What lying bastards! There's nothing even remotely paranormal about this music! My research found that everyone involved in this record was alive while recording it. Furthermore, they're still alive now! Preparing for a Spring tour no less!
And just listen to the music; it's full of life! Not at all ghostly in my opinion. Well, the electric buzzing that opens the album on "Brainwave" maybe sounds a little creepy in the right setting, but it certainly didn't scare me! After that, the album just gets more and more upbeat, like a dance album actually; and how many ghosts do you know who dance!? Ridiculous. Just listen to that percussion on songs like "All the Stars" or "My Dear". Ohhhh scaaaarrrry...NOT! How can I be scared when the music just makes me want to bob my head to the beat? Poorly executed, I say. Or how about all those enormously catchy brass parts like on "Rings" and "Three Shades"? They aren't haunting at all, they're infectious. They make me want to bust a move, not piss my pants!
As if the "ghost" part of the title wasn't suspect enough, how about the "rock" part? I mean, maybe jazz-rock or afro-rock at best, but certainly not rock rock. This sounds nothing like Black Sabbath! Now there's a ghostly rock band for you. That cover for their self-titled album gave me the creeps! Plus Ozzy Osbourne dresses in all black and like, ate a bird or some shit. And he usually at least looks kinda dead. I'm sure he wouldn't approve of this Nomo band going around talking about "ghost rock" at all. Not one bit.
I don't know who you're trying to fool with your deceptive album titles, Nomo, but I've got you figured out. I'm onto your game!
Revisited: Jessica Bailiff - Jessica Bailiff (2002) (Revisisted is a feature in which I rediscover old albums in my collection and see how my opinions of them have changed)
The problem with trying to review one of my favorite albums is that the words to describe them seem to escape me. I find myself in this position now. While there are many words that can be used to describe Jessica Bailiff's self-titled album -- beautiful, passionate, personal, ethereal, dreamy, psychedelic, heavenly, etc -- none of them seem to work quite as well as I want them to. So I'll just resort to storytelling. I'll call this one Jessica Bailiff: Or How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love This Album.
It was the spring of 2003. Or maybe summer, I don't remember. It was hot outside and I went to a year round art college in Arizona, so it could've been any season since they're almost all the same there. Between classes I went to the computer lab to partake in the usual routine of finishing design projects last minute while listening to songs on the then functional Epitonic.com (which soon became defunct, and then years later became functional again, and now looks defunct again). I would search for artists I already liked and then view the websites recommendations for similar artists, often times going to the similar artists and checking out their similar artists and so on and so on until I ended up at an artist that sounded nothing like who I started with.
But one fateful day, sometime in 2003, in the middle of a maze of recommendations I stumbled upon Jessica Bailiff's page, where the song "Disappear", among others, were available to stream. One listen to that song and I was hooked. It was the most haunting, disturbingly enchanting thing I've heard...perhaps ever. The kind of song that just makes your surroundings seem to fade away and replaces them with the dead air of another realm. For five and a half minutes, I didn't feel like I was in a computer lab that stank of the wretched body odor of your average Game Design or Computer Animation student, I felt like I was floating at the bottom of an ocean, or maybe to another dimension altogether. It was one of the few times I can remember being truly moved by a piece of music.
Surprisingly, the whole album had that effect -- the effect that made it seem as if it could not have been recorded on this planet -- and it made for the perfect chillout listen. Still, the album hadn't really hit me just yet. I listened to it very often, yet barely considered it when thinking of the best albums I purchased that year. And I listened to it all throughout 2004 and 2005, my musical tastes changing drastically in that time. Listening to less and less indie-rock and replacing it with more and more metal and classic rock and other, more exciting genre's than what indie rock was offering at that time. Yet still I kept coming back to this album. Using it to fall asleep to or study to, the most perfect soundtrack to such things but in the best way possible.
It wasn't until sometime in 2006 where I -- recent college graduate, still in Arizona, still hot all the time, working to pay the bills, working to find a job that means more to me than something that just pays the bills -- came to realize that I've listened to this album more so than any other album in my collection. And also realizing, probably for the first time, just how incredibly good it was. And not just "Disappear". I noticed how "Swallowed" was so effective in how it introduces the album, aptly titled for how it envelopes you in its sound. I realized that "Mary" was every bit as haunting and effective as "Disappear". I fell in love with the very subtle sitar use in "The Hiding Place", and the reversed drum hits in "Time Is An Echo". There was so much to like that had never come to my attention until then. Maybe I had noticed before somewhere in the back of my mind, but now, for some reason, perhaps with the openness of a mind newly freed from the stresses of college, it was all clear.
As I write this, I have yet to buy another album with or by Jessica Bailiff. I'm almost afraid to ruin the effect of the perfection she's reached here. Sometime down the road, I'll more than likely pick up her other albums and her Clear Horizon work, and maybe they won't be quite as good, but at least I'll still have this one to come back to. The same way I've been coming back to it for years. One of the few constants of my collection. Old reliable.
(Digital Good Time is a series in which xoxobra focuses on the visual side of music)
2009's first installment of Digital Good Time features the first cool music video to be released in the year, for a song called "Skeleton Boy" by UK disco-pop band Friendly Fires. Directed by Clemens Habicht of Nexus Productions, the video takes more literal use of the song title and dressed the band in black tights decorated with double stick tape in a skeletal pattern, which only shows through once a set of powerful offstage fans start blasting and bean bag filling starts flying and sticking to the band. I am not much of a fan of the song, but visually it's a pretty cool concept.
Everyone Who Pretended To Like Me Is Gone, the Walkmen's debut, seemed to give the air of being the calm after a storm that we weren't around to witness; thriving on minimalism and distance, and was equal parts stark and optimistic. I suppose it's only natural that the sound on You & Me, their fourth proper album, is similar. The storm this time having been their previous album, A Hundred Miles Off.
And on that subject, I must say that I think A Hundred Miles Off got a bad rap. Many of the complaints about it seemed to focus on the voice of lead singer Hamilton Leithauser, which often sounded strained and hoarse. I always saw it as a part of an energy to that album that I think went under-appreciated; part of the excess that I felt the album was going for from the start. There was a wildness to it; not really a dance or a party album, just a loud one. The drumming was more frantic, the guitars mixed higher, the percussion used more gratuitously while the toy piano collected dust along with all of the other novelty instruments that previously complemented the bands' sound. Because they weren't fucking around this time.
All signs seemed to indicate that they were giving it all they had, vocal chords be damned ("He lost his voice, but he's all right", he sings on one track), and when it was over, I felt that I'd heard the last of the Walkmen, because I couldn't imagine that they had anything left to give. I awaited the announcement of a break-up or hiatus, ready for my hunch to be proven right. Instead, we got announcement of a Harry Nilsson cover album, a book, and eventually, You & Me.
The aforementioned similarities of this album and their first are many. Despite its spring release date of March 2002, Everyone Who Pretended To Like Me Is Gone (EWPTLMIG from now on) always struck me as a rather wintry album. Same with 2004's Bows + Arrows, now that I think about it. The songs evoke a certain coldness; images of snow and ice, both obvious ("The Blizzard of '96", "No Christmas While I'm Talking", "The North Pole") and not so obvious. The lyrics feel like a product of cabin fever, with themes of reflection, dreams and resolution. The sound carries as if played in a cold, empty room on a cold winter night. The crisp guitars and piano keys created, for lack of an ability to explain it better, a frosty feel. The sound on You & Me more or less continues this trend, but still sounds fresh rather than a weary band just trying to recapture past glory. These are theme songs for December in the Midwest.
The only flaw, which is inherited from EWPTLMIG, is that it's a couple of songs too long. The opening notes of "I Lost You" leave me wondering why the album is still on, and by the time "If Only It Were True" comes to a close, it's a welcome event, since I'd already sort of lost interest in the album six and a half minutes ago. That aside, another success for one of the better, more consistent indie rock acts out there.
Ah, Twin Peaks. Brainchild of cult weirdo David Lynch (and the lesser acknowledged Mark Frost). Widely considered one of the greatest television shows of all-time despite only having ran for two seasons, 29-episodes total, and only about 17 of those 29 episodes worth watching. But it's still somehow deserving of its classic status because sheeeeeiiit those 17 good episodes were really fucking good. Great music, that show had. Yeah, most of it was dominated by the constant repetition of that all-purpose "Laura Palmer's Theme", which was used for everything from serious dramatic scenes to uplifting emotional scenes to scenes with nothing but simple exchanges of dialog. But you didn't really notice most of the time, and if you did, you didn't mind, because it was a good theme. And plus the show, it was one of the greatest television shows of all-time. You were too engrossed.
It wasn't until listening to this soundtrack that I realized that there were indeed more than three or four songs that played throughout the series. There's the simple fingersnap melody ("Freshly Squeezed") that drives the more quirky scenes. The wild, free-form sax of Dale Cooper's prophetic dreams ("The Bookhouse Boys"). Even a few dreamy vocal tracks featuring the angelic voice of Julee Cruise. And most surprisingly how could I have overlooked "Audrey's Dance"? With it's sleek keyboard keys and a bass line as sultry, mysterious, and sexy as the character herself. Has there ever been a television character as intriguing as Audrey Horne, before or since? If Twin Peaks' following could be described as "cult", hers was pure obsession, plain and simple. The Audrey Horne hardcore band can attest to this, I'm sure.
You can't help but come away from this soundtrack without a newfound appreciation for Angelo Badalamenti's compositions. Even after your memory of the plot points have faded -- you can't remember who killed Laura Palmer without giving it some thought, or can't recall how the convoluted Windom Earle plot even came about -- you still remember the feel of the show and the mood of the characters and how much of a role the music played in establishing it. And then you wonder why Bohren & der Club of Gore and The Necks have been the only bands to make careers out of this sound.
Group Inerane Guitars from Agadez (Music of Niger) (2007)
Guitars From Agadez earned me like 5,000 Hipster points one day during a discussion I was having with a friend about what we were listening to lately. The fact that I was able to say that the last album I got was a tribal guitar album from Niger thoroughly pummeled the living shit out of his talk of his recent Liars downloads. It was a moment that hipsters dream of (and probably plan for), and I'm sure he assumed that I had been anticipating that conversation for days, which may or may not have been accurate.
This album has a lot going for it besides being a good hipster conversation piece that will undoubtedly display how cultured and diverse your musical taste is. The cover depicts a Tuareg man holding a guitar, standing on his tribal grounds lit with the unmistakable glow of campfire. The recording quality is such that it feels like you're right there with him and his tribe, celebrating whatever they're celebrating, admiring his bluesy riffs, clapping along as you watch the women dance around the fire; maybe feeling emboldened enough to get up and dance yourself. It's a very intimate recording style; others may just call it shitty, and it is, but a studio wouldn't have done it justice.
But the honeymoon period with Guitars From Agadez is brief, and the flaws are hard to brush off. First of all is its repetitiveness. Don't be fooled by the fact that this album is split into ten individually named tracks, because they are all essentially the same song. It's a pretty good song and all, but not that good. Not good enough for it not to get a little boring towards the end. Or to not notice that the riff in one track is all but identical to the riff like three tracks ago (or five tracks ago). Or to not get a little annoyed by the constant shrill, fluctuating tribal yell that one woman seems to like doing RIGHT INTO THE GODDAMN MICROPHONE just to make sure you hear it, even though it's probably loud enough on its own for me to hear it all the way from the Sahara to where I sit now in Arizona.
So when it's all done, Guitars From Agadez comes off as sort of a nice novelty for anyone's music collection, but probably not one that I'll find myself coming back to with any sort of regularity.
Discovering the Classics: Mecca & the Soul Brother Edition
Continuing my recent fascination with old school/golden age rap, I picked up Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth's much lauded classic Mecca & the Soul Brother, released in 1992 on the tail end of what many consider to be the genre's best days. I can't say that I would like this as much if it were made ten years later, in 2002, instead of '92. The 1992 release gives it the advantage of being one of the first in a crop of albums made by people who wanted to be respected as rappers but didn't have the advantage of growing up in a shitty neighborhood or having a dysfunctional family unit ("ugh life is SO UNFAIR!"), and decided to wear their middle class upbringing on their sleeves rather than try to hide it and risk getting called out for being a "studio gangster" like Dr. Dre -- because, you know, the fact that he's responsible for some of the greatest music the genre has ever heard is secondary; he made his background seem tougher than it was and THAT'S UNETHICAL MUSICIANS SHOULDN'T LIE ABOUT STUFF IN SONGS!
Pete Rock also has the distinction of being one of the first producers to use totally UNgangsta-like jazz and soul loops because that shows how nurtured and diverse his musical upbringing was, because really, how many people do you know of grew up without a father (figure) and got into jazz and soul music at a young age? Thought so. Little did Pete know, however, that conscious rappers would be biting that style for years to come and using words like "elevate" while describing the sad state of rap music and/or black communities. You can't blame him for that, though. He couldn't have possibly foreseen what sort of evil and what deep levels of mediocrity would be born from his style. That's like blaming Pearl Jam for Creed, or worse, Nickelback. It's unfair.
So considering it's status as one of the first of its kind, I can see what there is to like about this, despite it being way too long (77-minutes) and C.L.'s sort of monotonous delivery (this is probably why "The Basement" is my favorite song; vocal variety, on top of having the albums' best beat). I guess he's no worse than Rakim on that front but without the flow to make it easier to tolerate.
But this album is really about one song, "They Reminisce Over You (T.R.O.Y.)", which has always been, and always will be, an undeniable rap classic.
Before there was Boris or Keiji Haino, there was Les Rallizes Dénudés. While that alone might be enough to pique some peoples' interest in this band, they also have an interesting backstory.
According to Wikipedia (so take this with a grain of salt), the original bassist of the band, Moriaki Wakabayashi, was a member of the Japanese Red Army: a far-left terrorist group responsible for, among other things, the 1970 hijacking of Japan Airlines Flight 351 (also known as the Yodogo Hijacking). The nine hijackers, including Wakabayashi, forced the plane to fly to Seoul, South Korea, where the 122 passengers were released unharmed. They then they flew to North Korea, where the flight crew was released, also unharmed, and the hijackers were offered asylum by the government.
The hijackers had apparently taken over the plane armed with katanas and a bomb. Had they waited seven years, they probably could've pulled off the same feat simply by blasting the piercing, eardrum destroying guitar feedback of '77 Live. Above all else, I'd like to mention that this is one of those convenient cases where the album title tells you the most pertinent information about the music, which saves me the trouble of having to do so and exacerbates laziness thusly. Had they named it '77 Live Loud Japanese Psychedelic Noise Unfriendly To Ears But Still Number One!, then this review would've been over a long time ago.
As far as the music goes, I'm certain that there aren't many albums both as pleasant and unpleasant to listen to as this one. These six, aimless yet engrossing jam sessions, spread out over two disks, is pretty much can't miss for fans of noisy, experimental psych rock. But while the music pulls you in, the noise, reaching shrieking high frequencies at times, may push you away. Unless tinnitus sounds appealing to you, this is not what I would call a headphone album. The brothers Takashi (Takashi Nakamura and Takashi Mizutani, who probably aren't actually brothers but are still not above me giving them cutesy nicknames) provide a guitar attack so fierce and drenched in in high-pitched feedback that I'm not sure if this album would be medically recommended to listen to all in one sitting.
I know I can't manage it (I can only handle one disk at a time), but those that can are in for an intense, overwhelming, and otherworldly listening experience. Just watch the volume on your speakers and don't say I didn't warn you about the ringing in your ears afterwards.
Ah, it's been a pretty good three week writing break. I got to sit around a lot and be lazy for a change. The fiancèe and I had a good time visiting my family in Cincinnati over the Christmas holiday. We're nearing the completion of wedding planning and are looking forward to getting the big day behind us. The Philadelphia Eagles are one step away from the Super Bowl. So life, for the most part, is alright.
One of the best parts of going to Cincinnati is prowling through Shake It Records, which is a gold mine for underground music fans and has quickly become my favorite record store, even above my previous favorite Aquarius Records in San Francisco (though they're still a close second). Located in the Northside neighborhood, the store is two floors of badass, with sections as common as rock, rap, soul, Americana, and reggae mixed in with more esoteric sections such as 60's garage, Bollywood, British folk, and experimental. It's the type of store I have to go into with at least $50 to blow and an hour to kill, yet will still leave wanting more. By the end of my trip I had collected four new albums, but could've easily left with twice as much if I had the money to burn.
As usual, the visit to Shake It has left me longing to live in a city with a great indie record store. Sure, some people may consider things like crime rate, cost-of-living, jobs, or weather to be important factors to look for in a city. Me? I'll take a good record store and music scene any day (well, on top of the aforementioned). While Phoenix has three good stores in Stinkweeds, Eastside, and Zia Records, all of them leave something to be desired. Had I been aware of Shake It's existence when I moved, leaving Cincinnati might not have been such as easy a decision as it was. But oh well, it just gives me something else to look forward to whenever I'm in the area.
Anyway, as intended, I've spent a good portion of the break thinking about where to take this blog. There will be some changes, but most of them will be minor tweaks here and there. I think I've got a decent base to build on and I'll just continue winging it to complete satisfaction. The one major change is that I will only post three days a week: Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I think this will give me a better opportunity focus on the things I post and hopefully improve the quality by decreasing the quantity. As much as I'd like to (and probably could) maintain five posts per week, I'd like to avoid some of those "garbage" posts that inevitably come with such a strict writing schedule. Of course, you could probably argue that everything I've posted up to this point has been a garbage post, but that would just be mean...bitch.
Regular updates resume Wednesday. I appreciate your lurking and hopefully you'll continue to do so.
xoxobra is the selected music related ramblings of yet another self-important blogger attempting to get the word out on more obscure sounds, updated somewhat regularly. Enjoy!
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