’21st Century Breakdown’ doesn’t do much new

June 20, 2009

greenday01FROM SAIL’S EIGHT-TRACK PLAYER — Listen: I am swamped with schoolwork right now. This weekend alone I have to compile a 16-page document on various political topics, finish the first draft of a short story that I have no ideas for, and begin a 10-page paper on education reform.

But instead, for your morbid amusement, I’ve decided that I need to sit through Green Day’s new album, 21st Century Breakdown, in order to be able articulate exactly why I don’t like it.

The reviews have been outrageous. Kerrang! somehow compares this incredibly clean and radio-friendly pop-punk sound with NoFX’s dirty and in your face political thrashings. AbsolutePunk, a source I’ve generally come to trust, admits that the record is nearly identical to their previous one, American Idiot, while still giving it a glowing score of 91/100. Similarly, Rolling Stone gave it 4.5 stars out of 5 while also saying that the music sounds like they’re trying too hard. My own school newspaper compared it to London Calling.

Fuck. I guess I’ve gotta hear this.

10:05 pm – Six tracks in and I’m regretting this decision. It’s not the ear-bleeding brand of terrible, but it’s exceedingly mediocre and unoriginal. Also, [bassist] Mike Dirnt’s playing is ridiculously mixed out.

Miss you, Dookie.

10:14 pm – It’s like Billie Joe has become a parody of himself. He took the idea that people think he writes songs with cheesy lyrics and no more than four chords… and then actually did it.

10:16 pm – “Peacemaker” is actually kind of interesting.

10:22 pm – Too many of these songs sound exactly the same. Or exactly the same as songs on American Idiot.

10:26 pm – Some of this guitar playing makes me seriously doubt [guitarist] Billie Joe’s skill as a musician. I mean, I know he must have the potential, but he’s really just not using it. Tre isn’t an amazing drummer, but he’s always been good enough. I’m disappointed in Mike’s bass playing on a few songs for being a lot more simplistic than usual, but I’m more disappointed about how hard you have to listen in order to hear the better stuff he’s doing.

“Restless Hear Syndrome” is another interesting track. Everyone who likes this album seems to be talking about how much more “mature” it sounds, but I’m really just not hearing it at all, aside from this and “Peacemaker.” And two tracks out of 18 isn’t enough to call a record mature. If anything, this music strikes me as more obnoxious and immature than ever.

I’m going to have to listen to some major Operation Ivy to cleanse my ears after this is all over. Remember when Green Day sounded like OI? Yeah, me too.

10:51 pm – Verdict: A definitive “ick”.

Some may define this record as Green Day’s growing up, and that’s fine with me. I’m not one of those people who is going to bitch about a band or artist changing their sound or getting more popular. Usually, it’s a better thing for everyone involved if the artist doesn’t feel restricted to make the same music that made them famous. But 21st Century Breakdown is just a plan poorly executed.

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Don’t despair, old music snobs. Blip.fm can help find new sounds

April 2, 2009

FROM JASON’S EARDRUMS — I’m getting old, and radio is repulsive now.

Sure, there was a time when I was hooked. I was an FM junky at 16, spending hours dialing up music by the orange electric glow of my stereo receiver. Everything was new still, and I was doing the teenage thing: Deciding what I liked as part of defining my own personality.

More than a decade later, I know exactly who I am. I know what I like. I know what I don’t like. And I don’t want to become one of those pathetic easy listening adults who only listen to Rod Stewart and Michael Bolton. Ugh.

The trouble now is finding music that’s artistically good, still has an edge, and is meaningful without indulging in all that teen angst bull that’s floating around out there. So I started experimenting with Blip.fm, the social networking tool for tune addicts.

I have my own channel, where I post songs to stream out into the ether, to be caught by anyone interested in my white-boy-aging-and-fat-hipster-inspired-by-old-LPs taste. While pushing my own selections, I can browse through the Twitter-esque offerings of other “DJs” and browse a large number of random tunes in a very short span.

In three days of use, I’ve found a handful of new sounds to fill out my iPod playlist:

Metric – Help, I’m Alive

The Faint – The Geeks Were Right

Goldfrapp – Strict Machine

Cage the Elephant – Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked

I also picked up some classics that were blatantly missing from my collection, including titles from The Velvet Underground, The Cure, Iggy Pop, Johnny Cash, and Van Morrison. These had previously just fallen through the cracks in my memory, and were nicely jogged by the odd “blip.”

There is a downside to Blip.fm’s buffet-style music surfing: There’s very little emotional connection to the music. Honestly, most of my favorite songs are linked to specific movies or television shows. Soundtrack music comes with visual luggage. That’s what made the old MTV era (when they actually had videos — remember that?) so great. It provided a new dimension of context to the music.

With Blip.fm, we get a lot of noise, little context. But I guess that’s been radio for a long time now, and is a main reason why I ditched actual FM in favor of YouTube and iPod (other than endless trash jockey talk and commercial interruptions, plus ad populum garbage).

Despite my enthusiasm, Andrew’s not digging blips either. His bone: “They don’t have the songs I want… It’s too mainstream.” I asked how he defines mainstream. “Anything I don’t like,” he answered. So there you have it.

Apparently I’m not the only new acolyte, though. According to the site’s dev blog, new users have been flooding the site faster than they can keep up with server power. The result has been sporadic crashes. During one Monday night about 10 p.m., the site went down, and when it reloaded this gem appeared before the UI came up:

blipboot

I can get behind anyone or any service with that sense of humor.


Music Monday: The Gandharvas and The Commodores

December 29, 2008

The Gandharvas — Watching the Girl

I grew up in New York state, right across the St. Lawrence Seaway from Ontario, Canada. So most of my youth was spent listening to Canadian radio, which is required by Big Brother law to broadcast a certain amount of nationalistic propaganda made-in-Canada media content.

Living now in the heartland of America, it’s strange to casually mention any number of Canadian bands — Barstool Prophets, The Tragically Hip, The Gandharvas — and get slackjawed stares in return. A few here and there remember Our Lady Peace, but nobody in Ohio has heard of Econoline Crush or Cowboy Junkies.

So here, American friends. Let me act as an ambassador for my penguin-eating, maple-syrup-snorting, hockey-puck-humping, bomber-hat-and-flannel-wearing cousins in our 51st state to the north. Let me share with you a taste of the boys from London, Ontario, the pride of Toronto’s 102.1 The Edge.

Even in the band’s height (they broke up in 2000, shortly after I headed to college in the Great Lakes Region) they didn’t grab a whole lot of airtime. Watching the Girl seemed to ignite a red-hot fan base for about a month, and then it was gone — which is strange, considering how I always thought its artistic invocation of Norse (Ouroboros) and Greek (Sirens) mythology was extremely attractive.

The Commodores — Lady (You Bring Me Up)

My father is a short, compact, curly-haired white man of German and English decent. If he slapped a yamika on his head, he could easily pass for a rabbi. But that never stopped him from thinking he was black, at least when it came to his LPs.

His vinyl collection (still very much in use to this day, and I am hoping to inherit it) is built around prog rock classics like Styx’s Grand Illusion and, strangely, soul brothers like The Commodores, Earth, Wind and Fire, Stevie Wonder, The Four Tops, Michael Jackson, Smokey Robinson & The Miracles, and Marvin Gaye.

When I was little, he would crank up Brick House or Easy and dance around in a pitiful white man’s mockery of rhythm. The memories of that dancing still burn.

But now that I’m quickly approaching 30 and have lived through a full generational cycle of musical styles, a horrible truth is sinking in: My father, though I rail against the idea, had excellent taste. Lady (You Bring Me Up) probably isn’t the coolest song I could have mentioned here, but Dad would be able to tell you it’s got tight composition, a jumpin’ signature bass line, and just the right mix of brass to make it indelibly good, and a more or less permanent fixture on my iPod.


Music Wednesday: Thin Lizzy and Spoon

May 28, 2008

Thin Lizzy — Dancing In the Moonlight

You know The Boys are Back In Town. You might know Whiskey In the Jar. But for my money, Thin Lizzy’s best is Dancing in the Moonlight, which has instrumentals deceptively upbeat compared to its lyrics.

A couple of covers by the Smashing Pumpkins and Magnet play the song wound tight with angst, but Thin Lizzy effortlessly makes their mournful songs accessibly pop. For example, the guitar solo two-thirds of the way through The Boys are Back in Town is one of the saddest pieces of music I’ve ever heard, and the quiet bass line in Moonlight underlines lyrics borne of a teen feeling trapped.

Also, if you haven’t ever seen the VH1 Behind the Music episode about Thin Lizzy lead Phil Lynott, find it. Of all the working-class rockers to come out of the 70s, Lizzy is easily my favorite and I can’t understand why the band didn’t get more attention.

If you like Moonlight, try The Cowboy Song and Don’t Believe a Word.

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Spoon — The Way We Get By

Andrew likes complicated, thrashing counter-melodies crashing together in dark metal anthems. I like rebellious, jazz-inspired experiments by alt-slacker beatniks. So here I am, recommending Spoon, a band that mixes piano and cymbals with underplayed guitars to create catchy indie pop.

These are songs that are more about creating a mood than causing jaws to drop in awe. There’s not much technical prowess here — just a jangling basement-jam-session pathos. And that’s why The Way We Get By ends up in heavy rotation on my iPod.

May I also recommend Lines In the Suit?


Music Monday: Nada Surf and The Statler Brothers

March 17, 2008

1. Nada Surf — Popular

These were the days of flannel and backward baseball caps. I remember how huge Popular was in 1996 in New York state — mostly because the band had a huge teen following downstate. When the video hit MTV, Nada Surf suddenly became the ironic icon of misplaced teen priorities, showing how delusional most pop culture depictions of high school were.

The first few times I actually listened to the lyrics, I was stumped. Was Matt Caws being serious? It didn’t take long to catch on to the vitriol as his spoken rant escalated into full, hateful ablution. I was dating my first real girlfriend at the time and I remember that this song triggered my first doubts that high school love was real.

Also, that slutty cheerleader was really hot by 1996 standards.
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2. The Statler Brothers — Flowers on the Wall


I spent some of my earliest years hanging around my grandparents’ farm in the hills of western Pennsylvania, a state where Flowers on the Wall might as well be the official anthem of depressed cultural solitude. That was the 1980s, but even today that part of the state seems to be permanently stuck in a sepia-toned shadow of the 1960s, when The Statler Brothers’ tune hit the radio waves.

There’s that famous refrain: “Playin’ Solitaire ’till dawn with a deck of 51/Smokin’ cigarettes and watchin’ Captain Kangaroo/Now don’t tell me I’ve got nothin’ better to do.” It’s ostensibly about a man who’s left direction-less after a break-up. But I think it perfectly describes the tired mindset of the backwoods Pennsylvania coal miners who watched industry and progress fall away in the 1970s.

That kind of disenchantment was lost on me at age 4 when the song would play on my grandfather’s pick-up truck radio. But it really hit home in the context of the Pulp Fiction soundtrack in 1995 — especially next to other 60s and 70s slacker songs. Quentin Tarantino’s track list was brilliant and I think my dream job would be choosing songs for his films.