Discoveries Worth Sharing: There-a-Mims

I chanced upon this one-hit wonder jam in my iTunes today. I suppose I had never truly given it a fair listen in the past, but I had remember reading about how clever the references to individual hip-hop subgenres were (chopped & screwed, hyphy, LA gangsta rap, etc), so I just let it play.

What I hadn't realized before is that there's a theremin sample in it! You can hear it in the very beginning (0:11), but it's most prominent before the chorus begins (1:24) and later in the song. In case you're wondering what I'm talking about, explore the video below.



While the instrument has mostly been confined to '40s & '50s Sci-Fi flicks, it has also made its way into popular songs like, "Good Vibrations" (which used an electro-theremin) and "Whole Lotta Love."





Now I have a positive impression of this song instead of a soul-crushing contempt! Thanks Mims!

Jams of '09: Deadbeat Summer

Aesthetics are a fragile thing. Not that anyone can truly understand how an entity such as an “aesthetic” comes to fruition (many artists don't seem to know themselves), but somehow artists and listeners alike can tell when all the pieces of a song fit together nicely.

"Deadbeat Summer" is one of those songs that gels together so amazingly well you have to question whether the music or concept came first: In the first few bars the piece sounds like it's being played off a melted, warped piece of wax (summertime is hot, no?). The main synth riff warbles in and out of tune and, judging from the shifts in volume for tambourine hits, each part has been mixed to spill across the space a bit. By the time the snare kicks in, the whole thing feels effortless -- we've found our spot in the shade with a lawnchair and an ice pop, lethargy in full effect.

But the simplicity is deceptive! Let's skip to the chorus: the opening synth part is there, along with a secondary synth riff that floats on top and a third set of notes that's sandwiched between the two; there's hazy guitar, the bass & snare drum, the occasional tambourine snap, the bassline, and the vocals. That's eight different elements that sound more like four, all snug and accounted for.

Somehow Neon Indian has crafted an aesthetic that's so unbelievably apt for this kind of summer day it seems all too real. And yes, the music stands alone, but given how well the ideas run together, it's the kind of song you can't really imagine being about anything else -- quite the accomplishment, no?

Alliteration Monday: Spectrum

Subliminal advertising at its best.

Pitchfork should really lay off its mockery of NPR...

[Before delving into this post, I encourage you to visit the NPR Music website to hear a debate between Ryan Schreiber and Dave Thompson entitled, "Which Reigns Supreme: New Or Old Rock?"]

One lesson Ryan Schreiber should take away from this debate: it's far more fun to be full of shit than to play the straight man.

I think anyone would be hard-pressed to declare a "winner" in this affair when Dave Thompson so beautifully manipulated the direction of the discussion -- he dictated the pace, found ways to catch Schreiber off-guard, and wisely inserted more earnest critiques whenever necessary. A good chunk of the discussion was likely edited out by an NPR staffer (who seem to favor Thompson), but Schreiber still seems entirely unprepared to handle an opponent who is playing by his own rules.

To liberally paraphrase, Thompson basically argues that pre-1976 rock "reigns supreme" because of its lofty, often-chic "presentation"--a point embodied in his appeal to great rock-'n-roll footwear. In his words, bands had to inject more personality into their acts to account for a lack of resources/inspiration and were more willing to transform themselves to that end. While such an idea may be somewhat useless (how does one begin to measure the incorporation of personality into music?), Schreiber doesn't do much to negate it.

Thompson also shrewdly picks apart Schreiber's appeal to D.I.Y. ethics, noting how artists had put out music independently before punk and how the genre simply had better "P.R." In Schreiber's defense, I think Thompson oversimplifies the spirit of D.I.Y. in the late '70s (which the Pitchfork creator points out), but not without decent evidence to back his point. Namely, it's easy to ascribe "P.R." retroactively as the main factor to punk's rise to prominence, but it does very little to credit the co-optation involved--the subversion of mainstream culture in behavior and clever use of semiotics. I would be very interested to see how Thompson distinguishes the level of performance in "punk" versus the level of performance in pre-punk rock--it would seem that punk, of all genres, is acutely aware of its presentation and places as much, if not more, effort into creating an image as any preceding genres.

Ultimately an enjoyable listen though, and while I may criticize Schreiber, I think he deserves credit for putting himself out there/defending a legitimate point. I mean, how else would we have learned that Thin Lizzy could be such a peacemaker?

Album Review: V/A - Dark Was the Night

First, the good news: Dark Was the Night is a charity compilation that features 31 “exclusive” tracks from an all-star cast of indie artists. Produced by Aaron and Bryce Dessner of the National and John Carlin, the founder of the Red Hot Organization, the two-disc set aims to raise money for HIV and AIDs awareness. For only £11.00 ($15.67), you can log onto the 4AD website today, buy a hard copy of the compilation, and satiate your need for good music and goodwill all at once.

The bad news: taken as a whole, the set is pretty lopsided. While there aren’t many straight-up flops here, the gamut runs from well-crafted, nuanced pieces to half-assed, MOR covers and b-sides.

The first half of disc one starts off with an excellent collaboration between the Dirty Projectors and David Byrne, followed by a solid cover of Nick Drake’s “Cello Song” by the Books and Jose Gonzalez. As the side progresses, though, the quality slowly begins to slip. The Decemberists’ “Sleepless” is a principal offender here, failing to do much in its eight-minute runtime, while Sufjan Steven’s “You Are the Blood” tries to accomplish far too much, cramming orchestral folk, Enjoy Your Rabbit-era electronics and jazz piano into one 10-minute indulgence.

Similarly mixed results persist on the second CD, with the best material emerging mid-disc. Sharon Jones & The Dap-King’s “Inspiration Information,” offers a welcome, soul-infused contrast to the rest of the collection; Buck 65’s remix of “You Are the Blood” nearly salvages the original manifestation on disc one; Riceboy Sleeps’ “Happiness” makes sitting through an 8.5 minute song almost effortless. Unfortunately, washy efforts from Spoon, the Arcade Fire, Blonde Redhead and Kevin Drew drag on the bookends of the CD.

At its best, Dark Was the Night can be thought of as a relatively consistent, occasionally elegant affair. At its worst, the songs can feel a bit homogenous, and even excessive.

If the proceeds didn’t go to charity, I would recommend just browsing through iTunes for what sounds right. However, if your curiosity outweighs your wallet, you may as well spring for the whole set. Otherwise, just cut out the middleman and donate directly to charity.

The Playlist Post

Best Coast - In My Room

The Colorful Blob on a Monochromatic Pirate Ship

Maya Arulpragasam continues to engross me, despite my relatively limited interest in both Arular and Kala (maybe I should get a hold of that Diplo mixtape...).

In this month's Spin cover story, Lorraine Ali highlights the British/Sri-Lankan artists' increasingly complex role as a third-to-first world musician and her recent leanings to the latter designation - most notably by signing with Interscope, licensing her songs for commercials, marrying into an insanely wealthy family, and that whole "Paper Planes" episode.

Overall, Ali argues that M.I.A.'s success has been "less about assimilation [and] more about following her instincts," defending a suspect batch of decisions the artist probably wouldn't have made five years ago. Arulpragasam, meanwhile, now views herself as "polluting the mainstream, or hacking into it" and -- in a particularly noteworthy part of the article -- looked down to the occupant of her belly to ask "Do I need to turn it up or tone it down?"

Regardless of potential hypocrisies, there's no denying this all makes for a fascinating story:

M.I.A. spent much of her young life destitute in the Sri Lankan countryside. "Jimmy used to be my anthem when we lived there," says M.I.A. of the Bollywood disco hit she revamped on Kala. "For a living, I'd dance to that song and people paid me. I'd come home and bring my mom food or money. If not that, I'd go to parties and draw stupid portraits of people, and they'd give me money." Ironically, the movie "Jimmy" came from, 1982's Disco Dancer, concerns a poor boy who performs on the street for money and grows up to be a star.

For those who have followed her career for some time, M.I.A's rise to stardom only serves to complicate an already complicated, controversial picture: there's those allegations over her relation to the Tamil Tigers (including vitriolic criticism from other Sri Lankan-descendant artists), a sexist dispute over her role in the studio, and, now, a weird battle over which rap stars have more sway in hip-hop fashion that centers around a sample from "Paper Planes" (and somehow involves Lil Wayne reppin' both sides).

In short, M.I.A. has to combat misogyny, post-9/11 anxiety, cultural imperialism, and morning sickness all at once. And (as tongue-in-cheek as that sentence may appear) one must admit that the 31-year-old is damn resilient for doing so:

Some Token Mp3s:

"Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy Aaja" -- Bappi Lahiri -- Disco Dancer
"Straight to Hell" -- The Clash -- Combat Rock
"Hypnotic Planes" -- Notorious B.I.G./"Paper Planes" mash-up

One of these days...

So I'm a little late on asking this question, but which of these videos do you find more objectifying?





You'd think 40 years would work in the song's favor...

Instead we get a punch in the face -- followed by a cowgirl dance-off and a sexualized car wash in a dark barn.

Merriweather Post Pavilion is (apparently) your father

[So, in order to increase my level of post-output for this blog, I've decided to expand the content. Sound good? Good -- let's get gossipy.]

Now that the whole Chinese Democracy nonsense is out of the way, everyone can move onto the most highly-touted album of the next six months.

Oh, you haven't heard about the listening parties? Or the Grizzly Bear fiascos?

Or the trippy cover?
























Let me be clear: On January whatever, I will march my way into a record store, purchase "Animal Collective's best recording" (according to Noah Lennox), and proceed to stare at it until I collapse in joy.

And not that this reaction would be unwarranted--I've listened to an NPR Recording of the band's latest material more than anything else this year.

But we've got to drawn a line somewhere. Case in point:

An "I-refuse-to-name-this-band-because-they-are-a-joke" band recently posted a number of covers of yet-to-be-released Animal Collective tracks on their blog (if you really, really care, the link is here). Ignoring the fact that these covers are actually quite good, can we at least acknowledge the absurdity of this gesture?

Certainly, I "get" the need to cover a good song, but this is a borderline stunt. Did this band really have to beat Animal Collective to the punch?

I haven't seen such an "only-in-the-Internet-Age" anomaly like this since....oh...what was that thing...



Right! Snakes on a Plane! When a group of Internet dwellers commented upon a major motion picture before it came out, leading to an actual re-shoot of scenes in the movie.

Good call unnamed band! Let's get Animal Collective to go back into the studio and rework this shit! Scale back the tempo on Brothersport and rock that the Sung Tongs-era acoustic guitar! Release a Post Merriweather Post Pavilion!

Hoooooray!

Album Review: Department of Eagles - In Ear Park

In Ear Park, the second effort from Brooklyn duo Department of Eagles, is everything you could hope from a sophomore album: it’s dense, engaging, and (most importantly) an improvement upon band’s earlier work. Daniel Rossen and Fred Nicolaus, two former roommates at NYU, have sanded down the "indie-electronic" edges of The Whitey on the Moon UK LP (re-released in the U.S. as The Cold Nose) into the more serious progressive folk sound of Rossen’s other well-known project, Grizzly Bear.

Take one look at the production credits and the results seem inevitable – Chris Bear and Chris Taylor, two other members from Grizzly Bear, helped construct the LP. Standouts like “Phantom Other” and “Around the Bay” have the same lo-fi yet lush production that made Yellow House so memorable, not to mention fantastic songwriting. (Nicolaus’ “Teenagers” also shines on the album, typified by an infectious, treble-ridden guitar part in the chorus.)

Despite the aural similarities however, distinctions between In Ear Park and Yellow House still persist. The collaborative nature of the album is clear (both Nicolaus and Rossen share songwriting credits on every song), but the group harmonizing so prevalent in Grizzly Bear’s music is largely absent. It’s no surprise then that the band garners comparisons to the solo work of Paul McCartney and Van Dyke Parks (with a hint of Phil Spector) as opposed to like-minded groups (Beirut, anyone?).

Likewise, The New York Times reports that In Ear Park consists of songs that Rossen either found “too personal” to bring to Grizzly Bear, ideas that the band wasn’t interested in, or numbers written by Nicolaus. For instance, “In Ear Park” is about walks that Rossen used to take with his now-deceased father (to whom the album is dedicated) in a Los Angeles Park. “It was a way to put memories down on record in a way that I couldn’t forget them,” says Rossen, a good enough reason to keep these songs within a smaller collaborative circle.

Conveniently, you’re unlikely to forget these songs soon either. Find yourself a copy—In Ear Park is a gem.

Album Review: Fujiya & Miyagi - Lightbulbs

Lightbulbs, the third LP from Brighton quartet Fujiya & Miyagi, begins uncomfortably close to how 2006’s Transparent Things began: Singer and guitarist David Best chants “Vanilla, Strawberry, Knickerbocker Glory” à la “Fujiya, Miyagi” in “Ankle Injuries” as a drum beat replicates the rhythm of Matt Hainsby’s former bassline. “I saw the ghost of Lena Zavaroni,” whispers Best -- a fitting phrase given the phantasmal qualities of the song -- as if some sort of harbinger of tragedy (Zavaroni was a child star that died at 35 due to complications from anorexia). It only worsens from here.

Typifying the challenge of following up a well-received record, Lightbulbs is similar enough to Transparent Things to deny any pretense of experimentation, yet disparate enough to feel sub-par. At its worst, Things fizzled with a few forgettable songs towards the end, but had strong singles like “Collarbone” and “Conductor 71” to carry the deadweight. Lightbulbs, meanwhile, supplants short-term memory loss with saturated pap.

“Pickpocket” and aptly named “Pussyfooting” are the main offenders, the former suffering from a horrible synth overlay and latter from the combination of David Best’s voice and the word “pussyfooting.” Down-tempo numbers like “Goosebumps” and “Lightbulbs” recall Hot Chip’s electro-balladry, but substitute the charm of Alexis Taylor with shades of pessimism. Only “Uh,” “Dishwasher,” and “Knickerbocker” manage to leave a positive impression of the album, yet not a strong enough one to compensate for the other faux pas.

Even if you dig Fujiya & Miyagi’s blend of krautrock and funk, I would recommend leaving the tracksuit and Reeboks in the closet and sleeping on this one: Lightbulbs exhausts the sleek chic of Fujiya & Miyagi’s previous work to a point of agitation.

Album Review: David Byrne and Brian Eno - Everything That Happens Will Happen Today

The main flaw with Everything That Happens Will Happen Today, the first collaboration between Brian Eno and David Byrne in 27 years, is its lack of a strong, controlling aesthetic. Rewind the clock almost three decades, back when Byrne and Eno were working on My Life in the Bush of Ghosts in L.A., and you’ll find that the opposite is true: the pair began working on the project with the intention of creating something faux-cultural, music based on a time and place that was completely made up. They eventually scaled back the idea, settling on the marriage of African pop with found vocals (radio talk show hosts, Lebanese mountain singers, exorcists, et al) in what became a stunning and innovative pastiche of rhythm, electronics, and concept.

Everything That Happens Will Happen Today, by comparison, doesn’t have nearly the same coherence as its predecessor (albeit a distant one). According to Byrne, the album was supposed to be an “electronic gospel,” a label that faintly applies to the pseudo-religious lyrics (“Big Nurse”; “The Lighthouse”) but has no bearing stylistically. A more believable explanation comes from Eno, who wrote the majority of the music for the album. He approached Byrne a few years back, expressed dissatisfaction with a set of songs he had been working on for “up to 8 years,” and eventually asked Byrne to write lyrics and sing over the music. In other words, the collaborative starting point of Everything That Happens Will Happen Today is “salvage Eno’s botched tunes” -- a far cry from the ambitious raison d’etre of My Life in the Bush of Ghosts.

And the results are appropriately disappointing. Aside from a few up-tempo gems, a set of glossy, lackluster ballads dominate the album, evoking a mood that fluctuates between bland and tart. Case in point, “Home,” the first song on the album, features some excellent electronic atmospherics from Eno, but feels obtuse with the addition of an acoustic guitar and ultimately calls the Flaming Lips (circa Yoshimi) to mind. Other songs, like “Everything that Happens,” occasionally suffer by way of David Byrne’s vocal delivery, a somewhat ironic coincidence given how My Life in the Bush of Ghosts was pieced together. The only major exception to the rule is “Strange Overtones,” a mid-album dance number that features a killer Byrne melody and a bass riff that oozes in minimalist funk.

In short, Everything That Happens Will Happen Today is uninspired: the songs are disparate, the pace is slow, and Byrne voice sometimes sticks out like a sore thumb. If you haven’t heard it already, seek out My Life in the Bush of Ghosts instead and cross your fingers that the Byrne/Eno collaborations don’t stop here.

The Highest Natural Point in the District

(Click to Read)

As the evening sun sweeps over Fort Reno State Park, a local band named Evolution quietly sets up atop a six-foot-high stage in the basin of the field. A group of spectators watch aimlessly from the surrounding grass, sprawled out on blankets or standing around idly; they eat, chat, and relax as if at a hearty picnic. Despite the concert setting, there are no box offices, corporate sponsors, or vendors in sight (minus a small ice-cream truck nearby) and the sole sign of authority is a pony-tailed soundman helping the band with setup and soundcheck.

Evolution’s three members – a guitarist, bassist, and drummer – have a median age of about 13. They all attend Alice Deal Junior High, which stands adjacent to park, and it’s their first time playing at the Fort Reno Summer Concert Series, a world-famous D.C. tradition. The free event takes place at the highest natural point in the District and features a panoply of local talent.

“This is a small opportunity for bands to get started,” says Amanda MacKaye, the main organizer of the summer-long series. “There is no longer a small venue in this city and there’s not a venue that’s not a bar anymore. [Traditional venues] want bands that can guarantee a draw of some sort and if you’ve never had a chance to play you can’t really do that.”

Unlike most blockbuster festivals this summer, the Fort Reno schedule features a laundry list of lesser-known acts. MacKaye crafted this year’s line-up with such upstarts in mind, aiming to showcase as many new bands as possible – or at least ones that hadn’t played Fort Reno before. That’s not to say the series doesn’t feature its fair share of talent: D.C. legends like Fugazi, the Dismemberment Plan, and Q and Not U have all played the event before. Still, MacKaye emphasizes Fort Reno as a local starting point rather than a victory lap.

Now in its 41^st summer, the series hasn’t always upheld such a defined agenda. MacKaye notes that the concerts emerged in the late ’60s as an effort to rebuild community in the wake of the volatile protests of the time. The neighborhood surrounding Fort Reno – an actual fort during the Civil War – offered to put on shows in the park with the aid of city funding and the neighborhood planning council. According to MacKaye, any band could be hired whether they were from the metropolitan area or not.

During the '90s, and under the auspices of Sharon Pratt Kelly, the concert series was nearly lost after the neighborhood planning council folded into larger advisory committees. However, thanks to the leadership of Father George Dennis, a local priest, the event forged on by way of the Northwest Youth Alliance, which Dennis created. Students at nearby schools became a stronger force in the concert planning process, eventually rendering Fort Reno a D.C.-only venue.

And the original intention – to foster community – has thrived .

“Anything that gives people a place to play and an audience, and it’s free – how could it be anything but good?” says Steve Feigenbaum, the 50-year-old owner of Maryland’s Cuneiform Records.

“Last year, when I came to the first Fort Reno, it was just like seeing everyone again that you don’t see for a while” adds Matt Sala, age 19. “And then we’d all go up to the top of the hill after and watch the sunset. It’s like the beginning of summer, the first one, and the last one you know it’s ending.”

The previous summer was, in fact, almost the end of Fort Reno for quite some time. The National Park Service closed the park indefinitely on May 14^th following the discovery of exceedingly high arsenic levels in a geological survey – levels that were nearly 25 times the EPA limit.

Two weeks later, however, the park re-opened. Officials noted that the original test turned out to be “a false positive” after the U.S. Geological Survey and the EPA retested the soil samples. MacKaye was relieved, and even grateful.

“In a funny twist, the arsenic scare of ’08 worked in our benefit because it coincided almost to the minute that our fundraising campaign was going to launch,” she says, noting that the series’ reliance on donations. Over the past few years the event has been kept running thanks to the charity of concertgoers and sizeable donations from acts like Ted Leo, the Dismemberment Plan, and Fugazi.

“All the bands pay for free,” she remarks. “The only person who makes any money is the soundman.”

Despite this fact (and the arsenic levels), there has been no shortage of interest in playing. MacKaye reports that she received over 130 entries this year during the booking process, a task that typically begins in February. Though this is MacKaye’s first year of planning the schedule alone (she worked alongside another colleague for the past few years), she already has a set of criteria that she follows to determine eligibility: Foremost, the band must live within the geographical barrier of the Capital Beltway. After that, MacKaye keeps her eye out for bands that have female members and/or any members under the age of 18 – like Evolution.

“I love the fact that at Fort Reno we have newborns to 80-year-olds coming to see music. So I want for the kids who are coming to see something that kind of looks like them. I would love for them to see kids up on stage because I hope that they’ll think that they can go start a band.”

Along with age and gender, creative submissions also catch MacKaye’s attention. For instance, this year’s most unique submission came from “The Creepy Magicians” whose demo arrived in a hand-made wooden coffin wrapped in “blood-red” twine. When MacKaye opened it, she found the interior was lined with red fabric and housed a calligraphy scroll.

“It’s not just about the music,” she maintains. “The music is obviously important, but I want to know who you are. The way the music world has been bastardized, in my opinion, it’s done everything to remove who you are from the music. And that’s what I don’t like about the radio; that’s what I don’t like about American Idol; that’s what I don’t like about all that stuff – ‘popular music.’”

Taste aside, MacKaye encourages everyone to come out to Fort Reno, if only to give each band a chance.

“I will challenge everyone who thinks these bands are not well known enough to come out and see them.”

Plus, it never hurts to throw the Frisbee around.

Come out to see the last Fort Reno show of the season this Thursday featuring The Jet Age, Yell County, and Title Tracks. Visit www.fortreno.com for more details.

Love Jonze

(Click to Read)

Between directing groundbreaking films (Being John Malkovich; Adaptation), backing well-known skate vids (Video Days; Yeah Right), and co-creating MTV’s Jackass, Spike Jonze has produced a few era-defining music videos in his time. Born Adam Spiegal, Jonze has been making videos since he was 23 and has helmed about 49 projects since 1992 (including 12 videos in 1994 alone). His best work blends wit, spectacle, and thematic ingenuity into one sublime package, often transcending genre convention in the process. And Jonze’s list of collaborators is ample evidence of this appeal: Sonic Youth, The Breeders, The Beastie Boys, Weezer, R.E.M., Bjork, Daft Punk, Pavement, Notorious B.I.G., Tenacious D, Kanye West and more.

Here's a few of my favorite Spike Jonze projects:

Buddy Holly – Weezer – 1994



Paying homage to Happy Days and the rockability of the 1950s, the video for “Buddy Holly” took Rivers Cuomo’s power pop classic to its wonderfully obvious extreme. Jonze blended old clips from the popular ‘70s show with new footage of the band, including an introduction from cast member Al Molinaro -- the owner of “Arnold’s Drive-In Diner.” Highlights include an excellent dance solo by the Fonz and Pat Wilson’s hair.


Sabotoge – Beastie Boys – 1994



Like “Buddy Holly,” “Sabotage” also functions as a rehash of ‘70s television, this time spoofing hammy detective shows such as Hawaii Five-O and Starsky and Hutch. The brilliance of “Sabotage” is its ability to maintain kinesis without any actual storyline – a testament to the frenetic editing (presumably by Jonze). And the Beastie Boy’s fake mustaches don’t hurt either. (Fun fact: Jonze’s one-time beau, Sophia Coppola, conducted the fake interview at the beginning of the video).


California – Wax – 1995



“California” serves as a stark contrast to “Sabotage” given that it’s done in one long take and occurs in slow motion (kind of like “The Sweater Song,” which basically gets honorable mention). It’s hard to take your eyes off of the blazing runner during the video's two minute duration, even to notice Axl Rose's cameo appearance. The apathetic girl shown at the end is a wry, charming touch for this banned-from-MTV video.


Elektrobank – Chemical Brothers – 1997



It may just be Olympic fever, but there’s something about “Electrobank” that makes gymnastics seem fascinating. Perhaps it’s the impressive flips, storyline, or throwback coach that make the video so immediate. Or maybe the cinematography does the trick for me (see: 2:39-2:43). Okay, I lied -- it’s the ribbon wand. Who knew such a frivolous thing could look so epic?


Notorious B.I.G. ft. 112 – Sky’s the Limit – 1997



Of the Spike Jonze video’s that feature children (including “Ricky’s Theme” by the Beastie Boys and “Y Control” by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs), “Sky’s the Limit” does the best job of parodying its respective genre. “Parody” may be a strong word given that Bad Boy Entertainment contracted Jonze to make the video after Notorious B.I.G.’s death in early ’97, but the music video still draws attention to the somewhat childish nature of hip-hop materialism and showmanship. Then again, the piece also invokes Biggie Small’s loss of innocence (he raps: “I mean loyalty, niggaz bought me milks at lunch/The milks was chocolate, the cookies, buttercrunch/In here, eyes crossed from blue and white dust/Pass the blunt”) and recalls a time when he had less money and, yes, less problems.


Praise You – Fatboy Slim – 1998



In truth, I’m not a huge fan of this video. What I love is the backstory: The head of the Torrance Community Dance Group (the group in the video) is none other than Spike Jonze himself working under the pseudonym Richard Koufey. According to Wikipedia, the idea sprung from a joke video that Jonze sent to Fatboy Slim (Norman Cook) after Jonze was unable to work on a project for “The Rockafeller Skank.” Sure enough, the joke spawned a full-blown project, eventually landing Jonze with three MTV Video Music Awards (Breakthrough Video, Best Direction, Best Choreography) and a live performance at the award show proper. Spurred by unexpected success, the episode became the subject of Jonze’s 1999 mockumentary Torrance Rises. (Fun fact: Though the bystanders in the video are unawares of what’s going on, Fatboy Slim can be seen laughing in the background).


Weapon of Choice – Fatboy Slim – 2000

Watch.

Let me know when you convince Christopher Walken to tap dance for your video. Then we’ll talk.


Y Control – Yeah Yeah Yeahs – 2004



Easily the darkest of the bunch (though not of Jonze’s entire filmography), “Y Control” traverses a children’s dystopia not unlike the Lord of the Flies island or a twisted version of Neverland (Karen O as Wendy anyone?). If “Sky’s the Limit” embraces a puerile innocence, then “Y Control” seeks to wreck it. How? Dead dogs, amputations, and Sesame Street allusions. Yikes.

Show Review: Mission of Burma - Versus (Don't Look Back)

Let me begin with a crass generalization: Until this past Saturday, Mission of Burma was basically like the Beatles for me. That is, both existed on the plane of myth – heralded acts of yore preserved by their discography, books, films, and oral histories; stamped as “influential” by a generation that is not my own. The disparities between the two acts are myriad (you were forewarned), but those fabled auras persist, albeit in substantively different degrees: Mission of Burma is a band that was important to the advancement of indie rock; the Beatles were a band that was important to the advancement of music, period.

While the ’60s are long gone (though still being processed by many), “indie rock” is still in the preliminary stages of being historicized. Check Amazon.com and you’ll only find a handful of titles that deal exclusively with “indie music” history rather than as a chapter in a larger work about rock. The reality is that the genre is still relatively new (born in the ’80s and raised in the ’90s) and didn’t receive much attention until Nirvana hit it big with Nevermind (which still emphasized the label “grunge” instead of “indie”). Most of American indie history is still wrapped up in fanzines and recordings rather than well-publicized events (i.e. Woodstock, Altamont), documentaries, or MTV.

While that may be frustrating for anyone that wants to learn more, it also offers compelling consolation – these bands are still around. For instance, of the 13 bands that Michael Azzerad covers in Our Band Could Be Your Life: Scenes from the American Indie Underground, 1981-1991, five are still touring together in their original or near-original manifestations (Mission of Burma, Sonic Youth, Dinosaur Jr., Butthole Surfers, Mudhoney) whilst the rest of the bands still have members that are pursuing other projects (Black Flag, The Minutemen, Minor Threat, The Replacements, Hüsker Dü, Fugazi, Big Black, and Beat Happening). Though my introduction to Mission of Burma began as a closed chapter in a book, they fortuitously reunited in 2002 and have been making music ever since.

Aurally speaking, the band offers a burly, anthemic brand of post-punk, not unlike early Wire or a more melodic Gang of Four. In addition to the core members (guitarist Roger Miller, bassist Clint Conley, and drummer Peter Prescott), the group also features a tape manipulator (originally Martin Swope, replaced by Bob Weston since 2002) who provides loops of the band as they play and other found sound – an idiosyncratic addition to the music. The Boston quartet’s early career spanned the start of the 80s (1979-1983) with an EP, an LP, and a live album: Signals, Calls, and Marches, Versus, and The Horrible Truth About Burma respectively. Like their contemporaries, they were toted as a ferocious live act, though perhaps to their detriment -- the band eventually disbanded due to lead-guitarist Roger Miller’s hearing problems.

Now a full twenty-nine years after their formation, the band is currently on a jaunt of the eastern U.S. showcasing Versus as a part of the Don’t Look Back Series, which has featured the work from the likes of Sonic Youth, GZA, The Stooges, Belle & Sebastian, and more. One of their shows took place at the Black Cat in Washington D.C. this past Saturday, which I had the opportunity to attend.

I admit that while I had listened to band’s early discography and watched their DVD (Not a Photograph), I still wasn’t sold on their importance. The music is certainly unique, but not necessarily enjoyable or moving; I’ve always felt that Versus was one or two tracks too long. Seeing them live seemed like the necessary litmus test to form a definitive opinion.

This decision proved to be a wise one. Mission of Burma took to the Black Cat stage around 11 PM and proceeded to rip through Versus like they were in their 20s, pleasing old fans and making new believers in the process. In the live setting, the distorted assault of Versus had a bona fide opportunity to amalgamate, using the walls of a small club to its advantage. Anthems like “Secrets” and “That’s How I Escaped My Certain Fate” felt unreal between the crunch of guitars, tape tricks, and energy of the band -- Clint Conley’s bug-eyes and fervent mien alone compensated for the ticket price in full.

In other words, the music suddenly justified its own mystique; this band became worth having a chapter about in a book, a film dedicated to it, whatever. And, somewhat ironically, I now have the opportunity to add to that fabric of influence that was originally presented to me in black and white. Mission of Burma will never have the far-reaching appeal of a band like The Beatles, but they certainly have earned their place in the pantheon of early (and reunited, no less) American indie rock bands. Plus, they put on a better live show than the Beatles ever had the chance to.

Roger, Clint, Peter, Martin and Bob: consider me an unqualified fan.