Lost Goes Weird(er)

My Comic Book Guy Moment, vol. 2
Anyway, if The O.C. this week jumped the shark, Lost seems to have given the shark a pair of legs, a tuxedo, and taught it to do a soft shoe routine while reciting the complete works of Shakespeare, backwards.

[Insert disclaimer here about how I love Lost, and that it is my favourite dramatic television programme ever ever ever.]

It seems almost churlish to decry an episode of Lost for being insane. After all, it started out madder than a colony of hatters who spent their teen years taking too much acid. Still, there was a twisted kind of internal logic that made tropical polar bears and deadly columns of living black smoke totally believable. This week, though, I say in my dorkiest possible tone that they have gone too far!

The flashback in this episode concerned the excellent Desmond (Henry Ian Cusick) character, and his past in what looks like London (complete with crap accents and army recruitment posters that mention the word ‘HONOR’ – seriously; researchers please). In keeping with the week’s theme of everybody being totally telepathic and charging about like Tetsuo from Akira, Desmond already knows about the island, the numbers and the hatch.

OK, I can sort of get behind that… maybe. It sounds stupid, but his recent clairvoyance has been engaging, so I’ll see where it goes from here. I suppose there is a similarity between this story arc and Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse 5. See, Desmond keeps getting thrown back to the time he split up with his gyal because he thought he was destined not to be with her. Regretting that, he gets the chance – Quantum Leap style once more – to literally ‘put right what once went wrong’(!). Perhaps he does hope that his next leap… will be the leap home. Anyway, he ends up pinballing between the moment of break up and being on the island. Like Vonnegut’s Billy Pilgrim, Desmond is stuck in time!

I tell you, this really looks a lot better in hindsight than it seemed on Sunday night. I think I’ll have to download the episode and give it a re-watch. Oh how I wish I was in Charlie Brooker’s shoes, able to phone up broadcasters and get tape sent to me. Perhaps this episode is a grower after all, and is going to lead somewhere really good. So far, all we really have in terms of black marks on the episode is a shit sense of continuity and poor casting.

As if to intentionally save my argument from falling on its face, Desmond bumps into fellow islander Charlie (Dominic Monaghan), who is busking outside his would-be father in law’s building (I’ll mention the absolutely terrifying ubiquity of Alan Dale in every US TV show in my impending Proper Lost Post). As if Charlie busking the brain-drainingly mediocre un-song ‘Wonderwall’ wasn’t bad enough, Des grabs him by his lapels and shouts about how he recognises him from the island and the hatch and the numbers and everything. Of course, everyone’s least favourite smarmy, Evangeline Lilly-dating hobbit reacts as if he has been accosted by a madman.

And maybe Desmond is mad. But still, as bad as that little encounter was, how come Charlie has no recollection of this event? I am positive that if I was busking and some Scottish bloke ran up to me yelling about an island, hatches and numbers, seeing him later on an island with hatches and numbers might ring the tiniest of bells. Maybe? Admittedly, this theory ignores how much of an oatmeal-brained oaf Charlie is, but I feel forced to give him some credit for sentience.

Best case scenario is that Charlie does recognise him and is wondering what Desmond’s (PORK PIE) game is. Desmond turns into a frothing Celtic Tetsuo as his psychic powers engulf him and it gets really bizarre, but with adherence to the compelling Lost internal logic. Meanwhile, Jack’s (Matthew Fox) head explodes as his sceptical face-twitching reaches critical mass, and he takes that annoying old couple with him. Now I think about it, the show seems to have looked away from that pair thus far in this third season, so maybe passing conversation in a future episode will reveal that they neatly died somewhere.

Or maybe they’re just in a parallel universe, where everybody in the back half of the plane didn’t end up dying senselessly.

Welcome (Back) to the Jungle


Apologies for interrupting the scheduled programming like this, and I know I don’t normally make news-based posts, but I am making an exception here. See, the new Guns N’ Roses song has ‘leaked’ and, being a big GNR fan, I have been listening to it. A lot.

Let me preface this by saying I am not expecting much from the new album, should it ever come out (and I must admit this is definitely a sign the album might be on its way). The Spaghetti Incident is something I would rather not have happened, and even the Use Your Illusions albums were pretty patchy (the classics ‘Civil War’ and ‘You Could be Mine’ aside). Oh yeah, I say I am a big fan of the band based almost entirely around the first album and the personalities of the band.

For the last couple of years, I have been of the opinion that the making of impending Axl Rose-a-thon Chinese Democracy is pretty much the greatest rock and roll story of the last decade – as long as it never came out. I will try to find a link to the story, but the epic tale of producers and band members getting fired left, right and centre, along with the increasing despotism of Rose, is wonderfully compelling. It is just such a pants-explodingly strong story that, no matter how good the album may be, the release could not avoid being an anti-climax.

So for the longest time it seemed as though my wish would come true, and the record would never see the light of day. However, with some tangible taste of the impending record, I feel it pertinent to take a look at what it means to be Axl Rose releasing music in 2007. The track in question is named ‘Better’ and, seeing as it is ‘just’ a song, with no news of lead singles or anything, it will be treated as ‘just a song’.

The opening sequence of the tune is actually very heartening; I was concerned it was a fake for a while, given the falsetto, harmonics & beats intro. Soon, though, that high-register, abrasive voice comes to the fore and it is unmistakeably Rose (or at least an inordinately proficient impersonator). The vocal melody of the verse is quality, and throughsilver is happy. There is just one thing awry at this stage.

The rhythm guitar in the verse is rather, and I will endeavour to put this politely, ‘traditional’. A simple sequence (not even really a riff, though it is in the technical sense that it is a repeating musical motif. It just doesn’t hang together like a good riff does), it is pedestrian staccato-groove stuff from another era. And that is what concerns me about the song as a whole. The lyrical content seems to concern his being wronged, maybe by people in the industry or something. The hook of ‘no-one ever told me when I was alone / they just thought I’d know better’ suggests a personal relationship, so we’ll go with that.

See, the single story thread through the history of this albums making was that of Rose’s desire to sound modern. This was a big problem considering it has taken over a decade to make. Every couple of years in the nineteen nineties the ‘cool’ sounds changed. Perhaps it is the current air of musical stagnation that imbued him with the confidence to release now? But this is just not modern.

Amusingly enough, despite Rose’s mission to sound modern, this is something that could have been released a decade ago. In fact, it is very reminiscent, in both guitar and vocals, of when then-erstwhile (and of course, current once again) Iron Maiden singer Bruce Dickinson decided to ‘go Grunge’ in 1996. He enlisted Jack Endino to produce, and protested his new project Skunkworks was a real band, and not just him and a bunch of session musicians. It wasn’t great (but it was miles better than the Maiden album of the time, the woeful The X Factor, with ex-Wolfsbane singer Blaze Bayley on vocals), but had a few really good tracks, and the next year he hooked up with ex-Maiden axeman Adrian Smith and got back to the heavy metal.

So it’s just a bit of a concern that this is so not ‘now’. As a song, it is high quality. I was disappointed on the first listen but [checks his Audioscrobbler] after some seven listens, I can report the tune is a definite grower. The trad riff gets more effective the longer it goes; that whole joy of repetition thing. The vocals are very strong, but I should hope so too, after he spent trillions of man-hours in the studio. Yeah, the song is very polished. The backing vocals are really good, the build is gradual and we get a very satisfying finish as the layered mix gives way to a mellow echo of the intro.

‘Better’ is not great, nor is it bad. I sincerely hope it is far from the best song on Chinese Democracy, or we’re in trouble. Commercially, I was going to say I have my doubts, but then I remember the biggest band in the world is Red Hot Chili Peppers and this is better than any single they have released since the turn of the century. It’s also better than any Velvet Revolver (the ex-Guns with perennial also-ran Scott Weiland on vocals) song I have heard. That, combined with the mythology of Chinese Democracy would lead me to believe it won’t be such a bust, but they are never going to make their money back on this particular investment.

2005 Countdown will resume when I have written up a particularly awkward album…

Twenty-seven


LCD Soundsystem – LCD Soundsystem (Rough Trade)

A confession: I like to write about albums that do not get major press. This is partly due to a slightly obscurist tendency to which I will gladly cop, but also because what I write is unaffected by what others have written before me. Therefore when writing on an album such as this, or Arular, I find my review is partly an expression of my opinion and partly a response to other, existing, opinion.

Such a situation is especially the case with the eponymous debut full length from James Murphy’s LCD Soundsystem; because I could not like the album as much as (for example) The Wire does, it might seem like I have negative affect for either the album or the magazine, when neither is the case.

I will say that the album suffers from the omission of excellent 2002 single ‘Losing My Edge’, a song of such lyrical charm and dynamic structure that it is one of my very favourite of this admittedly inchoate decade. Nevertheless, it is an epic monologue about the ground being lost by the concept of ‘legitimacy’ in music, as ‘being there’ carries with it less weight at a time when Youtube and Soulseek enable everybody to ‘be there’ in essence. It’s that age old problem of being into something for ages that is now freely available that we have all encountered at various points, and to varying degrees. Anyway, it’s moot because it’s a separate single.

A single included on the album, however, is ‘Tribulations’ which, while slight in comparison to ‘Losing My Edge’, is a catchy pop sing with a cool beat and predictably clear, busy-but-uncluttered production. The pop hit of the album is the opening ‘Daft Punk is Playing at My House’ which is lesser still, and rather flat to kick off an album, but is certainly adequate.

Perhaps a more fitting start to the album would have been the short, snappy punk rock ‘Movement’. While many punk rock bands of the last decade have been described as having ‘snotty’ vocalists, LCD super-brain James Murphy actually does sound like his nose is blocked in the verse. That is only temporary, and the music explodes into action for the majority of the songs three minutes.

(I apologise for this current batch of reviews being little more than a track-by-track rundown, but that seems to be a coincidence based on the nature of these albums being slightly hard for me to get a more measured handle on than I would like. Actually organising these lists is far simpler than justifying them, because the former allows the writer to rationalise a decision as ‘well, I like this record more than that one’. Writing up the list requires a tad more thought. If I was better at psychology I would make some reference to the difference between the left and right hemispheres of the brain.)

‘Never as Tired as When I’m Waking Up’ is interesting, in that it represents a strange breed of song or, more pertinently, my strange method of appreciation. I do not like the Beatles. This statement does not come from the aforementioned obscurism, but rather the fact I just don’t like their songs that much. What I do like a lot of, weirdly, is music said to be Beatles-influenced, or ‘Beatlesy’. I like power pop groups, The Apples in Stereo, Beulah et al. I even like when non-Beatles artists cover their songs (most exemplified by Al Green’s wonderful version of ‘I Wanna Hold Your Hand’). Anyway, this is a song I would describe as ‘Beatlesy’ and like the similar ‘I’m so Tired’ by Fugazi and Soundgarden’s ‘Blow Up the Outside World’ I dig it greatly.

The song itself is aptly slow and lazy, slightly dreamy in performance, and is a delightful ditty that bridges between the more active ‘Movement’ and ‘On Repeat’ very effectively. Perhaps too effectively, as I find the latter overlong and under-involving. Then again, I feel I am cheating slightly in rating such a song because it sounds made for the club context and as a result listening to it on headphones at home seems not to be optimum. Then again, this isn’t a white label 12”; the song is on an album designed for home consumption, so maybe I am right after all. ‘Thrills’ is more of the same, but thankfully half the length and better for it.

Last song ‘Great Release’ is excellent stuff. In fact, what with this and ‘Never as Tired…’ being the biggest artistic successes in terms of listening to LCD in the home, perhaps Murphy and Goldsworthy would do well to pursue the more gentle, emotional side of their music, rather than the overwhelmingly beat-driven. The slow pace of the vocal and epic stature of the songs structure remind me of Underworld, albeit modernised and dropping the straight house beat. The build is gradual (I didn’t notice it pricking up my ears until about halfway through the six minutes), and the climax is a gathering of sound that gains almost ominously in momentum, but stops before there might be any listener discomfort – this is no 1999 Mogwai. Oddly, both these songs end when the song just dies away and sounds are heard of walking off or turning things off. Maybe it’s just coincidence.

While I may seem harsh on the album, that’s likely a symptom of my decision to analyse in (something resembling) detail; it is consistently very good, and never really feels like it is dragging. I see where publications are coming from in rating it almost uniformly top 10, but I think 2005 was too competitive for that to ring true with me. It is worth mentioning that CD copies of the album still come bundled with a ‘bonus’ disc of LCD singles, including the mighty ‘Losing My Edge’ (another example of the diminution of ‘being there back in the day’). If you want to consider that a part of the album, then subtract about four from the current position.

Twenty-eight


Jackson And His Computer Band – Smash (Warp)

I was initially turned off this album because of the first song. Not that it was a bad first song, but rather because I’m sure it’s from an advert. And not a particularly good one either; I picture a long camera shot with suited people walking into glass-fronted office buildings. Glass buildings, while a Warp artist plays. It’s like a hyper-modernist vision of the future. In 1995. Damn, between this and the last Forrest review, you would be forgiven for thinking I dislike Warp Records or something. I don’t. In fact, they’re really good (I got three 12”s off them last week). It’s just a coincidence.

Anyway, I reckon the opening track, ‘Utopia’, is from an ad. It is a shame that’s my primary association for it, because the track itself is brilliant. All undulating electronic bass sounds, softened Autechre scrape-drums and what I’m going to call Prefuse Vocal Chopping (even though it’s essentially the kind of cutting up people have been doing since the days of tapes and turntables), you do understand why it got picked up for an ad. I’ve just done a bit of ‘research’, and it turns out the song is from an O2 advert. OK, no office workers, but it’s got a bubble bouncing over skyscrapers.

What makes this album stand out from the majority of Warp releases since, ooh, about 1997 or so, is the sense of fun. And I don’t mean that aforementioned Aphexpusher sarcastic (again, not a diss. One of those records I got was Squarepusher. Big Loada, to be precise) pranky ‘fun’, but actual fun. The album is enjoyable to listen to, as opposed to Confield’s maths lecturing, Drukqs’s needle in a haystack search for gold or just the nerve ending-shatteringly mediocre Maximo Park.

Back to ‘Utopia’, anyway. I was about to write something to the smarmy effect of it being the lesser ‘Utopia’ of this decade – the other being the Goldfrapp entry. But as I write – and listen – my belief in that sentiment erodes. There was, rather excitingly, a moment of clarity involved. While the majority of the song is concerned with, as I mentioned, Prefuse Vocal Chopping (PVC? Hey…), there appears a ray of divine light, peering through the glitchtronic clouds and, as it retreats back into the heavens as the song ends, it takes me with it, into the domain of electronic bliss. And why? Because that ray of light is the full vocal line that slips into the song un-chopped.

‘Have you really thought about Utopia’ sneaks through, after initial production attempts to stifle it. And the density of the track clears for a second in a smooth, harmonised ‘ooooh…’ I Google and find myriad references to this one line, too, so it turns out I’m not special after all. Interestingly, what I had thought was an old, hidden treasure of a sample was actually Jackson’s mother, Paula Moore. Something new every day.

While ‘Rock On’ is more PVC-a-go go, something like ‘Minidoux’ sounds like Mario Bros (NES version) played on a Rhodes. It’s a delightful little tune that leads straight into ‘Oh Boy’, a kiddie-voice monologue set to military drumming and synths that sound like a Come to Daddy b-side. And I love that EP. What is interesting to me is that this batch of songs, including the following ‘TV Dogs’ flow sonically free of any PVC-style restrictions. Dare I say they are unbound from rhythmic bondage? Gone is the stop-start and the Max Headroomism, replaced by rolling rhythms, rippling melody, and verse!

It seems, therefore, that such difference is totally intentional. Jackson obviously pays a lot of attention to detail in the recording and arrangement of each track, so it stands to reason the same level of care would be afforded the sequencing of the album. ‘Utopia’ and the (ironically christened, perhaps) ‘Rock On’ are almost in aural straitjacket, by the time we get to ‘Hard Tits’, the music is flowing like disco-flavoured water.

The album really picks up after the halfway point, with ‘Teen Beat Ocean’; nods to the Crayola explosion of a Tigerbeat6 aside, this song really sounds like nothing else I hear these days. There are hints of retro about the wobbly synth sounds (as if you half expect to be asked by a man not to push him, for he is close to the edge – we’d all rather he not lose his head), but the hard beats and dense layering anchor it firmly in the now. My idea about the albums concept being the gradual freedom of the music from rhythmic shackles takes a hit with ‘Tropical Metal’ stuttering onto the scene. It wasn’t such a great theory anyway. It’s a fun sort of stuttering; less like the music is being emergency stopped than it does so of its own volition. It’s like the beat is struggling to breathe while randomness happens all around it.

‘Headache’ is more in the stop-start vein, and a tad fittingly named, so I don’t know what’s going on any more. ‘Fast Life’, conversely, is a lovely little song. Chopped up string samples and female vocals combined with spoken word and disco-tinged basslines makes me a happy little throughsilver. Much like that island of song earlier in the album, the change of pace is welcome, but also serves to highlight the quality of what preceded, if that makes any sense; retro-active freshening. Maybe it takes the free flowing sounds to provide an Other against which the PVC stuff can be compared. Two sides of the same coin existing in symbiosis because, without one, the other shines less brightly.

Actually, I was walking through the railway station today when ‘Arpeggio’ came on. I enjoyed one of those moments when you become far cooler than everyone else in there by virtue of what’s pouring into your ears at that point in time. My walk changed, I blew the mind of the ticket checker with my audacious presentation of my ticket (not really, but it’s the sort of thing Jez from Peep Show might have thought), and I was well and truly feeling the love. Maybe that should be my new mode of listening: traipsing round Leeds station. Maybe not.

In fact, the listening experience got even better when I was walking home from the station. On came ‘Cold Herds Travel’ by Birchville Cat Motel, and its gradually-building drone blew my mind. That said, some of the accessory sounds made me a little paranoid, as though a demonic pram was rattling along behind me. I don’t actually think it was, in hindsight. Anyway, Smash is a quality album, but I am more excited by the prospect of this young talent growing, and delivering better records, in the very near future.

POSTSCRIPT: Woebot reviewed this album when it was newer. Read it, because it’s really good.