The Only Place - Best Coast

Borderline Bad

Best Coast, the surf-pop duo from the Golden State, jumped to critical acclaim and built a strong following two years ago with its debut album, Crazy for You. A fuzzed-out, lo-fi tribute to surf rock, someone must have pulled the album out of a Santa Barbara time capsule. Guitarist and singer Bethany Consentio, in particular, brought to mind a sense of warmth and levity that many community have been loath to emulate since the early '70s. The West-Coast attitude of pop, with sweet and innocent themes almost of the sake of pop, died with early Rock 'n' Roll. Crazy for You was a memento of a period when appreciation for a mundane life of lounging around was enough to keep a listener's attention.

On The Only Place, the album that attempts to follow its predecessor's success, that sense of nostalgia is gone. Producer Jon Brion has taken out all the affection the debut captured so effectively by removing the lo-fi mix. The end result proves to be too revealing, and any number of Best Coast's failings are presented outright. If less is more, here is an argument that proves the opposite. Song compositions once rich and profound are now simple and repetitive, and the group's gilding of praise as songwriters wash away like sandcastles in on the Pacific shoreline.

The eponymous ode to California starts the album off, and it seems like things are going places (or, the only place). The up-beat argument through song to live on the "best coast" seems spot on with a string of catchy lyrics and a jovial chord progression. This changes quickly. As if the light bulb goes off within the first few seconds, the listener can sense a song-structure formula that differs only in key as "Why I Cry" finishes its intro. Only after the fifth song, it seems that Best Coast tries to change up a delivery; but, by then, it is too late. It is a sloppy, amateurish collection lacking imagination.

There is some endearing quality about Consentio's voice that makes this album less of a swing-and-a-miss. "How They Want Me to Be" seems to be Consentio's time to shine vocally as she sings over an understated backing melody. However, these tracks lack the dynamism and fullness from Crazy for You, and her voice can only do much to right a sinking ship.  Her omnipresent and carefree attitude skillfully moves from indie to the verge of pop-punk, but without the mystique of the mono engineering, it causes her power chords and arpeggios on guitar to clunk ignominiously in the spotlight. Add to this, her quirky lyrics about cats and sitting on the couch lessen the album's efficacy.

Aside from several songs of note, there isn't much you're missing on The Only Place, and without the reverberation effects of its past works, Best Coast sounds hollow and vapid. The band needs to find a way to recapture the feeling of the past or try harder to connect lyrically when working in the present. Pop songs should allow one to escape, not draw one in to criticize.

For Your Consideration: "The Only Place," "How They Want Me to Be."

For Next Time: No ideas yet.

Born and Raised - John Mayer

Noteworthy

I've made no secret that I think John Mayer is one of the most enigmatic artists working today. Some readers might remember my review of his last album, Battle Studies, when I wrote at school. I am not really a big fan, although I have 15 of his songs on my iPod ... a fact for which I loathe myself.

Does he have a screw lose? You bet. Does he not know when to keep his mouth shut? Uh ... yeah. Still, I think Mayer is one of the most incredible talents on guitar that no one knows about.

I can see what you're thinking:

Jim, you've said some dumb shiz. Your taste is mainstream, the grammar on your reviews is somewhat laughable and you stretch overly simplified analogies in order to make yourself sound somewhat cogent ... but the fact that you said John Mayer is the most incredible guitar player that no one knows about takes the cake and then smashes it in my face.

Well, if you're not a die-hard J. Mays fan, you'd be right. Everyone knows "Your Body is a Wonderland." If that's all that this that guy has up his sleeve, I must have lost my mind.

Wrong-o! All you need to do is just take a look at this clip to see just how adroit this bro's fingers really are:



And this is that song "Gravity" off of Continuum, yo. You know that's the blandest of the bland — Kenny G on guitar!

So if you haven't been to one of his concerts, there would be no way to know that Mayer has been possessed by the ghost of Stevie Ray Vaughan. Mayer is good, and he knows it — he matriculated at Berklee (that's the prestigious music college with two e's in Boston, not Berkley, Calif.), won seven Grammys and became an immortal on Chappelle's Show by showing how white people dance funny.

However, in remarks to Rolling Stone and Playboy during his press tour for Battle Studies, we catch glimpses of Mayer's utter tom-douche-ery that makes us feel almost sorry for him, especially now knowing the fallout it ultimately caused. John could've done two things after these displays of whining, TMI concerning his famous ex's and those always-hilarious jokes about his penis being a racist — go Charlie Sheen on everyone's ass or get out of the spotlight for a while. Because this is his first album in almost three years, we know which road he chose.

Mayer returns to the fray with a haggard look, a drab wardrobe, long hair and an off-white Panama hat. It is as if, in his exile, he found Neil Young nirvana under the Harvest tree. It's worth mentioning because even this contributes to the overall feel of this album, Born and Raised, a work shaded under the umbrella of Southern Americana native to Mayer's adopted home of Georgia. Even the album cover looks like long-lost art from the Allman Brothers' secret record vault. His rock-bottom has turned out to be our gain. While the majority of Mayer's recent albums have been vehicles for hits, with the remainder serving as steady easy-listening filler, Mayer benefits from a musical shift.

"Queen of California, "Speak for Me," and "Born and Raised - Reprise" showcase varying degrees of Southern musical influence, such as acoustic fingerpicking, vocal harmonies and syncopation, demonstrating emotion that Yankees and most carpetbaggers have no hope of possessing. Connecticut-born Mayer is the exception — and he feels right at home implementing these techniques effortlessly into Born and Raised's songs.

Those looking for the standard Mayer tracks might also be satisfied, if they are willing to sacrifice quantity for quality. The bluesy "Something Like Olivia" is a fantastic twelve-bar variation that showcases Mayer's penchant for the blues without compromising on the ballads he's known for, with this one dedicated to a taken (probably married) woman. The other is "Whiskey, Whiskey, Whiskey," on which he admits life in the spotlight seems to have changed him into a carnally gluttonous human being and when he realizes he has regressed in his maturity. There is little doubt this contains some of the most profound lyrics Mayer has written and shows he still has a heart even after the high-profile break-ups and publicized faux pas.

The finished product is not a perfect album, but it's undoubtedly polished as Mayer's best work to date. There are still a couple of songs like "The Age of Worry" and "A Face to Call Home" that have an unimaginative Mayer repeating a chord progression on which nothing really changes until the bridge. Still, this album's heights exceed the flaws. The versatility of Born and Raised serves as the return Mayer needed both musically and lyrically ... and it also gives me hope that I may some day hear an amazing, chunky blues guitar solo like the one in the video above.

For Your Consideration: "Queen of California," "Speak for Me," "Something Like Olivia," "Whiskey, Whiskey, Whiskey," "Born and Raised - Reprise."

For Next Time: The Only Place by Best Coast.

Bloom - Beach House

Meh ...

Something must be in the waters of Baltimore. It seems every band based in Charm City seems to have this incredible dream pop sound. It turns out another band I reviewed recently, Lower Dens, is from the area. Do yourself a favor and check them out.

The Maryland-based duo Beach House, with keyboardist/vocalist Victoria Legrand and guitarist Alex Scalley, creates sounds seemingly impossible in size and scope. The group's simple riffs often rise up, growing and stretching toward heights above the clouds.

However, the pair's fourth album, Bloom, serves to be nothing short of ironic. While the melodies are enchantingly beautiful, there is nothing for listeners to do but sit and wait for the 10 songs to have some kind of climax only to be rewarded with sounds that die readily without sprouting any petals.

The result of which is an unrewarding effort. Legrand's wispy voice floats on; Scalley's guitar prowess reminds one of Band of Horses in its reverberation on intimate simplicity. Even so, the general sentimental movement is noticeably missing. While certainly good for meditation, it is not an album designed to keep one's attention. In fact, the more care one takes to decipher the tracks, the more one can see the myriad of repetitions built off of a distinct theme or riff. Pick a song on Bloom, and one can preordain exactly how it will sound in after one minute passes. The result of which is an unchanging, rather banal product. The band, more than efficient in its abilities, cannot piece together songs that either inspire or invoke emotion other than drowsiness.

The only song worth mentioning is "Myth," on which Scalley takes the main riff and overlays chorus-laden solos and bridges while Legrand sings a lush, bellowing vocal. However, on following track "Wild," the listener can figure out the formula used in "Myth" too easily. There is nothing left to do but to wait for the song to be over or to be wowed with a spark of ingenuity. Unfortunately, the spark never comes. This happens another eight times.

As was the case with Silversun Pickups, Beach House is a band with a lot to offer. It's a shame that this offering doesn't demonstrate as such. This is, in a way, more detrimental than it is for Silversun Pickups, which is a group that at least throws a change-up now and then. Without something to shock the listeners out of their dream-pop stupors, they're going to fall asleep before the album plays its way through.

For Your Consideration: "Myth."

For Next Time: Great. So Nas's new album isn't coming out until July. How about the new one from that b-hole John Mayer? That sounds good.

Neck of the Woods - Silversun Pickups

Meh ...

I'm going to start this review off by saying I have not always been a fan of this group. When "Lazy Eye" started getting some attention in 2007, they were on my radar. That chick in that Silversun Pickups band has an interesting voice, I thought. Lolz.

I don't know why, but it took a while to take the band seriously after I figured out that was a dude singing. This must be exactly what it felt like after watching The Crying Game in the '90s. If this was just another Coheed and Cambria, whose voice is nothing more than a gimmick, then that would be that (ugh. They suck). But after listening to Silversun Pickups a few times on the radio and taking time to soak it in, I actually liked how much singer/guitarist Brian Aubert sounds like a rock castrato with a bad addiction to cigarettes or something. I eventually realized what makes it special: this band doesn't give a rat's ass if it's popular or not, it's going to crank up the distortion while refusing to sing like grunting pigs or shrieking Tasmanian devils.

However, there is a very problematic method in the way this band approaches an album. If you listen to Neck of the Woods, then listen to the band's debut, Carnavass, you would not hear too much of a difference. It's as if Silversun Pickups is a panic switch itself — in the on position, it's a mess of rage-filled noise rock; in the off position, it's a catchy combination of power pop and shoegazing. But these albums sound remarkably similar. This demonstrates little growth or substantial exploration since the band first appeared. Even though it has a fantastic sound, it needs to step outside of the comfort zone in order to become something better.

The only thing that sounds close to an attempt at trying new things is "Make Believe," a tune with pop-punk flair more in line with New Found Glory or Silversun's fellow Californians, Blink-182. This leads into the best song, "Bloody Mary (Nerve Endings)," which is not a departure from the usual offerings, but dynamic in that it is rather successful in combining both the angrier and gentler spirits of the band.

Everything else sounds like melodic auto-pilot. No matter how hard it tries on Neck of the Woods, Silversun Pickups cannot escape the neo-alt aura for the sake of creativity. Even "The Pit," a lyrically sound track despite cliched title, is not immune from the air of trendy pseudo-psychedelia the radiates from its performers.

In summation, what makes this band so memorable is also its Achilles' heel. The attentive listener wants to pay attention, but can't help nodding off, especially because the songs are about :30 longer on average on this EP when compared to the other two. Neck of the Woods serves as an example for bands everywhere unwilling to take a leap into the unknown. These groups are good at the music they play, but they will not be remembered as those who tried to move on to greener pastures.

For Your Consideration: "Make Believe," "Bloody Mary (Nerve Endings)."

For Next Time: Expect the new Nas sometime this week.

Nootropics - Lower Dens

Noteworthy

Sorry for the delay. I got held up a lot this week. I'll get it right eventually. And hey, if things go well, you'll get to double down when I post a review tomorrow ... just like my favorite sandwich.

Because I am going to try to write two reviews whenever I can manage, I'll give you something familiar and something a little bit less "mainstream." This is one of the latter.

Lower Dens, based in Baltimore, is a dream rock quartet fronted by the deep-voiced Texan femme Jana Hunter. Hunter, a rising figure in new folk, adapted her talents to this electronic outfit specializing in ambient stylings. This sophomore album, Nootropics, provides a wide range of alternative rock elements as listeners seem to journey through this work like a well-lit mist. Although rather clouded, things seem strangely familiar — it's almost as if David Bowie's Goblin King dropped you off in the movie Labyrinth's namesake after you've seen it 40 times, just as one tends to do.

This seems like an apt analogy due to the fact that Hunter is a rabid musical admirer of the Thin White Duke. And while she says in Vulture she always tries to sound like the Starman, there are many other forces at work here. Hunter's sound definitely resembles the Bowie of the early '80s, but it's the band's stereophonic homages to that time period that conjure spirits more on the lines of Joy Division and Eurythmics.

The guitar-centric instrumental "Stem" shows a post-punk angst that launches right into "Propagation," in which the tempo slams on the brakes and the melody takes on a more goth-like tone. While the tracks on Nootropics can change rapidly, Hunter's clear, tenor voice resounds above the atmospheric noise. On "Candy," her crooning conveys a sense of listless with effortless professionalism. Hunter does not range too far out of the register, and that is just the way she intends it, working to put the right amount of trill on every note.

Nootropics's magnum opus, both parts of "Lion in Winter," begins with a long synth introduction that moves into a subdued new-wave ballad. As the song winds its way through, Hunter's backing band enters and exits the frame as soon as the listener knows they're there. Only a pleasantly catchy bass tone is constant. It's sheer vastness alone makes it a great listen.

The only problem with Lower Dens's new album wonderful drabness is the noticeable aversion to everything gaudy. If the listeners are waiting for Lower Dens to cut loose, then they have picked the wrong LP. Even so, there is a lot to love on Nootropics. Everything on this work is a meticulous rush at less than light speeds.

For Your Consideration: "Stem," "Propagation," "Lion in Winter Pt. 1," "Lion in Winter Pt. 2."

For Next Time: Neck of the Woods by Silversun Pickups.

Little Broken Hearts - Norah Jones

Noteworthy

The Sultana of Soft Rock, Norah Jones, is back and seems eager to offer some heavier fare.

Teaming up with producer Danger Mouse (the other half of Gnarls Barkley, Black Keys' El Camino technician) and fueled by recent break-up, Ms. Jones's new album, Little Broken Hearts, dismisses the usual lightness of her earlier works to dive introspectively into the aftermath of a relationship.

Harnessing both anger and sorrow, Jones creates a convincing album dealing with the subject of a break-up, which has had its fill of late over the past year or so. For example, Adele's 21 is becoming the modern paragon for the jilted everywhere after it won the Grammy for Best Album and is now inching closer and closer to Diamond certification. Because so many of these albums are floating around, this motif is starting to become cliche.

Likewise, Danger Mouse does not really lend too much to the instrumentals. Many of the songs have the same fuzz-guitar vibe as El Camino; there's not much of an effort to distance himself from his latest project.

What makes this album stick to become something more than a copy is Jones herself, who handles her emotions with such grace and alacrity while keeping her own qualities. The result of which is an experiment concerning how far she can push her own exceptional talents.

"After the Fall" is a track is a track on which Jones shines in particular. Reminiscent of R&B and soul from the early '70s, she pines over her broken relationship, reflecting if it was worth the pain she feels now.

Jones also branches out into country, something she regularly plays outside of her solo career. In an attempt to get away from thinking about her ex, Jones decides to head out on a aimless highway journey on "Out on the Road." An Americana tune mixed in with some surf, it's easy to see this song on the soundtrack of some long-lost Tarantino film. This is a good track for the producer as well. When Danger Mouse tries a different path on instrumental, it just sounds more genuine.

The thing to take away from Little Broken Hearts is that, even though some things are banal, Jones once again breaks through and forces the public to take notice. Her old soul and artistry makes even the most precarious projects a beautiful listen.

For Your Consideration: "After the Fall," "Out on the Road."

For Next Time: Sorry. Dunno. My apologies for the short review. I got held up unexpectedly tonight, and I thought better short than never.

The Money Store - Death Grips

Noteworthy

 Judge an album by its cover on this one — on the right is a woman with a muffin-top and pocked legs wearing a leather biker hat and cut-off overalls, and on the left is some freakish male creature in a gimp mask, a thong, a bag holding a rubber chicken and bolted-on tits (covered up, of course. This is a family blog).

As if discovered in the basement of the pawn shop in Pulp Fiction, the experimental hip-hop group Death Grips captures a rather unsettling and intensely visceral mood on its debut album, The Money Store.

The Sacramento trio — consisting of MC Ride, drummer Zach Hill and producer Flatlander — has created some of the strangest, most otherworldly music imaginable. There is something to Death Grips that conveys both a futuristic quality as well as a primal spirit. This group's melodies are probably what those four-limbed, indigenous aliens from John Carter danced to while they smoked space peyote.

MC Ride, the mad witchdoctor of the crew, delivers his occult incantations with echoes and alacrity, even though his vocabulary shows little penchant for wordplay. It's Ride's voice, so omnipresent and bombastic but also so empty and inscrutable, that drives this LP in terms of its combination of trip-hop and noise rock.

To carry the tremendous beat of the latter is Hill, who on "Hustle Bones" demonstrates how he was born as an 808 machine. The kinds of rhythms Hill produces cannot be a human playing on a Tama kit. Even though there is considerable syncopation in Flatlander's instrumentation (which can come out of nowhere as either samples or phasers or sirens), Hill can always be counted on to keep the listener on the same page as the producer and Ride provide a controlled chaos.

It's hard to make out if The Money Store is some sign of a devilish nightmare come to life or the likely chants of hunters from a desolate world where life is little more than a place to live out sick fancies. Half way through "The Cage," it is evident how humans, without order, can become incensed, jittery marauders who dance in the light of a blood red moon on top of the rubble of civilization. Despite Death Grip's evident disregard, a side of the listener cannot help but embrace the strange attractiveness of this unbridled beat. Strangely rabid and grossly wild, such rare and rebellious vitality should be worthy of the bored and the adventurous


For Your Consideration: "Hustle Bones," "The Cage."

For Next Time: Not sure yet, but see you Thursday.

Blunderbuss - Jack White

Noteworthy

We all have irrational hatred for places, things and even people. There's no reason — it's just how we as the species deal with things we cannot really understand. For me, Jack White fits into this category.

People say to me all the time, "With tyrants and murderers and rapists and corporate misers, why Jack White?" Here's why!

In 2003, Rolling Stone put out a list meant to be the ultimate ranking in the great debate of favorite guitarists. What it really became is the ultimate inside joke.

Whether senior editor David Fricke compiled this list based on influence, talent or popularity, no one could tell. Even so, some big, big names were undervalued or left off the list completely (Eddie Van Halen, No. 70; Slash, not even listed). Add to this a couple of head-shakers were listed in the top 20 (Johnny Ramone, anti-guitar hero,  No.16; Kurt Cobain, the man who killed the guitar solo, No. 12). Needless to say, this index caused such consternation for my high school friends and me that we collectively said, "Rolling Stone must be full of sh*t." Because it was so atrocious, it was redone after four years by a panel of voters consisting mostly of notorious guitarists led by Pete Townshend.

The point of all this is that I am still indignant because I still cannot imagine how Jack White was even on the list, let alone ranked No. 17. No. 17! Not joking.

So what did I do? I blamed White. Not David Fricke, who I can only assume was on the worst acid trip in human history to be so delusional to think this list was somewhat legitimate to publish. Nor did I blame the movie It Will Get Loud, the guitar film with U2's The Edge and Led Zeppelin's Jimmy Page as well as White, who of all people was selected to represent the later decades even though he played drums with The Dead Weather at this time. Nor Cold Mountain, the Civil War epic in which Renee Zellweger won an academy award and then proceeded to date White after production. No, I blamed White, even though it wasn't his fault he was put on some asinine list in the first place. Still, he is a little bit of a charlatan when it comes to his real back story back home in Detroit (read on ... gross).

I think, after nine years, it's time to forgive. I'm always ready to give someone a fair shake. White's also ranked No. 70, which is still too high, but I can deal. With that, Blunderbuss, White's first actual solo album (hard to believe with all his side projects) is quite good.

Written, recorded and produced entirely by White himself, it helps for me personally that he leaves all the guitar-god garbage out of this for the most part. This could be seen as a main detractor for some White Stripes fans, and was for some reviewers, but that's on them. White's versatility shows that guitar is just a sample of his talents as shown on drums with The Dead Weather and keys with the Stripes' album Get Behind Me Satan, with the latter instrument shining through as Blunderbuss's best attribute.

The album shows a mix of early rock 'n' roll and country styling that seems to solidify White's transition from The White Stripes (defunct in 2011) to a state of independence. According to White, former drummer Meg White apparently had the final say on anything creative because of her obstinate nature (or maybe because they were actually ex-spouses ... ecch). After fronting two side projects before the band split, I would say that stands up under examination because The Raconteurs and The Deadweather were more tolerable than White's clumsy finesse when he played with the Stripes on guitar. There is even more subtle playing here.

The single, "Love Interruption," is probably the finest track on the record. It's easy to see the lyrical knives in White's back as something resembling a Dusty Springfield demo complete with a '60s Wurlitzer electric piano plays in the background. Likewise, the familiar brightness of this keyboard  can be made out on the opening of "Missing Pieces." While I generally dislike the guitar solo in the middle (sorry to belabor it), I think the overall tone from the keyboard provides an awesome prog-rock vibe.

However, the point where White is most truthful, and thus more likeable, is his response to staunch critics on "Hip (Eponymous) Poor Boy." Here, he understands that he might have given up some of his identity and originality for the sake of the fame, but says he doesn't care. Although he is nothing more than a character built up by his musical character, it's still better than doing nothing but sleeping, sitting down and reviewing. Ironically, any amount of proselytizing he could do is no match for saying people have the free will to like him or not. Touche, Mr. White.

So, it seems my icy resolve regarding Jacky Dubs has thawed. Whatever I think about White, I have to tip my hat to him. It was a good album with less of the staccato chunk common on a White Stripes guitar solo. Even so, it's what he didn't do that made this album palatable. The question is, now that he is a Jack-of-all-trades (yes, pun intended), will he continue to be heralded as a guitar player? It would be a return to sanity, in my mind, if he chose this road.


For Your Consideration: "Missing Pieces," "Love Interruption," "Hip (Eponymous) Poor Boy."

For Next Time: I'm sorry. Nothing sticks out to me right now. But, if you remember, I said I would have a big announcement last review, right? How about this. Since I said I was finished with "This Week in Music," I have some time on my hands. Why not get another review in a week? Scheduling has to be moved around. I am thinking moving the first review to Friday at midnight, like how this review was posted. This gives enough time to listen a few time to new albums. How about the second Monday at midnight? OK? Break!

UPDATE: Saw White on The Colbert Report. He "gave the people what they wanted" by flailing up and down the neck of a Telecaster and hitting the whammy pedal like an ass. Ugh. Die.

Pink Friday: Roman Reloaded - Nicki Minaj

Cuts Only

Another week without a "This Week in Music"? Surprise, surprise. I didn't do one again. The fact of the matter is I have fallen out of love with this feature of my little blog. With so much going on, sometimes it's difficult to choose one thing to write about; then, once you have something written down, a more interesting story comes along. I'm sure it will show up once and a while, but I will do it when it's something you should know about, not just something to fill a quota every week.

This entry deals with Nicki Minaj's new one. Oh, Nicki. Weird, little human. What are we going to do with you?

It is unquestionable that Nicki Minaj has secured her place as a musical polymath by seamlessly jumping genres as easily as she straddles her multiple personae (there's Roman, the angry young male; Martha, Roman's British mother; Barbie ... wow. I can't believe I know this. I don't know how many ounces are in a quart, but I know this). She once again shows off her capabilities in both her rapping prowess and pop sensibility; however, this album, Pink Friday: Roman Reloaded, which she has described a very liberating experience creatively, just has too much material to sort through.

I've never been a fan of the double album, and, at 19 tracks is on the border. Mostly divided into two groups — one pure rap, the other EDM pop — the album shows Minaj is more concerned about publicizing her talents as opposed to creating a magnum opus. This is fine for her fans and for most ordinary consumers of Top 40, but the obvious transitioning and a lack of artistic direction show this EP is a delivery mechanism and not an art piece.

Not to go off point, but let me give a quick example of how an album can go from great to mediocre. If anyone's not familiar with The Who's Who's Next, it might be one of the best albums of all time — certainly in Top 5 for rock albums. I first listened to it after borrowing the actual CD from a friend in high school, and I was blown away to say the least with the most iconic songs in The Who's catalog with others I have never heard before. I did get around to actually buying it. I, satiated, gave it back to my friend. Then recently I bought it off of iTunes. It only had the remastered version with alternate demos, unreleased material, blah blah blah. Not only did these unwanted materials cost more, but ultimately, I was stuck at the gym listening to the rejected version of "Behind Blue Eyes" in the middle of pushing heavy weights away from my body lest they killed me. With these add-ons, the album changed completely. I may have to modify or delete these songs off my iTunes because they just become a distraction.

Now, I admit comparing Nicki Minaj to The Who is a stretch, but I think you can see the point. If Nicki wants to lead off with "Roman Holiday," the strange skit-like performance of alter egos, by all means go ahead. But I'm convinced that if this was a 12-or 15-track LP format, she could have made the right move in taking this track off the final cut.

Much of the strength lies in the rapping. Tracks like "HOV Lane" and "Champion" put her chops on display and establish her cred within the game with big names like Nas, Lil Wayne and Rick Ross. In fact, there are times when Nicki comes harder than anyone rapping today when it comes to lyricism like in "Roman Reloaded" when she responds to the critics who say she's gone commercial. And in three minutes, she rivals quick rappers like Twista when she spews out a thousand words a minute in "Stupid Hoe."

Where it goes wrong is the pop side. There is nothing to differentiate among these because they all sound similar to the formula of "Super Bass" — a quick twelve bars of rapping with a vocal chorus. It is ironic that I mentioned the Who's Next example above because most of the best pop songs are saved for the deluxe edition of Roman Reloaded (if interested, see the more authentic, David Guetta featured addition "Turn Me On" and the Daft Punk -like "Va Va Voom"). If you're looking for a song with a good beat, you can't go wrong with the House-inspired "Automatic."

So the album has a number of shining moments, but there are times when everything halts about, especially in its second half with the vapid pop offerings. This could have been improved if some of the filler was taken out, but I'm not sure by how much. Sure to please fans and others just looking for singles, Roman Reloaded is just another sign of the times that content in small doses is better than the full effort put forth. Follow her lead, and choose a sample based on your mood. Whether you're feeling Roman or Barbie today, pick accordingly.

For Your Consideration: "HOV Lane," "Champion," "Automatic," "Stupid Hoe."

For Next Time: Jack White, I will come for you. My soul's prepared! How's yours? Better put out something good. Also .. big announcement.

My Head Is an Animal - Of Monsters and Men

Buy It Now

Missing something? Where was a "This Week in Music"? Amen, Amen, I say to the two people who read this blog. I was celebrating the resurrection of my Lord with chocolate and Peeps. Took a little vacation. Cool jelly beans?

If you're in Philadelphia and have turned on a radio, chances are you've heard of the Icelandic sextet Of Monsters and Men. And although the two or three singles sounded great, that has never been a sound indication of what the whole album should sound like. Even so, the band's debut LP, My Head Is an Animal, sets an extremely high bar for not only the future of the band but also for any indie folk band in general.

As a true gem, every song on My Head Is an Animal seems to possess the right amounts of both power and meekness through the harmonies of dual vocalists Nanna Bryndís Hilmarsdóttir and Ragnar “Raggi” Þórhallsson. Backed by a supporting cast of extremely competent multi-instrumentalists, it seems as though the melodies swell and diminish at exactly the right moments. From the jovial shanty "Mountain Sound" to the tense, burning ballad of "Slow and Steady," every song seems so ridiculously catchy and easily memorable.

Despite all the other magnificent tracks, the album's master work has to be the epic "Lakehouse," which sums up the tone of the whole work through a joyous mixture of styles. What starts off as a slow acoustic hymn quickly then turns into an anthemic indie pop monolith and then morphs into a euphoric sing-a-long. Only the diminutive yet precisely clear voices of Nanna and Raggi remain constant.

Whether you are a fan of folk bands like Mumford and Sons or alt rockers like Young the Giant, this album is worth your time. I will even allow of Funeral-era Arcade Fire comparisons to pass. My Head Is an Animal is just that good. Anyone who has read this blog before should check it out because I guarantee you will be rewarded.

There are, nevertheless, those who would say I am falling into a clever Icelandic trap (like the one I assume catch small, arctic mammals). These reviewers claim the group's lyrics are weak, and it seems like the band just went through a checklist on "How to Make It in the American Indie Scene." To which I say this ... First, if you can pronounce the names of those Icelandic songbirds I mentioned above, you must have studied abroad in Reykjavik. I'm surprised these guys can write such poignant songs in the English language; even so, I was totally mesmerized by their arrangements to pick apart these lyrics bit by bit. Second, if they did follow a checklist, it wasn't for just the indie scene. I predict you're going to hear Of Monsters and Men everywhere soon enough.

For Your Consideration: It's All Good, but check out "Lakehouse" if you have to choose one.

For Next Time: I'll look around. I doubt that it's going to be better than this.

The Hunger Games: Songs from District 12 and Beyond

Noteworthy

I rue the day I saw the first Twilight on DVD, thinking what is this schmaltzy, insipid mess. Glittering vampires? Baseball in the rain? Psuedo-interbreeding among "siblings"? Echh. Thankfully the werewolf didn't start the habit of losing his shirt until the next one.

The single thing that had me hooked, however, was the movie's incredible soundtrack, which featured Muse, Paramour, Iron & Wine as well as Radiohead (end credits only, but yeah, freaking Radiohead!).

But there seems to be a theme going on. First, there's new Danielle Steele-ish version of some nerd trope in book form. Then there's a movie that breaks records at the box office. For some reason, I think the Danielle Steele-ish version of Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome seems more appealing than the one that's of Dracula: Dead an Loving It. Because of this overly simplified comparison, I expect The Hunger Games to have a similarly good soundtrack to go with it.

Enter T-Bone Burnett, the mastermind behind the Grammy award-winning soundtrack to O Brother, Where Art Thou, and he's recruited some big names to contribute, including The Decemberists, Arcade Fire, Kid Cudi, Maroon 5, and Taylor Swift and the Civil Wars performing twice — first together and then on separate songs. Sounds like a can't miss.

What doesn't help this producer right off the bat is that the film is mostly using the original score of James Newton Howard. Only three selections from Songs from District 12 appear in the movie — at the end credits.

With that, you can already nullify the chances that this soundtrack will be one of the greats like Saturday Night Fever, Pulp Fiction or even O Brother, Where Art Thou among the many other movies whose music tracks are synonymous with the films' best moments.

Regardless of this setback, Burnett envisioned how to create Appalachian music 300 years from now. Taking elements from the story, specifically Katniss Everdeen's tough-yet-simplistic setting in District 12's Appalachian woods and coal mines, he interlaces dissonant chimes and distortions behind mandolins, banjos and clean electric guitars. The album has nothing but good examples of this picturesque re-imagining. From Niko Case's alt-country ballad "Nothing to Remember" to Taylor Swift and The Civil Wars' folksy lullaby "Safe & Sound" to Punch Brothers' traditional "Dark Days," it is easy to envision Katniss stalking prey in the West Virginia woods.

However, where Burnett's vision falters when the exploration ceases to continue onward. While most of these songs create a vivid tableau, we're talking about perhaps the the first 75 pages of the book (YEAH, I READ IT!), and probably on the first twenty to thirty minutes of the movie.

The Decemberist's "One Engine" is a fantastic transition by way of train from the hardscrabble of District 12 to the hedonism of the Capitol and the Hunger Games to follow. The problem is there are few songs that express the oppression and inhumanity of the arena. You get a sense of the Capitol's Big Brother control in Kid Cudi's superbly domineering "The Ruler and The Killer," and Katniss's raw determinism in Arcade Fire's "Abraham's Daughter," but there are few others like this to cover the bulk of the movie.

In addition, there are no songs that project the grandiose urban sprawl that is the Capitol itself or any representation of its hedonistic inhabitants. What's the matter? Was Avicii busy that week?

Fortunately for Burnett, these selected artists all did very well as a whole in presenting this story of familial love, the maturity from loss and the sense of longing for days gone by. But in keeping this narrow scope, this collection suffers in demonstrating the vast world of The Hunger Games and the cautions it strives to present us. Burnett takes the listener to the boondocks of the post-apocalyptic future by making it coincidentally sound a lot like the past. But without giving a thought to the other side of the coin, the ever-changing and sometimes frightening march forward, why are we looking to the past anyway?

For Your Consideration: "Abraham's Daughter," "Nothing to Remember," "Safe & Sound," "The Ruler and the Killer," "Dark Days," "One Engine."

For Next Time: TBD

For Next Time:

This Week in Music 3/25-3/31: Oh, you better not, Spotify

I'll make this update pretty short considering tonight marks the beginning of a TV blitz the likes of which I have never seen before — Game of Thrones into Mad Men? !Increíble!

Still, there's some room for some music news. I want to talk about something that is near and dear to my heart and the reason for the dramatic turnaround on this blog as a whole.

In an article from SPIN magazine, the music-streaming application Spotify says it would halt its plans to put limits on free listening in the United States.

When the Swedish company made its product available oversees in July, 2011, it was said that in six-month's time the group would impose a limit in streaming for its free listeners. It has, however, been nine months, and nothing has happened. The company said in a very short blog post that there is still time to enjoy the service and the "honeymoon" would continue. There are already limits for users in its European market with a 30-minute time limit per month.

In his blog post, Alex Pham of the L.A. Times says Spotify has continued to utilize its free service over implementing the suggested timetable for two reasons. First, the company raises more revenue through ads than through subscription costs to cover royalty fees. The second is the annoying breaks between songs when Spotify advertises for the premium service are so exasperating that they are making people switch over to the premium service at an already accelerated rate.

As I said before, I think this software is a Godsend. As soon as YouTube began to hold people back from uploading new albums, at the same time Spotify's selection began to grow exponentially. Lucky for me. In truth, I've always thought whoever it was who could find a way to get the record companies to agree to license songs to a streaming or lending application would be the next great innovator in music delivery — the new iPod. Is that happening? Possibly. Spotify does not release these statistics, but it seems to be growing after nine months.

So, with this in mind, why would the company discontinue this service if it seems to be working? Why not cancel this outdated strategy? Why now do they even announce this imminent service discontinuation, keeping this impending doom over the free-downloaders' heads? The only reasonable answer has to be either keeping its options open or the more likely option: more f^cking money.

It's not that the price for premium is too expensive. I know I would pay $8/month for premium service ($10/mobile service) out of sheer need to keep this blog going. But it's not about the money, Patrick! It's never been about the money! (Everyone from Gates family from National Treasure has an Oscar now — Plummer, Voight, Mirren and Cage. Is your mind blown?) As it turns out, nothing alienates a fanbase or customer loyalty than an unexpected jack in prices other than because the company thinks it's popular enough now that it can. Just ask Netflix. There's a reason that "When in Rome" still shows up on my "New Releases" section. All because Netflix thought it could get away with jacking the prices up. The company is still trying to recover.

I dunno about this one. I've got to say, nothing worse than a gluttonous Swede. Jim Henson knew what I'm talking about.

The OF Tape, Vol. 2 - Odd Future

Meh...

Looks like my self-imposed deadline system has come undone after one week. My bad, my bad. I had to do some surprise homework for my "real" job.

Bear witness to the the new hotness: a sixth ratings category! Yes, the category is meh..., as in I can hear effort behind the album, but either it's difficult to understand, and/or not suited for a cuts only rating, and/or it just didn't leaving me wanting to listen to it again.

With that, Odd Future (ok, ok ... Odd Future Wolf Gang Kill Them All) in its new album, The OF Tape, Vol. 2, has a little bit of all those attributes I listed above. Observing these L.A. hip-hop skate punks in their natural habitat is like subjecting yourself to a bad acid trip — some elements are what you've been expecting, while others are just an unintelligible and sometimes frightening mix that makes you want to cower in a corner.

I place a lot of the culpability on Tyler, The Creator as well as Left Brain, who were in charge of producing the album and strive for their beats to be weird for the sake of weird. There are times when the eccentrics of these beats lend themselves to some tracks like on "Lean," on which the production doesn't overpower Hodgy Beats's wordplay. But, in this case, whatever momentum is gained through a good track is soon lost. The next song, "Analog 2," has a beat that's entirely too distracting for the listener. Jumping from a Tyler's deliberate delivery to a ballad from Frank Ocean, adding a sound effect in the background (something like an atonal "YEEUAH YEEUAH") puts the brakes on quickly ... then it moves into some kind of slow jam with who I guess is Tyler singing in a low bass expanding on Frank Ocean's chorus. Does that seem like a lot of verbiage to describe one song? F^ck yeah, it does. That painfully long sentence still doesn't do the song its beautifully confusing justice.

For all the experimenting with the production, I also expected the lyricism to be a little better. For example, while Tyler is clearly the master of the group, he goes to the pederast well a few too many times. OK, fine. Great MCs like Eminem and Ice Cube used pedophilia in their rhymes regularly — it's a pretty common trope. Still, I'm offended, and not for the obvious reason. I say it because these two rappers only used it once or maybe twice on one album. I think Tyler played this card at least three times on The OF Tape, Vol. 2 before I stopped counting. If you have the opportunity to put out a whole album to showcase your talent, be fresh with it. Don't use the same metaphors. With these missteps, Hodgy Beats steps up his game as the best MC on this album; however, with his quiet delivery, his voice unfortunately cannot carry over the din of the production at times.

The saving grace of this album is the group dynamic. The final track, "Oldie," shows the group dynamic is still stronger than individual egos. It's simplicity in that almost everyone in the OFWGKTA phalanx raps a only few bars shows that, when everything is taken away, these guys are just a bunch of young dudes who want to rhyme.

But, besides this good collaboration at the end, this hodgepodge of an album is difficult to decipher. Maybe what it lacked was a real producer to get a sense of everyone's flow and make music that accompanies each member's characteristics. Maybe the guys needed to have less fun and concentrate on creating a good rap record instead of acting like Andy Kaufman if he wore a fitted. While certainly not a failure, this effort leaves a lukewarm impression.

For Your Consideration: "Oldie."

For Next Time: Looks like Jack White's album isn't coming out until April. What a shame ... Ja guys want the Hunger Games soundtrack?

This Week in Music 3/18-3/24: Ultra Music Festival XIV or "The Next Step Toward Ravenous Supremacy"

There is a movement afoot; one that has tried to get a foothold for decades, but is slowly permeating every facet and subculture of music today. DJs are now as recognizable as the most famous popstars. Your favorite artists are dying for these spinners to sample their songs or to get a featured credit performing on new beats. You might have even had the awkward situation of introducing your parents to a new flame who dresses in garish neon clothes and has a penchant to use the word “rage” at the dinner table.

That movement is Electronic Dance Music, or EDM, and its Bonaroo-Coachella-Lollapalooza equivalent happened this weekend in Miami’s Bayfront Park. It’s called Ultra — the Ultra Music Festival XIV to be exact. According to the Wall Street Journal (America’s No. 1 music periodical), 200,000 ravers cut off bridge traffic from Miami to South Beach, and many more watched the simulcast online. Such enthusiasm shows why this is the fastest growing musical undercurrent as we continue to march on into the young decade.


Unless you’ve been actively avoiding this Dance Dance Revolution, you would recognize the names of featured headliners like Avicii, Deadmau5 and David Guetta. If not, you might know some other people who made surprise appearances. How about socialite and former sex-tape star Paris Hilton? She hopped about on stage to the music of her new boyfriend, Afrojack. You may remember ‘90s trip-hop DJ Fat Boy Slim (The funk's your brother. Remember him?). He did a set incorporating his favorites as well as mixes of the new EDM kings, such as Tiesto’s “Work Hard, Play Hard” and Chuckie’s “I’m in Miami Bitch.” Will.i.am and David Guetta premiered a new track. And how about Madonna, who also showed up to jam to Avicii’s new remix of her song “Girl Gone Wild" and asking everyone if they had “seen Molly” (Hey, who’s Molly? Oh! That Molly. Lol. Madonna’s a silly old bitch).



The fact that this year’s Ultra was so massive this year means it could be the sign of a new musical awakening long-awaited. After the ‘80s and ‘90s, when dance music tried so hard to gain leverage in an American music market, we are witnessing the ultimate groundswell of something that may eclipse our previous standards, expanding out of its niche scene like how rap did over the last twenty years. You can find EDM's influence everywhere in contemporary music, and you don't have to look very hard. For example, having ruled the airwaves since the early 2000s, pop rappers like Pitbull and Flo Rida are now using the EDM craze to get another single out into the ether.

I’ve often thought about what would happen if I were to review a new album from this milieu.

“Jim, are you going to review the new Skrillex album?”

Errr. I dunno. Probably not.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t hate this at all. I actually want to go to go to a rave really badly (“Don’t tell my Mom I’m rollin’ right now!”). Even so, I think a lot of the appeal of the music is actually losing yourself while feeling the same energy among a large group of people.

But no, I wouldn't expect a review of a new dubstep album on my blog in the near future if I were you. I'm doing this out of fairness. It's not like I haven't tried. I gave an honest attempt to review the new Grimes album, and I couldn’t make heads or tales of it — I don’t know what makes a EDM album “good” or “bad.” In fact, unless some sites have hired someone to decipher these kinds of records, I wouldn’t trust their judgment. Believe me, the real ravers aren't getting any reviews from Pitchfork or Spin. In fact, I only know a few homies who could answer such a question, and that is because they go to a rave every week.

If EDM has taught me anything, it's that I'm personally at the cusp of "cool dad" territory. You know, the dad that pretends he knows what's going on to bond with his kid's friends. He pretty much says a few facts to make sure no one calls him on his B.S. and then concentrates on getting everyone to basketball practice in his Dodge Caravan. I don't think I'm quite there yet, but I'm pretty close to pulling a Danny Glover in that I might be getting too old for this sh!t. If anyone wants to school me on the in's and out's of good dance music, please let me know. If things keep up, you're going to have to write this stupid blog by default.

Port of Morrow - The Shins

Buy It Now

If you're like me, your first experience with ever hearing anything by The Shins was probably in the soundtrack of Garden State. It was also probably the first time you encountered hipsters who casually berated you for having a movie with Queen Amidala and the guy from Scrubs influence your musical taste.

Whether it was this typical occurrence or another one totally unrelated, it is certain you've had a hipster sarcastically teach you the basic tenant of musical discovery: be Christopher Columbus. That is to say the one who wins in musical conquest is the first to claim a new discovery for Hipsterland and have the best argument about how he or she found it first so future generations will remember throughout history (they won't). While I admire hipsters for a.) their blog-reading comprehension skills b.) their love of bullsh!t and c.) their caustic comments that, like an old kung-fu master, make me want to dig deeper inside myself and the Pitchfork website in order to find the chi to defeat them, if they just stopped trying so hard, they would these revered musical professors ... or music Mensa members or something. But they won't. Their hearts are really in the wrong place: somewhere in the body you've probably never heard of. If a tree falls in the woods, a hipster will buy the soundtrack and be the first one to remind you he has it on vinyl.

Forgive me for belaboring, but the fact that I like a Shins album post Wincing the Night Away probably makes me look like the ultimate dolt to some in the aforementioned subculture. First, people know who The Shins are by now. How can they have indie cred if even I know who they are? Second, this band can't be called The Shins in good conscience. We all know better than to call whatever Trent Reznor's doing these days Nine Inch Nails — there's only one nail left. Same goes for frontman James Mercer calling whatever outfit of indie guns-for-hire he's assembled the name of his old group. Whoever was left from the original Albuquerque pioneers was lost to cholera or drowned while fording of the Colorado on the trail to Portland, Ore. Even Mercer, who experimented with DJ Danger Mouse in the group Broken Bells, seemed lost. Now, Mercer is now married and the father of two. Now, after five years, and to everyone's surprise, a new Shins album, Port of Morrow, has surfaced; once more, it's great.

That's not to say Port of Morrow is the best in the catalog — not by a long shot. Even so, Mercer proves once again he is one of indie's most competent songwriters. Accompanying melodies bathed in folk, psychedelic and alt country, Mercer at times seems to channel Win Butler, Brandon Flowers, Bono and even Mark Foster when he's not possessed by his own yearning and sincere tone that made The Shins famous.

Most of the songs on this new album deal with his new family life and his own eclectic childhood in New Mexico. One needs to only start with "Simple Song," an indie-guitar masterpiece coupled with a lyrics on par with Elton John's "Your Song" as an ode to songwriting in itself. And from a pop dimension, Mercer shows his vocal versatility on "September" by moving seamlessly from early '90s U2 into introspective high notes common on softer Killers tracks.

Much of the credit also belongs to producer Greg Kurstin of Kelly Clarkson and Britney Spears fame. Under Kurstin's watchful eye, Mercer never stays too still yet always keeps his composure. For example, after the alt country sadness of "For a Fool," Mercer launches into the reggae-pop off-beats of "Fall of '82." To go from one extreme to the other manifests Kurstin's keen sense of mixing by making each song fit in its right place, even when all common sense says these kinds of arrangements shouldn't work.

So, once counted as down and out, The Shins show through Port of Morrow that the group is going to be around for a long time, even if the tenuous indie "cred" from those "who heard them first" falters.

For Your Consideration: Just buy it now.

For Next Time: Maybe the new one from that a-hole Jack White.

P.S.: Some of you who read this say I rely too much on indie rock. The sites I read are the ones that cover this stuff. I also understand the need to step out of my comfort zone. This is another plea for your feedback, whether you give it to me in person or getting to me somehow online. The only criteria are:

1. The album needed to be released in the past month
2. You need to let me know about it.
3. Don't give me the business if I don't like it. If I think it's bad, it's bad and there can be no difference in opinion. j/k ... but not really. My word takes precedence among all others.

Otherwise I'm going to keep doing my thing.

This Week in Music 3/11-3/17: Who Are One Direction and Where Did They Come from?

Could this be a new British Invasion? It certainly has the makings of such an event as UK boy band One Direction continues to become the only trending topic for teen and tween girls. 1D's meteoric rise certainly should be getting attention considering the band's performance at "The Today Show" had an estimated 10,000 people screaming for this Fab Five. And it was on a Monday morning.

Looking at this performance on TV, one couldn't even grasp how big the crowd was until the camera panned back. The mob went back behind the stage and across the street from NBC Studios. The cramped space in the plaza itself made it even more flabbergasting. If fans wanted a good spot, they needed to start camping in line that Friday. Look at the videos here:





The band's American debut for its album, Up All Night, was last Tuesday, and it is speculated it will hit No.1 on the Billboard Top 200, which is in the process of being compiled right now. But how did a band like this create the same pandemonium seemingly out of thin air as the legendary Beatles did in their 1964 "Ed Sullivan Show" appearance?

One Direction came together on 2010s British version of "The X Factor." Singers Niall Horan, Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne and Harry Styles were all competing in as soloists. However, music guru Simon Cowell was convinced the guys would have a better shot making it as a group. Although they came in third, they have been wreaking havoc across the pond ever since.

But the question is how did this group become so popular without even stepping foot in the US? Social media, of course. Sites like Twitter and YouTube helped spread the word about the band, but coupling it with Tumblr seems to have really made this group famous with its intuitive application of sharing visual media.

So now what? Well, a show for Nickelodeon is already in the works, as well as a 40-arena tour next spring and a musical-guest spot on Saturday Night Live that will happen much sooner than that, April 7. But like other aspects of this new sensation, much remains a mystery. However, I would suggest buying stock in earplugs — everyone is going to need something to muffle the screams.

Wrecking Ball - Bruce Springsteen

Noteworthy

The Boss returns for the first time since the passing of saxophone colossus Clarence Clemons, and he turns his attention to the rather conflicted stance concerning where the country is headed.

Springsteen's newest album is a tale of two halves: one of indignation and one of cautious anticipation. As quickly he yells, "If I had me a gun / I'd find the bastards and shoot 'em on site," he then turns to sing, "Let your mind rest easy, sleep well my friends / It's only our bodies that betray us in the end." Much like in the Biblical sense, Springsteen embodies both the mentality of the Zealot and the Essene — the angry revolutionary and the stolid transcendentalist — at different times as the listener plays this effort through.

Springsteen's complexity in songwriting and his understanding of where songs fit allows him to keep reverential nicknames like "America's Shakespeare" even at the ripe old age of 65. However, despite its dynamics, this album will not rank among Bruce's masterpieces like Born to Run, Darkness on the Edge of Town or Nebraska. Musically, there is too much of a sense of longing and distraction. While fans cannot continue to carry the grief of losing the Big Man, it is noticeable that Springsteen's heartland rock swerves too close to country, with too many fiddles like those on "Easy Money" and not enough of longtime keyboardist Roy Bittan's comforting piano that has become synonymous with the E-Street sound.

This is not a knock against country music; however, when it comes from Springsteen, something seems amiss. Although he's shown to be a great folk musician, there was always something grounding him to his own style when he moved into that genre. While Clemons's absence forces Springsteen to automatically lose the saxophone synonymous to urban Jersey, this move to country is a misstep.

There is still a lot of enjoy on Wrecking Ball. The title track is a vintage Springsteen ode to the Old Meadowland Stadium that arouses nostalgia to the artist of yesteryear and to beloved memories of places long gone. "We Take Care of Our Own," the single, starts the diatribe in the Boss's most ironic song since "Born in the USA" echoing the sentiments of the boondocks' blue-collars and the ghosts of Katrina with the only reply coming in the form of a deliciously sarcastic refrain. "Land of Hope and Dreams" is also a track of note. While it appears at first rather unremarkable musically by forcibly combining the grittiness of folk with the fire of gospel, the fact that it was recorded in 1999 allows us one last solo from Big Clarence, the presence that gave the E-Street Band's Americana the distinct flair only a jazz musician can provide.

While one can easily pinpoint the bleak conflict and careful salvation common in Springsteen's emotional lyrics, what holds this album back are the high-flown experiments throughout the melodies. Down-home protest songs like "Shackled and Drawn" and almost-Irish bar shanties like "American Land" make us wonder where the the one born in Stratford-upon-Asbury wandered off to. As Springsteen wants to give voice to the oppressed, it would appear he lets them all speak at once: the Southerner in the shotgun shack, the entitled who have lost their way, the new arrivals at Ellis Island, those left behind in a New Orleans flood. These voices, however, are not the same. Allowing them to sing out at the same time leaves the listener little time to process their fears and hopes as time goes on.

For Your Consideration: "We Take Care of Our Own," "Wrecking Ball," "Land of Hope and Dreams."

For Next Time: Nothing on the horizon.

This Week in Music 3/4-3/10: Rush Limbaugh Fallout and Why It Concerns Music

Preface: I know it seems like in every other article I start things off about trying to fix the posting schedule. I've been experimenting by trial and error to find the best times to write entries at a punctual and consistent pace. After all, it's better to have a regular post so I don't have to go on my horrible twitter account and post it multiple times (follow me on @JWarkulwiz !!!). So, (tentatively) I will promise to to have a "This Week in Music" every Sunday and a review every Tuesday. This will give me enough time to pick a topic, perform research and write the thing. With that ...



Rush Limbaugh! Yay!

We all know what this sensationalist shock-jock for America's Right said on Feb. 29. After Georgetown law student Sandra Fluke testified before an unofficial Congressional hearing regarding health coverage for contraceptives, Limbaugh called Fluke a "slut" and said if Americans were to pay for a woman's birth control, she must allow herself to be taped during sex and post it online.

Touche, my god sir. What a most wonderfully droll quip. Seriously, my only wonderment rests in how this guy is still worth any of my attention. This is heinous in that it is attack on an innocent private citizen as well as a showing of a complete lack of understanding the issue. But this is nothing new. Rushy makes no secret in attacking women, especially those Democrats find reverential, like first lady Michelle Obama, Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords and Secretary of State Hillary Clinton. Click here to find some of the more profound quotes. Which one is your favorite?

Anyway, we can talk about the politics of this issue until we're blue in the face, and I don;t want to come off as too liberal. That's not what this blog is about. What is significant is this event also could resonate in the musical sphere. Be prepared, there's no well-crafted jokes about Lana Del Rey or snobby Yale students or anything like that. This is more of a hypothetical topic if anything.


Much like the corporate sponsors that are now pulling out of the show, Rage Against the Machine and has joined a group of musicians that includes Peter Gabriel, the Fabulous Thunderbirds and the band Rush that is ordering Limbaugh to cease the use of their songs on his radio program.

Rolling Stone has been following the issue closely. Writer James Sullivan asked music-licensing attorney Larry Iser if these artists had any rights to litigate. Iser said no. The article goes on to say:

[R]adio networks are covered under blanket agreements for "public performance" of all songs in the publishing catalogs of ASCAP, BMI and, in the band Rush's case, SESAC, the Society of European Stage Authors & Composers. The fact that Limbaugh's show has a political agenda does not interfere with his right to play music, so long as it's paid for, says Iser.

Read more: http://www.rollingstone.com/music/news/can-rush-peter-gabriel-legally-order-limbaugh-to-cease-using-their-songs-20120308#ixzz1orzqHPWc

While there is nothing legally stopping Limbaugh from playing the songs, the artists can be vocal that they are not in approval of the situation. My only concern is what happens from here. What would happen if these artists sought legal action and won? Would expanding control for artists mean less freedom for music listeners?

As much as I hate to say it, Limbaugh has the privilege to play any song he wants to for any reason because his stations have paid for the usage rights. If artists are allowed to block usage, regardless if the listener has the licensing, then where does that leave us lowly fans? And where would it lead? We already cannot post certain musical content in YouTube videos — if we do, it is taken down. I admit that my grasp of copyright law is tenuous at best, but I feel as though confrontations like this should stay in the press, and I hope they don't end up in the courts for all our sakes.

There you go. Never thought I would defend an ignorant fear-mongerer Rush Limbaugh. There's a first time for everything.

WZRD - WZRD

Borderline Bad

Kid Cudi had an idea to make a rock album ... could have fooled me. In his new outfit with producer Dot da Genius, WZRD was inspired by Kudi's love of Electric Light Orchestra, Jimi Hendrix and the Pixies. In fact, the group's name is taken from the early Black Sabbath song "The Wizard" ... not to be confused with the drinking game involving who has the biggest staff made out of beer cans and duct tape. Though Cudi's extensive musical knowledge outside his own genre is nothing short of impressive and reverential, there is little to show for it here other than distorted rhythm guitar. In fact, one could argue that the Man in the Moon is better off returning to the droll, raspy rhymes that made him a notable rapper — or at he should have peppered some rap into the mix.

Whatever potential WZRD has, it is squandered by Cudi's limited vocal range. While this works for the rapper in his other outlets, it is a unpleasant detriment in this work. When the album launches into "High Off Life," WZRD could be just as easily be a high-school reggae band that got lost in James Hetfield's mansion, playing with the amplifiers on full blast along the way. The lack of instrumental skill is also a problem. Cudi, who started playing guitar in 2010, noticeably struggles with his fret proficiency. As is the case on songs like "Brake" and "Dr. Pill, " he uses his knowledge of the studio to shroud his novicehood and create effects that let him nearly pull off a professional-caliber song progression (for those playing at home: the operative word is nearly).

The lukewarm spots on the album come in a block of three. First is what Cudi is billing as the album's breakout track, "Teleport 2 Me, Jamie," which almost mimics the score from Blade Runner with a pop beat. Although Cudi's singing in the chorus does its best to divert, the creative vision alone pardons the artist from his cacophonous wrong-doings.

Next, there is a cover version of Nirvana's "Where Did You Sleep Last Night," an actual nod to Nirvana, who used this title instead of the song's traditional label: "In the Pines." Cudi is as on key as he is going to get, and choosing this Nirvana song demonstrates he is not kidding when he says he's a fan and not a total n00b move by going for the easy move and playing "About a Girl."

Finally, the acoustic "Efflicitim" shows a more clear-cut Cudi who is more in step with his previous albums. For some reason, the fast-paced strumming seems to bring out the soul within, although it distances WZRD from its original goal in creating a true rock presence. If the song is anything, it is a lost track from The End of Day remixed with a C. F. Martin acoustic.

Even so, WZRD was put forth as an experiment in engineering. To paraphrase Edison, this is not a failure in making a rock album — it's only discovering one way it doesn't work. Although I approve of Kid Cudi and Dot da Genius's collective gumption in taking on a project that everyone advised against, it is successes that are least expected that reap the largest rewards. Unfortunately, most of the work does not possess the qualities of a good listen. Hopefully Kid Cudi will not take this effort to heart, concede it as a footnote to his career and start again with this new knowledge and a little bit of practice under his belt.

For Your Consideration: "Teleport 2 Me, Jamie," "Where Did You Sleep Last Night," "Efflictim."

For Next Time: Trying to find a copy of the new Springsteen album Wrecking Ball. Even though it has been a couple weeks since release, I still would like to review it. I will also keep an eye out for any rap albums on the horizon.

This Week in Music: T. Swift Proves Once Again She's a Boss

If you know me, you would know that the marquee interview in my short journalistic career (whether it continues or otherwise) is when I talked with then-rising country sensation Taylor Swift in August 2009.

It was my first major interview. I had to organize my questions on the run. The story was on deadline almost as soon as I got back to Penn State for my junior year. I sent an e-mail a day to her publicists. I was tweaking. However, all my work paid off. I made it through to a conference call with five or six other journalists. Everyone would have adequate time to ask a few questions.

My name was called about second to last, and, of course, the publicist didn't pronounce my name correctly. I allow the phonetic butchering of my family name go by on a daily basis, but all I could think was, Common! I want to be seen like a professional here! Not that T. Swift knew my name anyway. But the damage was done: I was flustered. Famous person!

I managed to stammer and stutter my way through my questions. They were about returning to perform in her home state of Pennsylvania for the first time since her new album skyrocketed up the charts and about why she thinks she appeals to a wide age-group. She answered every question thoroughly even though she might have needed a translator to cut through my nervous Esperanto. I'm not embarrassed to say I was starstruck.

Before I could wipe my sweat off of the cordless phone (didn't want to risk my cellphone cutting out), some jackass from the Yale Daily News jumped in for his turn. You could tell he was in no mood to be there. Instead of yachting or perfecting his resume for Merrill Lynch, he was talking to Taylor, who in his mind yet another doltish girl with blonde hair too oafish to get into college and was lucky enough to become famous. His odoriferous smug seemed to waft through the receiver — everyone could tell he was about to goad T. Swift into a hostile interview for kicks.

"Will you ever do a video where you don't kiss in the rain?" was one question I remember that I think captured this a-hole's general tone ... that and a little scoff at the end.

Instead of doing what I would have done by telling this Ivy League d-bag to f&ck off and go back to glee club practice, Taylor had the poise and professionalism to answer every question with a quick laugh and a sincere answer. There was no defense! BOOM! He resigned with a quick and submissive thank you — whether or not he hung up the phone afterward is something I couldn't tell.

To this day, I am not only amazed with Taylor Swift's kindness toward me, but also with her aplomb and confidence toward bullies. Considering the themes of her songs deal with that subject frequently, she has some experience. After that altercation, this attitude must be genuine. People ask me about her all the time. Is she nice? Count on it. A terrific human being ... scary nice.

That's why I was so excited, but not too surprised, to hear this story:


This 18-year-old kid from Sommerdale, N.J., named Kevin McGuire was diagnosed with leukemia — the second time he's had to combat this terrible illness.

It came at a pretty bad time for any teenager because Kev was considering who to ask to his senior prom, which coincidentally takes place on his birthday.

His sister, Victoria, started a campaign to get one of his favorite singers, Taylor Swift, to go as his date. Many people contributed to get the message out — the Philadelphia CBS affiliate, CBS3; Philly sports-radio personality Mike Missanelli; and over 120 thousand Facebook friends. Unfortunately, Taylor would not take Kevin up on the offer.

Instead, she sent him this message:

"Kevin, I'm so sorry bit I won't be able to make it to your prom. But I was wondering, the [American Country Music] awards are coming up. Would you be my date? Love, Taylor."

Obviously, Kevin said yes. He's going to Vegas for the awards, baby!

As a Penn Stater, I come from a community that feels very strongly about young people with this disease. If you're unfamiliar with Penn State's THON, please check it out. I'm really happy for Kevin and wish him nothing but the best as he beats this back.

Through this his action of kindness, Taylor Swift has affirmed all the good things that I've said about her. At this point, I might have to buy a CD just to show my support, even though I'm not a big country fan.

So congratulations, Kevin. You're going to Vegas with the classiest date in the place on April 1. And if that Tim Tebow character decides to join you as the third wheel, tell him to take a walk around the block, will ya?

Some Nights - fun.

Cuts Only

If you were expecting a review based on prior predictions, sorry for party rocking. I thought I could squeeze this one in before State Patty's Day. Oh well. fun.

Speaking of, talk about your ironic band names. On Some Nights, the second album in fun.'s catalog, the New-York trio cites the soundtrack of Woody Allen's Manhattan Murder Mystery as the inspiration for a showtune-like introduction in the first song. As it turns out, the band shares more than the same zip code and the musical taste as the renowned Manhattanite.

Lead singer Nate Reuss's lyrics are so needy and neurotic, they would make Allen himself blush. While this is better than lyrics devoid of any feeling, most of the ten tracks focus on heavy emotional nadirs like break-ups, cheating girlfriends, the fear of relationships and the struggle to embrace a metropolitan lifestyle because it's the cool thing to do (just what I can name off the top of my head). Like many groups before it, fun. commits the cardinal sin of overindulgence. A barrage of one after shows the album to be too maudlin to live up to the hype.

At its best times, the album is as grandiose as it's expected. One can hear trace elements of Paul Simon's Graceland, Queen, Maroon 5 and even Kanye West (we'll return to this later) throughout. As a triumphant foreshadowing and killer opener, the song "Some Nights" establishes the theme for the rest of the work — we as human beings are drawn to self-destructive things and the outcomes they produce. Same goes for the ever-pervasive "We Are Young," a love song for the smarmy, 2 a.m. hook-up artist that never gives up and gets lucky with a partner who loses her patience and inhibitions as the young man continues to plead.

Still, Reuss's kvetching is so constant, instead of feeling catharsis, it makes the listeners question how much they complain about trivial things; how much their ids pine for misplaced nostalgia. This feeling rears its head in "Why Am I the One," which deals with the wish to leave the big city behind and return to a child home. Anything to satisfy the desire to feel needed until ennui sets in and one is forced to move on.

Still, most of the music is very well crafted. However, there are also times when fun. steps over the line when taking a chance. On some examples, Reuss pollutes his voice with autotuning in the style of Kanye West's My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy, and not in a professional way (I'm sure I got some eye-rolls there. Be that way, uncultured swines). In the last track, "Stars," the digital effects quickly spiral out of control as the last chorus progresses ... almost to the point of where one thinks the autotune is actually autotuning itself.

In my opinion, fun. should seek to continue its songwriting direction in the mode of "All Alone," a poppy number about debating to approach an attractive girl from afar. Timid: sure. Still, it's a little less self-loathing than some of the other bungles. Common, fellas. You guys are at the top of the charts for God's sake. I'm sure that will get you a few friends.

Still, even though the masochistic rebukes are simply put too melodramatic at times, there are some items of note on Some Nights. However, approaching this one without a sense of wry suspicion will only have you question where all the fun went. Also, Mr. Allen, we've found your next screenplay.

For Your Consideration - "Some Nights," "We Are Young," "All Alone."

For Next Time - Meh. I got a day or two. Let me think about it.

Reign of Terror - Sleigh Bells

Noteworthy

In its second album, Reign of Terror, Brooklyn duo Sleigh Bells unleashes a sonic onslaught in one of the most anticipated releases of early 2012. However, if you're looking for an album of in-your-face dance romps that made the band famous, you may be disappointed; much of the work, although more mature, sounds rather staid compared to its last effort.

In Treats, Sleigh Bells's first that was released in 2010, guitarist-producer Derek E. Miller pushed distortion levels to an extreme levels. When accompanied by the rah-rah sound-offs of singer Alexis Krauss, this resulted in blowing out listeners' speakers even at mild volumes. To add to the heavy downbeats and overdrive this time, Miller utilizes Reign of Terror to combine the more direct elements of the band with ones that exude a more subdued, gentle tone typically found in shoegazing.

For the five of you that read this blog, I think it's a safe bet that maybe only one of you knows the alt-rock subgenre known as shoegazing. To explain it in succinct terms, shoegaze is the result of the collision of art rock and punk popularized by several British bands in the early '90s. It relies on effects-driven, heavily distorted guitar (called the "wall of sound") that blankets the actual melody. The singer has more of a secondary role of singing in a near whisper to add a trance-like depth to this melody; many times the words are almost unintelligible. The paragon of shoegazing is My Bloody Valentine's Loveless. It's one of my favorite albums, and I highly recommend listening to it firsthand. To the one person who knows what I'm talking about and can probably explain this better than I can: sorry, dude.

With groups like M83 and Silversun Pickups leading a shoegaze revival, Krauss follows suit with such vocal versatility — adding equal parts of Sonic Youth's Kim Gordon, Shirley Manson and solo-career Gwen Stefani to the mix — that she makes it easy to switch from the group's pop anthems to the endearing and demure examples demonstrated on Reign of Terror.

"End of the Line" is certainly the most sentimental song on the work. With sweeping arpeggios from Miller's guitar, the murmurs from Krauss convey more feeling and empathy than most other divas in her genre ever could. Meanwhile, the album also contains the girl-pop chants that launched the duo into the spotlight. On "Demons," there is little doubt that Krauss can still tempt the devil in us all with her supreme boldness and angsty cheers. Do not mistake Krauss's choices for meekness. She fields any questions about her lifetime-badass membership card before anyone with the balls has a chance to ask. Listen to the album's intro, "True Shred Guitar," in which she must drop the f-bomb over seven times in a thirty-second intro in front of a live audience before Miller takes over.

The guitarist and producer also should be commended for his adept arrangements. While he doesn't deviate from the quality of his riffs (a style implementing Black Sabbath, Def Leppard and a very lax Children of Bodom), he succeeds in his purpose to complement Krauss's emotions. One can easily hear how Miller's knowledge of song structure conveys the immense intensity in "Born to Lose." From the tune's droll riff to Miller's bearing down on his guitar's whammy bar, the song succeeds in joining together the the group's older and rawer aspects with the newer and more polished dynamic.

What Sleigh Bells produces with Reign of Terror is a work that is both ornate and introspective. It's this kind of depth that frames the band as the bad boy-girl band on the indie scene today. Although not perfect, the duo's manic ability to both let lose and show restraint makes this an album worth the listen.

For Your Consideration: "Born to Lose," "End of the Line," "Demons."

For Next Time: Some Nights - Fun.