greenideas

August 25, 2005

Review: Mt. Eerie - No Flashlight

The more I think about it, the less inclined I am to write a full review of No Flashlight, Phil Elv(e)rum's follow-up to Mount Eerie, and his first full-length under the Mt. Eerie moniker. It's good, and I'll talk some about it, but more than anything, I like it because it helped me focus my thoughts on Elv(e)rum's discography as a whole. What I think I'll do, is expand on some of those thoughts, and then bring it back to how they relate to NF.

In all of Phil Elv(e)rum's recorded work to date, there is an overwhelming emphasis on introspection and brute phenomenology. Take for instance, these lines from the song "You'll Be in the Air" from The Glow, Part 2 which recreate the first-person feeling of flying:

But if you just moved your arms then you could tell / That you are in the air / You'd feel the yawning gulf grow wider / And you'd feel the dwindling fuel for your lungs / So your breaths would slow

Considering the force with which these minutiae are conveyed it's almost like Elv(e)rum has uncovered some kind of phenomenological lingua franca with which to express each and every experiential nuance.

For another example, take the simple phrase "the awful feeling of electric heat" from the same album's opener. It's so compellingly evocative that it borders on hypnotic suggestion. You don't just know what he's talking about it, you almost literally feel it.

What makes The Microphones records so extraordinary is the unity of purpose towards which each and every aspect of their construction seems directed. Not only does Elv(e)rum write lyrics that get to the core of what it's like to be an experiencing thing, every nuance of his production begs to be listened to on headphones. In so doing, the listener becomes the medium. This gives the sounds an immediacy that reinforces and is reinforced by the lyrical content.

Further, Elv(e)rum's insistence on using acoustic methods to get certain sounds (e.g. putting microphones in boxes to get the right kind of muffle) gives every note, thud, or drone the essence of having been made by a body. This creates a seamless continuum between the intent of the musician, the acoustics of production, the psychoacoustics of listener perception, and finally the listener's emotional/visceral response.

That's why the Microphones' rarities comp, Song Islands, was so psychically jarring. It wasn't just a collection of singles from various periods in the Elv(e)rum's discography. It was a cobbling toether of small parts from incommensurable wholes. Here's whay that doesn't work: for all of the reasons listed at length above, each and every Microphones album (and so far I do mean just The Microphones, and not Microphones/Mt. Eerie) is more than just a concept, it's a gestalt. To be sure, there are lyrical, musical, and sonic themes that go throughout the whole discography, but each album still exists in such a holistic aesthetic/psychological/sonic space that putting snippets from those eras right next to each other creates as much cognitive dissonance as reading a literary mash-up like, say, The Sound and the Fury and the Half-Blood Prince.

To bring all of this back to No Flashlight, I think that the strength and innovation of Elv(e)rum's pre-Mt. Eerie output only stands as an indictment of how just-OK NF is. The songs are good, by and large, and there are some exciting new rhythmic elements (my man Phil blames it on the bossa nova!). But the magic continuity just isn't there. Sure, the album's title and title track seem to fit in with the themes I've been describing, evoking as they do the idea of being in the dark and having to navigate by feel. And there's plenty of Elv(e)rum's oft-used melodic cutting & pasting which ties the album together (Which, to be sure, is a Very Good Thing. I don't think that there can be any real Microphones fan who doesn't salivate a little on hearing the familiar melody of "You'll Be in the Air"). Nonetheless, the songs still feel like discrete entities. The clean sounding production, and oddly metal guitar sounds (to name just a couple of examples) in part create a palpable disonnect between the act of the creation and the thing created.

If it had been made by someone else, No Flashlight could've been their magnum opus. As it happened, the guy who did make it had already amassed an ouvre that eclipses most of what anybody else is doing in terms of raw unfettered genius. The bar is monolithically high, and he just didn't clear it this time around.

It's possible that I've gone very far off the deep end here, but I don't think I have. It might well be that Elv(e)rum's abandonment of his Microphones handle in favor of calling himself Mt. Eerie signifies just this very break with the old body of work and with the old creative process. If so, then the thing to do is celebrate everything he's done so far, and wait for him to grow into the next phase of his creative life.

Posted by matt at 10:22 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

June 30, 2005

Review: George A. Romero's Land of the Dead

There are moments that define individuals, and there are moments that define generations. I can't say yet whether George A. Romero's Land of the Dead is definitive in either of those ways, but I can say that it is unquestionably the high watermark of the zombie film genre.

Given the fact that twenty years have elapsed between Day of the Dead and LotD's premiere, and understanding that through most of the intervening years, a fourth installment to Romero's Dead series looked unlikely if not impossible, it would be difficult to overstate how high the expecations of the faithful were upon the current film's release. That said, I can honestly say that I wasn't even slightly disappointed by the experience. It really is safe to believe the hype.

The conceptual heart of the film is adaptation. Just as the surviving humans have adapted to life after the advent of the zombie apocalypse, so too do the zombies begin to adapt to their post-human existence. It's an intriguing idea that comes up in unexpected ways throughout the entire film.

The acting is a tremendous step up from previous entries in the series (which were all fanstastic, save for some over-the-top supporting characters in Dawn and Day). John Leguizamo, who I normally hate, is note perfect as the pseudo-terrorist anti-hero, Cholo. Even Dennis Hopper keeps the scene chewing to a bare minimum as the corrupt founder of one outpost of post-zombie civilzation. Asia Argento is flawless in her role as a hot chick.

Some will disagree, but I think top acting honors should go to Eugene Clark, whose "Big Daddy" is the zombie who leads the hordes in their attack on the city, and who teaches the others how to use tools and weapons, representing the next step in the creatures' development. There are a couple of moments when Big Daddy even euthenizes some of his compatriots who are on their way to suffering a fate worse than their fate worse than death. His performance is entirely sympathetic, and almost single-handedly conveys the substance of Romero's central allegory of disenfranchisement.

I confess to having had doubts when early drafts of the script centered on an armed and armored anti-zombie tank (well in advance of the appearance of a similar idea in the recent Dawn of the Dead remake). The vehicle, called "Dead Reckoning" (which was the film's original working title), seemed a little too beyond thunderdome for a genre film. In execution, however, Romero did a fantastic job of motivating the use of the vehicle as a natural way of adapting to life after the global zombie disaster.

Lastly, I would be entirely remiss if I didn't say how spectacular the gore was. Both the zombie kills, and the feeding scenes were nothing short of brilliant. I don't want to give anything away (although you really should check out the extra gory trailer I linked to a while ago), but it suffices to say that gorehounds will not be disappointed by either the quantity or quality of grue.

Also, genre fans should keep their eyes peeled for cameos by Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright (Shaun of the Dead) who don't appear to have fared very well after their own undead encounters across the pond, as well as a familiar face from the original Dawn.

I really can't say enough great things about this film. I couldn't find anything not to love. All I can do is thank Mr. Romero for fully delivering on the promise of two decades, and for presenting a true masterpiece.

Posted by matt at 09:18 AM | TrackBack

April 25, 2005

Dead and Breakfast: A Screaming Success

Did you do like I said and go see Dead & Breakfast this weekend? I sure hope so, 'cause it was pretty great. Anyone who enjoyed Shaun of the Dead will surely flip for D&B. I got extra lucky since the Two Boots Pioneer, which screened the film, showed The Evil Dead right after, so I was treated to a pretty stellar undead double-feature. But you all know about ED, so let me tell you about Dead & Breakfast.

Honestly, there isn't too much that's new in the film. The plot is essentially a hodgepodge of familiar zombie horror tropes (young city folks in the country are beset by hordes of the undead). Of course, the fact that an Evil Dead poster can be seen in the background in a few scenes, shows that the homage was completely intentional.

There were a couple of fun twists thrown in, however. For instance, instead of the normal lumbering, sub-mental kind of zombie, some of D&B's bad guys were actually pretty sharp--especially their leader, ably portrayed by Oz Perkins, who had a nice "Evil Ash" from Army of Darkness kind of thing going on. Also, the film's take on zombie lore was interesting, with the focus on Eastern (specifically Thai Buddhist) traditions instead of the usual Sumerian rituals or nuclear waste. These elements were more than sufficient to lend the film a hint of freshness.

Throughout the film, there are plenty of head-scratching moments, where improbable events take place with no attempt to explain just why they might be happening. The viewer can't help but wonder how one of the characters knows how to build shotguns out of lead pipes, or why the zombies do an impromptu "Thriller"-esque dance number. But the sheer randomness of these events makes it more likely that they are part of an inside joke between the filmmakers and the audience. As a result, it totally works.

Altogether, the whole affair was a considerable success. The jokes were funny, the gore was where it needed to be, and the overwhelmingly tongue-in-cheekiness of it, made the film seem like one big conspiratorial wink. By all means, see this film if it's within your powers to do so.

Posted by matt at 10:09 AM | TrackBack

April 12, 2005

Review: The Mountain Goats - The Sunset Tree

When the release date and tracklist for the new Mountain Goats record were announced, I wasn’t nearly as excited as I should or could have been. Mostly, that was because Darnielle & Co.’s last outing sucked really, really hard, and I was in no way anxious for the new one to also suck, and thus maybe indicate that the head Goat had peaked. Well, since The Sunset Tree is nigh, and advances abound, I can say that those fears could not have been more baseless. I’m almost at a loss for what to say about the new jam besides “It’s really great and you should get it as soon as is humanly possible.” Nonetheless, I will soldier on.

My biggest complaint (out of very, very many) with We Shall All Be Healed was that it was too clever (which I intend as a pejorative). That is to say there was plenty of smart wordplay (it was still John Darnielle, after all), but no emotional meat to it whatsoever. A bon mot is nice enough, but it’s not going to communicate any deep truths about life, love, or whatever else we want out of a good song. That’s why Yogi Berra never made pop songs. If it’s poignancy or emotional intensity you want (and I do), TST has got it in spades. If anything, the Darnielle’s lyrical frankness is almost enough to make you uncomfortable—particularly given the fact that much of the album is themed around domestic abuse.

Darnielle’s voice too is more raw than on previous outings. This only serves to magnify the directness of the lyrics. Normally, his vocal timbre is either a snarktastic TMBG whine (“Anti-Music Song”) or an insistent yelp (“Raja Vocative”, “The Mess Inside”) with little middle ground (I mean all of that in the absolute best possible way—god, I love him). This time around, however, he dons an urgent, painfully effective rasp, as in “Dilaudid.” Seriously, it’s almost downright Oberstian.

Speaking of “Dilaudid,” that track shows off what might be the best thing about the record, namely the addition of cellist, Erik Friedlander, to the Goats posse. Darnielle’s ode to prescription narcotics and passionate self-destruction is also his “Eleanor Rigby,” and not because it’s a minor-key string workout. Listening to that song is a lot like the chestburster scence from Alien, except that the vile thing that’s chewing its way through your body is going to exit through your heart instead of your stomach.

“Love Love Love” would be just as beautifully heart-rending even if it didn’t namecheck Sonny Liston. I thought I was wistful before I heard that one for the first time today…

Somewhere in there, I went from not having much at all to say, to wanting to tell you about every beautiful detail of this record. I won’t do that, but I will say that you really should seek this out. This is the best record Darnielle and his Goat cohorts have made. Seriously. Lo-Fi Goats “purists” will disagree, but they will be wrong. This is it.

Posted by matt at 11:23 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

March 21, 2005

Review: The Decemberists - Picaresque

Mein gott in himmel. I love The Decemberists. I am truly, madly, and deeply in love with every note they've been so gracious as to commit to magnetic tape. I'm very happy to report that that already consuming affection is only intensified by Picaresque (buy it). It's like every other Decemberists record, but moreso. Join me on the lazy river of elaboration, won't you?

A picaresque novel is one that features a sort of roguish anti-hero embarking on a series of (mis)adventures and living by his/her wits alone. So, the obvious question that presents itself is: why did it take the band this long to use that term as an album title? On previous outings, Meloy & Co. have given us tales of lamenting legionnaires, whoring mothers, gypsy uncles, and lascivious mail clerks, to name but a few. Sure enough, Picaresque continues in that grand storytelling tradition with a vengeful mariner, a broke barrowboy, and a couple of serious threats to homeland security. Essentially, this is all to say that there aren't really any serious stylistic deviations from earlier efforts, at least as far as the writing goes.

So what about the music? I'm happy to report that not much has changed there either. Basically, if you've liked everything else they've done, you're going to freaking love Picaresque. Of course, such a non-review is cheating, so here's what's actually going on: The Decemberists have proven over and over again that they're equally adept at bombast and balladry. Epic rockers give way to equally epic, intimate idylls. Then there's usually a mazurka, and the whole thing starts again. This record is no different, save for the fact that everything is kicked up a notch or two (1 notch = 3.5 kilosmidgens).   

All of that said, there aren't any songs on this record that I find as deeply affecting on a personal level as I found "Red Right Ankle" from Her Majesty, The Decemberists (buy it), which is one of the best songs ever written and has yet to not break my heart in the best possible way on every listen. But somehow, that stops mattering when the harmonies kick in during the chorus to "We Both Go Down Together." By the time "The Bagman's Gambit" reaches its narrative and sonic apex, I'm like a bored housewife with a tattered, Fabio-adorned romance novel, with all of the gross things that implies. I simply can't believe it's not butter.

In short, it's a Decemberists record through and through. Longtime devotees should rejoice in every note, and newcomers will cast off the ugly, dried husks of their former pre-Decemberists-fan lives and look forward to a glorious hyper-literate tomorrow.

[Ed note: I'm forever indebted to rachis for getting this joint to me while I was in Miami. Props upon props. To the band: I'll buy a legit copy tomorrow, I promise.]

Posted by matt at 12:23 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

March 11, 2005

Reviews from the Vault: Van Dyke Parks - Song Cycle

It's hard enough to keep up with all of the great new music coming out these days. When you add the responsibility of having to learn about all of the hott jamz of yesteryear, the whole thing can seem a little unwieldy. Kev and I are here to help. We'll periodically be posting reviews of some great old records that you may not have heard. Starting... now.

Van Dyke Parks is probably best known for collaborating with Brian Wilson on a lot of the later Beach Boys projects, including Smile (Indeed, he even showed up on the version of that record that was just released). He's also been sort of a gun for hire, creating string arrangements for such diverse acts as Ry Cooder, Rufus Wainwright, The Divinyls (no, really), and tons more (ask me sometime why Jim O'Rourke is today's Van Dyke Parks). But above all, he deserves credit for his small but brilliant body of early solo recordings.

Song Cycle was released in 1968, and had the dubious distinction of being the worst selling record in Warner Bros.'s history until that point. In fact, WB offered a promotion where you could get the record for a dollar if you bought any of their other releases. As is so often the case, however, Song Cycle's commercial fortunes were not remotely indicative of the product's aesthetic value. Indeed, listening to it today, it nearly defies explanation how forward thinking Parks's opus was. It's really no wonder that nobody wanted to hear it back then.

Stylistically, Song Cycle is a seamless tapestry of a wide variety of seemingly incommensurable elements. Most of the album is covered in heavy reverb, which doesn't make it as "psychedelic" as it does just generally dream-like. That blanket of echo binds together Tin Pan Alley pop, Light Opera, traditional American folk, tape compositions, and  Debussey-style impressionism into a beautifully coherent whole.

The theme of the record is very much an exploration of the American experience (unsurprisingly, its follow-up, Discover America, which incorporated the traditional music of Trinidad, covered similar thematic ground). "Vine Street," which begins the record, is as lyrical a portrait of youth as any that the romantic poets could've constructed. "Palm Desert" compares the Golden Age of Hollywood with the Old West. The juxtaposition of country and city life in "All Golden" is a lucidly dreaming critique of progress and urbanization.

There have been maybe a small handful of albums in the history of recording that brim this full with ideas, both musical and social. Personally, I can honestly say that there aren't more than one or two other records that I find so purely exhilarating to listen to. This record is a genuine, unqualified masterpiece. If you're not familiar with it, by all means make every effort to become so. Even if it turns out to not be your thing, it's a record that must be engaged by anyone who cares at all about the power of expression in song. Van Dyke Parks is an American genius, and his contributions to the country's aesthetic heritage must be recognized.

Posted by matt at 10:31 AM | TrackBack

February 28, 2005

Girly Redux

[Disclaimer: Some of what follows is too sappy for even us to read, and we wrote it. Consider yourself warned]

While it's true that we're usually total cynics, looking down with Olympian disdain at what is commonly called "human feeling," we've got a soft spot a mile wide when it comes to Ida. And the fervor with which they attacked that weakness last night should become the stuff of legend.

The whole deal was way too much fun. Mascott, who played first, were just too cute. At that point in the show (you know, the beginning), the crowd was way more oldster than hipster, and that was clearly reflected in Mascott's gorgeous, and oh so sanguine (in a good way) Adult Contemporary stylings. Just to be clear, we don't remotely intend such a classification as any kind of slight (they really were great), but you know what they say about shoes or whatever.

Antietam left us a little cold, so we used their set as an opportunity to catch up on some phone calls.

But then there was Ida. We won't go into too much detail, suffice it to say that they were fantastic. We've been waiting for f-ing ever to see them, and it was everything we'd always dreamed it would be. The songs were great, their musicianship was impeccable, and they were so cute as to defy reason.

As a rule, we usually find Karla Schickele's songs to be growers, but her songwriting contributions to Heart Like a River, "What Can I Do?" and "Honeyslide," are early standouts. That was definitely reflected in the live versions last night. It was almost eerie how well they recreated "Honeyslide"s string coda with just a violin, harmonium, and acoustic guitar. God, that was awesome.

Is it possible that by some kind of operant conditioning, we're just wired to always get chills when we hear Liz Mitchell sing?

We'd be remiss if we didn't say how fantastic their new percussionist/multi-instrumentalist is. Hot damn, she (as we will continue to call her until we can find some info, although we think her name is Ruth) was absolutely stellar--an ideal rhythmic complement to the ubiquitous gossamer melodies.

As it turned out, we were flying solo last night, as everyone we knew had "better" Oscar-related things to do. That was probably just as well though, considering we would most likely have embarrassed the hell out of anybody having the misfortune of being associated with us. Rest assured, if we can get all misty while standing next to Alan Licht, we can mos def get that way standing next to you.

We know how painful all of this sap must be to read, so we'll cut it out, but last night's show was just great. Elbows were rubbed, knobs were... hobbed(?), and the music was just oh so brilliant in every sense of the word. You should've been there.

Posted by matt at 10:37 AM | TrackBack

February 15, 2005

Review: Mu - Out of Breach (Manchester's Revenge)

Here at greenideas, we feel duty-bound to warn our readers of a grave injustice being perpetrated on the record-buying public. Contrary to appearances, Out of Breach, the new Mu record, is not a dance record. Due to it's makers' Manchester pedigrees, many unsuspecting listeners will, at great personal peril, mistake this new collection of frankenbeats as a pret-a-danser club record. That's the kind of rookie mistake that's bound to leave you missing body parts--parts that you need.

On the one hand, Out of Breach is a continuation of the apocalyptic disco meltdown of 2003's Afro Finger & Gel. However, the new record sees the Divine Ms. Mu and husband/beat-maker/sonic terrorist, Maurice Fulton, sharpening their focus considerably. Whereas AF & G was all over the map, with jackbooted industrial stomps turning on a dime into straight-ahead club tracks, Out of Breach is pretty consistent as a creative reimagining of history in which Cibo Matto recorded Planet Rock in Hell. Also, sometimes, there's a timpani.

The record really doesn't waste much time at the beginning before declaring its intent to eat your children. Sure enough, on "Haters," the opener, Mu (nee Mutsumi Kanamori) provides a laundry list of people she intends to kill. That pretty much sets the tone for the unrelenting hatefuck that is Out of Breach. Okay, there are a couple of spots where Mu stops barking, and Fulton cools off the beats; There's one genuine ambient spot somewhere in there, and one or two quick strolls down memory lane into Mille Plateaux territory. But once you catch your breath long enough to recognize your surroundings, Mu's got you by the throat again.

One song is about Michael Jackson, and one is about Paris Hilton. We thought you should know that.

Lest there be any confusion, everything we've said up to this point was meant as an inducement for you to buy this record. Just be warned: this is the least dance-y record that you'll ever want to dance your fucking ass off to. But be careful, this one's a monster.

Posted by matt at 11:08 AM | TrackBack

February 14, 2005

Review: Robbers on High Street, "Tree City"

A few people (myself included) have compared this band to Spoon, and that's accurate, to a certain extent. Britt Daniel possesses a very distinctive back-of-the-throat kind of voice, and Ben Trokan (ROHS' lead singer) has a similar set of pipes- a coincidence that usually leads music critics to declare some band "the new ______" (for examples of this, see both Coldplay and Muse's debut LPs, where Chris Martin's and Matt Bellamy's (respectively) falsetto voices led the British music press to anoint both bands, at different times, as the new Radiohead). In this case, that would be a mistake: Robbers on High Street are very much not the next Spoon, they're something new and different.

One of the hallmarks of Britt Daniel's songwriting, at least on 'Series of Sneaks' and 'Kill the Moonlight', is that it's very parsimonious- each track is simple, pared down to some hard, minimal essence. Robbers on High Street are a little more expansive in their approach- piano, guitar, drums, bass, and vocals are on almost every track here, and Peter Katis (the producer for 'Tree City', also Interpol's 'Bright Lights' and 'Antics') adds some nice flourishes. This album is just viciously catchy- the melodies on 'Spanish Teeth', 'Amanda Green', 'Descender', 'Love Underground' (the standout), and 'Bring on the Terror', are as good as anything I've heard in the past six months, and the other tracks on the record are just as compelling. A lot of this record has an 'old pop' feel to it: classic progressions, piano balladry, sweet background vocals oohs and ahhs. Anyway, it's an excellent debut album, and hopefully Robbers on High Street will continue to expand upon the sound they've established on 'Tree City'.

If you want to check out some songs from the album, you can stream 3 tracks from the band's website (Spanish Teeth, Japanese Girls, and Montefiore). If you dig those tracks, you can pre-order Tree City (which is released on Feb. 22nd) from Insound right here for $13 (and get a free copy of the band's kick-ass EP, Fine Lines, to boot). Not bad at all.

Posted by Kevin at 09:00 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

January 28, 2005

Asleep at the Switch

If we may be allowed to appropriate the exclamation of every Irish cop in film history, Saints preserve us! We somehow fell disastrously behind on this week's stellar spate of record releases. If it hadn't been for our embarrassingly urgent need to get our paws on the new Bright Eyes records, we would've totally overlooked the following:

Bill Fay Group: Tomorrow Tomorrow and Tomorrow (scroll down a bit) - After the tragically dismal sales of his first two full-lengths, Bill Fay (who we love very much) made a quiet retreat from the business of making records, saying that "It wasn't me who left the music, it was the music business that left me." Far from being another attempt at stardom, this record is a true labor of love, representing the efforts of a small group of dedicated musicians getting together in service of the songs. That said, we wish it were better. The heavy use of early synthesizers serves to disconnect this record from the rest of Fay's small but strong discography. Worse yet, they make the whole affair sound hopelessly dated. Sadly, our first few spins of this disc revealed a closer aesthetic kinship to Christopher Cross than to, say, Nick Drake. Nonetheless, we want very badly to like it, so we'll keep giving it as many chances as it takes and report back.

Six Organs of Admittance: School of the Flower - Ben Chasny is back and... pretty much the same as ever. But make no mistake: that is a Very Good Thing. Personally, we haven't yet been able to get enough of Chasny's insidiously infectious blend of dark ragas, noise collages/freakouts, and Takoma/Revenant-inflected folk lamentations. Neither do we intend to anytime soon. Now if somebody could just tell us if that Tonic show with P.G. Six is still happening...

M83: Before the Dawn Heals Us - Once again, M83 provides a shining example of what French electro-rock should be. Instead of smarty-pants "Vee are French, and rock ees dead, no?" affectations (you know who we mean), these fresh young fellows have embraced their rock roots to create life out of silicon. They definitely have the chops to put paid to every mealy-mouthed assertion that there's nothing "authentic" to electronically-produced music. Between M83, Cyann & Ben, and the firebrand UMP leader, Nicolas Sarkozy, we think it's high time to fall in love with the French all over again.

Matt Sweeney & Bonnie 'Prince' Billy: Superwolf - Sweeney writes the tunes and Bonnie makes up the words. Um, it's good. It's not as great as such a triple-dog-dare collaboration could've been, but it's definitely successful enough to warrant a round two. These two have been working together for a long time now to considerable effect, so we should expect plenty more where this came from.

I'm Wide Awake, it's Morning is still very, very good. God help us, we even like the stupid intro now. If this were Cuckoo's Nest we'd think it was about time for the Chief to do a pillow job on us.   

Posted by matt at 10:31 AM | TrackBack

January 26, 2005

"Ya growns up and ya growns up and ya growns up!"

It's true! Dear god, it's all true.

Sad bastards, rejoice! For your King has returned unto thee!

I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning, one of two new releases from pop-indie megastar (it's a relative scale, darlings) Bright Eyes, is as good as you'd hoped/feared it would be. Yes, it's a much more mature outing and blah blah blah... But mostly it's just really good.

The primary reason that we can call I'm Wide Awake a home run compared to Lifted's solid base hit is that, instead of being all about how hard it is to be Bright Eyes, the overnight sensation, the new record is very much about how hard it is to be Conor Oberst, the guy. As such, it's also about how hard it is to be pretty much anybody. The absence of forced diffidence towards the hated rock critic is a welcome one, particularly when that hole is filled with--what's the expression... oh yeah: human feeling.

Even the requisite self-indulgent skit that has become boilerplate as the opening to most Bright Eyes records is a (relatively) lean 1:10, and almost manages not to annoy. Lest the importance of this fact go underestimated, we can assure the esteemed reader that, if past released are any indication, it really is no mean feat for Oberst to reign in his penchant for obtuse "cred-building" rambling intros.

Inviting Emmylou Harris to take up the background vocal chores was at once pretty gutsy and also maybe a little cheap. As others have said, it's clearly an attempt to legitimize this recording as being just plain folk, in the traditionally traditional sense, and not some sort of hyphenated mess. And indeed, it does have the effect of making the folk more folksy. So, as we said, the move was gusty, since it amounts to a clear setting of a goal--one that could easily be missed and missed badly. But, one could argue that Oberst was trying to trade on somebody else's ready-made (and richly deserved) credentials. We're not inclined to lodge that complaint, but it's there.

We want to quibble about how, this time around, Oberst does a lot of New York namechecking. We want to, but it happened that we were writing something that did kind of the same thing on our way to buy this record. Grrr.

As you well know, there is another new Bright Eyes full-length which shows Oberst flexing his pop muscles, while Mike Mogis works his programming chops. As regards this record, we can offer only a resounding "meh."

Posted by matt at 12:13 PM | TrackBack

January 21, 2005

Review: Magnolia Electric Co. - Trials & Errors

After hearing the first couple minutes of Trials & Errors, the new Magnolia Electric Co. live album, the seasoned Songs:Ohia fan will very likely search the record sleeve for a collar by which to grab and shake the record and ask "Who are you, and what've you done with Jason Molina?!" The downright bouncy southern-rock guitars that introduce "The Dark Don't Hide It" seem so far removed from what we may think of as traditional Molina fare that we can't immediately rule out foul play.

Indeed, Molina's apparent break with his own aesthetic tradition was pretty clearly the impetus behind his adoption of Magnolia Electric Co. as his new nom de rock (either that, or it was the result of a class action suit on behalf of record store owners whose "S" racks had collapsed under the weight of Songs:Ohia's sprawling discography). However, after the initial shock subsides, said break reveals itself to be only apparent. Sure enough, beneath the "Sweet Home Alabama" (or maybe just "Alabama") facade beats the same broken heart that pumped life through each and every Song:Ohia.

Whatever lukewarm sentiment remained in us after the first couple of tracks was completely obliterated by the time we get to "Such Pretty Eyes for a Snake." That song's narrator is debating whether or not to "go upstairs" with someone, but the conflict is resolved when Molina howls, amid Heavy-Brand Drumming (tm), "I learned how to make my living out of making mistakes / and besides, you've got such pretty eyes for a snake." Vintage, baby.

Our favorite thing about Molina's songwriting is the way he can turn on a dime from the intensely personal to the universal--from the emotional to the downright mystical. The way "Ring the Bell" transitions into "Cross the Road, Molina" by moving from a meditation on personal failure to the invocation of a "Wolf's-headed conjurer" makes us want to reach for our 12-sided die to roll a saving throw against dying from an awesome overdose.

Also, we can't help but love how Molina calls the sound-guy "the real star of the show." Bands, take note: always show love to the sound-person.

At any rate, by the time the record ends, and the show is over (we should add: the complete, uncut show), whatever psychic tension you thought you may have picked up on at the beginning will have disappeared completely. Magnolia Electric Co., while occasionally more rawk-based than Songs:Ohia, is still Molina through and through. We expect to hear the gust of a collective sigh of relief from everybody any second now...

Posted by matt at 10:37 AM | TrackBack

January 20, 2005

Secrets & Lies

Frankly we're feeling a little hurt today. Greg Weeks came out with a whole new full-length and didn't tell us! We even looked at his website not too long ago, just 'cause we had a feeling that such a thing might've been in the works. See, our trick knee was acting up, and that usually means that an awesome record is coming out... or that there's gonna be weather. (Before anybody says anything about it, we now know that if we were more diligent about reading the "new" and "improved" Pitchfork, we'd have seen the review on Monday.)

Rather than mining the same acid-folk reserves as his day-job band, Espers, Blood is Trouble is a true follow-up to Weeks's fan-f-ing-tastic Slightly West EP. If you enjoyed the latter's organ-soaked dreamy melancholia, then get ready to fall in love all over again. Weeks doesn't tinker much with the model established on his frustratingly short solo debut, so all you mope-junkies (read: greenideas matt) can quiet the bugs under your skin. Expect plenty of gorgeously layered harmonies and 125% of your RDA of groaning synthesizers. Also, expect the whole thing to be really awesome.   

Great as the record is, however, we did manage to stop listening to it just long enough to make it over to Tonic to see Loren Connors present his score to the 1928 silent film, The Passion of Joan of Arc. It was nice, but there were only a couple of parts that made us really feel like the percussion guitar work was really a "score" to the film.

We found ourselves much less interested in the sound-art as we were in the film, which we suppose is to Connors's credit. Also, the score didn't really move that much, which was nice, since it had the subliminal effect of keeping the emotional intensity of the film pretty constant, instead of shifting from scene to scene.

For the record, we're huge fans of Loren Connors. The record he did with David Grubbs is one of the most beautiful things we've heard, maybe ever.

Um, that was a bit of a non-sequitur, considering this post was supposed to be about Greg Weeks, but that's alright. It's all art. If anybody is tired of hearing about Espers-related stuff, then... well, you haven't heard the record, so nevermind. We will nonetheless back off a little bit, before we turn into an Espers fansite. 

Posted by matt at 10:36 AM | TrackBack

December 20, 2004

Rock, American Style

Well gang, it's been a lot of work, but we've just now wrapped up an extensive multi-year study of greenideas' readership and your interests. What we found was pretty interesting, and well worth the trillions of dollars of government subsidies that went into it (thank you, Matthew Lesko!). It turns out that maybe some of you out there like to listen to rock 'n' roll music. Well friends, if that's true of you, then we've got great news! That news concerns the existence of a great two-headed beast, with one head called "Lungs of a Giant," and the other called "Nimbus" (if it's okay with everybody, we're just going to call that beast metaphor a failed experiment and abandon it forthwith).

Both of these bands are absolutely top-drawer, and both were in perfect form when they laid waste to their home turf of Magnetic Field last Saturday night with softball-sized hailstones of awesomeness. LOAG and Nimbus both have the uncanny ability to outdo themselves every damn time we see them. Saturday was certainly no exception. Also, we promise that we're not just saying all of this because of the big ol' crush we have on LOAG's bassist (and pretty much everybody else in both bands).

Get on over to their respective websites (linked above) and snag all the mp3s. Then buy everything they have for sale and mark your calendars with the dates of their upcoming shows. Also, keep your peepers glued to this here weblog, since we'll be featuring interviews with both bands in the New Year.

Speaking of the new year, we know a certain blog that's got a birthday coming up...

 

Posted by matt at 12:53 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

December 08, 2004

The Hardest Working Band in Showbusiness (Updated)

Holy crap! We have to say in all honesty, and without a trace of hyperbole, that there is no better live show out there than Calexico. Last night, we totally went to sleep with a prayer on our lips asking God to grant us a womb for to bear Joey Burns's progeny.

The set was a nice tour through the band's catalog, slightly focusing on last year's Feast of Wire, but also digging deep into several EPs and import singles. The latter certainly appealed to us as the collector scum that we are. When they busted out Love's "Alone Again Or", from the eponymous German EP, we most definitely had the look of that one guy from Guffman who was, you know, waaay too into it.

Also, we're definitely going to have to devote some more attention to Cordero, Calexico's girly indie-rock counterparts, who more than ably kicked off last night's festivities.

On a more personal note, we want to extend a hearty 'fuck you' to every hipster asshole at the show last night who was too cool to dance. If "Crystal Frontier" does not set your ass to moving, then it might just be time to stop concentrating so hard on your ironic facial hair and turn your attention to becoming a normal human being. Christ, you people make us sick. [Deep breath] Okay, we're done.

Tonight, Calexico will be opening for Yo La Tengo in Hoboken. If anybody out there has tickets to that show, consider yourself extremely lucky for the rock you are about to receive. Also consider giving one of them to us.

So yeah. Go see Calexico if you have the chance (like you will if you live in, say, Philadelphia). Your sins will be burned away in a blinding white light of awesomess.

Update: Check out the trackbacks to see some really nice pictures of the show taken by Brooklynvegan.

Posted by matt at 10:26 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack

November 19, 2004

Support Your Local Rock Club

It's been an uncommonly good week for shows at Southpaw. Last Friday brought the legendary Giant Sand to our fair neighborhood. The early show the following night was Robyn Hitchcock, which was followed by an f-ing phenomenal show by Brooklyn's own Sufjan Stevens. Then last night, there was the unstoppable triple threat of Nmperign, David Grubbs, and Damon & Naomi w/ Kurihara (from Ghost). All we can say is... HOLY CRAP (but we'll nonetheless say more after the jump)

Speaking of Sufjan Stevens, we couldn't be happier to announce that his live shows now deliver on the promise of his records. Saturday's show was hands down the best show of his we've seen yet. Although, the most significant improvements weren't on Stevens's part (he was right where he needed to be). The awards for most improved definitely go to his supporting players for getting some much-needed self-confidence and to the sound engineer for figuring out how to eq a banjo.

As for last night's show, you couldn't ask for a better bill. Nmperign ventured out for an increasingly rare live performance and boy are we glad they did. If you don't know these guys (and you're a fan of free improv), do yourself a favor and track down something of theirs to listen to. Nmperign (pronounced "NIM-prine", as we were relieved to finally learn) is soprano saxophonist Bhob Rainey and trumpeter Greg Kelley. Their improv/sound-art stylings come off sounding eerily electro-acoustic (only, last night, there was no electro to be found), with Rainey's sax emitting what could easily be mistaken for pure sine waves and Kelly's mute + sheet metal robo rumblings.

Also, Rainey hooked us up with a copy of this outstanding found-sound opera thing he's working on. We don't want to say too much about it, lest we ruin any surprises, but when this thing eventually sees release, you are soooo going to want to pick up a copy. Like, for reals.

Another exceedingly pleasant surprise was that Nmperign played several songs with Damon & Naomi. Rainey and Kelly play some uncharacteristically trad (but nonetheleless very nice) horns on the forthcoming D&N record, and they played some of those tunes last night.

It was also really nice to finally see David Grubbs, since we've been a huge fan of his since way back when and we'd never seen him before last night. He did some really fantastic solo acoustic stuff, very much in the vein of his Drag City records. Very nice.

Lastly, we'd be remiss if we didn't mention how awesome Kurihara's guitar work was. Holy cripes, the sounds he was getting out of that thing were so unbelievably warm and... can we say uterine? Does that make sense? Anyway, it's not like Damon & Naomi need any help to break our hearts, but god damn if it doesn't help to have a supporting cast like Kurihara and Nmperign.

We're just tickled that it's finally paying off to live a couple of blocks away from a rock club, but we're also a little miffed that it happened as soon as it became likely that greenideas' Brooklyn HQ will be relocating to god knows where else on the Eastern seaboard.

For those of you keeping track at home, the emotions expressed in that last sentence were "tickled" and "miffed."

Posted by matt at 10:38 AM | TrackBack

November 08, 2004

The Unmitigated Awesomeness of Bill Fay

One of the records that's currently up on our music sidebar is Bill Fay's From the Bottom of an Old Grandfather Clock. As a public service, we wanted to present a brief hagiography for this unsung hero of Brit-folk.

In the late 60s and early 70s, Fay was making some of the best records nobody's ever heard. Fortunately, his obscurity may be a thing of the past. Through the sheer force of kismet, he's more popular today than pretty much ever, thanks in large part to his cause being adopted by such luminaries as Jim O'Rourke and Wilco. Fay's song "Be Not So Fearful" is featured prominently in the Wilco movie, and the band has been known to cover it in concert. O'Rourke covered Fay's "Pictures of Adolph" (click through to vol. 2) as part of Thurston Moore's Protest Records project.

For the most part, though, the original recordings have been out of print for most of the last thirty years. Fay's two studio albums were reissued in the 90s, but those quickly went out of print as well. The new collection, the Bottom of an Old Grandfather Clock, consists mostly of previously unreleased demos and outtakes. While the sound quality of some of the demos is abyssmal, the collection is emanently listenable.

Fay's sound is characterized by seamless a seamless eclecticism that meanders from delicately maudlin British folk to Lennon/McCartney pop to reverb-soaked heavy psych that anticipates Spiritualized by a good twenty some years. It's baffling to think of how many of today's artists would have been influenced by Fay's music if only they'd heard it.

For anyone exhausted by the deluge of Friendster profiles that namecheck Nick Drake (we'd have to check, but we're pretty sure ours does, so don't get all defensive), run, don't walk, to your local purveyor of expensive imports and secure yourself a copy of this latest reissue. Do it before this one goes out of print, too.

If greenideas were Natalie Portman, and you were Zach Braff, we'd totally put oversized headphones on you and tell you to listen to Fay's "Brighton Beach." It'll change your life.

Posted by matt at 11:58 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

April 19, 2004

Review: Four Tet, Bowery Ballroom, 4/18

It's been a long time since we've seen a show as solid as what we saw last night at The Bowery.

Ben Chasny, aka Six Organs of Admittance, ran through a quick set of solo acoustic workouts. Since this was the solo incarnation of the project, the songs were relatively straightforward, without the varied textures and sonic experimentation which mark Six Organs' recorded output. Nonetheless, you won't hear us complaining. It was also nice to hear more of Chasny's voice than is normally present on his records. The picking was a seamless blend of reverent Fahey-style roots, open-string drones, and plain old freakouts. All in all, the set was short, it was sweet, and we miss it already.

Now, most of the shows we get to see are either run of the mill too-cool-for-school indie whatevers, or relatively staid new music performances. Lucky for us, Boston's Sunburned Hand of the Man are nothing like most of the shows we get to see. Their set was one long, strange trip through each and every dark corner of psychedelia.

Two guitars held down the fort for the entire set, giving the rest of the massive troupe plenty of room to go absolutely insane. All manner of sonic knick-knackery were in effect, from analog tone-generators, to more percussion instruments than we could possibly count, to plenty of things we've just never seen or heard before. By the midpoint of the show, it would have been impossible to pick out individual voices from the mosaic quilt of sound that enveloped the club.

Most inspiring was the overall crescendo of the performance's energy. After starting out with their drum-circle approach to Ege Bamyasi-style kraut-psych, the band embarked on an inexorable progression towards an orgiastic frenzy of noise and screaming. By the end of the set, two-thirds of the band were on their bellies, howling and hitting whatever drum happened to be handy. All the while, percussionist John Moloney wore what used to be an acoustic guitar over his head and gestured furiously, even triumphantly, to the heavens.

Seriously, we mean it when we say that you can't get this anywhere else. Even more importantly, we mean it when we say that you want to get this. If Sunburned is coming to your town, board up your windows on your way out the door, and go see them.

Four Tet was also great, although not too much different from when we saw him last year. We should say that he was a little less clubby and a little more noisy--a change of which we emphatically approve. But look, everybody knows he's great. Rounds was a phenomenal album, and judging by the crowd at the show, a lot of people seem to know that. As such, we're not going to go on too much more about him, since we really just wanted to talk about the first two acts. It should suffice to say that he more than delivered on all promises made by the quality of his records. But, to be perfectly honest, we think his greatest acheivement on this tour was just putting together such an amazing line-up. We can't give him enough credit for that.

We've gone on at some length in the past about how great we think this free-folk business is, but we're going to wax a little more rhapsodic about it now. Seeing bands like Six Organs and Sunburned back to back emphasizes what is so absolutely brilliant about this stuff (and this goes double for those lucky bastards in Philly who get to see Sunburned with Espers tonight): whatever holds all of these bands together is most definitely not a similarity of genre. It's an overwhelming sense of community, and a profound unity of purpose. Even if you can't get into the music (and there's absolutely no reason why you shouldn't), you've really got to appreciate what goes into the making of the movement.

So, yeah. It was a good show.

Posted by matt at 01:20 PM | TrackBack

March 29, 2004

Review: Dawn of the Dead

We here at greenideas are huge fans of zombie movies. At least that's what we've been saying for a long time now. We have to add that qualifier since we haven't been a huge fan of any particular zombie movie in a long, long time. Sure there's the original Romero trilogy (better said, the first three parts of the as yet unfinished quadraology), Fulci's "Zombie," Peter Jackson's waaay pre-LOTR splatterfest, "Dead Alive," and, obviously, the "Evil Dead" films, which often get lumped into the zombie genre. These are all great films ("28 Days Later" might count, but the ending was really lame [as were the alternate ones on the DVD], so it's not really in the pantheon). It's because of movies like these that we can say that we're fans of zombie movies. We've had to take it on faith that, at some point, somebody would make another good one. In light of all of that, you can imagine that we were pretty nervous when it came time to go see the remake of "Dawn of the Dead." There was a lot riding on it, after all.

Not to leave the gentle reader in suspense any longer, we can say that the new "Dawn" met, and in most cases exceeded, all of our expectations. It was a great zombie movie, and a really good movie besides. We don't want to say too much about it, lest we give anything away, but here's what you need to know. Something is making the dead come back. The rules are, you get bitten, you die, then you come back and kill. This is happening all over the world, and it's an open question whether there's any place left on the planet to go. A few desperate souls hole themselves up in a mall to regroup and try to figure out a way to fend off the growing undead hordes.

Most of the parts were well-acted. Sarah Polley, Mekhi Phifer, and Ving Rhames are all really good. And the characters are generally pretty believeable, save for the obligatory "don't go in there! what are you, stupid?!" kinds of scenes. As in any horror film, however, some of the characters lack nuance, but this is as it should be. You really have to have the guy who's just an asshole, and can always be relied on to do the worst possible thing in a given situation. That's just a given, and we can't think of any good reason to break with such traditions.

As we mentioned the other day, there is one break from traditional zombie lore that might be a tad more controversial. Namely, the zombies in this movie run really fast. It makes sense, though, since the reanimation happens as soon as the decedent checks out, so there's no time at all for the body to decay, or for rigor mortis to set in. So, does it work? Yes. Oh god, yes. It adds so much to the genre that, even one zombie might be plenty to kill you tout suite, whereas it used to take a whole mess of them to overwhelm their victims. One zombie used to be a joke, as evidenced by the slapstick ways in which so many zombies in the original "Dawn" met their second deaths. This is certainly not the case anymore. The zombies of the new "Dawn" will be no one's comic relief. It just works. It's so much scarier this way. It does bring up an interesting question of whether we could even get scared of such a slow-moving monster these days. The modern zombie might be as much of a reflection of the zeitgeist as cell phones and "American Idol."

My, but we've gone on about this, haven't we? At any rate, the film is great--an instant classic of the genre. It has all of the gore you could want, some more than serviceable performances by both the living and the dead, and some moments of genuine emotional poignancy.

The only caveat we would add would be that this film is a remake of Romero's "Dawn" in name only. There are a few gems that survived from the original, but not many. Just don't expect the original, and you won't be disappointed. 

So please, go see it. It's so very worth your time and money. Oh, and buy the Espers record.

Posted by matt at 02:10 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

March 23, 2004

Review: Bonnie "Prince" Billy Sings Greatest Palace Music

Just so everyone's clear on greenideas position concerning Will Oldham, we're pretty well committed to the belief that he's one of the greatest songwriters and performers in the history of American popular music. That's not hyperbole, it's just the truth.

In case anyone hasn't kept up with the development of this record, here's the capsule history: So, Will Oldham decided to revisit some of his old Palace songs with the help of some seasoned Nashville session players and some of the usual suspects. The songs were mostly picked by fans via an internet poll. On paper, it's kind of perfect. A lot of that old Palace stuff was pretty lo-fi, so it's only natural to wonder what it would sound like with a slick studio sheen.

It sounds perfect, but how did it turn out? That's a toughie. These are all great songs. There's really no room to quibble with the songwriting or, more importantly, the choice of songs for the compilation. There is considerably more room to quibble about the execution, and quibble we shall.

It's a little shocking how different the "Days in the Wake" tracks sound, and how well they work. For the most part, the plan for these songs was just to take the quietest, sweetest or darkest tracks, and turn them into honky tonk. It's actually pretty good.

The "Viva Last Blues" tracks do not fare nearly as well. That record was literally perfect. Any changes are more likely than not to significantly detract from that. Unfortunately, that's just what happened. Oldham's Shatnerific delivery on "New Partner" turns a monolithic contribution to the American Songbook into a lumbering parody of Pat Boone "country" shlock. The other tracks from "Viva Last Blues" come across considerably better than "New Partner," but that's saying embarrassingly little. Most of these songs have been completely drained of their considerable emotional heft. We have to say, it's a little heartbreaking.

The performances from the supporting cast are pretty great. Underrated violinist Andrew Bird pulls much more than his weight throughout the record, and the background vocals are almost always right where they need to be. Unfortunately, that only contributes to the feeling that Oldham is sometimes just phoning it in.

All in all, the most we can say about this record is that it is pleasant. Nonetheless, considering Oldham's talent, and the pedigree of these songs, "pleasant" is a substantial disappointment. 

Posted by matt at 06:27 PM | TrackBack

February 15, 2004

Review: Espers - Espers

Actually, we think the Pitchfork review of Espers' self-titled debut pretty much hit the nail on the head. Nonetheless, we are desperately in love with this album, and can't resist the urge to wax a little rhapsodic about it.

Taking their cues from 60s acid-folk icons like Pentangle and Fairport Convention (minus the Renaissance Fair trappings), this Philly trio has assembled a near-perfect collection of melancholic folk gems and forward-looking psych noise collages.

"Meadow," one of the album's (roughly eight) standouts, layers electronic noise on top of the intricately fingerpicked guitar, mournful strings and thick co-ed harmonies, to a truly remarkable effect. Contrast this with "Hearts and Daggers," the record's most structurally complex track. It starts of with the kernel of a folk ballad until a jazzy flute line ushers in a four minute acid-soaked freakout, complete with massively overdriven guitars, electronic and tape noise, and screeching strings, all while a simply-strummed acoustic keeps the track moving forward.

We really can't remember the last time a band has put forth such a strong statement of intent on their debut record. Espers have a laser-like focus on their sonic vision. They clearly know exactly what they want to accomplish, and execute their plan with surgical precision. The really remarkable thing is that all of this focused craftsmanship doesn't detract even a little bit from the record's emotional heft.

While we're here, we feel like we should take a second to say what an unqualified Good Thing this New Weird America (or perhaps we should say "free folk," since Espers' record collections clearly come from across the Atlantic) movement is. There have always been people taking traditional "folk" idioms and twisting them into something more interesting (e.g. John Fahey, Sun City Girls, Will Oldham), but the unabashed eclecticism and unity of purpose of the current crop of avant-folkies hasn't really ever been achieved. With folks like Sunburned Hand of the Man, Jackie-O Motherfucker, Black Dice, Tower Recordings, and now Espers (among many, many others), all doing wildly different things, but sharing a common vision, this has the makings of a genuine movement. At the risk of getting too sanguine about it, we couldn't be more excited about the ways in which these people could change the course of experimental music for years to come. Now that Sunburned have snagged the support slot on Four Tet's upcoming tour, expect the news to reach an even broader audience, and catalyze this whole zeitgeist even more. If we sound giddy, it's because we are.

Posted by matt at 01:35 PM | TrackBack

February 04, 2004

Review: The Mountain Goats - We Shall All Be Healed

As much as we really hate to say it, William Bowers's review of the new Mountain Goats reocrd on yesterday's Pitchfork was actually a little more charitable than even we could be.

We should say at the outset that John Darnielle is one of our favorite songwriters out there today. That said, there is very little of what we love so much about him to be found on "We Shall All Be Healed". Even John Vandersilce's usually sparkling and innovative production comes off dry and flat on this record. Unlike some Goats fans, we're actually quite fond of the full band incarnation, so it's not that. We rather liked 2002's "Tallahasse." No, the problem is really just a lack of substance behind Darnielle's clever wordsmithing. It's always a delicate balance between being clever and being poignant (to wit: Eggers vs. Kundera)--a balance that the principal Goat has usually maintained to an almost preternatural degree. This one time, we are sorry to say, he has fallen too far towards the former extreme.

Posted by matt at 01:55 PM | TrackBack

Review: The Microphones - Live in Japan

We're going to try a new feature here at greenideas. We're very happy to present the inaugural edition of our capsule record reviews (just add water).

We strongly encourage any Microphones fans out there to run right out and pick up the new live album, "Live in Japan", The first three tracks alone are well worth the (surprisingly low) purchase price. It's always been evident that Phil Elvrum is an unqualified genius, but Calvin Johnson also shows some remarkable skills on the melodica (the world's most perfect instrument). Even Kyle "Little Wings" Field (who usually drives us up the fucking wall) makes himself useful--tolerable even. 

Anyone who has ever seen the Microphones live knows that there is a huge difference between the band's live incarnation and their recorded output. This record, while much of it does incorporate a full band, has none of Elvrum's masterful tape manipulation or signature walls of crashing percussion. The result allows the listener to focus much more on Elvrum's delicately pained vocal delivery and the lyrics which seemingly come out at the speed of his labyrinthine thoughts.

So good. So very good. Still, if you don't have "The Glow, pt. 2" then go out and get that first. But then get this.

Posted by matt at 01:45 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack