic guitar took the stage and unloaded glorious poetry that gave me chills. Every dormant creative synapse that lay languishing in my frontal lobe was lit aflame. Sometimes I Wish We Were An Eagle is perfectly executed to entice the dreamer; offer itself as a muse to the writer; provide the scenery on extended stays in the car; or present itself as the maitre'd to your romantic evening. This wasn't an album that lead me on a journey of other musical discoveries, but it was the barrister who unlocked my love of writing.
THE JESUS AND MARY CHAIN: AUTOMATIC
Late, very late to this party. This album was my introduction to JAMC. Sitting in Physics class, a kid I wasn't so fond of, had perfected the drum machine tempo of this entire album onto the cover of his textbook, it was pure coincidence that I would buy it a couple of weeks later and unravel the mystery of his epilepsy. You couldn't have baited me any quicker with lyrics like, "I got the junk-gun fever sinking to my brain", "I got my senses strung out to the sky", "come on little sugar let me get your soul".
Coupled with the frantic, unrelenting drum machine rhythms, I think I was in teenage boy shangri-la. Automatic may not be the finest or most respected release, but it was their shiniest and most decadent. They fell like acid rain on America's collegiate and helped usher the tidal wave that was to follow. The Reid Brothers were sugary enough to give you diabetes and vicious enough to give you cancer, but talented beyond their years and they influenced countless bands in the decades that followed. Bands like A Place To Bury Strangers, Ceremony, The December Sound owe a lion's share to JAMC, and I imagine, like myself and that kid I didn't like, they were beating out "Blues From A Gun" on a textbook somewhere.
45 GRAVE: SLEEP IN SAFETY
This was another impulse buy, purely initiated by the cover art, and another deleted release that I was lucky enough to find at Tracks. I expected more goth-rock bliss a la Catastrophe Ballet, but instead, I was drawn into the world of deathrock. My purchase of this preceded Enigma Variations and Hell Comes To Your House and Only Theatre Of Pain, so it truly was a brand new landscape for my senses. Much unlike the 80's punk crawling out of valleys of Los Angeles, 45 Grave was a collective of seasoned and talented musicians. If the Hammer films deserved a soundtrack, then certainly the banshee-like wail of Dinah Cancer fit the bill. Recorded in musical history with a song about the rape and torture of a child, 45 Grave was a mocking sneer wrapped in a pop-horror freak show. They gave depravity an infectious heartbeat, and set the bar for the deathrock genre that still thrives today. It still fascinates me to see Pat Smear performing with rock's most successful bands, because my introduction to him came via 45 Grave. Paul B. Cutler was revered in his scene, but outside that, he remains a tremendous talent relatively unknown. Rob Graves, Don Bolles, Paul Roessler - brought pulsing depth, macabre instrumentation, and levity to the wickedness. Sleep In Safety, hardly... unless you were a 13 yr. old that sought the carnival leaving town. I met Dinah when I was 13, backstage, she gave me a pinback which I still have. She didn't bat an eyelash as to my presence, but did leave me with memories that exceeded anything a teenage boy can ponder.
QUEENSRYCHE: RAGE FOR ORDER / THE WARNING
I debated the inclusion of these albums on this list... repeatedly. They are, without any hesitation, two albums I love and will keep in my collection forever. What took time to determine was their effect on me, if any at all. I'd come home very late after a night at The Masquerade, and turned on MTV to wind down. You could do that then and see actual videos. As I relaxed, "Gonna Get Close To You" came on, and within seconds, I was transfixed. I really had no idea what to make of it, appearances aside, I don't think the thought, "metal" came to mind, it was just different. I had no concept of progressive metal, but it was the elements of romanticism and this bizarre song about stalking that propelled my intrigue. Geoff Tate's range was mesmerizing, and musically, Queensryche
weren't trying to beat me to death with guitars and flashy drum tricks. I decided waiting for Peaches to open was more important than the first 4 periods of school. As the vinyl spun, I was captivated; songs about revolution, an Ayn Rand imagined future, Victorian-era London, and the perils of war. This was not what I prepared for... a metal band more interested in musicianship as a whole and writing songs with substance instead of substance abuse and misogyny. I decided, going back to Peaches was more important than the next 4 periods of school and bought The Warning. Again, biting and complex, throwing in themes of a mechanized race, and embracing intelligence over brawn. If this album is the war, then Rage For Order is it's epilogue. I've tried for years to determine which album I preferred, and I simply cannot choose. Both of them are simply remarkable with no flaws. When my collection was filling up with The Smiths, The Cure, Depeche Mode, goth-rock and post-punk, these two albums served to remind me that I should leave the door ajar to the music I loved in my younger days. Seeking out other progressive metal acts led to King Diamond, Tool, Fate's Warning, Flotsam and Jetsam and a rekindling with Black Sabbath. So, thanks to MTV for helping keep me grounded and realizing that there's a place in my heart for all music, not just that narrow shelf of cassettes at Tracks of a whole host of bands I was just discovering. at $9.99 a pop.
So... there we are. Twenty (1) albums. Unfortunately, I have 5 more. Sorry... but there will be a Part 5. That will be it. But I overlooked some important releases, and this list is incomplete without them.
With all of that said, the final 5 (or is it 6)?
Discovery came via a friend of my ex-wife, and I was immediately scouring my old friend, Napster, for what it could share. The only complete album I succeeded in obtaining was Agaetis Byrjun, and if I had never heard anything else, Sigur Ros would still haunt me unyieldingly. I was lulled into a web that vibrated with familiar shoegaze textures, and as if a sedative, the breathy Jonsi desiccated my apprehension. I did not know what was being sung, it was Icelandic for all I knew, it was some years before I learned that it often wasn't lyrics at all. There is not a more intoxicating beauty than what washes over this album. It at times recalls Pink Floyd, but they are subtle glimpses. In sharing this album with others, what I've come to realize is that it somehow evokes an emotional response particular to the listener. Whereas I might hear sadness and desolation, someone else finds warmth and beauty. In my experience, that's a remarkable and unique feat whether intended or not. Perhaps it's picking up on the different textures, translating rhythm as revisited memories. When I hear the percussion of "Staralfur", I am with Hannah and Ethan at Lake Eola watching 4th Of July fireworks. Up until their final moments, Sigur Ros remained inventive, unique, and a benchmark for being non-conformed.
I think this is the only entry precipitated by a live performance. I was essentially oblivious to the career of Bill Callahan, and barely cognizant of Smog. One chilly, Orlando night all of that changed quite profoundly. This seemingly annoyed, older gentleman in blue jeans with a beat acoustic guitar took the stage and unloaded glorious poetry that gave me chills. Every dormant creative synapse that lay languishing in my frontal lobe was lit aflame. Sometimes I Wish We Were An Eagle is perfectly executed to entice the dreamer; offer itself as a muse to the writer; provide the scenery on extended stays in the car; or present itself as the maitre'd to your romantic evening. This wasn't an album that lead me on a journey of other musical discoveries, but it was the barrister who unlocked my love of writing.
Late, very late to this party. This album was my introduction to JAMC. Sitting in Physics class, a kid I wasn't so fond of, had perfected the drum machine tempo of this entire album onto the cover of his textbook, it was pure coincidence that I would buy it a couple of weeks later and unravel the mystery of his epilepsy. You couldn't have baited me any quicker with lyrics like, "I got the junk-gun fever sinking to my brain", "I got my senses strung out to the sky", "come on little sugar let me get your soul".
Coupled with the frantic, unrelenting drum machine rhythms, I think I was in teenage boy shangri-la. Automatic may not be the finest or most respected release, but it was their shiniest and most decadent. They fell like acid rain on America's collegiate and helped usher the tidal wave that was to follow. The Reid Brothers were sugary enough to give you diabetes and vicious enough to give you cancer, but talented beyond their years and they influenced countless bands in the decades that followed. Bands like A Place To Bury Strangers, Ceremony, The December Sound owe a lion's share to JAMC, and I imagine, like myself and that kid I didn't like, they were beating out "Blues From A Gun" on a textbook somewhere.
This was another impulse buy, purely initiated by the cover art, and another deleted release that I was lucky enough to find at Tracks. I expected more goth-rock bliss a la Catastrophe Ballet, but instead, I was drawn into the world of deathrock. My purchase of this preceded Enigma Variations and Hell Comes To Your House and Only Theatre Of Pain, so it truly was a brand new landscape for my senses. Much unlike the 80's punk crawling out of valleys of Los Angeles, 45 Grave was a collective of seasoned and talented musicians. If the Hammer films deserved a soundtrack, then certainly the banshee-like wail of Dinah Cancer fit the bill. Recorded in musical history with a song about the rape and torture of a child, 45 Grave was a mocking sneer wrapped in a pop-horror freak show. They gave depravity an infectious heartbeat, and set the bar for the deathrock genre that still thrives today. It still fascinates me to see Pat Smear performing with rock's most successful bands, because my introduction to him came via 45 Grave. Paul B. Cutler was revered in his scene, but outside that, he remains a tremendous talent relatively unknown. Rob Graves, Don Bolles, Paul Roessler - brought pulsing depth, macabre instrumentation, and levity to the wickedness. Sleep In Safety, hardly... unless you were a 13 yr. old that sought the carnival leaving town. I met Dinah when I was 13, backstage, she gave me a pinback which I still have. She didn't bat an eyelash as to my presence, but did leave me with memories that exceeded anything a teenage boy can ponder.
I debated the inclusion of these albums on this list... repeatedly. They are, without any hesitation, two albums I love and will keep in my collection forever. What took time to determine was their effect on me, if any at all. I'd come home very late after a night at The Masquerade, and turned on MTV to wind down. You could do that then and see actual videos. As I relaxed, "Gonna Get Close To You" came on, and within seconds, I was transfixed. I really had no idea what to make of it, appearances aside, I don't think the thought, "metal" came to mind, it was just different. I had no concept of progressive metal, but it was the elements of romanticism and this bizarre song about stalking that propelled my intrigue. Geoff Tate's range was mesmerizing, and musically, Queensryche
weren't trying to beat me to death with guitars and flashy drum tricks. I decided waiting for Peaches to open was more important than the first 4 periods of school. As the vinyl spun, I was captivated; songs about revolution, an Ayn Rand imagined future, Victorian-era London, and the perils of war. This was not what I prepared for... a metal band more interested in musicianship as a whole and writing songs with substance instead of substance abuse and misogyny. I decided, going back to Peaches was more important than the next 4 periods of school and bought The Warning. Again, biting and complex, throwing in themes of a mechanized race, and embracing intelligence over brawn. If this album is the war, then Rage For Order is it's epilogue. I've tried for years to determine which album I preferred, and I simply cannot choose. Both of them are simply remarkable with no flaws. When my collection was filling up with The Smiths, The Cure, Depeche Mode, goth-rock and post-punk, these two albums served to remind me that I should leave the door ajar to the music I loved in my younger days. Seeking out other progressive metal acts led to King Diamond, Tool, Fate's Warning, Flotsam and Jetsam and a rekindling with Black Sabbath. So, thanks to MTV for helping keep me grounded and realizing that there's a place in my heart for all music, not just that narrow shelf of cassettes at Tracks of a whole host of bands I was just discovering. at $9.99 a pop.
So... there we are. Twenty (1) albums. Unfortunately, I have 5 more. Sorry... but there will be a Part 5. That will be it. But I overlooked some important releases, and this list is incomplete without them.
25 April, 2014
The Desert Island Post or Life Affected Albums - Part Three
It's getting a bit harder to pinpoint these. New one's keep creeping into my thoughts, and then I feel guilty because my intention was to keep this to a list of 10. I don't feel like I can keep this to a list of 15 at this point. I've been revisiting a lot of the albums I have on my hand-written list, and I don't know if I can simply say that I love them anymore, I think a few of these changed something, or introduced something for me. Let's just see what happens...
R.L. BURNSIDE: FIRST RECORDINGS
The world of blues, Chicago Blues, Delta Blues, wasn't foreign to me, I'd exposed myself to a variety of artists over the years that I'd appreciated. It was hearing, "Like A Bird Without A Feather" on WMNF late one night that shifted curiosity into passion. As painful or sad as all predecessors had been, nothing struck me like the lyrics and playing of R.L. Burnside. I was lucky enough to catch a documentary one afternoon, in which a young, white guy made it his passion to track down delta blues legends and record them. R.L. Burnside was prominently featured, and his captivity over me swelled into full blown infatuation. Stripped down, or electrified, his humble approach to a life most would consider not worth living, translates musically into a beautiful, rhythmic tragedy. It seethes and pulses, and probably made the ladies hungry. Maybe not a pioneer in the genre, but an inspiration to all that followed. His visceral retelling of pain via Son House, Bukka White and Robert Johnson is as if a man possessed by their wrecked ghosts.
PORTISHEAD: DUMMY
Yes, it was "Sour Times" that urged me to buy this disc. I was captivated by the atmospheric, film noir, haunted approach to the song. I really had no idea I was going to be treated to an entire album that essentially came from no recognizable direction. There was an element familiar to me, but that had been years earlier - and no part of me was ready to equate Portishead with Neneh Cherry's, "Homebrew". The only way I could describe Portishead to anyone, was to paint a picture of an immense space station floating through the nether regions of the galaxy, and Portishead as the lounge act that has performed every night for the past 20 years, playing the same songs, tired and withdrawn. I had no idea the achievement I unlocked was my own self-discovery of trip-hop. It was the moment I pieced it together, Geoff Barrow was the common denominator, producing many of the tracks for Neneh Cherry, and responsible for the inescapably beautiful and haunting, "Dummy". It wasn't just that the music was an alien lifeform to me, Beth Gibbons' vocals cut straight to the heart and stirred the phantoms of sorrow, loss, and love. I forgive the exhaustive brainwashing of "Sour Times", it gave foundation for the albums that followed, and without it, my path through the world of trip hop may never have been ventured.
THE BREEDERS: POD
This was a purchase on a whim. I had no idea the band was fronted by Kim Deal, or that the $19 I paid for it would translate into roughly 75 Cents per minute of listening time. What I immediately realized was that "Pod" was the most beautiful, cohesive collection of music I'd ever heard to that point. Every song was infectious, and the lyrics were a mysterious, innocent swathe that at times bore talons. I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I was so enamored with this release, that I shared it as my own music to friends and family. It's a devastatingly short album that tugs and tugs at you for more, and sadly, the band never came close to achieving such delicate brilliance again. I want there to be no other Breeders than what offered such intoxication as "Pod". It serves me as a beacon to which nothing could follow. Nothing else in my collection parallels what I discovered on "Pod", it stands alone in it's brilliant beauty.
DEAD CAN DANCE: AION
I used to work with Mike Ness at a wind-chime factory. Well, not really, but he looked like him, and drove a '67 Falcon, and a Harley, and he loved music. And he was Scottish - which really was the only indicator that he may not be Mike Ness. We developed a report and began sharing music with one another. One Monday, he presented me with a stack of Caster U.S.M., Candyflip, a bunch of other horrid crap, and DCD's, "Aion". Until that moment, I'd had zero exposure to Neo-Classical, so needless to say, I was floored. I sat in my tiny bedroom playing the disc over and over. I couldn't figure out how I'd lived 20 years on the planet and didn't know about Dead Can Dance. It was a beautiful mélange of traditional (and not in the folk sense - but the medieval sense), dance, tribal, and the most powerful, chill-inducing voice my ears had ever heard. If Lisa Gerard isn't an immaculate conception of a choir of angels - then such a thing simply can't exist. Never before had such a procession of history and culture passed before me, leaving me to seriously question my love of music. If something so stunning existed without my ever knowing, then certainly my grasp of music was far too narrow and jaded. To this day, hearing Lisa Gerard sing ushers back the flood of emotion and wonder from my first listen to "Aion". This is a band that has it's mimics, some of them finding success, but no one presents history and culture with an authenticity that Dead Can Dance does. And more importantly - no one else can play with the same authenticity that Dead Can Dance does.
OPAL: HAPPY NIGHTMARE, BABY
Paisley Underground: I was a fan. Redd Kross, Jellyfish, Rain Parade... it was a scene full of talent and influence. But it wasn't paisley I was seeking when I picked up this album, I was looking for something brooding and dark and I believed from the title and the cover photos, I might be on to something. Like many of the albums on this list, I was completely unprepared for what happened next. Opal was perfection at psychedelic and the elements that made up the paisley scene, but there were no rainbows or fields of marigolds here. "Happy Nightmare, Baby" was a black & white pictorial of loss, vices, and simply existing. If Opal were a mood ring, they'd be black and cracked. Fuck your incense, your body paint, your wanting to be naked in public - this is naked in a fetal position with a bottle of wine and the curtains drawn. Broadening your mind here means seeing the horrid reality by which we barely exist, withdrawn and unimpressed, which is exactly what solidified this album as a part of my self-awareness within the world around me.
Part four??
The world of blues, Chicago Blues, Delta Blues, wasn't foreign to me, I'd exposed myself to a variety of artists over the years that I'd appreciated. It was hearing, "Like A Bird Without A Feather" on WMNF late one night that shifted curiosity into passion. As painful or sad as all predecessors had been, nothing struck me like the lyrics and playing of R.L. Burnside. I was lucky enough to catch a documentary one afternoon, in which a young, white guy made it his passion to track down delta blues legends and record them. R.L. Burnside was prominently featured, and his captivity over me swelled into full blown infatuation. Stripped down, or electrified, his humble approach to a life most would consider not worth living, translates musically into a beautiful, rhythmic tragedy. It seethes and pulses, and probably made the ladies hungry. Maybe not a pioneer in the genre, but an inspiration to all that followed. His visceral retelling of pain via Son House, Bukka White and Robert Johnson is as if a man possessed by their wrecked ghosts.
Yes, it was "Sour Times" that urged me to buy this disc. I was captivated by the atmospheric, film noir, haunted approach to the song. I really had no idea I was going to be treated to an entire album that essentially came from no recognizable direction. There was an element familiar to me, but that had been years earlier - and no part of me was ready to equate Portishead with Neneh Cherry's, "Homebrew". The only way I could describe Portishead to anyone, was to paint a picture of an immense space station floating through the nether regions of the galaxy, and Portishead as the lounge act that has performed every night for the past 20 years, playing the same songs, tired and withdrawn. I had no idea the achievement I unlocked was my own self-discovery of trip-hop. It was the moment I pieced it together, Geoff Barrow was the common denominator, producing many of the tracks for Neneh Cherry, and responsible for the inescapably beautiful and haunting, "Dummy". It wasn't just that the music was an alien lifeform to me, Beth Gibbons' vocals cut straight to the heart and stirred the phantoms of sorrow, loss, and love. I forgive the exhaustive brainwashing of "Sour Times", it gave foundation for the albums that followed, and without it, my path through the world of trip hop may never have been ventured.
This was a purchase on a whim. I had no idea the band was fronted by Kim Deal, or that the $19 I paid for it would translate into roughly 75 Cents per minute of listening time. What I immediately realized was that "Pod" was the most beautiful, cohesive collection of music I'd ever heard to that point. Every song was infectious, and the lyrics were a mysterious, innocent swathe that at times bore talons. I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I was so enamored with this release, that I shared it as my own music to friends and family. It's a devastatingly short album that tugs and tugs at you for more, and sadly, the band never came close to achieving such delicate brilliance again. I want there to be no other Breeders than what offered such intoxication as "Pod". It serves me as a beacon to which nothing could follow. Nothing else in my collection parallels what I discovered on "Pod", it stands alone in it's brilliant beauty.
I used to work with Mike Ness at a wind-chime factory. Well, not really, but he looked like him, and drove a '67 Falcon, and a Harley, and he loved music. And he was Scottish - which really was the only indicator that he may not be Mike Ness. We developed a report and began sharing music with one another. One Monday, he presented me with a stack of Caster U.S.M., Candyflip, a bunch of other horrid crap, and DCD's, "Aion". Until that moment, I'd had zero exposure to Neo-Classical, so needless to say, I was floored. I sat in my tiny bedroom playing the disc over and over. I couldn't figure out how I'd lived 20 years on the planet and didn't know about Dead Can Dance. It was a beautiful mélange of traditional (and not in the folk sense - but the medieval sense), dance, tribal, and the most powerful, chill-inducing voice my ears had ever heard. If Lisa Gerard isn't an immaculate conception of a choir of angels - then such a thing simply can't exist. Never before had such a procession of history and culture passed before me, leaving me to seriously question my love of music. If something so stunning existed without my ever knowing, then certainly my grasp of music was far too narrow and jaded. To this day, hearing Lisa Gerard sing ushers back the flood of emotion and wonder from my first listen to "Aion". This is a band that has it's mimics, some of them finding success, but no one presents history and culture with an authenticity that Dead Can Dance does. And more importantly - no one else can play with the same authenticity that Dead Can Dance does.
Paisley Underground: I was a fan. Redd Kross, Jellyfish, Rain Parade... it was a scene full of talent and influence. But it wasn't paisley I was seeking when I picked up this album, I was looking for something brooding and dark and I believed from the title and the cover photos, I might be on to something. Like many of the albums on this list, I was completely unprepared for what happened next. Opal was perfection at psychedelic and the elements that made up the paisley scene, but there were no rainbows or fields of marigolds here. "Happy Nightmare, Baby" was a black & white pictorial of loss, vices, and simply existing. If Opal were a mood ring, they'd be black and cracked. Fuck your incense, your body paint, your wanting to be naked in public - this is naked in a fetal position with a bottle of wine and the curtains drawn. Broadening your mind here means seeing the horrid reality by which we barely exist, withdrawn and unimpressed, which is exactly what solidified this album as a part of my self-awareness within the world around me.
Part four??
22 April, 2014
The Desert Island Post or Life-Affected Albums - Part Two
Picking up where we left off.
THE ENIGMA VARIATIONS V1
Generally, when it comes to compilations, it's an ugly affair. A hit or miss hodgepodge of artists of all genres that fit together like flat-head screwdrivers and Phillips head screws. If I was completely honest, this compilation probably falls precisely into my generalization. However, this label from El Segundo under the guise of Enigma, Restless, Pink Dust, Fever... provided an avenue for some of the earliest indie bands, and offered an array of such talent that they solidified a place in musical history (unfortunately, many have forgotten or chosen to ignore it). They were fearless in providing contracts to everyone from Stryper to GG Allin. It was precisely the focus on talent over image that made "Enigma Variations" such a tremendous collection. I was introduced to Redd Kross, Leaving Trains, Green On Red, Naked Prey, T.S.O.L., 45 Grave, cowpunk... on and on. It's at times hilarious (John Trubee), at times dark (T.S.O.L.), at times, mesmerizing (Redd Kross). This collection of music single-handedly started an expensive and tiring search for so much that was happening below the mainstream. This was my first glimpse at the undercurrent of music, and it was love at first sight. And any label responsible for the original release of "Daydream Nation", or The Dead Milkmen catalog, or bringing Poison into the world (scratch that) is worthy of my love and affection... I was so sad to see you go. And yes, the irony doesn't escape me - being the compiler of music that I am.
CINDYTALK: IN THIS WORLD
Eric Snyder was a local music journalist writing in the Tampa Bay Metro Area, and it was his review of this album that sent me seeking it out. Little did I know, how difficult a quest that would be. I wound up having to order it through a local chain, and when it arrived (a month later) - that moment was my "import prices deflowering". I took this home and listened to it 3 times without pause. My brain struggled to define it, though it's effect on me was quite palpable. Sparse and haunting, and emotion punctuated by the Scottish wail of Gordon Sharp. It was a number of years before I pieced together his participation in This Mortal Coil, even more years before I discovered he was invited to be the vocalist in Duran Duran. "In This World" presented a suggestion that poetry, abstract, and art can be textures within music; transforming the expression from just listening to also feeling, seeing, and hearing. Though, by no means "post rock", without Cindytalk, that exploratory journey into Mono, Sigur Ros, Godspeed You Black Emperor many years later may not have happened. Of all the items on my list, this truly has, is, and will likely always remain utterly and painfully unique. It's not beautiful journey; it's equal parts desolation, abandonment, and fear; but "In This World" is breathtaking in it's prolonged approach to illicit expression. Perhaps it's why it took 30 listens to piece it all together, but only 1 listen to know I didn't want it to end.
BILLIE HOLIDAY: LADY IN AUTUMN (THE BEST OF THE VERVE YEARS)
It was, oddly enough, my Dad that brought this home. It was likely a mistake or an auto ship from a music subscription club, but regardless, it was captivating to me. I was familiar with Billie Holiday, but not on an intimate level, and this recording brought me front and center to her live performances. Our relationship from that moment on tread a delicately woven line of fragile and fail. Understanding the tragedy of her life did not unravel a tapestry of admiration or respect, it did however serve as a muse to the bleakest aspects of my personality. A life-coach for self-loathing and self-destruction, and a love affair with absolution from heart. The disc transgresses, and initially, Billie Holiday's voice snuffs the clamor of the audience and ushers them deep beneath her wave. She is a siren that victimizes the heartless, and slays the wicked. As the recordings draw to a close, Holiday is a collapsing sun; a piercing light stretching across a blanket of darkness. Her voice impassioned by alcohol, sickness, and heroin; she steps away a much fiercer beast; beaten by the wounds but much less forgiving. It was, incidentally, a very difficult choice here. MILES DAVIS': KIND OF BLUE perhaps had a greater impact upon me musically; but weighing that in comparison to how I physically wore Billie Holiday, and impressed her upon my veins made my decision.
QUEENADREENA: TAXIDERMY
This was another difficult choice. Torn between this release, and DAISY CHAINSAW'S: ELEVENTEEN, I chose "Taxidermy" for a handful of reasons. Both albums had a psychological effect on me, but it was Katie Jane Garside's acceptance of her sickness (whatever that may be); her seething swathe of ferocity; and utterly wrecked fragility that coaxed me to find this album iconic. I believe it was an utterance of Chris Graves, "check out Queenadreena" that pry loose the nails of this coffin. My first glance at, whatever video it was, wove a rather pernicious spell. The noisy, post-punk, glam Daisy Chainsaw had resurrected into a socially-conscious, lush, beautiful, noisy, post-punk Queenadreena. "What-the-fuck just happened?" was my only utterance. I really had no way to relate to what the band was doing - but I knew it was a musical amalgamation of many bands I adored (Daisy Chainsaw included), beyond that - I really had no where to go. Garside's anger was on par with Zach De La Rocha, but at times her vocals presented a serenity and calmness that could lull a child to sleep. They've been called riotgrrrl - which of course is a label I get. Perhaps Garside's stage persona does fringe upon the genre, but from an album standpoint, it can't be dumbed down to one easy answer. The lyrics are strikingly personal (or are they?) - presented with such passion and intensity, you simply can't believe it can be faked. That's part of the enigma: interviews that are few and are trainwrecks; a stage presence so self-deprecating it's resulted in being molested by the crowd; an artist that recalls innocence and the sort of renderings a child might do for a police investigation; and a vocalist whose other projects are borderline folk music. It refuses an understanding, and if you venture here, you accept the abuse, the beauty, the anger, and the fragility as a whole.
THE STONE ROSES: THE STONE ROSES
The most recent addition to this list. It's an album I've always loved despite the heavy rotation of singles on the radio and MTV, but it was always an album that would have traveled with me to the deserted island, not a selection that would be emotionally impactful. That transition came about on a Friday night, 2 years ago, sitting in I-Bar rather hurt, rather depressed, and mentally, a hundred miles away from the people I had journeyed with. "(I Am) The Resurrection" blared, quite unexpectedly into the crowded club - immediately, my already dour mood sunk to the point of tears. I knew quite certainly, that what I'd been forcing myself to not accept as real, was indeed my heart letting me know that I was in love; and quite unfortunately, not with that love. There hadn't been hours of bonding over The Stone Roses, but it was "our album", an offering upon which our paths merged. Lyrically, it's a poignant selection, the title's of each track alone could outline our time together. In that respect, it will always be a milestone upon which a new chapter was formed and continues to write itself.
I feel it's probably necessary to do a Part Three....
Generally, when it comes to compilations, it's an ugly affair. A hit or miss hodgepodge of artists of all genres that fit together like flat-head screwdrivers and Phillips head screws. If I was completely honest, this compilation probably falls precisely into my generalization. However, this label from El Segundo under the guise of Enigma, Restless, Pink Dust, Fever... provided an avenue for some of the earliest indie bands, and offered an array of such talent that they solidified a place in musical history (unfortunately, many have forgotten or chosen to ignore it). They were fearless in providing contracts to everyone from Stryper to GG Allin. It was precisely the focus on talent over image that made "Enigma Variations" such a tremendous collection. I was introduced to Redd Kross, Leaving Trains, Green On Red, Naked Prey, T.S.O.L., 45 Grave, cowpunk... on and on. It's at times hilarious (John Trubee), at times dark (T.S.O.L.), at times, mesmerizing (Redd Kross). This collection of music single-handedly started an expensive and tiring search for so much that was happening below the mainstream. This was my first glimpse at the undercurrent of music, and it was love at first sight. And any label responsible for the original release of "Daydream Nation", or The Dead Milkmen catalog, or bringing Poison into the world (scratch that) is worthy of my love and affection... I was so sad to see you go. And yes, the irony doesn't escape me - being the compiler of music that I am.
Eric Snyder was a local music journalist writing in the Tampa Bay Metro Area, and it was his review of this album that sent me seeking it out. Little did I know, how difficult a quest that would be. I wound up having to order it through a local chain, and when it arrived (a month later) - that moment was my "import prices deflowering". I took this home and listened to it 3 times without pause. My brain struggled to define it, though it's effect on me was quite palpable. Sparse and haunting, and emotion punctuated by the Scottish wail of Gordon Sharp. It was a number of years before I pieced together his participation in This Mortal Coil, even more years before I discovered he was invited to be the vocalist in Duran Duran. "In This World" presented a suggestion that poetry, abstract, and art can be textures within music; transforming the expression from just listening to also feeling, seeing, and hearing. Though, by no means "post rock", without Cindytalk, that exploratory journey into Mono, Sigur Ros, Godspeed You Black Emperor many years later may not have happened. Of all the items on my list, this truly has, is, and will likely always remain utterly and painfully unique. It's not beautiful journey; it's equal parts desolation, abandonment, and fear; but "In This World" is breathtaking in it's prolonged approach to illicit expression. Perhaps it's why it took 30 listens to piece it all together, but only 1 listen to know I didn't want it to end.
It was, oddly enough, my Dad that brought this home. It was likely a mistake or an auto ship from a music subscription club, but regardless, it was captivating to me. I was familiar with Billie Holiday, but not on an intimate level, and this recording brought me front and center to her live performances. Our relationship from that moment on tread a delicately woven line of fragile and fail. Understanding the tragedy of her life did not unravel a tapestry of admiration or respect, it did however serve as a muse to the bleakest aspects of my personality. A life-coach for self-loathing and self-destruction, and a love affair with absolution from heart. The disc transgresses, and initially, Billie Holiday's voice snuffs the clamor of the audience and ushers them deep beneath her wave. She is a siren that victimizes the heartless, and slays the wicked. As the recordings draw to a close, Holiday is a collapsing sun; a piercing light stretching across a blanket of darkness. Her voice impassioned by alcohol, sickness, and heroin; she steps away a much fiercer beast; beaten by the wounds but much less forgiving. It was, incidentally, a very difficult choice here. MILES DAVIS': KIND OF BLUE perhaps had a greater impact upon me musically; but weighing that in comparison to how I physically wore Billie Holiday, and impressed her upon my veins made my decision.
This was another difficult choice. Torn between this release, and DAISY CHAINSAW'S: ELEVENTEEN, I chose "Taxidermy" for a handful of reasons. Both albums had a psychological effect on me, but it was Katie Jane Garside's acceptance of her sickness (whatever that may be); her seething swathe of ferocity; and utterly wrecked fragility that coaxed me to find this album iconic. I believe it was an utterance of Chris Graves, "check out Queenadreena" that pry loose the nails of this coffin. My first glance at, whatever video it was, wove a rather pernicious spell. The noisy, post-punk, glam Daisy Chainsaw had resurrected into a socially-conscious, lush, beautiful, noisy, post-punk Queenadreena. "What-the-fuck just happened?" was my only utterance. I really had no way to relate to what the band was doing - but I knew it was a musical amalgamation of many bands I adored (Daisy Chainsaw included), beyond that - I really had no where to go. Garside's anger was on par with Zach De La Rocha, but at times her vocals presented a serenity and calmness that could lull a child to sleep. They've been called riotgrrrl - which of course is a label I get. Perhaps Garside's stage persona does fringe upon the genre, but from an album standpoint, it can't be dumbed down to one easy answer. The lyrics are strikingly personal (or are they?) - presented with such passion and intensity, you simply can't believe it can be faked. That's part of the enigma: interviews that are few and are trainwrecks; a stage presence so self-deprecating it's resulted in being molested by the crowd; an artist that recalls innocence and the sort of renderings a child might do for a police investigation; and a vocalist whose other projects are borderline folk music. It refuses an understanding, and if you venture here, you accept the abuse, the beauty, the anger, and the fragility as a whole.
The most recent addition to this list. It's an album I've always loved despite the heavy rotation of singles on the radio and MTV, but it was always an album that would have traveled with me to the deserted island, not a selection that would be emotionally impactful. That transition came about on a Friday night, 2 years ago, sitting in I-Bar rather hurt, rather depressed, and mentally, a hundred miles away from the people I had journeyed with. "(I Am) The Resurrection" blared, quite unexpectedly into the crowded club - immediately, my already dour mood sunk to the point of tears. I knew quite certainly, that what I'd been forcing myself to not accept as real, was indeed my heart letting me know that I was in love; and quite unfortunately, not with that love. There hadn't been hours of bonding over The Stone Roses, but it was "our album", an offering upon which our paths merged. Lyrically, it's a poignant selection, the title's of each track alone could outline our time together. In that respect, it will always be a milestone upon which a new chapter was formed and continues to write itself.
I feel it's probably necessary to do a Part Three....
18 April, 2014
The Desert Island Post or Life-Affected Albums - Part One
Any music-lover, or casual music appreciator has them; those indispensable items in your music collection that either opened you to a whole new world of creativity, or profoundly developed into the soundtrack to an emotional span of time. I've tried for months (mentally for years) to pinpoint those releases for me; many were obvious, others far less. Then I found myself with a much-too-long list, and realized what I had created were albums that impacted me and changed me, and albums that I would carry with me forever (quite literally), and still yet, others that bled into both areas. Below; are those that presented a moment when my brain, my heart or my body were impacted and offered a new path of discovery, or a vessel within which to collect my pain. These aren't presented in any particular order, after all, who can catalogue the moments of their life into a top ten?
MOTLEY CRUE: TOO FAST FOR LOVE
The story really begins here. Prior to this, I was sort of a non-musical child. Despite growing up in a household omnipresent with music, I didn't really identify with music personally until 1983. I think the first song I ever blared out of my father's stereo was "Shout", and I don't really feel at all embarrassed about it. But, I went to school one day (5th Grade) and met new student, Tony Boupha. A very tall for his age, Asian American, who murdered everyone on the dodgeball court. He was the first person I ever exchanged music with, and in our first encounter, he lay in front of me this album. I wasn't unfamiliar with metal or hard rock, but I certainly had no adolescent preparation for how much my world would be consumed by Motley Crue. My room was adorned with posters of "ugly women" (my dad's description), and I still have that collection today. Hearing Motley Crue didn't simply open a door of exploration, it kicked it in. In my early years of music collecting, it was hair metal heaven. Ratt, Quiet Riot, Loudness... the fondness for metal music has never waned. Granted, my tastes have changed quite a bit since 5th Grade, but I will never forget the mark the music of 5th Grade left with me, and if my passion for music had a prophet, it came in the form of Vince Neil's leather-bound crotch.
CHRISTIAN DEATH: CATASTROPHE BALLET
Wasn't my first Christian Death album, but it was the one that consumed my heart and soul. Rozz Williams' lyrics burned through me and ignited all of my passion and creativity. Large chucks of my life have in one capacity or another been linked to the artistry of Rozz Williams, and that tree is firmly rooted in and around my mind and heart. The difference between the impact of this album as opposed to the others in this list - is that it became much more to me than just music. It opened more doors into art and literary extremes than it ever did on a musical level. That's the brilliance of Rozz Williams - influenced by Dadaism, Surrealism, and stark reflections of hypocrisy, it was perhaps the most educational journey of my life. I was 15 and everything had just been changed. A piece of vinyl became more than anti-social, teen-angst, self-loathing rebellion. Love or hate me - this album became much of who I was and continue to be to this day.
JANE'S ADDICTION: NOTHING'S SHOCKING
Jon and I decided 3rd period constituted a long enough school day. We drove in his 1983 baby blue Celica towards Tampa, and found ourselves at Fashion Square Mall. On that journey, my music mental checklist was the usual, but included a new entry. I had been struck by a promotional photo I'd seen some months ago of Jane's Addiction (a poster of which adorns my hallway), and an article mentioning their release on Warner Bros. After hitting all of our normal haunts, we arrived at Tracks, a music chain that provided me more rarities and gems than I've ever encountered in a chain store. I found my two choices for the afternoon, and waited in line to check out. Jon asked, "Did you find that one band you mentioned?" I almost let it go, but an especially slow register clerk prompted me to go find "that one band". My reaction to seeing the cover for the first time must have been a Kodak moment. I dropped what I was holding and proceeded back to the counter with "Nothing's Shocking". I really had zero idea what to expect, I'd heard nothing by this band - I just knew that they looked the way my head wanted to hear. We climbed into the baby blue Celica, which I feel compelled to mention was adorned with an Alpine deck and a back seat that basically consisted of a box containing to 18-inch Cerwin Vega woofers. In went the tape - lulling us into a false sense of bliss. We arrived at the main entrance to the mall just as the emotionally-soaked "HOME" tore across the asphalt: terrifying children, scattering pigeons, and sending the elderly into cardiac arrest. The sincerity of Perry's vocals, and the ferocity of the music gave me chills. It was my first social commentary; "Nothing's Shocking" was my folk music. It was okay to not be A or B or C, and it's okay to present that awkwardness on a loud, spastic level. The other realization I had on that ride back home was that my emotional impact was my own... Jon was less than overwhelmed by Jane's Addiction - but I applaud him on allowing my weirdness to flow and have an outlet. "Hello, English Class taught by a former Catholic Nun - this is my new Jane's Addiction shirt, and yes that is Mary holding a plate with eyeballs on it, and that's okay." "By the way - I'm addicted to heroin now..."
NINE INCH NAILS: PRETTY HATE MACHINE
Hello, life-crushing, emotional, hell of my own creation starring Julia Lewis. If your world revolved around someone unattainable or happened to value your heart on a sliding scale - then this was your soundtrack to that pain. Dripping with hurt, anger, lust - if an autopsy had been performed on my heart at the time - inside would have been this cassette. Not since very recently, has an album tied me so emotionally to a very finite period of my life, and so quickly transports me right back to it with even a passing listen. Trent made everything I was feeling so visceral, that I could only believe, that he too was dating Julia Lewis. It's not Nine Inch Nails' darkest, or purest, or most personal album, arguably, not their best album either - but it was at a perfect time in my life to give voice to feelings I felt consumed and suffocated by.
SHANNON WRIGHT: DYED IN THE WOOL
I sat in my living room late one night, going through a box of treasures that my closest friend, Shawn had sent me. I was, honestly, feeling a little jaded - nothing had profoundly impacted me musically on an emotional level in quite some time at this point. Certainly, I had found bands I liked, and others had shared amazing artists with me - but nothing that stuck me in the chest repeatedly like an inmate targeted by the Aryan Brotherhood. In this box lay a series of videos, the last of which I played, were two live performances of Shannon Wright. The first, at Coney Island, I believe, was a little underwhelming. The videographer was more interested in asses in the crowd than the show on stage (might I mention - he was there with a woman and a stroller-bound child). The second performance however took place in a small theater (Kentucky-I think) and then that assault on my senses happened. This banshee, beating the life out of her keyboard while drums thrashed violently made my blood run cold. I don't remember if Shawn sent me this album or if I obtained it on my own - but every emotion that was tore out my body watching Shannon Wright live was succinctly preserved on "Dyed In The Wool". Here again, a seemingly tortured, ravaged wreck of a human being, wrapped in this seething, pernicious ferocity was screaming out in an effort to exorcise pain and memory. If ever I could write again, I know it would be because of Shannon Wright. She's a muse for the fragility of weathered hearts. I missed my one (and apparently) only chance to see her live... I won't ever make that mistake again.
So, that's it for Part One. I'm going to try and piece together Part Two this weekend. Thanks for reading.
The story really begins here. Prior to this, I was sort of a non-musical child. Despite growing up in a household omnipresent with music, I didn't really identify with music personally until 1983. I think the first song I ever blared out of my father's stereo was "Shout", and I don't really feel at all embarrassed about it. But, I went to school one day (5th Grade) and met new student, Tony Boupha. A very tall for his age, Asian American, who murdered everyone on the dodgeball court. He was the first person I ever exchanged music with, and in our first encounter, he lay in front of me this album. I wasn't unfamiliar with metal or hard rock, but I certainly had no adolescent preparation for how much my world would be consumed by Motley Crue. My room was adorned with posters of "ugly women" (my dad's description), and I still have that collection today. Hearing Motley Crue didn't simply open a door of exploration, it kicked it in. In my early years of music collecting, it was hair metal heaven. Ratt, Quiet Riot, Loudness... the fondness for metal music has never waned. Granted, my tastes have changed quite a bit since 5th Grade, but I will never forget the mark the music of 5th Grade left with me, and if my passion for music had a prophet, it came in the form of Vince Neil's leather-bound crotch.
Wasn't my first Christian Death album, but it was the one that consumed my heart and soul. Rozz Williams' lyrics burned through me and ignited all of my passion and creativity. Large chucks of my life have in one capacity or another been linked to the artistry of Rozz Williams, and that tree is firmly rooted in and around my mind and heart. The difference between the impact of this album as opposed to the others in this list - is that it became much more to me than just music. It opened more doors into art and literary extremes than it ever did on a musical level. That's the brilliance of Rozz Williams - influenced by Dadaism, Surrealism, and stark reflections of hypocrisy, it was perhaps the most educational journey of my life. I was 15 and everything had just been changed. A piece of vinyl became more than anti-social, teen-angst, self-loathing rebellion. Love or hate me - this album became much of who I was and continue to be to this day.
JANE'S ADDICTION: NOTHING'S SHOCKINGJon and I decided 3rd period constituted a long enough school day. We drove in his 1983 baby blue Celica towards Tampa, and found ourselves at Fashion Square Mall. On that journey, my music mental checklist was the usual, but included a new entry. I had been struck by a promotional photo I'd seen some months ago of Jane's Addiction (a poster of which adorns my hallway), and an article mentioning their release on Warner Bros. After hitting all of our normal haunts, we arrived at Tracks, a music chain that provided me more rarities and gems than I've ever encountered in a chain store. I found my two choices for the afternoon, and waited in line to check out. Jon asked, "Did you find that one band you mentioned?" I almost let it go, but an especially slow register clerk prompted me to go find "that one band". My reaction to seeing the cover for the first time must have been a Kodak moment. I dropped what I was holding and proceeded back to the counter with "Nothing's Shocking". I really had zero idea what to expect, I'd heard nothing by this band - I just knew that they looked the way my head wanted to hear. We climbed into the baby blue Celica, which I feel compelled to mention was adorned with an Alpine deck and a back seat that basically consisted of a box containing to 18-inch Cerwin Vega woofers. In went the tape - lulling us into a false sense of bliss. We arrived at the main entrance to the mall just as the emotionally-soaked "HOME" tore across the asphalt: terrifying children, scattering pigeons, and sending the elderly into cardiac arrest. The sincerity of Perry's vocals, and the ferocity of the music gave me chills. It was my first social commentary; "Nothing's Shocking" was my folk music. It was okay to not be A or B or C, and it's okay to present that awkwardness on a loud, spastic level. The other realization I had on that ride back home was that my emotional impact was my own... Jon was less than overwhelmed by Jane's Addiction - but I applaud him on allowing my weirdness to flow and have an outlet. "Hello, English Class taught by a former Catholic Nun - this is my new Jane's Addiction shirt, and yes that is Mary holding a plate with eyeballs on it, and that's okay." "By the way - I'm addicted to heroin now..."
Hello, life-crushing, emotional, hell of my own creation starring Julia Lewis. If your world revolved around someone unattainable or happened to value your heart on a sliding scale - then this was your soundtrack to that pain. Dripping with hurt, anger, lust - if an autopsy had been performed on my heart at the time - inside would have been this cassette. Not since very recently, has an album tied me so emotionally to a very finite period of my life, and so quickly transports me right back to it with even a passing listen. Trent made everything I was feeling so visceral, that I could only believe, that he too was dating Julia Lewis. It's not Nine Inch Nails' darkest, or purest, or most personal album, arguably, not their best album either - but it was at a perfect time in my life to give voice to feelings I felt consumed and suffocated by.
I sat in my living room late one night, going through a box of treasures that my closest friend, Shawn had sent me. I was, honestly, feeling a little jaded - nothing had profoundly impacted me musically on an emotional level in quite some time at this point. Certainly, I had found bands I liked, and others had shared amazing artists with me - but nothing that stuck me in the chest repeatedly like an inmate targeted by the Aryan Brotherhood. In this box lay a series of videos, the last of which I played, were two live performances of Shannon Wright. The first, at Coney Island, I believe, was a little underwhelming. The videographer was more interested in asses in the crowd than the show on stage (might I mention - he was there with a woman and a stroller-bound child). The second performance however took place in a small theater (Kentucky-I think) and then that assault on my senses happened. This banshee, beating the life out of her keyboard while drums thrashed violently made my blood run cold. I don't remember if Shawn sent me this album or if I obtained it on my own - but every emotion that was tore out my body watching Shannon Wright live was succinctly preserved on "Dyed In The Wool". Here again, a seemingly tortured, ravaged wreck of a human being, wrapped in this seething, pernicious ferocity was screaming out in an effort to exorcise pain and memory. If ever I could write again, I know it would be because of Shannon Wright. She's a muse for the fragility of weathered hearts. I missed my one (and apparently) only chance to see her live... I won't ever make that mistake again.
So, that's it for Part One. I'm going to try and piece together Part Two this weekend. Thanks for reading.
10 September, 2012
Haloeween V.1
One of the things on my mind a lot this past week has been Halloween. It's been kind of killing me that I won't be sharing it with somebody that I know absolutely loves the holiday and "goes a bit overboard with the decorating". I was secretly so excited about it that I was fantasizing. Anyway, I don't know what will happen, where I'll be or what I'll be doing, but for a number of years I was making Halloween compilations dubbed, "Haloeween". I am ready to retire these and share them one final time in this format. They are not perfect, and some of the selections are predictable. I warn you ahead of time, Go Go To The Graveyard and Vampire Girl are utterly addictive. I will leave this link active until Halloween...
01. Bloodletting (The Vampire Song) - Concrete Blonde
02. This Is Halloween - Danny Elfman
03. Halloween - Siouxsie And The Banshees
04. Burn The Flames - Roky Erickson
05. Riboflavin-Flavored, Non-Carbonated, Polyunsaturated Blood - 45 Grave
06. Go Go To The Graveyard - Deadlines
07. Pet Semetary - Ramones
08. Black Magic - T.S.O.L.
09. Over At The Frankenstein Place - Rocky Horror Picture Show
10. (Everyday Is) Halloween - Ministry
11. Monster (In My Pants) - B-52s
12. Halloween - Aqua
13. The Witch - Rosetta Stone
14. The Mummy - The Slackers
15. Little Red Riding Hood - Sam The Sham and the Pharoahs
16. Cemetery - Headstones
17. Vampire Girl - Groovie Ghoulies
18. Vampire Love - The Misfits
19. Zombie - Cranberries
20. The Phantom of the Opera - Me First and the Gimme Gimmes
01. Bloodletting (The Vampire Song) - Concrete Blonde
02. This Is Halloween - Danny Elfman
03. Halloween - Siouxsie And The Banshees
04. Burn The Flames - Roky Erickson
05. Riboflavin-Flavored, Non-Carbonated, Polyunsaturated Blood - 45 Grave
06. Go Go To The Graveyard - Deadlines
07. Pet Semetary - Ramones
08. Black Magic - T.S.O.L.
09. Over At The Frankenstein Place - Rocky Horror Picture Show
10. (Everyday Is) Halloween - Ministry
11. Monster (In My Pants) - B-52s
12. Halloween - Aqua
13. The Witch - Rosetta Stone
14. The Mummy - The Slackers
15. Little Red Riding Hood - Sam The Sham and the Pharoahs
16. Cemetery - Headstones
17. Vampire Girl - Groovie Ghoulies
18. Vampire Love - The Misfits
19. Zombie - Cranberries
20. The Phantom of the Opera - Me First and the Gimme Gimmes
03 September, 2012
Audra - "Everything Chamges"
"Everything Chamges" is Audra's finest release, without question. The fact that it is independently released, and steers clear of the familiar (or expected) shows the band emerging and rebirthing. Audra was never a "goth rock" band, but their connections with the Rozz Williams community, their tribute song to Rozz, their infamous show with Gitane Demone, and of course the comparisons of Bret Helm's vocals to that of Peter Murphy sort of locked the band into a scene that while loved, was not one they coveted. Anyone blessed enough to hear their material prior to their self-titled Projekt release knows that Audra has more in common with Jane's Addiction than Bauhaus, but in all honesty, they wouldn't shy away from either accusation. The three members of Audra, Bret Helm, Bart Helm and J. DeWolfe encompass such diverse musical interests, and present themselves with such mastery of their craft, that trying to compare Audra as a whole to anyone is fruitless. It's a line you can draw from Gram Parsons to Venom... but I challenge you to pinpoint any single note and say, "See, there, that's so and so!" Audra is wholly an original band that is not relegated to any one sound or genre.
I was fortunate enough to see Audra perform live at Convergence 14 in Tampa, Florida. They offered a preview of what would become "Everything Changes" and they truly rocked the hell out of the Tampa Convention Center and blew away all other acts that night. Fuck, even a "techno-viking" wannabe was enamored with them and shred the dance floor. The much more important event that took place that night was the bond I made with Bart, Bret, and Greg Gibbs. It is one that transcended that night in Tampa, and has become a part of my life. I couldn't have prayed for a nicer group of people, or a more fun adventure in S & M, body builders, and corny jokes. And I learned how to tell what side the gas cap is on without getting out of the car. It has and always will be etched upon my memories, and had I known what was to come, I likely would have grasped a lot more tightly to that moment.
It's eerie how profound the songs on "Everything Changes" would become, and still are. It's a powerfully, and personally written collection of songs complemented by an emotional and driving musical arrangement. There isn't a track on the album that doesn't illicit for me some memory; flashes of the show; flashes of words exchanged; flashes of smiles. The disc opens with 100 Years, a driving track that soars and makes the limbs move. A song about being true to yourself; trusting yourself in spite of the walls that crash in around you. It's a powerful opener and set's the stage for the songs that follow.
The title track, continues you on the path of wisdom and "Everything Changes" sort of takes shape as a concept album. You realize that this truly is a transition for the band; shedding the cloaks of expectation; transgressing into who they want to be musically. It's a difficult and painful journey, and this album paints such a brilliant and precise portrait of that landscape that the immediate response is to draw parallels to your own adventure through life. It is a personal album, not only for the band, but for the listener.
What's Meant To Be continues that conflict of stay the course or give in and be someone else. Bret's vocals have never been so inviting. Musically, it's a brilliant blend of electronics, subtle keyboards, and amazing drums/percussion. It fills you with hope, gives you some assurance that life is what you make it.
Robin Wilson of Gin Blossoms offers vocals on I Just Can't Let Go, and this is a song that is most evident of Audra at their best. Passionate vocals, a wall of guitars and driving drums. It's a chilling song, and it builds and builds and then the backing vocals come in, and it's simply brilliant.
Jason And The Doors is that track from every Audra album that you know is somehow influenced by some bizarre night or some unexpected event that is an inside joke amongst the members. Opening with vocals and piano, slowly accompanied by percussion and then a beautiful and subtle song evolves with slide guitar.
Forceful, frenzied and decadent is Ocean. The underlying electronics fill this song with anticipation, while you are propelled to move to the rhythmic assault of bass and drums. Definitely a club favorite!
Life On This Planet is in my opinion a total departure for Audra. They will likely smack me for this comparison, but upon hearing it the first time, musically I would compare it to something from "Anti-Christ Superstar", it is bombastic, and seethes with a sinister beauty. "Bret, are you inviting me to take a bite of the apple...?"
My favorite track from "Everything Changes" is Syd Barrett. Audra absolutely captures the madcap musician perfectly, I believe he would be honored by this presentation. The opening notes are intoxicating, and J. DeWolfe's percussion is so precise and a perfect blend between subtle and driven. The echoed vocals give way to Bret Helm spitting his affirmations of being okay. Bart Helm's guitar wails as if exorcising the insanity. There isn't a more appropriate close to this story.
I unfortunately can't listen to "Everything Changes" as much as I would like to, it's simply too personal, another scar, however brilliantly colored, on my heart. It's a tremendous album and Audra's finest. It's a special journey and if you find yourself at a crossroads in your life, this could perhaps be your closest companion.
"Everything Changes" is available thru Audra's Website: Audra's Official Website
21 July, 2012
"Everything"
This track has been on heavy rotation. I found this album at a time when my world was crumbling. Even though it's a powerful album for empowering women; I find it to be evocative and thought provoking, and I certainly made an emotional connection to it. You throw some cello into a track, and you have my attention... a total sucker for it. "Man", ironically titled given the message throughout the disc, was Neneh's third full-length, though it's domestic U.S. release either never happened, or was years delayed. She had already been written off in The States. Ridiculous timing, because as her light faded, her production team and her home town were about to strike hard at the throats of the American music scene and set it on it's ear. Go!Discs unleasehed fellow peers Portishead and Tricky, and dumped introduced trip hop to the masses. A scene that had already taken hold in the U.K., many of the acts emerging from the bleak, industrial wasteland of the town of Portishead. It was a melange of the youthful disenchantment that was the Seattle/X-Gen scene, and the underbelly of an acid generation that preferred glowsticks to plaid. It unleashed a new wave of brit-pop influence, and the acid/psychedelic culture evolved with many sounds, trip hop certainly included amongst them. It also began to shape the NY hip-hop scene, bringing in samples other than jazz.. alumni such as Beastie Boys and Moby certainly took notice and ran with it.
"Man" is a severing of expectation and being a slave to the music industry. Thrown to the wolves, and unfairly criticised on a professional and personal level, Neneh chose a measure of seclusion to focus on her family. And emerged with renewed strength, angst, and self-worth. She speaks so eloquently about love and hurt; about passion and betrayal; and eqaully about the type of love that's important to one's happiness and sanity. You can't help but fall in lust with her as she describes masturbating to her own reflection, but there's nothing narcississtic about it - it's empowering. That confidence is infectious and intoxicating. At the same time, you fall in love with her because she sings so sincerely about love of family, and love of self. How easily she could be bitter and hateful, but she teaches healing and taken care of yourself... a powerful message I am attempting to embrace...
Everything, anything I see
Anything, everything I feel
Everyday anytime I know
Anything everyone has to go
Champagne lingers in my glass
The party's over
I see my reflection, sipping
And it reminds me
I'd like to see you
Having more fun
If you can
I look at you
But it's me I see
It's everything I know ( it's me I see )
It's everything I feel ( it's me I see )
It's everything and everyone around me that I see
Everything is real
Everything I feel
In my mirror
I see myself
In that mirror
Inside myself
Sometimes I feel it coming to me
Thinking of you when I'm looking at my body
I can touch myself with my own understanding
My resolution to be broken
That I see now
And it's me I see
It's everything I know ( it's me I see )
It's everything I feel ( it's me I see )
And it's everything and everyone around me that I know
Everything is real
Everything I feel
No real solutions
In clipping from the past
I see my reflection at last
Books full of pictures
Remembering the blasts
Times consequences
Makes me go fast
And it's me I see
And It's everywhere I go
It's me I see
It's everything I see ( it's me I see )
And it's everywhere I go Yeah ( it's me I see )
It's everything I feel ( it's me I see )
And it's everywhere I go ( it's me I see )
It's everything I feel ( it's me I see )
And it's everything and everyone around me that I love
Everything is real
Everything I feel
"Man" is a severing of expectation and being a slave to the music industry. Thrown to the wolves, and unfairly criticised on a professional and personal level, Neneh chose a measure of seclusion to focus on her family. And emerged with renewed strength, angst, and self-worth. She speaks so eloquently about love and hurt; about passion and betrayal; and eqaully about the type of love that's important to one's happiness and sanity. You can't help but fall in lust with her as she describes masturbating to her own reflection, but there's nothing narcississtic about it - it's empowering. That confidence is infectious and intoxicating. At the same time, you fall in love with her because she sings so sincerely about love of family, and love of self. How easily she could be bitter and hateful, but she teaches healing and taken care of yourself... a powerful message I am attempting to embrace...
Everything, anything I see
Anything, everything I feel
Everyday anytime I know
Anything everyone has to go
Champagne lingers in my glass
The party's over
I see my reflection, sipping
And it reminds me
I'd like to see you
Having more fun
If you can
I look at you
But it's me I see
It's everything I know ( it's me I see )
It's everything I feel ( it's me I see )
It's everything and everyone around me that I see
Everything is real
Everything I feel
In my mirror
I see myself
In that mirror
Inside myself
Sometimes I feel it coming to me
Thinking of you when I'm looking at my body
I can touch myself with my own understanding
My resolution to be broken
That I see now
And it's me I see
It's everything I know ( it's me I see )
It's everything I feel ( it's me I see )
And it's everything and everyone around me that I know
Everything is real
Everything I feel
No real solutions
In clipping from the past
I see my reflection at last
Books full of pictures
Remembering the blasts
Times consequences
Makes me go fast
And it's me I see
And It's everywhere I go
It's me I see
It's everything I see ( it's me I see )
And it's everywhere I go Yeah ( it's me I see )
It's everything I feel ( it's me I see )
And it's everywhere I go ( it's me I see )
It's everything I feel ( it's me I see )
And it's everything and everyone around me that I love
Everything is real
Everything I feel
16 July, 2012
Broken Therapy
A weekend that de-evolved into heartbreak and a Black Heart Procession soundtrack. I decided that the day-off I planned in my head was going to be solitary and filled with the only therapy I know how to manage. Thrifting. I don't buy clothes, I buy used cds. I picked up one for someone that doesn't want anything to do with me right now, and the rest I am listing below:
Revenge Of The Flying Luttenbachers
Seriously, what in the hell is this? A 3-piece band from Chicago (I guess), and one member is pictured with football make-up and hair greased into a pair of antennae. The disc is a pentagram a la Motley Crue's, "Shout At The Devil". Of course I have to buy this freakish disc. It's dated 1996... so I wasn't sure what to expect, the Chicago music scene I knew was long dead at that point. Musically, it's a trainwreck. The opening track, Storm Of Shit is a melange of guitar, kazoos, horns, drums, and sampled sounds. Frankly, four-and-a-half minutes of it is four-and-a-half minutes too much, because Mike Patton already mastered this insanity. It does not get any better. There are no vocals apparently... I have to assume because I began skimming after the second track. Imagine my amazement to discover this band has several releases. Once again, the one disc I purchased on a whim that certainly wouldn't disappoint - is every bit a disappointment and so much more. Steer clear!
Rachmaninov: Symphony No. 2
You really can't make a mistake with this. Someone donated their entire BBC Classical Music series, and I may go back for the rest when I have the money. I am particularly drawn to Rachmaninov; of course because he is a Russian composer of whom I have an affinity, but also because of his struggles. Critically panned in his own country; his Symphony No. 1 was an utter failure, and he was forced to flee Russia during the Bolshevik Revolution and he to begin a career anew. He eventually found himself in America where he found acclaim and respect. And who wouldn't be in love with a composer who was interred in Valhalla? Seriously! This recording is conducted by Edward Downes with the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra. Appropriate mood music today.
Zero Zero: A.M. Gold
This is pretty fucking upbeat, poppy, and doesn't match my mood today. I definitely can enjoy this, though it's commercial, slick feel probably means it won't find much rotation in my collection. The electronics are danceable, and never venture into any hard beats. Vocals are gentle, fuzzy and warm. This is summer day, car trip to the lake music. And it would help to not have a care in the world, including what you were listening to. If The Faint were forced into therapy, the hospital approved sound would be Zero Zero. My favorite track is, Pink And Green - it's a little funky, and makes me want to dance with the cat and go buy some rum.
Eric Hutchinson: Sounds Like This
I like Lenny Kravitz and Jamirquai too! But seriously, this is an upbeat, body swaying disc, it just isn't my thing right now. I can see this being played in my near future. I actually know someone who would likely really love this disc, and that's contributing to a lot of my sad feelings right now. This is palletable and radio-friendly (if it isn't already), and if you like Kravitz and Jamiriquai - pick this up or borrow it from me.
Sixty-Eight Pennies: Race-Car
If I had to guess, this is likely Alternative Christian Rock. Not sure where they hail from, but if today was 1999, when this recording was released, then it would already sound dated. It's light alternative rock with elements of Live and Soul Asylum.
Boiled In Lead: Silver
Uh - had no idea what to expect. But what it is is heavy doses of world folk. Upbeat, fun, and much too safe and friendly to really enjoy on any kind of level. I'd expect to find their cds at Epcot. I found the dark, seething bass lines of The Sunset enjoyable, but there's too much fodder and friendliness throughout to keep me intrigued. Another bust...
Imogen Heap: Speak For Yourself
I honestly couldn't remember if I liked Imogen Heap or not. I took the leap because the album title spoke to me. I probably don't need to describe it; this seems like the kind of thing you either are a devoted fan of or you hate it. Definitely something I think Tori fans would enjoy. I am not at all put off by it, and I can imagine finding a niche in my moods where this would be appropriate. There's elements of Tori, Fiona Apple, Eurythmics, and Bjork (musically), and it does tend to slip into a commercial, polished mainstream, but there's enough indie element to keep it genuine and sincere. And yes, this is speaking to my depression today.
The Wrens: The Meadowlands
This was a nice find. I am always in the mood for some lo-fi mellowness. I hadn't heard this particular album, but it's watch you expect from The Wrens. Quiet drums, subdued vocals, and gentle resonance. Slo-core a la Low, but at times strives for post-rock a la Mono. It's a welcome blend. Where this album breaks free from a Wrens mold are mid-tempo changes, and vocals that become border on a pained soul. This and the Imogen Heap are likely to get a lot of plays as I try to move forward.
I also picked up a promo disc of Bob Dylan Live at Carnegie Hall 1963. I know why I picked this up, and it's not because I am a Bob Dylan fan. Along with the other disc, my immediate thought was a gift. So, I will just hang on to it for now. I also found a dvd of High Fidelity. I am in no mood to laugh right now, so I will shelf that for a lighter day.
Revenge Of The Flying Luttenbachers
Rachmaninov: Symphony No. 2
You really can't make a mistake with this. Someone donated their entire BBC Classical Music series, and I may go back for the rest when I have the money. I am particularly drawn to Rachmaninov; of course because he is a Russian composer of whom I have an affinity, but also because of his struggles. Critically panned in his own country; his Symphony No. 1 was an utter failure, and he was forced to flee Russia during the Bolshevik Revolution and he to begin a career anew. He eventually found himself in America where he found acclaim and respect. And who wouldn't be in love with a composer who was interred in Valhalla? Seriously! This recording is conducted by Edward Downes with the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra. Appropriate mood music today.
Zero Zero: A.M. Gold
Eric Hutchinson: Sounds Like This
Sixty-Eight Pennies: Race-Car
If I had to guess, this is likely Alternative Christian Rock. Not sure where they hail from, but if today was 1999, when this recording was released, then it would already sound dated. It's light alternative rock with elements of Live and Soul Asylum.
Boiled In Lead: Silver
Imogen Heap: Speak For Yourself
The Wrens: The Meadowlands
I also picked up a promo disc of Bob Dylan Live at Carnegie Hall 1963. I know why I picked this up, and it's not because I am a Bob Dylan fan. Along with the other disc, my immediate thought was a gift. So, I will just hang on to it for now. I also found a dvd of High Fidelity. I am in no mood to laugh right now, so I will shelf that for a lighter day.
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