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Wednesday 31 August 2016

Roland and Nina's DECADES IN MUSIC - 1973 - LATTE E MIELE - Papillon

Review by: Nina A.
Album assigned by: Roland Bruynesteyn



What I lamentably discovered at the tender age of 17 is that generic prog albums aren’t exactly a commodity that's hard to find. And in the internet age, they’ve crawled out of everywhere and are cool once again. For some reason. And while Latte e Miele get bonus points for singing in Italian (possibly due to the fact that they themselves are Italian) and therefore making this album at least slightly distinct, I feel Papillon suffers from the general syndrome of interchangeability of 70s prog records. Yes, Latte e Miele, you play it really well and I bet you have meticulously arranged like every second of this and that you have precisely thought out how to use bombast to bring out the instrumental intermissions in “Terzo quadro l’incontro” for instance or taken care to have the fusion breaks in “Quatro quadro l’arresto” but what new and breathtakingly unexpected are exactly trying to tell us here?

No, this record unfortunately still remains in my mind just as “70s sounds”, even after a couple of listens. It’s cool, I guess, but I don’t see why anyone would waste time listening to this when there’s so much else you can be enjoying and oohing in surprise and delight at.

Oh, there are the classical pieces reinterpretations too... Vivaldi and Beethoven. Why? Who knows, who cares.

Saturday 27 August 2016

KEITH MOON - Two Sides of the Moon (1975)

Review by: Michael Strait
Album assigned by: Roland Bruynesteyn



There is a deluxe edition of this. It is two discs long.

Heaven help us.

Crazy Like A Fox: Kinda does sound like mid-70s Who, actually. What that means is that it sounds like forgettable, bland 70s rock except for the vocals – done by Moon, presumably – which are kind of sassy and sardonic in a way I can kind of like. There’s a decent bassline. In fact, the instrumentation is quite lush and varied really, and there’s a perfectly competent guitar solo. The question is why does this exist? This is really just a karaoke performance, innit?

Solid Gold: Some sort of sarcastic spoken word intro. Oh wait, this is actually the whole thing. Some pretty female voices harmonise some vocal chants as Moon drunkenly stumbles over the lyrics of this tune, like he’s going through some sort of terrible impressions game at a pub. Is this a comedy album? No, worse – this is a NOVELTY album, where the novelty is “Keith Moon sings the classics”, as if he’s some children’s cartoon character or Kardashian and the prospect of him singing is inherently funny. :/

Don’t Worry Baby: String section shit. Meh. He’s actually singing this time, though not particularly well. ‘Course, worse singers have been great vocalists before, but then mostly they’ve actually been singing over worthwhile music. This is still just karaoke nonsense. Utterly pointless, like the other album I was assigned this round – not offensively bad, nor intriguingly bad, nor even depressingly bad, just sort of confusing. Why would anyone ever listen to this? Why was it made? Actually, I take that back – I’m imagining Moon singing this in the studio now, imagining his face contorting into soulful expressions as he sings his heart out, and it’s very depressing.

One Night Stand: Slide guitar an’ all. His vocals are buried under so many doubled layers of themselves that I can barely make them out. Is he trying to put on an American accent? Oh Christ, he is, isn’t he? Has anyone in world history actually listened to this for pleasure? Are there people in the world who sometimes think “yeah, I’ll just listen to Keith Moon sing One Night Stand”? Perfectly competent guitar solo here, again – it’s all just so confusing to me that this exists.

The Kids Are Alright: Loud guitar chord opens this one. Siiiiigh. OK, he really is butchering this one with his singing – he CAN’T sing, or at least not well enough to sing songs that require actual singing. He’d make a great frontman for a band like, say, The Clash or whatever, but he just hasn’t got the skillset for this kind of music so why is he misapplying himself? The band actually does sound kind of incompetent here, for ones – the entire thing sounds like it’s tripping and stumbling about, and it does NOT sound natural at all.

Move Over Ms. L: A Lennon track! Well, here comes Moon to do his best to ruin it by singing it almost exactly like a punk rock singer, except more middle-class. This song has lots of brass instruments on it. I don’t like it. This isn’t one of Lennon’s best efforts anyway. Apparently Moon drummed on that track. Barely noticed.

Teen Age Idol: Melodramatic nonsense! Moon can’t sing. People DO call him a teenage idol, though. Or did, at least. R.I.P Keith Moon. It sounds like it’s trying to be a gahdawful movie song except Moon just can’t sing. Oh my god that was horrible panning. Made me feel sick.

Back Door Sally: :/ :/ :/ :/ :/ :/ :/ :/ :/ He kind of DOES have the chops for this kind of singing – just raw charisma, no actual tunefulness, which sorta fits with this song, except it still doesn’t quite work because the end result still sucks. At least it sucks on its own terms though. Oh Christ he’s starting to sound like a glam metal vocalist. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. Lots of brass on this song again. Kinda sounds like good-old-fashioned British glam rock except garbage.

In My Life: The Beatles, eh? That piano sounds horrible somehow. Moon can’t sing. Moon can’t sing. Moon can’t sing. Well, he’s REALLY ruining this melody. The entire thing sounds bargain bin and phoned-in – he’s making this Beatles tune sound like a shitty generic showtune, and that takes a sort of perverse anti-talent. Really over-egged melodramatic choral backing vocals don’t fucking help matters.

Together: The last one. Phew. Ringo co-wrote this one with like 2 other blokes. The drumming on this track is so bad it’s actually hilarious – or maybe it’s just mixed badly; it sounds arrhythmic, like it’s spurting at random. Moon’s singing is, as usual, horrible – so horrible it’s been mixed down to the point of near-inaudibility. There are garbage steel drums on this track. Saving the worst for last, were we? Moon and Ringo are being a comedy duo now. They aren’t very good at it. This should not exist. His singing has started again now. This has made the track worse. Ends with a nonsensical fade back into In My Life’s chorus. It’s over.

Bullets I dodged by skipping the bonus tracks include songs called “Hot Rod Queen”, “Real Emotion”, “OK Mr. Starkey” and something ominously titled “Together ‘Rap’”.


P’raps this album is why God killed Keith Moon?

Wednesday 24 August 2016

THE FART GUYS - The Fart Guys (1998)

Review by: Andreas Georgi
Album assigned by: Franco Micale



This review was a breeze! No one had to pull my finger to do it. At first I was like the constipated composer – he was stuck on his last movement. Or the constipated accountant - he couldn’t budget! Listening to this album was like a breath of fresh air. Rip roaring fun. It’s a real gas! This album is like farting in an elevator – it’s wrong on so many levels. Then again, a crowded elevator always smells different to a midget.. I’m not one to wear my fart on my sleeve, but as they say, laugh and the world laughs with you; fart and they'll stop laughing. Confucius say, "Man who fart in church sit in own pew." Therefore, so as not to be selfish, I would like to share some spirited poetry:

A Belch is but a gust of wind
That cometh from the Heart,
But should it take a downward trend,
Turneth into a Fart

Beans, beans, the musical fruit
The more you eat, the more you toot

KANJI WEST - Chiisus (2014)

Review by: Michael Strait
Album assigned by: Tristan Peterson



Yeezus, chopped & screwed
Lossy, like distant concert
Amateur bullshit

Thursday 18 August 2016

Elevator Musings: Ep. 1 - On being a metaphorical virgin

Starting point: The song “Chateau Lobby #4 (in C for Two Virgins)” by Father John Misty
By Nina A.



Believe me, no one is more embarrassed than I am for actually liking Father John Misty. I mean, “a hipster dork who despite that has a lot of sex” seems to be the main characterisation of his lyrical protagonist and yet he grows on you... on me. And it’s not like there’s subtle magic at work here either, it’s plain as day to me what attraction let’s say I Love You, Honeybear seems to have: stripped down songs that have been let soak in these “giant, deranged, impenetrable Disney-orchestra arrangements” as the man himself puts it. And of course the impeccable phrasing of these craftily put together if otherwise cringeworthy lyrics over the rolling canvas of quietly bombastic music. “Oh, I just love the kind of woman who can walk over a man // I mean like a god damn marching band” anyone?

Which brings me to my main point and it is: 

I’ve never done this
Baby, be gentle
It’s my first time

Yeah, this is exactly the lyric that has moved me to profound realisation recently. It’s about virgins!!!! No, as genius.com notices too, our favourite Father actually goes on to subvert this lyric: “Tillman twists the phrases typically uttered when a virgin first has sex, manipulating them to instead reflect the sensation of falling in love for the first time.”

I’ve got you inside
People are boring
But you’re something else completely
Damn, let’s take our chances

is the slightly clumsier conclusion to this thought. I used to mishear the lyric — “I’ve never done this so please be gentle” but even the way Father John Misty has written it there is something about confessing plainly how things stand. Because isn’t it more often that people try to impress other people by faking it? I am sure that’s the plot to many a screwball comedy, “liar revealed” plot template, probably even to Johnny Bravo. I know I once stubbornly proclaimed to this mechanical engineer guy I used to have a crush on that I can change my back bike tire alright on my own in order to seem tough and competent when really even detaching the chain proved to be trickier than I initially supposed. But here we have the protagonist refreshingly choosing the route where he bares proverbial soul and inexperience and completely trusts the opposite side (person). Liberating, as it is currently in fashion to say. It may all sound so simple but it does indeed take great bravery to be truly humble about yourself and to stop caring about how you are perceived or how superior you should come off as. So, thanks, Father, for making me reevaluate my life with your corny songs about your sexual dorkishness. “When you’re smiling and astride me // I can hardly believe I’ve found you and I’m terrified by that” indeed.

MUSIC IN BOOKS: ALEX ROSS - The Rest is Noise: Listening to the Twentieth Century (2007, Farrar, Straus and Giroux)

ISBN-13: 978-0374249397 (hardcover)
Review by Andreas Georgi



In the 8 years since I wrote this review on Amazon I’ve become a lot more familiar with modern composed (or “classical” or “concert”, or WTF) music, but I still concur with most of the content.  This book was very helpful in directing my attention to a wide range of music.

I really enjoyed it and found it a very educational resource for my musical exploration. I know the term "classical" is incorrect - call it concert music, music in the European tradition of composed music, art music, WHATEVER! For better or for worse using the term "classical" allows most people to know what you're talking about. For that reason I will use that term in the rest of the review.

In a TV interview and in the preface to the book the author commented that he listened exclusively to classical music until college. In college he would play some things to his fellow students, who would comment that it sounded like Sonic Youth or Cecil Taylor, etc. Although I have been starting to immerse myself in the music for some time now, I am still very much a novice and this book's release is perfectly timed for me. I am not totally ignorant of older forms of classical music, but I approached 20th Century art music not via Bach and Beethoven, but via Frank Zappa and Ornette Coleman. Frank Zappa, who became my musical idol in my teens (and remains so in my 40's), was particularly influential in exposing me to a new world of possibilities. He made direct reference to Stravinsky, Varese and Holst, among others, in his music. Likewise in modern jazz there has been a lot of cross-pollination with this music. A jazz fan would find the harmonies in Erik Satie's piano works not at all unfamiliar.

I suspect that many music fans are also approaching this music in a similar way, and this book will be very helpful. This is not an academic book and it is not aimed at an ivory tower readership. It does not assume an encyclopedic knowledge of all music that's gone before, although it does use musical terminology, so if you're not very familiar with such terms (like I am not, really), you'll want to consult a dictionary or encyclopedia occasionally. A bit of a challenge is hardly a bad thing, I think.

Mr. Ross uses very evocative language to describe the key works of music in his book. This is never an easy task. Music hits you in places that words will never go! Still, he does a very good job. When I was reading this I had never heard most of the music being described, but reading about it I certainly wanted to!

Music does not exist in a vacuum, but is both a product of and an influence on its times. Mr. Ross writes a very compelling narrative which puts the music in the context of the places, times, politics, and the lives of the people involved. This is a fascinating history book as well as a book on music. It's also full of colorful and entertaining character studies of these composers' often "unusual" personalities. Their interactions with each other are not necessarily always all that high-minded!

This music has survived in relative obscurity since the early part of the 20 Century. Mr. Ross proposes a number of explanations for this, which the reader may or may not agree with, but one recurring theme is that the various movements in 20th Century music eventually seem to paint themselves in corners through an almost fanatical insistence on taking things to the most abstract and extreme (if the audience likes it, it's a failure!). Not everyone comes out in favorable light. Pierre Boulez, in particular, comes across a bit absurd in his extreme positions. Whether this is an accurate portrayal I don't know. Clearly the author's personal tastes come through here, but he does a good job of describing their mindset.

The first section of the book deals with the events of the early 20th Century - the decline of the decadent old empires, the rapidly-growing role of industry and technology, and others, which led people to search for something new. One recurring theme is the struggle between the aspirations for "pure" art versus a desire to be relevant to society at large. The chapter dealing with Russian composers Prokofiev and Shostakovich's struggles and compromises during the height of Stalin's reign of terror is a highlight. It covers, from a different angle, the some of the subjects dealt in "the Gulag Archipelago" by Solzhenitsyn.

Sandwiched between the chapters on Stalinist Russia and Nazi Germany is the chapter on music in the USA in that period. He does not insinuate that they are equivalent, by any means. He does detail how even in the US composers had to navigate through dealings with government bureaucracy and corporate sponsors, for both of whom artistry was perhaps not the top priority.

I could nitpick whether Sibelius and Britten deserve entire chapters while others get little more than name-dropping mention (The chapter on Sibelius is very good). Consequently his coverage of the second half of the century is more condensed. I wish that he might have spent more time on it.

At the end of the book is a recommended discography of 10 recordings, then another 20 more. I have ordered a number of these and look forward to going back and looking at Mr. Ross's descriptions after actually listening to them. I will leave it to better-informed people to argue whether or not these really are the "best" versions of the pieces, but they seem as good a place as any to start. Certainly it would seem reasonable to me to start your collection of Stravinsky with a performance conducted by the man himself. Coming from a background in performer-oriented rock and jazz, it can be daunting to figure out which performance of a composer's work is best, so this discography helps such readers get at least a start.

FOREIGNER - Unusual Heat (1991)

Review by: Julien Mansencal
Album assigned by: Nina A.



Unusual Heat is the proverbial album with no reason to exist. Then again, how could it have one? When third-rate bands like Foreigner lose a key member, they rarely follow the wise path of disbanding and turning to more fitting jobs, like, I don't know, driving trucks or something. No, when third-rate bands lose a key member, nine times out of ten they'll go for the cheapest replacement available and soldier on. Granted, when you compare departed Lou Gramm with stand-in Johnny Edwards, the quality gap is not that noticeable, but still, they should have heeded the call. Especially since the time was 1991 and the world really had no longer any use for a band like Foreigner.

That's not to say that they don't try to follow the trends. Unusual Heat largely discards the cheesy 80s synthesizers that were so dominant on Inside Information in favour of a sound that's more guitar-based but less distinctive. And Foreigner never were that distinctive to begin with, so that's saying something. Apart from that, the band goes through the motions, ticking all the boxes on their grocery list of How to Make a Record: half-assed crunchy rockers, check. Sappy power ballads, check. Unmemorable, run-of-the-mill guitar solos, check. Lyrics ranging from the useless to the abysmal, check. Cheap, ugly cover art, check. About a dozen songs, check. And since this is the beginning of the CD era, all of them are four to five minutes long, because why the hell not? Foreigner want to waste as much as your time as they can. And now they've made me their accomplice, since I've wasted YOUR time by writing two paragraphs about this nothing. 

Even a perfect sphere has more of a point than this. I won't say "avoid it at all costs," since I can't imagine how anyone would face the possibility of listening to this record that has justly fallen into oblivion. It would take an absurd situation, like a reviewing contest about bad records or something.

Tuesday 16 August 2016

DADDY YANKEE - Mundial (2010)

Review by: Nina A.
Album assigned by: Jaime Vargas Sánchez



I keep trying to get Spotify to play this record but all I hear is the playlist to which Fanta runs its brand promotion tied to the world cup series on a beach party. See, this reggaeton thing was for some reason as hugely popular as europop (another genre that revolves hugely around aggressively beating you over the head with simplistic repetitive beats and annoying vocal hooks for the duration of the song) but really the only context I see for a music like that nowadays is to mindlessly blast it through the speakers of the bungee jumping machine at the beach under the hot summer sun. It is not even fit to be the background music they play between the X-factor auditions! Like who listens to this stuff? How did it end up in the charts? Can anyone even relate emotionally to this? I know I stopped paying attention after the first track because this repetitive plateau of high after high after high all at the same volume and intensity, it cannot captivate your attention, let alone move your soul. Furthermore, you have read, I presume, how songwriting committees have evaluated that radio-friendly songs nowadays have to hit a new high every 6 seconds in order to keep the attention of the ever station-switching listener in his car. Yeah, but how can you top high after high after high, if you never relax the tension? Tension and relaxation until an eventual resolution, that's the secret to a great many awesome songs in the pop canon!!

No, that was actually my first listen impression and it is totally not fair to the record. In fact, even on my first listen I noticed the attitude in the opening track “El Mejor De Todos Los Tiempos” and recognised its relative uniqueness in the bailando & vuvuzela context, and after a second listen I can confirm that the first two tracks here are actually legitimately cool. Most of the following tracks on the record are also not without their merits — even occasionally triggering my nostalgia for the times most simple that have long since passed (even if this record did actually come out as late as 2010) and making me admire the Spanish language and the Latin beats that really have their own logic and effect on the body and mind. That said, there are still some tracks (“La Despedida” to quote one) that can only fall under the generic bailando noise category. There is even the obligatory FIFA song (“Grito Mundial”, not eventually used for the 2010 World Cup series for reasons explained properly in Wikipedia) - I mean, the album is called Mundial... But after a thorough and dedicated listen I end up wondering if Daddy Yankee isn’t kinda my daddy now because this record certainly has a lot to recommend it… yeah...

THE DEL FUEGOS - The Longest Day (1984)

Review by: Syd Spence
Album assigned by: Charly Saenz



There is this phenomenon I’ve noticed in both in myself and others. I like to call it the local band hyperbole. It’s when a band that is close to you by proximity, and thus you will exaggerate their abilities to everyone in earshot. I know i’ve done this with bands my friends were a part of and I know i’ve see this happen in others as well. You’ll gloss over all the problems and start waxing poetic about their not ready for prime time actuality. My guess is that by their proximity, you put a little more attachment to their sound then say, the recent mega band from a sea over. 

And that brings me to this little record, The Longest Day by The Del Fuegos. Even though this album is what? 30 years old and from the semi major city of Boston, It’s making me want to boast and brag like the Del Fuegos were born from my very loins... This though is an illusion.. This record is rough around the edges slice of retro rock done in the 80s. The fact that the Del Fuegos didn’t appear on the Rhino box set Children of Nuggets, is a crime. All of these songs would fit there nicely, with their “ I want to be in the ‘60s, but my production says I’m horribly stuck in the ‘80s”. In fact this record reminds me of a band featured on the children of Nuggets box set, The La’s. The La’s debut was filled with rough and tumble garage rocky songs. All of them were okay, but not great, except for their one big hit, “There She Goes”. The Del Fuegos’ debut is exactly like that except for a few differences. One they replace the jangle with light country influence, two, the La’s have a more polished production whereas, Del Fuegos sound like ‘80s indie production (it’s not as bad as Black Flag demos, but it’s not exactly REM either). Oh, and there is one major difference, there isn’t a masterstroke like “There She Goes” 

But gosh darnit, these guys sound so sincere, and authentic, and I’m sure they would have rocked local talent night at their nearest bar, but, but, but, let's get real, The Replacements do everything these guys do, and better. So If Children of Nuggets is your favorite Rhino Box set, GET THIS NOW. Everyone else get a Replacements record.

Monday 15 August 2016

ZEZÉ DI CAMARGO & LUCIANO - Zezé Di Camargo & Luciano (1991)

Review by: Mark Maria Ahsmann
Album assigned by: Francelino Prazeres de Azevedo Filho



Oh, I’ve heard beautiful things: the first four notes of Zezé & co’s version of “And I Love Her”, “Eu te amo” performed by deep and low strings bring the hidden melancholia of this song to the surface so that instead of a contemplative and happy love song it turns into a contemplative wistful and sad love song. I could easily imagine a band like the Tindersticks using that as a template for an autumnal version.

These four notes are the only things that are truly outstanding on this album. The rest of it is a dime a dozen sun, sea and beach & bikinis pop music.

This kind of music is sort of timeless and sort of locationless. They’ve been producing it all over the world since at least the late 1960’s.

I find it not too repulsive though obviously it is not “good”. It is not meant to be.

In my country there’s a TV program called Music Party On The Square. Dutch versions of Zezé & Luciano lip sync their latest hits before a mildly enthusiastic crowd. Spectators always start to dance spontaneously when they notice that one of the TV camera’s picks them up. I’ve always wondered what it would be like at such a party.

This album is very suitable for cafeteria’s and half price pizzeria’s.

My colleague says Zezé and Luciano are actually Ron and Russell Mael in disguise. And she would like to add that Russell’s mullet was fabulous in 1991.

Thursday 11 August 2016

PETE TOWNSHEND - Psychoderelict (1993)

Review by: Francelino Prazeres de Azevedo Filho
Album assigned by: Graham Warnken



So, for our “pan round”, I was assigned Pete Townshend’s last solo album, a rock opera concept album about himself as a decadent rock star. A sure recipe for something awful, isn’t it? Well, yes, but I had to at least give the record a chance, for fairness’ sake. So I braced myself, tried to rid my mind of my prejudices, and played this thing. By the first listen, the situation wasn’t very auspicious, as the first track, “English Boy”, was supposed to be one of the few highlights here, and I found it bland. Thankfully, considering only the music aspect, the rest is pretty much on the same level, which left me wondering why that particular song got praised. I guess people somehow enjoyed / pretended to enjoy it more than the rest because it tries to recapture the Who’s rocking aesthetics, but it does so without real force and without a strong melody behind it.

During “English Boy”, I would come across what is the main nemesis of this album, the thing that makes an otherwise mediocre release bad: the dialogues. You see, that old school Quadrophenia style of having the story felt only by the songs wasn’t enough for Pete. He had to have voice actors saying bullshit throughout the whole disk, and some of the tracks are nothing but dialogues that go on for over a minute. This killed the album to me. Another album that has problems with dialogues, in my opinion, is Aquemini, which is an album I otherwise love. After every track, it has some skits that, while entertaining, ruin the flow of the music. Psychoderelict is much much worse on this aspect, because the dialogues try to tell an uninteresting story starred by awful characters.

In Psychoderelict’s defence, I must say there was a music-only version. However, it is pretty clear that one is meant to be a “lightweight” version for weaklings, and the true version is the one with the dialogues. Still, I was tempted to listen to that. The point of this round was to listen to awful stuff, though, and if I dared to inflict Zezé di Camargo & Luciano upon someone, then it would be dishonourable not to listen to the piece of garbage in its full form.
Back to music, let me stress that this album is mostly uninspired, it isn’t completely bad. Pete tries to be diverse here, which is a plus. There’s three “Meher Baba” instrumental tracks that taste like microwaved yesterday’s pizza. The third one, strangely numbered “M5”, is the best of them, the only one that managed to get me on a “vibe”. “Don't Try to Make Me Real” has a good refrain. “Now and Then” has a cool bassline and a weird vocal delivery that works to its favour. That’s it for highlights though. The rest of the disk entered my brain through one ear and left through the other.

What was really unforgettable here was the story. In a very bad way. I don’t know what exactly made Pete think we would be interested in those dialogues, but they’re everywhere! They come before or after the songs in their tracks, they sometimes have their own, dialogue-only, tracks, and in some songs, they even come interspersed with the verses and choruses, so as to give the listener no respite. You’re going to listen to this insipid excuse for a plot, and you’re going to listen to this all the fucking time! And not only the story is extremely badly written, the characters are completely unlikeable assholes, that I hated the first time I heard their voices. I’ll save you the details, because the contents here are incredibly shallow, but I’ll point to two lines that grabbed my attention:

“Dear Lily, thank you for your pictures” WINK WONK

“Rose, you didn’t get, didn’t you. I knew it all the time.” YES THAT IS A LINE THE MAIN CHARACTER SAYS

In a fitting note, the album ends with a dialogue. “What happened to that loving hippy shit?” Fuck you Pete! If you’re daring to diss hippy shit, you fucking better have something better than it to show! Instead, you come up with this, and, really, fuck you!

Wednesday 10 August 2016

MUSIC IN BOOKS: MARCUS O'DAIR - Different Every Time: The Authorized Biography of Robert Wyatt (2014, Profile Books Ltd.)

ISBN: 978-1593766160 (paperback)
Review by: Andreas Georgi



I’ve been listening to Robert Wyatt’s work for several years now, and have become a big fan, so the release of his authorized biography is very timely for me. After just having finished it, I can strongly recommend it to anyone with an appreciation for this truly unique artist. For anyone interested in learning more about his work, this book also includes a highly comprehensive listing of all the recordings, videos, and print releases in his 50-plus year career.

From a biographical standpoint, he certainly has not had a boring life, from his bohemian upbringing, to pioneering work in psychedelic & progressive rock, touring the US with Hendrix, to the various collaborations, and of course his life-changing fall in 1973 that left him paraplegic and the challenges he overcame as a result, turning difficulties into opportunities.

The book does a good job in illuminating Wyatt as a highly complex, and often troubled, but ultimately highly likeable personality. Repeatedly he comes across as an extremely intelligent, socially conscious, empathetic and generous spirit. The book does a very good job at detailing how this empathy and generosity influenced his work. It’s a cliché, but in his case it is really true that he beats his own path forward. The book does not shy away from dealing with some of his darker moments of depression and abusive drinking, and how it affected his wife Alfie. Key to his story is the equally strong and creative character of Alfreda “Alfie” Benge, his wife, supporter and collaborator for over 40 years.

Last year, at age 70, Robert Wyatt announced his retirement from music. Fans like me hope of course that he changes his mind, but in any event he has left an amazing body of work. There is an accompanying double CD compilation of the same name. The first CD is a compilation of his releases with Soft Machine, Matching Mole, and his solo albums. The second CD is a collection of collaborative efforts, some quite rare. This collection would seem like a good place to jump into his work. I don’t have the CD, but it looks great. Two thumbs up for the book, however!

MUSIC IN BOOKS: BLAIR JACKSON - Garcia: An American Life (Penguin, 2000)

ISBN: 978-0-14-029199-5 (paperback)
Review by: Roland Bruynesteyn



The week between the anniversary of Jerry Garcia‘s birth (August 1, 1942) and his death (August 9, 1995) is called The Days Between by deadheads, after a latter day Grateful Dead song. For many music fans, it’s a bittersweet time, because Garcia was a good guitarist and songwriter, but allegedly also a lot more than that. For many people he was a cultural icon. He was like the epitome of love and peace, “being free and being true to oneself and a tremendously positive force. This is a time of year to celebrate him and his art”.
Yeah right. You wouldn’t know it from reading Garcia – An American Life by Blair Jackson. Blair knows the Dead inside out, having edited a fanzine for 10 years, having written several books about the Dead. And in the last few years he wrote several liner notes for releases from the Dead’s Vault. He’s a fan, a friend, very knowledgeable and a good writer.
The book is strictly chronological and devotes attention to Jerry’s personal life from his birth to his death, but also to new (Jerry) songs as they start to appear in the repertoire. An index and a discography (up to date until the original publication date, 1999) are provided as well. It’s an entertaining read, about Haight-Ashbury, the acid tests, the 60’s in San Francisco in general, the evolving Grateful Dead and its (unwilling) leader.
But, unfortunately, Jerry comes across as not necessarily very sympathetic and as being rather weak in business decisions as well as in his personal life. Whenever he wanted somebody out of the band (or out of his side band) he let others (band members or managers) do the dirty job. As a husband and father you cannot say he, unfortunately, failed, you’ll have to conclude he just did not try. Although he supported each and everyone of them financially, emotionally he treated his wifes and girlfriends terribly and he neglected his children, sometimes for years. Not because he was psychopathically antisocial, but because he took ‘freedom’ to its noncommittal extreme, and was afraid to take (responsibility for) decisions.
Does this take away from his musical achievements? (OK, such as they are, but I happen to be a HUGE fan of the Grateful Dead, having close to 350 official releases on cd). Of course not, but it does influence the way you see him as a person. Yes, he is a great guitar player, and in many ways still underrated, because many people can copy a David Gilmour lick or a Jimi Hendrix solo (yes, after they did it first), but not many people can improvise the way Jerry does (i.e. compose ‘on the spot’ and create a new solo just about every time you play that particular song), and do this with a feel for the song (blues, bluegrass, jazz, (hard) rock, prog, or whatever). And a nice enough singer (who doesn’t always memorize his lyrics properly…) and a good to great songwriter he may be, but his status as 60’s icon and all round great chap seems rather overrated.
In fact, I think this weakness ties in with his unwillingness to be considered and treated as band leader. Musically, yes, definitely, and immerse yourself in his music. But in all other aspects he preferred to stay on the fence, in the background, and let others take responsibility or action. 

Verdict: read this book if you like the Grateful Dead, the (late) 60’s, West coast pop culture or the origin of the jam band scene, but do not read it if Jerry Garcia is your personal hero or guru and you want to keep it that way. 

CRAZY FROG - Crazy Frog Presents Crazy Hits (2005)

Review by: Franco Micale
Album assigned by: Jonathan Moss



See the video for the review:

LIMP BIZKIT - Results May Vary (2003)

Review by: Eric Pember
Album assigned by: Victor Guimarães



I was originally going to do an entire Pitchfork-style (but better, hopefully) review, putting this in a cultural context and dissecting the sound and influences of the record. However, one major obstacle got in the way of that: This album is unexpectedly boring.
 
If you made a playlist of radio rock songs of the era, songs from this album wouldn’t stick out from the rest at all, except in a bad way if the next song played was like The White Stripes or The Strokes or something else that stuck out from the general nu-metal sound of the era.

My general take on this kind of music is usually that it’s kinda interesting for one track, but quickly gets dull. This album is definitely no exception.

Durst hardly even raps for most of the album, except for some generic boast lines on Gimmie the Mic. If he did, the album would at least give me some unintentional amusement. 

Instead, he gives the mic to Snoop Dogg on Red Light-Green Light. Dogg has been involved in a lot of bad music (as well as some good, to be fair) over the years. You would think the combination of two infamous personalities in Durst and Dogg would lead to something interesting, but no, the track is just as boring as the other tracks on the album, only it’s boring rap instead of boring rock.

Mercifully, the album starts to become kinda interesting towards its end. After some more generic boast rap on Phenomenon, Creamer (Radio Is Dead) starts asserting the arrogant Durst we all know and ironically love/unironically loathe, even if the sung vocals are still a bit too generic. 

Head For The Barricade is all rapped vocals and screaming and Durst vowing that he’ll literally physically attack his haters, which is honestly the kind of thing I expected from the whole record before listening to it. If listening to it separately, I would probably just start laughing but in this context I’m relieved to have something to write about after all the generic radio rock I was just forced to sit through.

After that comes the infamous cover of The Who’s Behind Blue Eyes. The song was already pretty pompous in its original version, but Daltrey somehow managed to pull it off. Needless to say, Durst takes the pomp and makes it the entire song, which just makes it sound hilarious. I know I just said I wasn’t ready to laugh, but the Speak-N-Spell in the bridge got me.

Drown is supposed to give a cathartic end to the album, but it unfortunately sums it up: Durst intended to break his personal mold, but by that point he had no idea of how music had evolved outside of his bubble, so he just ended up assimilating himself into the mold of everyone else around him.

Monday 8 August 2016

KISS - Dynasty (1979)

Review by: Victor Guimarães
Album assigned by: B.b. Fultz



KISS don’t need an introduction: they are just too famous. Either for their iconic face paintings or for the infamous claims of making a band just to get laid and making money. Another very famous feature of KISS's career is the amount of criticism of their music, for being too commercial, full of clichés (all types one can imagine) and with all songs seeming to be radio-formatted to be potential hits.

After a hard, but successful time in the 70s and a temporary split in which all band members recorded solo albums, came Dynasty. It’s a bit sad to say, but Dynasty is an album to which these critics from above could be easily applied. One might want to burn me at a stake, but the album is not all bad. It’s got its good points, such as the megahit “I Was Made For Loving You” and some other OK songs, and despite the musical generality and lack of creativity there are also some cool instrumentals and passages here and there. Criticizing it is far easier as the record isn’t as entertaining as it would seem (although not as bad as other KISS albums) and could even be labeled as boring. Songs - melodies, lyrics, choruses, etc - and production - yes, including the recording-added effects and such - are all too mainstream, too pop-oriented for my taste, as it looks like the album is trying to please the audience first, and then making true, quality rock music. 

After two paragraphs with almost nothing but criticism to the comic-heroes band, I gotta say that KISS do have their positive traits. And if you think I’m going crazy, just try to see them live. I did, and it was one of the best concerts I’ve ever been to, with nothing but great performances and production. And while it’s true that I find their discography quite lacking in general, they are, for me, the very definition of a you-love-to-hate band. Dynasty is not KISS's best album, or even a good album as it would score above-average at most, depending on the reviewer’s parameters for what is average, but it’s still a listenable 70s hard rock album.

Sunday 7 August 2016

PANIC! AT THE DISCO - Pretty. Odd. (2008)

Review by: Ed Luo
Album assigned by: Eric Pember



So I remember people talking about this album when it first came out, and me being the snubby anti-mainstream music listener I was back at the time, refused to give it any light of day, thinking it was going to be inferior to any 1960s music that I had been obsessively been listening to. And now, after some adjustment in attitude and occasional goading and eventual assignment from my SO, I can now say that I can definitely appreciate what Panic! at the Disco, or more precisely then-guitarist Ryan Ross, were going for. In one of the most peculiar genre shifts in recent years, Panic! at the Disco, who were one of the handful of successful emo-pop bands in the mid-2000s, made a near-180° shift to 1960s-influenced pop music, with an aspiration to make music akin to the 1967-era Beatles, complete with orchestral arrangements and psychedelic sonic effects. And I’ll have to admit, it almost works.

Almost. The main sticking point is that bandleader Brendon Urie’s vocals do not fit the music at all. The whiny punkish timbre which was retained from the band’s earlier music just sounds really out-of-place betwixt the strings and horns. Ross, who composed the majority of music, gets to sing lead in parts of “Behind the Sea”, “She Had the World”, and “Mad as Rabbits”, and his voice complements the music much better.

The second point is that the songwriting is just not quite up to par. There are some admittedly nice moments, like the retro-garagey riff on “She’s a Handsome Woman” and the pretty Mellotron-led introduction of “The Piano Knows Something I Don't Know”, but I think my problem is that the melodies are, ironically, not 1960s-esque enough. It feels that despite the baroque/vaudeville stylistics, the musical skeletons are still a little too 2000s pop-punk (although that could be just Urie’s vocals distracting me so much), so it all just kinda cancels out on each other. It’s psychedelic in form, but only partially there in spirit, definitely not on the level of Psonic Psunspot, hell, not even on the level of Congratulations.

Still, I do appreciate Pretty. Odd.’s existence overall and the band’s attempt to go against the grain of their image and try something radically different. Being the obstinate psychedelia/art rock fanatic that I am, I wouldn’t mind to see more out-of-left-field 1960s psych-loving music out there, amidst the 1980s nostalgia that’s been currently going on. Also this review’s probably the longest one I’ve written so far, so thanks for that, Eric :P

P.S. The music video for “Nine in the Afternoon” is possibly worth seeing, if only for the over-the-top (faux-)1960s oddness of it all.

ALIEN KIDS - Alien Rap: Songs About Life on the Planet Glumph (2007)

Review by: Roland Bruynesteyn
Album assigned by: Ed Luo



This rap album is targeted at the (small but growing) boyscout segment of the youth market for rap and dance music. This is pretty obvious when you hear the songs:

the lyrics contain all sorts of practical advice and useful information
 the voice is easy to understand, no distracting accent, no interference by sound effects, etc.
 on the whole, there are no explicit lyrics; it’s all very civilised.

The epic “Alien Schools (How Alien Kids Develop Super Brains)” has a great singalong chorus that’s bound to get those kiddies shaking their hips. The 8 and a half minutes are over before you realize it even as the tension slowly builds up to climax around the 8 minute mark. Now that is one song this middle aged man kept on ‘repeat’ for an hour! The Alien Kids sure found their niche and they may be onto something here.

But, alas, there are a few problems. First, although the cd was released in 2008, the music feels, surprisingly, a little outdated. The rhythm box is programmed somewhat simple and the melodies, although repetitive and simple as required, still seem to lack a certain spark. Second, the singer uses a technique that, notwithstanding the spectacular virtuosity and general musicality, just ever so slightly starts to grate a little after a while.

Now obviously, this is my strictly personal observation. At children's’ parties this is bound to be very successful. Also, I have to remind you that this is party music, to be used to get people on the dancefloor, whereas I listened concentratedly to the whole cd twice in a row, only to finish with the epic “Alien Schools” on ‘repeat’ for an hour. There is a slight chance that that’s asking a little too much.

Not knowing the rest, if anything, of their work, I can only urge you to listen and find out if this particular album is something for you. I know it changed my life...

Friday 5 August 2016

STARSHIP - No Protection (1987)

Review by: Alex Alex
Album assigned by: Julien Mansencal



Most surely, people do not like the 80s music for the same reasons they do not usually like abstract art – they do not understand what to make out of it or, simpler, being egotistic and self-centered as people are, they do not understand how to enjoy.

When Genesis boldly, if somewhat idiotically (both attitudes are courtesy of the Gabriel legacy), put some not-so-good abstract art on their album covers (“Genesis”, “Abacab”, even “Duke” as an early-period painting of the same master) then people somewhat realize the connection and, if not really start appreciating the albums, at least start the endless discussions about “eras” as if none of the Tarantino movies have ever happened.

When the album cover is executed in a most realistic manner, as is the case with Starship’s No Protection then people start judging the songs according to the laws of the reality they currently experience which is the same as to say Mondrian could not paint anything but squares in three colors.

Mondrian could, however, same as could Starship when it still was Airplane. Indeed, comparing Mondrian early period with his golden one is much the same as comparing Airplane to Starship or, more importantly, comparing airplanes and starships in general.

Airplanes are killed by stewardesses. Starships are erotic by themselves, the Cosmos demand females to be either fully naked or dressed ridiculously. This is so in order not to distract people from the beauty of the Starship itself.

The beauty and the freedom of Starship as opposed to all the bankrupt private airlines is immense. When people say the 80s music is dead, those people are often the same ones who say “when I die I fly to God, I fly to the center of the Universe, I fly among the brightest stars”. And how do you fly there, dear sirs? By way of the Starship of the Dead for there are no airplanes that can do this long flight.

And why is it you can travel to God who sits in the center of the Universe, listening to Shpongle, by Starship with a big big generator? This is because of the beauty of the engine. The engine is not visible and yet it is the engine, not fancy dressed stewardesses, who provides the power and guarantees you to be taken to God in the blinking of an eye.

And if your starship is broken, it’s not the same as with a new Nick Cave album. There will always be problems with any new Nick Cave album because it’s new for no reasons. The only problem with Starship engine is it has become obsolete, other engines have replaced it but it still, theoretically, can fly, if in our nostalgic dreams only.

There are strict regulations on board. There is a beat of the machine and the patrol to keep the beat. There is a world going on underground as we have been informed by Mr. Waits in strict confidence. The error of the auteurs, however, is that there is nothing confidential about that anymore.

Confidential are the pieces of broken glass and the diaries you bury under the tree in your childhood garden. If, however, you keep your Walkman in secret then there is no chance it will evolve into an Ipod. And if it does not happen soon, then you are going to be deeply sorry about that.

Most Alas! As a stubborn teenager you are still insisting there is a menace in you being welcomed to the machine and so you are rejecting your journey to the center of the Earth on the inverted airplane, the inmost starship of the Cthulhian business, shining brightly.

CHARLES MANSON - Lie: The Love and Terror Cult (1970)

Review by: Roland Bruynesteyn
Album assigned by: Jonathan Birch



Well, I hear you say, “this only goes to show that a tormented soul not a good singer songwriter maketh!” Apparently, Charles Manson was well aware of this, as he gained more notoriety as a motivational speaker. He even diversified into religion, where he became more of a guru than he thought he could become in folk rock.

So what does it sound like? The production style is somewhat primitive, putting it firmly in indie territory. Instrumentation is simple: acoustic guitar, some light percussion and some female backing vocals. Some songs seem unfinished: “Garbage Dump” for example seems stuck in the “Scrambled eggs” phase of The Beatles’ “Yesterday”: he’s toying with some ideas but chooses not to follow his muse, leaving the song in demo stage.

“Look At Your Game Girl”, however, is a pretty nice song, that could have fit on Self Portrait by Dylan (or the corresponding Bootleg Series Vol. 10). On some tracks he tries to emulate Captain Beefheart. On others he sounds somewhat like Tyrannosaurus Rex (the early acoustic outfit, consisting of Marc Bolan and Peregrine Took). “I Once Knew A Man” sounds suspiciously like the beginning of “Woman and Man” by Ween. Also, if you allow for his somewhat snarling voice, there is some Nick Drake deep inside, as interpreted by Roger Waters or Lou Reed.

“Cease To Exist” was covered by the Beach Boys around the time, almost unrecognizable so, with a different title (“Never Learn Not To Love”, a line that’s included in “Cease To Exist”’s lyrics). This might have been his big break through, but unfortunately the Beach Boys at the time were quite irrelevant.

On the whole I’d say this is certainly not extremely bad: it’s shows promise and is possibly one of his greatest accomplishments. It is my opinion that he should have pursued this direction some more. Unfortunately, he chose to focus on his other talents.

Thursday 4 August 2016

РАНЕТКИ (RANETKI) - Ранетки (Ranetki) (2008)

Review by: Charly Saenz
Album assigned by: Dinar Khayrutdinov



Funny how commercial music can be totally impervious to their original country's culture. Or anything else for the matter. This music could have been made in Buenos Aires, Madrid or in Seattle, but well, the girls come from Russia (except Lena, the bass player who's from Poland: enough with the trivia).

They are bold enough to play a total “Satisfaction” ripoff in "Naslazhdajsja". Girls don't sing bad when they don't sing like a Powerpuff Army (chorus in "Mal'chishki - Kadety") and they don't scream (first track); in that case they are sound like my neighbour's wife when he doesn't cut the grass on sundays. These are efficient bubble-pop-fake-rockers, I guess. "Ej Ne Do Sna" stands out a little, with some interesting riff (only heard half of it but it was good). There are some ballads as expected. Not sure why "Serdce Ne Spit" has a slightly Brazilian vibe: does not work. 

"Alisa" is .. Rock and roll. It made me laugh out loud. Almost to the brink of tears. 

God this is a bit painful (I don't recommend to buy the album on vinyl) but Cheyenne is still way worse! By now the girls are older, let's hope they're moving to singer-songwriter stuff, we still need a new Joni Mitchell. Or Four!

MASSIVE ATTACK - Mezzanine (1998)

Review by: Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan
Album assigned by: Christian Sußner



If you grew up as a music fan under the dominant sway of the music press during its three-four decade long heyday then you most likely know the desperate feeling that came from constantly reading about some hugely important influential record that, having been name dropped once too often, you were eventually forced to save up enough money to buy (yes, you read that right, you used to have to pay for music, which tended to really limit your options) and listen to over and over again - and that, after countless vain attempts to ‘get it’, to understand what all the fuss was about, you were forced to give up on and chalk up as a failure of imagination or music appreciation on your part. Actually it quite often turns out that years later, when you eventually return to such half digested masterpieces, that rather amazingly the pieces just seem to fall into place of their own accord without any additional effort on the part of the listener, maturity or a deeper appreciation of music in general having taken up the previous slack. For other records that never happens at all, ever, and you’re forced to conclude that either there’s some musical blind spot in your brain (and that maybe, possibly there’s a chance you just might get it in the end, on your deathbed maybe), or that the music press had in fact been actually selling you a massive pup all along. Ladies and gentlemen, Blue Lines by Massive Attack just happened to be exactly one of those personal bugbear records of mine. I mean I admired the album, and parts of it I really loved, but in the end and in spite of all that initial goodwill on my part, Blue Lines left me lukewarm. 

You see I get how the record might have won over the critics in the early 90s, its relentless privileging of style and hip over soul and substance and its achingly sussed on point musical allusions/borrowings served as a potent weapon against the earnest rockism that was still characteristic of the alternative music scene back in the days. But the fact is that no amount of studied cool could make up for the essentially pedestrian quality of the music. Indeed, trip hop taken as a genre - and aside from a handful of notable exceptions like Portishead or DJ Krush - tends to sounds much less impressive than it did in the mid-90s. Because it really had an untouchable, hazy green aura, of mystique surrounding it back then. Albums like Dummy or Entroducing felt epochal, significant, like a promise of much more to come. But in the end it all proved to be one big anti climax - and all those cruel jibes about trip hop being a safe, sanitised version of rap/hip hop without all that stuff about thugs and guns and violence and bitches that you could play at nice dinner parties without offending your guests seemed not to have been so wide off the mark after all. I listen to those old trip hop records again now 20 years on and after having, rather critically, had the chance to hear many of the original dub, soul and reggae records that were formative influences on the genre and I can’t help but notice just how cumbersome and actually dated trip hop sounds in comparison.

All of which egotistical rambling finally brings us round to Mezzanine, Massive Attack’s third album: the one where the band started to expand on their sound, developing an earthier, more rock-oriented style, and softening some of the hard, blunt edges of their first two albums. I mean in theory it should appeal a lot more to my rather more organic sensibilities, but to me it just sounds a lot like probably the best beer commercial soundtrack music ever. I still find an immense depthlessness to their music, a horrible anodyne quality that lurks behind the immediate surface allure, of which admittedly there is plenty. Angel and Teardrop, the two that everyone knows from the album, are completely worn out from over familiarity, like a frazzled imitation persian rug -- and really I can’t even begin to separate out the music from its role as the incidental music or as the inspiration for the incidental music in a thousand different adverts or television productions. The images and visual symbols, the products, and the music all bleed into one another, one great trite miasma. Worse still whenever I listen to Mezzanine and start to really get into it, I reflexively think of where I’ve heard the same thing done better or where it’s felt far more genuine. There are, as always with Massive Attack, exceptions: moments when they triumph over their musical limitations, Risingson being one obvious highlight, although there are fewer of these than on Blue Lines. But (to my most alas) I still don’t get it; I just can’t overcome my by now decades long resistance to the group (6/10).

Tuesday 2 August 2016

GREEN DAY - American Idiot (2004)

Review by: Jaime Vargas Sánchez
Album assigned by: Graham Warnken



My only memories of Green Day were when they were on the radio a lot around the release of “Dookie”, so for me they were always this young pop-punk band, so when I read in the press that they were doing a conceptual rock opera thing I was thinking “Huh? Are they the right band to do this? Wouldn’t it be boring? Pop punk only has so much diversity and when you go for a concept album you need musical diversity”.

Or course I was not being aware that 10 years had passed since “Dookie”, and another 12 have passed since they released “American Idiot” to the day in which I’m listening to it for the first time.

First of all, I will not comment on the plot and the concept, for one simple reason: I would need to pay attention to the lyrics, and that would be something for a time when I can focus enough on them.

I don’t know if in the time span between Dookie and American Idiot they had already transcended their old sound, but in this record they sound quite more diverse than simply punky pop (although “St. Jimmy” – actually the second half of “Are We The Waiting / St. Jimmy”; a lot of tracks come in pairs – is totally classic punk). But the energy is there, oh boy is it there. The guitars jump at you with classic rock abandon, the drums are precise yet lively and the bass holds the ground as it’s supposed to do. Check the title track for an example – it’s exhilarating.

Green Day asserted that they had done their homework and studied classic rock operas and it shows. They said their main inspiration was “Quadrophenia” and I can agree – but if anything, it sounds like Quad if Quad had been done by the Who of 1965 rather than the Who of 1973. But that’s not the only discernible influence; take the second track and arguably the tour de force of the album, “Jesus of Suburbia”, a nine minute monster in several parts. Not only there are very strong hints of Ziggy Stardust here and there, but the third section (“I don’t care”) is so much in the same rhythm as the “I have to know” part of “Gethsemane” from Jesus Christ Superstar – and it’s so totally appropriate in a meta level – that it cannot be accidental.

Diversity is also a mark of the “paired” tracks: the “Are we the waiting” section of that track I mentioned above has nothing to do with the “St. Jimmy” section; “Give me Novocaine / She’s a rebel” repeats the trick: the first part is funky and acoustic, the second is punk pop at its most direct; “Holiday / Boulevard of Broken Dreams” sounds like the reggaeified Clash in its first part (excellent!), and like Oasis in the second (damn!). “Wake me up when September ends” is the expected acoustic/power ballad, and its placement in the album makes it the equivalent of the typical Broadway “11 o’clock song” (clever!). Then “Homecoming” tries to repeat the trick of “Jesus of Suburbia” (it’s even a little longer) but not quite succeeding as much, although having the two guys not named Billie Joe contribute (and sing) a section is a welcome idea (in addition to a possible nod at “Tommy”).

In short, even taking the concept out of the equation, the album is an enjoyable romp and its opening stretch is certainly good; I’d nominate the entire sequence of “American Idiot”, “Jesus of Suburbia” and “Holiday” (a pity about the “Boulevard” part – sorry guys but Oasis????) as the best part of the album. Thumbs totally up.