Good Shoes - The Photos On My Wall:
Sketchy guitars – check. Vocals/delivery akin to various 70’s post-punk bands – check. Cheeky lyrics – check. Less than two minutes long – check. Nice little break a minute and a half in – check. Indie-schmindie – check. Nothing new then, but reasonably adept nonetheless; and it’ll please the scenesters – nice.
Psychic Ills - Early Violence:
If you like dense, lyrically sparse fuzz-rock with minute-long portions of feedback and slow, chugging repetition en masse that leave the overall impression that physical time and song structure are largely irrelevant, I recommend you consume this prelude to the current Ills material.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Album Review. Thunderbirds Are Now! - Make History.
This lot create records by tweaking and pulling at their particular brand of ever-present post-punk: from hyperactive spaz, through uber-tight disco, to what is now a melodic and insightful brand of pop.
Uncertainty loomed after first perusal of Make History, dismissiveness even, but slowly – like illness that you know is coming but hasn’t hit yet – I got it. TAN! used to be more fun than sticking one’s head out of a car whilst being driven, in a car, on a motorway.
Now, Ryan Allen sings like a girl no more, they’ve observed and critiqued the world, got all raucously tuneful and written a wise LP about life and the people who are living it (they are dumb, misunderstood/we’d eat our young if they tasted good/people don’t impress me much) – ace.
Uncertainty loomed after first perusal of Make History, dismissiveness even, but slowly – like illness that you know is coming but hasn’t hit yet – I got it. TAN! used to be more fun than sticking one’s head out of a car whilst being driven, in a car, on a motorway.
Now, Ryan Allen sings like a girl no more, they’ve observed and critiqued the world, got all raucously tuneful and written a wise LP about life and the people who are living it (they are dumb, misunderstood/we’d eat our young if they tasted good/people don’t impress me much) – ace.
Live Review. Tapes 'n' Tapes - Kings College London - Wednesday 8th November 2006.
Tapes and Tapes are a lucky band for sure. $1000 to make their much revered debut, a clear gift for a quirky tune and a charm that, up close and personal, is unexpectedly endearing. These dudes look and act like American College kids done good, so Kings College London’s Tutu Club was in many ways an ideal venue, packed with people with whom they can relate. Plus it’s a considerably more intimate setting for the band than my previous encounter with them at this years Reading festival.
There, in the tent, their charm, their subtleties and their sound were dwarfed by the enormity of it all. Too many people, too many wankers, too many other bands and not enough amps – festivals are an appalling place to watch live music: quantity is guaranteed, quality is sparse.
Here, as I view from on high, balancing on an excellently positioned balcony, they pay me back with a vengeance – thank Christ. Nothing pisses me off more than when great records are backed up by shoddy live shows…no names shall be mentioned…apart from Clap Your Hands Say Yeah…Ahem.
T ‘n’ T’s sound was crisp, the vocals were clear and they played like they were having a whale of a time. Scant words between songs is something which gigs are always better off for - apart from Cobain at MTV Unplugged: so poignant, so fragile, those words were songs - and the odd jibe went down well, but when you’ve got a record like The Loon under your belt, you may as well pipe down and play the bloody lot.
And they duly did, pretty much, and how they played. To begin: Just Drums and The Iliad, the first two tracks on the album, but no track three, not yet, that’d be ridiculous; first, a dash of old material, an eerie Omaha, and a much appreciated In Houston – omitted at Reading - oozing with cracked desperation. Then, chuck in Cowbell dripping with dirty revenge and the bombastically energetic Insistor to complete the hit parade and let Jacov’s Suite finish it all with a bass bashing “I-don’t-care-if-we’re-inde-minimalism-I’m-gonna-get-on-my-knees-anyway” finale. Sod encores.
Yes they sound like Pavement, but goddamnit Pavement were fucking great - and so are Tapes and Tapes… Roll on album number two and I’ll be seeing them again for definite y’all.
There, in the tent, their charm, their subtleties and their sound were dwarfed by the enormity of it all. Too many people, too many wankers, too many other bands and not enough amps – festivals are an appalling place to watch live music: quantity is guaranteed, quality is sparse.
Here, as I view from on high, balancing on an excellently positioned balcony, they pay me back with a vengeance – thank Christ. Nothing pisses me off more than when great records are backed up by shoddy live shows…no names shall be mentioned…apart from Clap Your Hands Say Yeah…Ahem.
T ‘n’ T’s sound was crisp, the vocals were clear and they played like they were having a whale of a time. Scant words between songs is something which gigs are always better off for - apart from Cobain at MTV Unplugged: so poignant, so fragile, those words were songs - and the odd jibe went down well, but when you’ve got a record like The Loon under your belt, you may as well pipe down and play the bloody lot.
And they duly did, pretty much, and how they played. To begin: Just Drums and The Iliad, the first two tracks on the album, but no track three, not yet, that’d be ridiculous; first, a dash of old material, an eerie Omaha, and a much appreciated In Houston – omitted at Reading - oozing with cracked desperation. Then, chuck in Cowbell dripping with dirty revenge and the bombastically energetic Insistor to complete the hit parade and let Jacov’s Suite finish it all with a bass bashing “I-don’t-care-if-we’re-inde-minimalism-I’m-gonna-get-on-my-knees-anyway” finale. Sod encores.
Yes they sound like Pavement, but goddamnit Pavement were fucking great - and so are Tapes and Tapes… Roll on album number two and I’ll be seeing them again for definite y’all.
Extended Album Review. Yo La Tengo - I'm Not Afraid Of You And I Will Beat Your Ass.
Yo La Tengo are not just a band. Ira Kaplan, Georgia Hubley and James Mcnew go above and beyond the call of duty; with their output, their integrity, their ‘cult’ status. Their dedication to their art has encouraged the growth of respect, amongst those who buy, those who try, and those who pay. With a growth of respect comes trust, and with trust a willingness for folk surrounding them to allow them freedom.
Freedom is a tricky concept – possibly overrated and probably misunderstood. Some people do not, and will never, know what to do with freedom, and this naturally applies to bands. It is what makes bands great in fact; that they are created by people, and some/most people are fragile and often lost. They need guides and a helping hand – a push in the right direction, and when they get this, they can produce, and by no means is this output lesser, but it is different, and less pure.
Artistic genius lies in the loners. Those that are out there doing it on their own and thriving from it. Members of this clan are fortunately limited and few can achieve it satisfactorily; those that spring to mind are Radiohead and Sonic Youth – they are among those that can harness the respect, recognise they deserve the respect and use the platform of trust to produce records born from pressure-less creativity.
I’m Not Afraid Of You And Will Beat Your Ass is one of these; it is the sound of a band letting rip. Yo La Tengo’s creative juices are gushing like an irrepressible geyser on this record.
Whilst press and fans alike have been complementary it has been suggested that the record is less accomplished, less seminal and less essential than there other work – but this is to miss the point. Music, especially when critics get the chance to stick there oar in, is often reduced to a ‘better-or-worse-than’ criteria that can be helpful, but at the same time is far from being a formula that can be relied on.
Yo La Tengo surpass this. It is art, they are creators and everything they do, I believe is part of a journey. They have garnered such respect that any doubt into the love and care and soul put into their work doesn’t even get the chance to root. This is not a case of blindness, they have earned my trust and until they give me a reason to doubt it, everything they produce is good art, real art. They have always been in love with music and still are; I like to think that like so many bands don’t do these days, they will almost certainly quit when the love is gone. They, like I, do not trust bad art.
This record emphasises all that Yo La Tengo do with first class adeptness. As much flowery word-smithery and well though out metaphors cannot hide the fact that as opener ‘Pass The Hatchet, I Think I’m Goodkind’ ploughs and rumbles it’s deep, dark riff at you through a cloud of distortion, it just sounds cool. That word can be desriptive, just listen to the song.
The starkly contrasting Beanbag Chair follows with its outrageously jaunty piano riff which stews nicely with the tenderness of Hubley’s voice on ‘I Feel Like Going Home’. Graze over the distinct trumpet-backed niceties of ‘Mr Tough’: “If you need to tell me something once, you won’t have to tell me twice/And if you ask for a nickel,I’m going to give you a dime,” through the still-innocent-in-love tweeness of Sometimes I Don’t Get You, “Sometimes I don’t know you/It’s like we never met/Sometimes I think I don’t know how to be on my own/Sometimes I won’t answer the door or talk on the phone” and the versatility of both Kaplan’s vocals and Yo La Tengo as a unit are clear as day.
The instrumental Daphnia is sweeping, eerie, and beautifully well thought out music, and at seven and a half minutes long, almost borders into classical, what with its intricacies. On Black Flowers they sound like Daniel Johnston with a violin backing – outsider music created not necessarily by outsiders, not in the way Johnston was, but by those with a deep understanding of outsider music, and indeed as is well documented – all music.
Yo La Tengo’s superiority lies in their adaptability and their switching from styles and genres as if they don’t exist. They make genres look foolish, childish. A hard rock riff, to a piano break, to a horn section, to an electro-riff with bongos in four songs and you have enough evidence that this lot remain masters of the art. The fact that there sound, approach and direction never seem to change that much throughout this, is testament to the single-minded force they are – they push boundaries and they test the water, but they do it together.
Freedom is a tricky concept – possibly overrated and probably misunderstood. Some people do not, and will never, know what to do with freedom, and this naturally applies to bands. It is what makes bands great in fact; that they are created by people, and some/most people are fragile and often lost. They need guides and a helping hand – a push in the right direction, and when they get this, they can produce, and by no means is this output lesser, but it is different, and less pure.
Artistic genius lies in the loners. Those that are out there doing it on their own and thriving from it. Members of this clan are fortunately limited and few can achieve it satisfactorily; those that spring to mind are Radiohead and Sonic Youth – they are among those that can harness the respect, recognise they deserve the respect and use the platform of trust to produce records born from pressure-less creativity.
I’m Not Afraid Of You And Will Beat Your Ass is one of these; it is the sound of a band letting rip. Yo La Tengo’s creative juices are gushing like an irrepressible geyser on this record.
Whilst press and fans alike have been complementary it has been suggested that the record is less accomplished, less seminal and less essential than there other work – but this is to miss the point. Music, especially when critics get the chance to stick there oar in, is often reduced to a ‘better-or-worse-than’ criteria that can be helpful, but at the same time is far from being a formula that can be relied on.
Yo La Tengo surpass this. It is art, they are creators and everything they do, I believe is part of a journey. They have garnered such respect that any doubt into the love and care and soul put into their work doesn’t even get the chance to root. This is not a case of blindness, they have earned my trust and until they give me a reason to doubt it, everything they produce is good art, real art. They have always been in love with music and still are; I like to think that like so many bands don’t do these days, they will almost certainly quit when the love is gone. They, like I, do not trust bad art.
This record emphasises all that Yo La Tengo do with first class adeptness. As much flowery word-smithery and well though out metaphors cannot hide the fact that as opener ‘Pass The Hatchet, I Think I’m Goodkind’ ploughs and rumbles it’s deep, dark riff at you through a cloud of distortion, it just sounds cool. That word can be desriptive, just listen to the song.
The starkly contrasting Beanbag Chair follows with its outrageously jaunty piano riff which stews nicely with the tenderness of Hubley’s voice on ‘I Feel Like Going Home’. Graze over the distinct trumpet-backed niceties of ‘Mr Tough’: “If you need to tell me something once, you won’t have to tell me twice/And if you ask for a nickel,I’m going to give you a dime,” through the still-innocent-in-love tweeness of Sometimes I Don’t Get You, “Sometimes I don’t know you/It’s like we never met/Sometimes I think I don’t know how to be on my own/Sometimes I won’t answer the door or talk on the phone” and the versatility of both Kaplan’s vocals and Yo La Tengo as a unit are clear as day.
The instrumental Daphnia is sweeping, eerie, and beautifully well thought out music, and at seven and a half minutes long, almost borders into classical, what with its intricacies. On Black Flowers they sound like Daniel Johnston with a violin backing – outsider music created not necessarily by outsiders, not in the way Johnston was, but by those with a deep understanding of outsider music, and indeed as is well documented – all music.
Yo La Tengo’s superiority lies in their adaptability and their switching from styles and genres as if they don’t exist. They make genres look foolish, childish. A hard rock riff, to a piano break, to a horn section, to an electro-riff with bongos in four songs and you have enough evidence that this lot remain masters of the art. The fact that there sound, approach and direction never seem to change that much throughout this, is testament to the single-minded force they are – they push boundaries and they test the water, but they do it together.
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