Cultural Detritus, Reviews, and Commentary
U2 – Rattle and Hum Island CID U27 (1988)
Truthfully, there a few decent moments here, and they are all up front: “Helter Skelter”, “Desire”, “Hawkmoon 269”. A few other scattered patches are okay too (“Pride (In the Name of Love)”, “God Part II”), but most of this is quite overblown. It is this pretentious aspect of U2 (plus Bono‘s megalomania) that makes them almost impossible to like.
Laurie Anderson – Big Science Warner Bros. BSK 3674 (1982)
Laurie Anderson found unexpected popular success in the 1980s. Her music is dominated by a “performance art” aesthetic, that goes with her art school background. There was a cable TV show called “Six Feet Under” where one of the main characters goes to art school and encounters there another student who does performance art concerts that seem directly inspired by Laurie Anderson. Anyway, Anderson doesn’t “sing” much, but rather does very deliberate spoken word recitations, in a detached and deadpan way that is almost a monotone at times, characterized by many pauses between words for dramatic effect. She isn’t “rapping,” though there is a kind of rhythm to her speech. Occasionally she uses a vocoder to create a computerized vocal effect (which would have seemed rather futuristic back in 1982). The music is generally minimalistic, with lots of repetitive figures that create vamps, which actually do change gradually over the course of each song.
Big Science features studio recordings of songs excerpted from her long performance piece United States, a complete live recording of which was issued two years later. She is preoccupied with a critique of contemporary capitalist society, without resorting to polemic. She instead relies on a tone rife with what can be called kynicism — or what might equally be called “classical” cynicism, something Anderson seems to have adapted from William S. Burroughs. This is a critique, though, because Anderson isolates and focuses attention on the sorts of things that social forces of the time relegated to the background and took for granted (for precedent, look to Thorstein Veblen‘s classic sardonic takedown of the rich, The Theory of the Leisure Class (1899)). She takes the commonplace and makes it suddenly seem strange. The title track is one good example, as she comments on the awed reverence of scientism, opening the song with wolf howls (kind of hilarious when given a moment’s thought) and singing the lyric, “Big science / hallelujah,” against an organ to provide the impression of a futuristic Benedictine religious chant. Take also the opener, “From the Air,” which has Anderson playing the role of an airline captain providing instructions as her plane is about to crash, in an (as it turns out) incongruously calm voice. It is that sort of juxtaposition that Anderson develops on many of these songs, throwing into relief the bizarre motives and unnatural customs that prop up contemporary society. Later in the song she says, “Put your hands over your eyes / jump out of the plane / there is no pilot / you are not alone / standby.” The improbable hit song was “O Superman (For Massenet).” What all the songs have in common, though, is a commitment to making the listener experience their critiques rather than explain them or simply lecture the audience with a series of conclusions.
This album, for all its focus on the technological banality of 1980s consumer culture in middle America, has held up remarkably well. There is a kernel of interest here to anyone dubious of all sorts of other electronic distractions that emerged even years and decades later. But Anderson also goes beyond just a focus on technology to fairly universal human interpersonal concerns. If there is a flaw it is that the last two songs (the medley “Let X=X / It Tango“) aren’t quite as engaging as the others, or at least are kind of different than everything that precedes them, but that is a small quibble. This is the album that launched Anderson’s career, and it remains the place to start for newcomers.
Doug Randle – Songs For the New Industrial State Kanata KAN 5 (1971)
Doug Randle had been around the music business for quite some time before his Songs for the New Industrial State was recorded in Toronto in the early 1970s. It is built on the type of Sunshine Pop vocals, horn section arrangements and harpsichord flourishes that would have been quite popular five years earlier. But this isn’t exactly pure Sunshine Pop. It has a rather bleak outlook that recalls the darker aspects of Carpenters albums of the period. In a way, it’s much like the famous Nicholas Ray film Bigger Than Life in which a way of life just sort of cracks. Randle wasn’t much of a lyricist. His words (he doesn’t sing on the album) land with a thud as often as not. Yet the contrast between the lyrics and the arrangements might be seen as a very early attempt at the ironic distancing that became commonplace in bourgeois indie pop a few decades out.
CAN – Delay 1968 Spoon 012 (1981)
This is a pretty decent set of rejected recordings, originally created for an aborted album tentatively titled Prepared to Meet Thy PNOOM. Irmin Schmidt (who previously mostly worked as a conductor/composer/recital pianist) founded CAN after a trip to New York City turned him on to R&B/soul and underground rock. The influence of that trip is evident on these recordings, many of which carry the torch for what The Velvet Underground was up to when Schmidt was introduced to them, along with influences from the likes of The Jimi Hendrix Experience, Sly & The Family Stone and James Brown. What is immanently clear from these recordings is that this is a group of performers very sensitive to form, even if their performance style is somewhat unpracticed in the rock idiom and favors creating a mood of wild energy over adherence to any specific technique. But everything about these recordings demonstrates an allegiance to the counterculture of late 1960s urban rock music. The resultant music is tough, and loosely jammy at times, but also dark and sinister. It would be wrong to say this is humorless, but it is music that always regards itself as serious and aims for “importance.”
Delay 1968 shows the foundations of what came later for CAN, but it’s also markedly different that what came later. Drummer Jaki Liebezeit hasn’t yet fully adopted a frenetically mechanical “motorik” style, instead playing in a somewhat more typical rock style, if one still unusually informed by the flexibility and open-ended possibilities of modern jazz. Guitarist Michael Karoli plays a lot of chugging, modulating riffs and heavy, frequently dissonant chords, with few if any of the long, psychedelic lines that would characterize his playing in the near future. Irmin Schmidt often approaches his keyboards almost like a player from a warped, blues-based jam band — “Man Named Joe” is sort of halfway between The Velvet Underground and the first Grateful Dead album — without the ominous spaciness that would characterize his playing in the coming years. Though he’s sometimes so far down in the mix that you have to listen hard to pick him out (“Nineteen Century Man”). And yet bassist Holger Czukay and (especially) vocalist Malcolm Mooney were already performing in much the same way they would in the coming years (though Mooney left the group a year or so later).
“Little Star of Bethlehem” is a narrative rant from Mooney set against a slow groove. It is much better than, say, “Mary, Mary So Contrary” from the eventual debut album Monster Movie. The first song, “Butterfly,” has a good beat and crunchy, dissonant melodic and harmonic elements, but it does go on to the point of seeming repetitive without the hypnotic qualities the band achieved on later recordings. “Thief” was released in an edited form on the compilation album Electric Rock (1971) and is one of the most developed songs in terms of pointing towards what the band would do more of in the future. “Uphill” is a solid rocker, in roughly the same mold as “Butterfly” but with a quicker tempo and denser guitar strumming.
Delay 1968 is a pretty good album, considering it was originally rejected and sat in the vaults for over a decade before its eventual release. It is rougher than any of the later studio albums. And yet, the sense of purpose is undeniable. Many of the band members were in their 30s when the band was formed, and that is partly what gives this music such a deliberate sound. These were musicians with ample training and prodigious talents by any conventional measure, and they chose to apply those things towards a rock-centered music that embraced the counterculture. It is a very punkish approach to music, and that’s precisely why this still sounds as fresh as it does almost a half century later. If these recordings at times seem somewhat content to merely pay tribute to its influences, the proper debut, Monster Movie, was undoubtedly something new and unprecedented.
CAN – Ege Bamyasi United Artists UAS 29 414 (1972)
CAN was one of the most important but least recognized bands of the late 20th Century. Bridging diverse motivations of classical music with rock and roll and more, they were in a large part responsible for what is now called electronic rock. Their music blended the profound rhythms of James Brown, the abstract composition of Karlheinz Stockhausen (with whom bandmembers Holger Czukay and Irmin Schmidt studied) and Steve Reich, the bold experimentalism of The Velvet Underground and the production effects of The Beatles’ “I Am the Walrus.” The so-called “kraut rock” movement featured a number of highly creative groups but none as innovative and lively as CAN.
Holger Czukay on bass (who also handling engineering) and Jaki Liebezeit on drums formed the core of one of the most acclaimed rhythm sections in rock. “Damo” Suzuki’s vocals were sometimes grave (“Vitamin C”) and sometimes playful (“I’m So Green”), but generally with dadist, anti-artistic sensibilities. Irmin Schmidt turns in a solid performance, while Michael Karoli’s immediate and evolving guitar work made songs like “One More Night” memorable. Each band member brought something different to the table, and the group dynamic continuously changed. Creative interplay inside the group provided the strength to change the world outside it.
The band adds enough comic relief. “Pinch” features a grab bag of whistles and clangs, all used quite humorously within relatively serious settings. Things can get downright goofy, like on “Soup.” CAN’s destination may often be finely calculated but they meander delightfully along the way. Even within each song the band makes dramatic shifts from rhythm to melody to noise.
Ege Bamyasi is a focused album that makes a good introduction to CAN’s music. It actually made the charts in CAN’s native Germany; largely due to use of “Spoon” as the theme to a German gangster T.V. show called Das Messer. “Vitamin C” also became a theme song for Samuel Fuller’s made-for-TV film Dead Pigeon on Beethoven Street. Ege Bamyasi doesn’t quite match the albums that came immediately before and after it (from their great “Damo Suzuki trilogy”), but it distills the essence of the band’s peak years. The beats are funky and atmospheric effects swirl magnificently about to hypnotic effect. The results are neither as psychedelic as some earlier work nor as ambient or club-pop oriented as later work. This album is just one step in an extended dance. The balance is perfect. CAN grasp what seems intangible and hold it to the light.
The superb musicianship and subtle textures of Ege Bamyasi hold limitless possibilities. It highlights CAN’s continued growth. As intriguing as it is, with an open mind Ege Bamyasi can be rather fun as well.
Radiohead – OK Computer Parlophone 7243 8 55229 2 5 (1997)
Ah, Radiohead. OK Computer is an album I would analogize to members of the American Democratic political party. They both present a basic premise that they never really live up to. They are supposed to be something on one side of the spectrum, but end up being merely a superficially distinguishable version of the same-old, same-old thing on the completely opposite side of the spectrum. And just as with the Democrats, its hard to understand why the committed don’t recognize this. For one thing, this album is just The Bends with lesser songs and noticeable electronic effects draped over the top, in an attempt to sound “current”. Almost all of the best parts of the album are derived from more interesting sources. I always get the distinct impression that most British rock of the 1990s, like this and Britpop, was just for people who didn’t get the kind of grunge and alternative rock coming out of America but had no better rock to offer.
Anyway, the appeal of Radiohead seems to rest mostly with Thom Yorke‘s voice, which has a frail quality that evokes a helplessness against the weight of the world. Karl Marx famously said that “Religion … is the opiate of the masses.” Another guy said, similarly, “Religion is opium for the people. Religion is a sort of spiritual booze, in which the slaves of capital drown their human image, their demand for a life more or less worthy of man.” Both meant that religion was a kind of coping mechanism that alleviated symptoms and thereby obviated the need to act to improve material circumstances, that is, to find a cure. Radiohead fit into much the same framework. They sell a kind of shared sense of hopelessness as a coping mechanism in lieu of something deeper. In more concrete terms, they tend to take old music and kind of repeat it, as if there is no possibility of original expression anymore. Take “Airbag,” which obviously follows the same format as the music of CAN. And many of the songs, like “Airbag,” start one way then have a changearound part near the end, a gimmick which frequently deploys a lot of electronics, overtures to turntablism, and such. This gives the impression of a kind of deus ex machina saving grace to the otherwise despairing overtones of the songs. It is like waiting around for somebody else to swoop in and solve all the world’s problems, and the listener just has to wait for it (and take no affirmative actions in the meantime). I guess I just fundamentally object to the self-induced hopelessness that this music seeks to foster, and, while I do admire Yorke’s vocal tone most of the time and the production is good when it avoids the electronics, this mostly just can’t hold a candle to the power of its sources of inspiration. And I can’t help but kind of snicker when people hold this up as intellectual music…. But, frankly, Radiohead has better music out there, for what that is worth.
Overall rating: mostly harmless.
Rage Against the Machine – Rage Against the Machine Epic ZK 52959 (1992)
Basically, no matter how much the politics here (and there are definitely politics at work here) are basically well-intentioned, even correct, it is hard not to think of these guys as complete and total failures. I mean, almost all my friends loved these guys back in the day. But did any of my friends really agree with the politics here? Maybe one, who wasn’t exactly the biggest fan. It is fueled by adrenaline (and testosterone). Put this on and just try to sit and listen to it, and it comes across as pretty corny. Even if Zack de la Rocha‘s vocals are sort of the iconic angry-person’s vocals for its era, the musicianship is sort of barely there across the album. There is this overt attempt to be the 1990s version of MC5. But it doesn’t quite get there. I mean, this all boils down to a rap-metal version of 1970s cock rock. It’s fist-pumping, high energy stuff, but, isn’t a lot of quite reactionary bullshit just the same? What draws people to this music is the rather politically neutral raw energy behind it, which can be used for any ends. And, yeah, plenty of people have pointed this out, but it’s hard to avoid being labeled hypocrites when you name your band “rage against the machine” then sign up with a record label owned by one of the biggest multinational corporations in the world (oops). These guys could have pulled a Fugazi and maintained some integrity, but they didn’t. So, that brings us back to the politics, which must be considered either ineffectively conveyed, a mere ploy, or just random shit (though its hard to believe it’s pure random shit given how long these guys have stuck with it). But whichever it is, this kind of cheapens the politics by making them an irrelevancy. Damn shame too.
Tina Brooks – True Blue Blue Note BLP 4041 (1960)
No, it doesn’t break any new ground. But Tina Brooks’ True Blue is probably THE quintessential Blue Note hard bop album — though Sonny Clark‘s Cool Struttin’ deserves a mention in that conversation. I feel a little sorry for people drooling over Coltrane‘s mediocre Blue Train when they could spend their time with this beauty.
can – Rite Time Mercury 838 883-1 (1989)
CAN’s reunion album Rite Time — their final studio album — is often derided by fans. That is somewhat unfair, as this album is decent, even if it isn’t as nearly as good as their very best. It is actually best compared to their mid-70s output where more conventional commercial rock crept into the music alongside ambient soundscapes. Original vocalist Malcolm Mooney initiated the reunion and (re)assumes vocal duties. “On the Beautiful Side of a Romance” opens the album, and it establishes the unmistakable 1980s production values: compressed drums, a synthetic, trebley feel. There are a couple of jokey novelty songs up next, which incorporate some sound collage elements. “Like a New Child” is more ambient, but then “Hoolah Hoolah” goes back to novelty music. “In the Distance Lies the Future” is the album’s highlight, though it was omitted from the original LP (appearing only on the CD version), a song that bassist Holger Czukay said “became one of my favourite CAN pieces of all time.” I happen to like this album more than most fans, perhaps because the goofy songs don’t put me off and the 80s production values don’t phase me either.
Johnny Cash – Sings the Ballads of the True West Columbia C2S 838 (1965)
Listening to Johnny Cash’s double-LP concept album Sings the Ballads of the True West, it’s hard not to think of Marty Robbins‘ legendary album Gunfighter Ballads and Trail Songs. Both are thematically focused on the American “wild west” of the late 19th Century. Cash made attempts to research the era, and locate suitable material. But like Robbins, Cash ends up with something more like a Hollywood Western than the genuine article, because he’s often backed with an orchestra or modern vocal chorus. Which is to say that the authenticity found here, if any, lies in the lyrics and the song selection, not so much in the performance. Still, he manages to convey something of the times, or at least the great historical myth of the times. A wonderful banjo helps with that feeling. If The Man in Black developed something of an outlaw’s image, then the tales of gunfighters and hard times on display here did their part to build it in earnest. He’s definitely interested in this stuff. More than most of Cash’s concept albums, this one maintains a focus on the underlying theme quite rigorously. But like pretty much all of these concept albums, quality of the individual tracks varies, and some probably won’t care for the between-track narrations at all. This still ranks as a solid second-tier Cash album, with the caveat that the pronounced old-west themes might make this less amenable than others to repeated plays — you kind of have to be in the mood. An abridged, single-LP version of this album was released as Mean as Hell.