Wednesday, February 28, 2007

Bored and Listless (get it?)

I'm half in the bag and my roommates are asleep and I haven't had real human interaction for more than an hour in 48 hours and I'm watching/listening to old Jawbreaker videos/tunes and I am bored as hell and I don't know what the hell else to do, so here's the list I want to put up for the week. So here's the list and a couple of pictures of me drunk (one containing the other active purveyor of columns for this fair blog). Huzzah!

*All songs or albums by the same name are specified in parenthesis.

These are the songs/albums I listen while drinking alone. I listen to these pretty much every time I consume alcohol by my lonesome.

Jawbreaker-- Bivouac (song)
There's something about flipping your head straight back with a slight buzz and mouthing the word "Bivouac" as though you were screaming it a someone. You really just have to experience it.

31 Knots-- Breathe to Please Them
A recent phenomenon, but I think this one is going to stick around. An amazing song-- long, building and unbelievably pretty while maintaining a sense of unadulterated anger. SOLD.

BlueTip-- Join Us (song)
A song made for drinking alone and a complete rejection of other people. Isn't that really what drinking alone is all about? Thinking without the aid of groupthink?

Bruce Springsteen--Nebraska (album)
The entire album is perfect for drinking by one's self. Seriously. From the stories themselves to the overall feel of the music, I can't think of one better collection of songs for loneliness and self-examination.

Jawbreaker-- 24 Hour Revenge Therapy (album)
This is my favorite album of all time, so it fits in this category damn near perfectly.

Otis Redding--Dreams to Remember
This is the saddest little tale, but for some reason I feel better after hearing this gem. I could have put a million Otis songs on here. I could have put entire albums, but honestly this is the one.

Built to Spill-- Fling
A sweet ditty from There's Nothing Wrong With Love that absolutely floors me. The cello pipes in, Doug Marscht is making perfect sense-- it's just wonderful.

Decemberists-- California One/Youth and Beauty Brigade
A long and rambling song that just puts me down. This song is perfect for winding down, but enabling you to keep the wistfulness that simply envelopes a night by yourself.

Jimmy Eat World--Roller Queen
Honestly, I don't feel like explaining this one. I just don't.

Juno-- Leave a Clean Camp and a Dead Fire
Sometimes, friends, you just gotta rock.

Karate-- The Halo of the Strange
Brings me back to being in Iceland and Sweden. This one is fairly rare, but I pick it enough to count it. It was the only time I was abroad and it is my most positive memory of being in Europe with someone I barely knew and meeting no one (though I do love those countries and want to go back badly).

Red House Painters-- Another Song For a Blue Guitar/Have You Forgotten
Sometimes you have to not so much rock, but be horrifically sad and reminiscent.

Richard Buckner-- Dents and Shells (album)
Yes.

Se(bad)oh-- Bakesale (album)
Maybe Tedd will explain it to you if you don't already understand.

Small Factory-- Hi Howard, I'm Back
Both a sentimental and overall favorite from youth. This song epitomizes growing up in an environment of both casual respect and being looked down on. Being friends with my sister's older friends, I was essentially labeled as a nutcase and everyone's least favorite favorite for my formative years. This band nailed my angst with this song, and then I understood the rest of the album as I grew up more and more. Maybe it will be on the overlooked list. I'm not sure.

Shiner-- Surgery
An obituary for youth and an understanding of being a part of something that will never matter yet absolutely makes all the difference (kind of like writing for this site/ everything I want to do these days).

Ticonderoga-- Locked in the Back Freezer
Just an awesome reflective song.

Jawbreaker-- Bivouac (album)
See first song on list and then just add the rest. It's like that. Especially tonight.

Neil Young-- Only Love Can Break Your Heart
There is just something about Neil's whine that is perfect-- in this song especially. It makes for a perfect sadness and longing.

Guided By Voices-- Glad Girls
Strictly for the reminder of an old bar I used to hang out in (College Hill in Greensboro, NC).

Rolling Stones-- Wild Horses
Falling asleep to this song on repeat was a staple of my first three weeks in NYC and my last couple of nights in Greensboro, NC. Plus it is the consummate last call song for any good bar.

Wu-Tang Clan-- Enter the 36 Chambers (album)
Sometimes, you gotta feel it.

Ghostface Killah-- Stay True/We Made It
See above explanation.

Johnny Cash--In My Life
Amazing.

Beatles-- In My Life
Amazing.

and finally...

Jawbreaker--Kiss the Bottle
What, exactly, did you expect?

Labels: , , ,

Friday, February 23, 2007

Running On Empty on The Capitol Beltway: The Day The Music Died.


There is one thing that remained constant for me throughout my years living in Fairfax. There is only one thing that I ever upheld when returning from various college campuses hours from Northern Virginia. No matter the year, my own varying and changing interests, or what was going on in my generally banal life, my Ford Taurus’ radio presets always had the same station plugged in as preset number one—94.7 “The Arrow,” the self-proclaimed “Capitol of Classic Rock.”

Why is this? Is there something intrinsically comforting about hearing “Black Dog,” “More Than A Feeling,” or “Knights in White Satin” while careening north on I-95 or east on I-66? Perhaps there’s some kind of esoteric world-view that is upheld by play lists that rarely alter, but slowly broadened to include The Cars early 80’s material, or the occasional broadcast of Red Hot Chili Peppers’ “Under The Bridge.” Whatever the plainly subtle or casually stark reasoning behind 94.7’s appeal (more than likely it was their annual barbeque battle in the heart of Washington D.C. featuring delicious cooking smells juxtaposed against the aging appeal of members of Blue Oyster Cult awkwardly clawing their way through a jamming-heavy set) the station has forged a special place on a local radio dial that bolsters nothing to anyone in particular. WHFS, the stalwart “alternative rock” station of the 80’s and 90’s became an outlet that is now devoted to playing the soundtrack to your last eat-out Mexican dining experience after having spent the last six years refusing to believe that there was music recorded after 1996—one can only hear Bush’s “Glycerine” or Sponge’s “Plowed” so many times before scanning around for other, less annoyingly nostalgic, options. For many FM-jaded and beltway-entrenched listeners like myself 94.7 was the only bastion of hope—the crappy inflatable life raft cast off the side of the sinking vessel HMS Suburbia.

Until my father grew to love nothing but silence in his well waxed, detailed, and perpetually new-car-scented Explorer I would be bombarded with Lynryd Skynyrd’s “The Breeze,” Wings’ “Band On The Run,” and a general retrospective of all things Bob Seger and Neil Young on my way to countless baseball practices, bi-annual trips to the mall for new Levi’s, and the occasional Baltimore Orioles game. This was a welcomed departure from Oldies 100 in my mother’s perfume drenched and ever overly warm sedan while being whisked off to the dentist, weekly allergy shots, scout meetings, and the math tutor. Perhaps this is why when I began my foray into driving our local classic rock station found its’ way to the top of my programmed stations: I not only enjoyed and respected the aesthetic of these rock bands, but I just simply associated “Love Me Two Times” and the dueling lead guitars at the end of “Hotel California” with going somewhere more fun than an office building with a creaky elevator and a bunch of medical supply boxes lining its antiseptic hallways. This fact alone is most probably responsible for me subjecting countless friends to road trips fueled solely by unleaded gasoline, several packs of cigarettes, many 20oz Coca-Cola’s, and extensive searches for another classic rock station, and thus a third, fourth, or even fifth listening of the “We Will Rock You” into “We Are The Champions” experience (for this I am most decidedly not sorry.) After all, it was “Slow Ride” which was so conveniently played by 94.7 as I edged my automobile back onto the interstate after receiving the first of many speeding tickets I have been issued¹.

And now I have learned that my next trip home, one which will be the first sans-Taurus or any car for that matter, will also be greeted not by “Jailbreak” or “Born To Run,” spun by a fear-inducing and poetically phallic station known as “The Arrow,” but some ratings-ready, and cuddlingly-cute inception known as “94.7, The Globe.” After having read up on this newly formatted radio frequency I must say I am nothing short of dismayed, and a little confused. The Globe is totting itself as a “Green Station,” and according to the website their mission statement is simply, “We want to be part of the solution.” The solution to what is unclear. Having done a little more research into this “green station” paradigm I have found that they seem to utilize a more environmentally friendly transmitter (I had no idea transmitters were capable of being harbingers of environmental ill) and plan to educate and promote eco-friendly causes/alternatives. This is just great. First the steady rock rotation of my youth and increasing and impending adulthood is stricken from my short jaunts home, and now to up the ante my favorite station is apparently being run by the staff of the local Whole Foods. Here is The Globe’s station outline as it appears on their website:

OUR MISSION:
WE WANT TO BE A PART OF THE SOLUTION.

1. THE GLOBE - We All share and have a vested interest in The Globe.

2. MUSIC MATTERS - Music is our priority. That's why we're here.

3. THINK GLOBALLY, ACT LOCALLY - As a Local Radio Station, we'll support our community...because we live here too.

4. REAL DEEJAYS, REAL PEOPLE - Our DeeJays know The Music and have a say in what they play.

5. LISTEN TO THE LISTENERS - This is your radio station. You will co-create it and author its evolution.

6. MUSIC DIVERSITY - Do you know anyone who likes just one kind of music? Neither do we.

7. BE ADVENTUROUS - We'll be open minded about new ideas, innovation and New Music.

8. DEEPER TRACKS - As we all know, there are songs worth playing that are not just the Hit Singles.

9. LESS REPETITION - Without repeating, belaboring, or saying this over and over and over again...well, enough said.

10. WE WON'T INSULT YOUR INTELLIGENCE - The Globe will have commercials (got bills of our own to pay) but we will try to keep them to a minimum and present them in a way that respects our listeners and our advertisers.

11. LET'S HAVE FUN - None of this is a joke, but seriously...let's have some fun.

12. WE'RE NOT TRYING TO SAVE THE WORLD - Oh wait…see #1.


Now I know that some of these bullets seem reasonable, but we all have been subjected to the empty rhetoric of newly programmed media outlets. I dare to ask what was the problem with having a balls-to-the-wall, Americans -in-America, style rock station? I implore you to think on how it is possible for a once barbeque-cooking, Budweiser promoting, George Thorogood-hosting, juggernaut can morph into a handholding, “eat your vegetables,” flaccid and blank-shooting, whimper of a station. In all seriousness The Arrow was the kind of outlet that once re-monikered themselves Boss Radio, playing nothing but Bruce Springsteen and The E-Street Band for the 48 hours leading up to his concert in the area². According to one article I read about The Globe there will now be a special Earth Day event involving the station—try setting “Thunder Road” or “Cat Scratch Fever” against that contextually rocking backdrop.

There is nothing I can do about this turn of events but quietly mourn the loss of my old friend, The Arrow—the once mighty Capitol of Classic Rock. As I commute to and from work here in New York each day I will hold you first in my mind as I listen to The Band, Crosby, Stills, and Nash³, Led Zeppelin, and Tom Petty on my iPod. I won’t ever forget how you gently, yet forcefully, got me out of bed and accompanied me to work or school each day—or how, once drinking age embraced me, you kindly and parentally urged me to “keep rock and you alive; don’t drink and drive.” What The Globe attempts to provide will certainly be a stern and glaring reminder of what we once enjoyed (and evidently many took for granted.) While I was not able to be within broadcast range of your last day of delivering quality classic rock, I can only assume that it all ended with a well- charted sequence of songs. When I hear it in my head it unfolds something like this⁴:

AC/DC-“Highway to Hell”
Bad Company-“Bad Company”
Lynryd Skynyrd-“Tuesday’s Gone”
The Band-“The Weight”
The Rolling Stones-“Wild Horses”

I can almost hear the dramatic and sweeping piano outro of “Layla” from here, as you boldly tried to fit in one last song before the granola stench of the new management pulled you and your 60 minute uninterrupted rock block away from the control console.

Godspeed friend.


__________________________________________

¹Rather than Tom Cochran’s soft rock classic “Life Is A Highway.”
²A bold move which caused my brother to actually call the station as they launched promotion at 9am on a Saturday morning.
³Maybe even Young.
⁴The first two selections are clearly in angry reaction to the infringement to come.

-tedd-

Labels: , , ,

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

Heilig-Levine LP

It's not often I can kill two birds with one stone but this is one of those times. Here is the second installment of the overlooked and unappreciated albums series and my choice for the best album of 2006. Now, I know this actually came out near the end of 2005, but like with my last list, if I didn't get to hear it until 2006, really, I count it. That's the way I do shit. Problems? Take that shit to the river and hold it underwater.

Ticonderoga- The Heilig-Levine LP

When I first heard Ticonderoga, I had no idea that amongst a few of my friends, this album would become an obsession. I also take credit for being the provocateur in a small, small way to a successful relationship for one of the band members (whom I’ve met briefly). In effect, I’ve been a “number one fan” since the beginning which is completely ridiculous. In fact, there is not one good reason I can give you as to why I picked this over Midlake or any of the other fantastic albums on this list. I just know it makes sense. It is complete, well written, experimental, full and flawless. Anyone who disagrees has a bias—that is how much I believe in this album.

The instrumentation, while large in scale never overemphasizes itself. You never hear an out of place organ or horn, never an unnecessary guitar noodling, never a part that does not fit. They incorporate unbelievable melodies with horns, violins, keys, and electronic noodling. Concordantly, the vocals are around when they should be, silent when they have to be. The lyricists/vocalists take chances with the ethereal and even silly lyrics in the middle of serious moments.

For example, in “They Can Run,” the seemingly stereotypical forlorn love song, the focus of the lyrics shifts numerous times including injured animals drawing metaphorical buggies, blood, sunburn, and tons of food. It ranges from feeling classical 1800’s storytelling (“bought a horse/ with cracked feet… so tie on/ your wagon and/ head due east”) to casual references to going out for drinks and sub sandwiches.

The rambling blues riffs in “Flippin’ Burgs” contrast heavily with the airiness of “Why Do You Suppose.” Neutral Milk Hotel-ish in nature, the latter song uses heady cleverness, yet offsets this with a solid build in instrumentation that arrives at a perfect point. Turns of phrase and excuses for abnormal behavior beget the self referential end lyric “Why do you suppose/ I just can’t leave you alone?” The serious building and enigmatic “Sparrow” is both stoic and sad with a twinge of emotional response to a very delicate storyline that explains just as much through telling lines (“Sorry, don’t be cross with me/ if bent back and broke your wing/ I’ll see all the vultures shadows on the ground/ they don’t look a thing like me) as the song does through violin breaks, cadenced drum rolls and the undeniably beautiful coda.

The seemingly excessive “Country Mouse” is, in effect, the introduction track to exactly how talented this band really is: a battle of wits with the excess determination to use every ounce of sweat an album can make without being gaudy to the listener. It seems at any time during The Heilig-Levine LP the listener would be overstimulated, but the opposite effect exists. Unlike the building triumph of an instrumental juggernaut like Godspeed, You Black Emperor! or Silver Mt. Zion (and etc.) Ticonderoga uses a sparse, three or pieces at a time to keep the affair simple. The result is spellbinding: rock songs like Poison Control and opener “Fucking Around” pay homage to the area that surrounds them (the formerly bustling with talent plains of collegiate North Carolina) with simple Superchunk-like drumming and loud guitar without any superfluous electronics or woodwinds, etc. The latter produced one of my favorite lyrics:


Your long winded clichés
Won’t make you different
They’ll just prove you desperate
And like the sunset you’ll be gone
Just fucking around.

Meanwhile, the gentler refined songs grab the listener in more subtle ways: the aforementioned “They Can Run” is a stripped down masterpiece, “Chatterton” closes the album with a mellow sulk (I’ll come over/ and use you/ don’t misunderstand me/ I’m still your bitch” creeps in after a long stringed introduction. “Snakes” uses more of a building approach with short melodic blasts of strings and a grandiose arrival to the song’s apex. The song itself is as important as its placement—proof that the subtleties matter as much as the music itself. “Centipede,” with its mid-tempo dexterity pares bares back the loudness of “Fucking round” and provides an anti-sing-along a cappella midpoint with outstanding lyrical juxtaposition to the song’s lazy format.

That’s just it: the lazy movements and captured moments of The Heilig-Levine LP is offset by the work put in. Like a beefed up Karate, everything seems especially easily but reproduction is exceptionally hard. Trust me; I’ve tried on both accounts. What makes this album unbelievable is not that it is fundamentally better than some of my favorite veterans (Built to Spill, Roots, Channels, etc.) or more ample than the newcomers (Midlake, Page France, Grizzly Bear, etc.). It’s just that, to me anyway, this album is more successful in incorporating the listener (instead of trying to exclude—more on this in a future article), involving themselves, and inventing a new, albeit subtly so, sense of sound.

Read more:

website

myspace

label info


Labels: , , , , ,

Oh really?!

Is that so?

Also newsworthy, "Dogs Hear," and "Racism exists."

I'd like to ask... did they conduct this study at bookstores and fast food restaurants across the nation?

Music post will be up later today.

Sunday, February 11, 2007

The Best of 2006... or something.

Because I am bored and hungover and I forgot how much pleasure I derive from writing for this website, here's a list with some disclaimers and explanations.

Best of 2006
Disclaimer The not obvious rules for this list are as follows:
--No EPs
--If I couldn't remember it off the top of my domepiece, then it doesn't count
--I consulted two different best of lists 24 hours in advance to refresh my memory
--There is no order to the list and there is no number limit
--If I saw the band tour in support of the album in 2006, I count it (This only counts for one band)
On with the list:

Midlake "The Trials of Van Occupanther"
This disc absolutely floors me in every possible capacity. It's beautiful, insane, soulful, etc. It appeals to every possible side of my musical upbringing as well as my love of new and inventive ways of storytelling. If you don't like this album, I fear for you. I really do. You aren't listening (and I'll bet you don't hear sleigh bells either).

Life and Times "Suburban Hymns" (The aforementioned entry to the Toured in '06 rule)
This album opines the loss of the original suburbia and catalogs the semantics of childhood/adulthood in an enclosed state. Add to this the fact that Life and Times do this without a semblance of cheesiness-- fluidly and with an aura of floating above emotion and a physical manifestation of failure. It is an embodiment of an idea without exploitation, and it is damn near perfect.

Long Winters "Putting the Days to Bed"
I was told I would like these guys for so long. I was told and told and told. I finally listened. Thank Christ I did. Fun, purposeful pop-rock with well-crafted lyrics and an absolutism in the stories, John Roderick and company put together a masterpiece-- sonic, lyric and otherwise.

Page France "Hello, Dear Wind"
It's a reissue, but I'm putting it on here anyway. It's wussy, filled with religious sentiment and overall the exact record i would never let anyone hear me listening to. It's more than a guilty pleasure though. It's warm, unpretentious and an overall gem. It's what a child would write if he/she had the ability to master music-- I mean that in the best possible way. Seriously.

Ghostface Killah "Fishscale"
Ghost remarried his style in an inventive ceremony. He had something old (the hunger to demolish the new state of rap), something new (an alliance with some of hip-hop's best producers, something borrowed (the so called "coke rap" scene that he was a major force in to begin with), and something blue ("Whip You With a Strap" being one of Jay Dilla's finest beats just as he was immortalized).

Channels "Waiting for the Next End of the World"
I can't say enough about the best record of 2006. No really, I can't:
http://insigniaticcancer.blogspot.com/2006/08/our-lord-and-saviour.html AND
http://www.ampcamp.com/product_info.php?products_id=2643&osCsid=d591990b6cc964c70c8ec0df7a4967d5

Richard Buckner "Meadow"
Dear Lord. This man has changed the way I view music more than once now. It's gonna be REAL tough for me to listen to singer-songwriter stuff and not just want to break this CD out. He had the right hired help and the perfect sense of how to use it. Holy hell.

Converge "No Heroes"
Am I including this because I loved the last two records so much? Probably. These guys are still really fucking great though.

Low Skies "All the Love I Could Find"
This album records a painful progression through a lifetime of heartbreak. You can feel every single synapse twinge in your body when you listen to this record. Slow, downtrodden, angry, sad-sack songs that trudge through the only lesson worth writing about. This records absolutely NAILS the sound of broken men and women and their incredible stories of passionate mistakes. "I'm bound to fail you." That's just perfect, man. Just perfect.

Roots "Game Theory"
A return to the fold. I loved this album. That's all I gotta say.


Grizzly Bear "Yellow House"/ Califone "Roots and Crowns"
I get the same dreamy run-through feeling from both of these albums. Though they are not as alike as I make them sound, they have a quality only understood if you hear them. I actually believe the "Yellow House" and "Roots and Crowns" are indescribably put together, and both outstanding.

Built to Spill "You in Reverse"
Anything these guys put out would be in my best of, so describing this album is pointless. Just get it.

Mono "You Are There"
"You Are There" is an album of absolute sonic perfection. I can't imagine listening to this and not being destroyed. No shit.

(Late addition) Bruce Springsteen "The Seeger Sessions"
What, exactly, did you expect?

And that is the list, friends. Honorable mentions to J Dilla's "Donuts," (I just didn't listen to it enough to count it), Del Rey and Portastatic's "Be Still Please."

Feel free to shit all over this list. The next list will be my favorite albums in the world to listen to... it's about to get nerdy in here. Best of 2007? It'll include the Shins and Menomena. We already know that.

Labels: , , ,

Saturday, February 10, 2007

"Join Us."

(Ed. Note: This is the first in a series of timely and remarkable albums; unloved and overlooked.)

When Bluetip’s Join Us came out in 1998, I had no idea who they were. In fact, I had only limited knowledge of their contemporaries. All I knew was Dischord Records had provided some other fantastic taste-altering selections in my young life: Minor Threat, Fugazi, Rites of Spring, Jawbox, Government Issue, etc. I was mostly juggling upbeat pop-punk (Promise Ring, Get-up Kids, etc.) and downtrodden rock (Jawbreaker, Sunny Day Real Estate). The former was a by-product of three years removed from society—a jaunt in military school that was as much fueled by jock-rock than any discernable tastes, i.e. I took what I could get and that was accessible pop—and the latter a notation of my life in a pit stop on the way to the North Carolina beaches. Jawbreaker (et al) and the occasional hardcore band were the outlets of choice for lifelong friends.

Bluetip’s importance, personally, ranged from a straightforward lyrical mentality. There was no referential “you” or lovelorn scenarios unexplained. There were no frills—no metaphors that didn’t fit or unwarranted emotional outbursts. The streamlined approach explained more without a victim mentality (victim’s mentality, see also: my entire record collection until 1999). This lack of showiness is, however big a downfall with modern audiences, a cat-call to the angry male (ages 18-27). This includes alternate takes on break-ups, the pursuit of happiness—including paring down one’s acquaintances while noting one’s loneliness)—work-related problems and a general awareness of one’s actions and consequences. From the first chord to the last, every phrasing complete thought, fragmented curse, and impartial judgment of character remains important to the ideas behind Join Us.

Joining Bluetip means a rejection of the groupthink ideal with absolutely no ideas on how to combat the consequences. It is, in fact, less embattled than the group’s angular rhythms and loud caterwauling would suggest. The overall aesthetic involves less acrobatic means than the norm—defensiveness and self-loathing—of personal lyrics. Instead of triumph over tragedy (or vice-versa), Join Us’ aesthetic involves a series of vignettes mixed with confessionals.

The first song, “Yellow Light,” is a short emphatic piece about as small victory leading to a greater understanding. It is a set-up for the failures and finality of the album’s stark awareness of faulty behavior:

Not always sad, just easier to write like that

When I’m depressed I think I want to stay like that

But man today things just barely went my way

It’s the happiest I’ve been in a long time.

(chorus) I made every yellow light today.

The improbability of something actually going well for the protagonist is immediately foremost. Later, when angry outbursts and separatism become the norm, the listener is not shocked. Instead, he/she awaits the levelheaded lyricist to explain himself. Songs like “Join Us,” “F-,” and “I Even Drive like a Jerk” may not repeat the simple and somewhat positive idea within “Yellow Light,” but they mirror the sensibility of self-awareness; of ordered (even sensed) dissension.

It’s that dissension that struck me when I heard “Yellow Light.” I was working at WUAG 103.1, the college radio station at UNC-Greensboro. I reached into the CD stacks to grab a Bluebird CD, an old staple for the end of my springtime radio shows. I didn’t realize I had the wrong CD until it was just about time to play, so I played the first song, a short one. Needless to say I enjoyed it on a technical level immediately. The brevity struck me—this song said a lot in a little time—and I was intrigued to hear more. I went and bought the album three days later ($4 bucks on vinyl… I miss North Carolina record stores). I sat in my room for days reading the lyrics and memorizing the phrasing. I remember being shocked that such a record existed and I had never heard of it. Other people had. In fact, when I would list them as one of my new favorites, most of the town’s music Nazis would dismiss my views for years to come. I still have this album to thank for being a musical outcast for my formative college years. Still, I play the record over and over. It never gets old.

Musically, Join Us’ high and low points are scattered. The first side (especially “Yellow Light,” “F-,” “Cheap Rip,” and “Salinas”) highlights the basic punk ethos: be fast, be loud, and be angry. These songs are the “recognition period” of the album. Other times, the aforementioned angularity assaults the listener—one could dismiss these as Fugazi/Jawbox rip-offs, but the precision would prove one wrong. This is not an album of noisiness or a “big” sound. For example, the title track is an admission of guilt and a dismissal of groupthink. Musically, it resembles a parity of their influences, but lyrically it separates itself entirely. A party of friends and enemies is described at one point as, “…so many in one place saying ‘you don’t count.’” The lyrics lead the listener to believe that the speaker’s loneliness is a chosen lot, but that line gives away the desperation of being appraised.

Before “Join Us,” however, is the most atypical song on the album. “Cheap Rip” displays the lyrical cleverness, and musical assault of which Bluetip was capable. The description of writing an angry letter replaces the actual feelings being expressed to the person addressed in the letter. This use of the objective correlative is the separation point that defines Bluetip compared to their late-nineties (and onward) counterparts. Where most would describe the contents of the letter, they describe the process:

Third draft trying to scrawl “sorry,”

Take a second as I fold it slowly.

Stamps make shitty band-aids,

My letters come back stamped, “fuck the sender.”

The process makes up for the trite and abrupt lines. The listener can forgive raw emotion when it is masked, or in this case, introduced with an apologetic sense of accomplishment. We are more likely to understand the sentimentality of the situation if we actually know about it. Rather than resuscitating a vague image of love or broken-heartedness, Bluetip resurrects the ideas of being surreptitiously apologetic. The protagonist’s obstinacy is realized during the task—he learns this as we learn this.

“Carbon Copy” is a repetitive slow-to-a-fault build toward the more pointed “Salinas.” Its vagueness is expressed both lyrically and structurally. The riff maintains its confusion and drudgery throughout while the lyrics repeat themselves:

I hear the S’s of their conversation.

I would be angry but I appreciate the honesty.

I press out days in perfect carbon copy.

I used to get angry, now I like the consistency.

In the “everyman” lyrical approach, Bluetip provides a cautious look into the skullduggery of work conversations—the craftiness of a man listening to other’s talk and assume that he is involved recalls the paranoia of Poe or Dostoyevsky set to an abrasive blues rock riff—the perfect song for Jason Farrell’s Rockabilly-esque vocal swagger.

“Castanet” offers the first glimpse into the speaker’s cause for anger: “I must’ve severed everyone I knew/ on the day my sisters pointed out the sense to call it quits with you.” Jason Farrell yells this with no accompaniment; driving home his own unwillingness to avoid problems (though the albums seems to be centered on ridding the protagonist of his problems). The solution is both omnipresent and unstated. While the listener knows that Farrell is obviously opining for a change, the change is in name only. He knows that losing someone’s company does not mean their lasting impression goes anywhere: “If I miss you, I can still do a damn good impersonation.”

The second side is a scatterbrained affair—“I Even Drive like a Jerk” is a marathon of prophecy and emphatic self-assuredness. It opens: “I got myself convinced/ that if I do die/ it’ll be in a car wreck/not as a direct result of any cross-eyed looks/ I might be getting from you.” Vocalist Jason Farrell gives more away in this song than any. The conditional feelings of his narration (if I die…) are his fault completely, but he at least claims to have another person in mind. The mystery guest is possibly a victim of his own beliefs, or the same person continually referenced in a justifiable break up (re: “Castanet”).

“Bad Flat” is the anti-anthem—a mid-tempo jam that uses staccato vocal meanderings with clever phrasings: “Every good day gets old.” “Sugar, come back to the cavity.” This song could double as a reprehensible study of a man drawn to drama or, simply, a case study in bad days and car trouble. Either way, it begins the descent of the album—the beginning of the album’s “giving up period.”

At some point, the general idea seems to be that nothing gets better. In 1999, I was unsure of this, but as I get older alongside Join Us—its unvarying nature and the constant brutality of mundane affairs—that idea has followed me throughout my ventures. At no point is this more prevalent than writing this article. The fading in and out of the final riff in the instrumental “Cold Start” running it’s course (J Robbins showing his face, no doubt). I am reminded of the past few jobs, the last few years, the rejections, the loss, the continual bleeding of good friends into the vastness of the coastlines, and the overtly negative feeling that belies each day not doing exactly what I love doing.

Still, the “giving up period” of the album retains the bittersweet dissension of small victories. Jersey Blessed,” the precursor to “Cold Start,” is a true testament to the observational Farrell being overcome with his own irritability. The song centers on a constant riff, and the music gives way to the storytelling. It is the New Year’s story of a man drinking alone while surrounded by his own personified loneliness: “Watched New Year’s hit in an upstate bar/ men’s liquor breath that whispers/ “Please let me be liked./ Start my new year right.” “Noses sour cross the faces of girls smelling desperation/ so they stay unfocused.” “Men’s courting kisses miss their mark/ they start grasping at strings.” As the night progresses, fights erupt, and Farrell equates wanting to be liked to being punched in the face. This metaphor is completely natural given the specifics of the story and the overall feel of the album. The story itself being altogether believable is one thing, but Farrell making us believe his lesson learned is another.

The album, until this point, had made several assertions, but none as severe as the grandiose one set in the final songs. Farrell’s understanding comes full circle in “Slovakian.” His travels (presumably on tour) take him to Europe, and meet him with like-minded individuals. His return home brings his recurring anger (as described in every other song) to a boil. His (Henry) Jamesian look at his viewpoint while removed from America is a perfect settling point; a place to rest after an album of pointed complaints and matter-of-fact misanthropy. Through blaming his surroundings, Farrell reminds the listener of anticipation “…of tomorrow’s headaches, the soft reminder for what I done today.” Content in his current surroundings, he makes a final judgment call—repeated during and after the song—“It’s yesterday back home.”

Fittingly, the return is glossed over. As are the final rebuttals and mentions of lessons learned. The point, finally, is as graspable to the listener as it is to the band. Through the impartiality, the banality, and the backstabbing, Join Us is a rejoinder to the vagueness of a Fugazi and the specific verboseness of a Jawbox. Bluetip wrote an accidental antithesis—an anticlimax of antipathy that drives home a point lost on most. Sometimes, there is no point. To a soon-to-be twentysomething, knowing that there was no point, that everything and nothing is your fault, that you have right to be angry, is pretty important. I’ve come to realize that these ideas are just as important now. The 1999 and 2007 versions of me don’t have a lot in common other than this album. Yet, in fact, Bluetip proves the old adage true: “the more things change, the more they stay the same.” I like the way they put it: “It’s yesterday back home.” The revolving doors of new and old lessons conjoining are, indeed, a Carbon Copy. Maybe I’m not so angry now, but I get it. Join Us is a big reason why.


See also: Retisonic (current Jason Farrell project).

Labels: , , , ,

Friday, February 09, 2007

Absurdist Media Celebrates One Year Of Little Importance!

In the grand spirit of self-acknowledgment I would like to humbly admit to you, the consummate reader, that February is not merely a collection of passing days for bundling up against the climate with the warm remembrance of African-Americans of note—ah, how Tubman’s Underground Railroad curls itself around the exposed skin of your neck like a thick and lovingly crafted scarf--or Booker T. Washington and W.E.B. Dubois’ subtle written rivalry pulls itself over one’s head as reaching and hopeful arms boldly find their way through arm holes of a well-worn sweater which only grows warmer with age. Nay, dear reader the shortest month of the year also now commemorates the one anniversary of Absurdist Media’s clinically induced, and entirely labored, birth!

And what a year it has been.

Cover letters were written and thoroughly ignored by perspective employers, a well cushioned couch (and constant companion) was paid a loving tribute, hastily written fiction was delivered to the masses for better or worse, largely banal observations were explicated and generally noted in a lengthy fashion. Names were named, apologies were made and retracted, once inhabited areas were visited and discussed, Starbucks’ were visited simply for their lascivious internet connections, and through it all the constant hum and dim lighting of the laptop prevailed.

So, what can we expect in the second year of a fledgling and seldom read Internet blog?

I would not begin to speculate on such things but if trends continue, and by “trends” I mean stolen moments in which I am able to jot down potentially grand essay ideas on the train or at work, there is the possibility of several multi-part, dictioned odysseys on topics as varied as music to laser hair removal, cartography to the increasing disappearance of the El Camino on Eisenhower’s fine interstate system of highways. What Jeff may have in store for the next year remains a mystery to me as he is stubbornly holing himself up for hours a week watching television and obsessing over product placement, and all the while tightening his grip on his rarely discussed dream of owning the most sensitively stripped wardrobe this side of the East River.

It is also necessary to thank those of you who have left of comments over the last twelve months. Not only is it nice to see what you think about our ramblings, but it just nice knowing that someone is actually stumbling across our page and taking a moment to see what we have to say (my apologies to those who were googling Jadakiss, Panic! At The Disco, etc. who were looking for anything remotely insightful or biographical on either topic).

So let’s all keep our fingers crossed against self-implosion on the part of Jeff and myself, and have a wonderful new year with much of the same from Absurdist Media—like NPR, but without relevance, know-how, a studio, pleasantly soothing speaking voices, a well-honed and executed vocabulary, tote bags at pledge drive time, or legal representation.

-tedd-