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.