Category: Pop music

The themes, assuming we have to adhere to them, comrades, are definitely getting more challenging. For our latest meeting we had to bring something that the others would find surprising (I suspect this was Graham’s attempt for the rest of us to join him in Marillion based shame). In the weeks following our last club night I have wrestled with this idea, as in, ‘How do the others perceive my musical leanings?’ Cue much heart wrenching psycho-analysis. You see, I have had an ever more overwhelming sense that my selections for record club up until now have been depressingly predictable. Even the less likely records have been predictable in their unpredictability. So, short of going to a second hand record shop and making some random selection I was more than a little stumped. In the end I opted for Discover America, probably a blindingly obvious choice for me to bring, but a music that is so unusual that until I bought it a couple of months ago, I had no idea existed. Surely that must be surprising?

I almost didn’t buy Discover America. Although I have been on the look out for some Van Dyke Parks on vinyl for most of my adult life, when it eventually turned up in The Drift record shop in Totnes, brand spanking new reissues of Discover America, Song Cycle and Clang of the Yankee Reaper, I was tempted to leave them on the shelf.

The reason? Until recently all I knew of Van Dyke Parks was that he released a few odd but revered records in the late 60s and early 70s and that he was closely involved in the Beach Boys’ Smile project. As a big fan of Pet Sounds (see Round 14) I had eagerly bought Brian Wilson’s Smile when it was released a few years ago. Hated it. When the true version saw the light of day in 2011 I was given it as a birthday present and was shocked to find it wasn’t much better. So my eagerness to check out some Van Dyke Parks had already cooled somewhat. Nevertheless, it seemed churlish to pass up the opportunity when it finally arose, so I asked the lady behind the desk in the shop which of Song Cycle or Discover America she would recommend in particular, to which she replied, ‘Neither. I don’t really get anything from Van Dyke Parks records. Do you?’ and she turned to her assistant who agreed wholeheartedly that VDP records were most definitely to be avoided. Whilst I admire the honesty of their answers, I can’t help but question their sales technique. Surely the idea of stocking a record is to sell it!?! Luckily for me, Mr Parks and The Drift, I stubbornly disregarded their advice and bought Discover America anyway, no doubt falling for the oldest sales trick in the book in the process.

Regardless, I have quickly grown to love Discover America. But that’s not to say that it wasn’t tricky at first. In his review of the first three VDP albums, Pitchfork’s Jayson Greene said, ‘If you’ve heard any of Van Dyke Parks‘ solo records in your life, your first reaction was likely some variant on “I don’t get it.” That’s okay, you weren’t supposed to.’ In fact, the only person I know who has unequivocally expressed a liking to Discover America first time through is my “notoriously hard to impress because she is ten” ten year old daughter, Tess. Maybe that’s because she is coming to it without the weight of expectation that decades of homogeny in modern music produces in us. You see, Discover America is an album of cover versions of 1940s calypso songs as played out in the mind of a 29 year old American composer. It’s different!

The album starts with Mighty Sparrow’s own recording of Jack Palance but from then on it’s all Parks’ own interpretations. And it’s clear a few listens in that this is a work of complete reverence for the material, Parks’ tongue is most definitely not in his cheek! It’s charming stuff and definitely not an album to section up into chunks – not many of these songs would make sense on a compilation of white American music of the last few decades. That said, current faves include the Toussaint compositions, Occapella and Riverboat, the bluesy vibraphones of John Jones and the lilting ‘Franco’ style Bing Crosby. But it’s the sort of album where the favourites chop and change and the whole is much greater than the sum of its parts.  Whether Discover America constitutes a surprising choice or not remains to be seen, I’m just as interested to see if the DRC crew can see past the weight of popular opinion and join Tess in ‘getting it’ from the off.

Nick listened: Clearly I ignored the vague theme to “bring something surprising” (my records are all, bar new purchases, still packed ready for moving, so I’ve not got much choice for “surprising”!). But so did everyone else! Except Tom, who now has an exceptional track record of bringing records by artists I’ve been aware of for what seems like aeons but never got round to listening to. VDP is very much one of those – I knew he hung out with the Beach Boys and Byrds, scored other people’s records, and was generally a significant “figure” in that era of “classic” US pop/rock that certain print magazines have never got over, but I’ve never been curious enough to pick up a record. If I had, it would almost certainly have been Song Cycle, his debut, rather than this strange curio of a record. I have no idea how faithful VDP’s versions of these calypso songs are – I suspect his arrangements are considerably more ornate (orchestras not being that prevalent in the calypso I know!), but he does throw in steel drums and suchlike from time to time. It took me a few tracks to get a grip of what Discover America was doing, but by the second half I’d got into the vibe, and found myself really enjoying it. Would listen again.

Rob listened: Tom had played this to me a few weeks earlier when he was still in his period of bafflement with it. In my appreciation of music, or at least in the way I approach musical appreciation, I’m much closer to Tom’s children Tess and Kit than I am to the great man himself. I never feel the need to get underneath the skin of a record, unpick what makes it work, disassemble and reassemble it to learn how it fits together. I’d rather not know. It spoils the magic somehow.

Even if I did feel the need, I just don’t have the musical acuity of a Rainbow Snr or the critical vocabulary of a Southall. I just go with gut feeling. I found ‘Discover America’ supremely disorienting the first time I heard it. The second time it sounded like a crazy, sunny wonder. My only complaint is that it leaves me tantalised. Why is this such a curio? Why didn’t a tributary of the pop floodplain flow down from this record? How would the next 20 years have been different if our most prominent songwriters has displayed such  wild abandon and then chucked in such grin-spreading tunes?

Graham listened: When I saw the cover of this immediately concluded we were in for  something like REO Speedwagon or Journey. Not that I have have any of their albums, it just looks like the album cover that they would have.

That scary moment aside, I was very confused by this and the who/why’s/what’s it all about for a while. Something definitely not to bother too much about with this album and far better just to sit back and enjoy a very strange but ultimately ‘feelgood’ classic that I had never heard of prior to DRC.

In 2008 Colin Meloy and his troupe of troubadours attempted to lay to rest a question which had been troubling indie rock fans for some years: ‘What exactly would the Decemberists have to do to score less than 8.0 on Pitchfork?’ The answer, released in 2009, was ‘The Hazards of Love’.

It’s a proper concept album, a rock opera if you will, telling the tale of Margaret, who loses her heart to a shape-shifting forest spirit, the pair of them subsequently falling foul of his Mother, the abominable Queen. As you do.

It’s executed with verve and glee and, crucially, without any sense of irony. Meloy and co. had long acknowledged a debt to Pentangle, Fairport Convention and the artists of the British folk revival of the late 60s and early 70s. On their earlier records ‘The Tain’ and ‘The Crane Wife’ they dabbled with both song cycles and ornate folk-rock compositions and ‘The Hazards of Love’ sees them work this through to its logical conclusion.

I think it’s fair to say that the reception for the album was mixed. No-one really seemed to know what to make of it. The band had broken through with ‘The Crane Wife’ and i’m sure were expected to turn out a collection of stadium-sized tunes to cement their success and buy some bigger touring buses. Instead, this, an elaborate and full-blooded take on an outmoded form drawing in several singers to play a cast of ripe characters tottering their way through a pseudo-mediaeval narrative.

The first time I listened to THOL I cleared the evening, opened the gatefold sleeve for the lyrics,  and carefully followed along the themes and characters through the plot development. Turns out that’s the very worst way to go about it. The joy and the beauty of the record is not in the concept itself, rather in its execution. As soon as I gave up on it and began to treat it as a collection of songs, it opened itself up as  a delightful puzzle and a whole lot of fun to get involved with. The recurrent riffs and motifs that run throughout the piece form seams which occasionally erupt to the surface, coming to sound like old friends when they return. The cast of vocalists work well together but none can hold a torch to Shara Worden of My Brightest Diamond, who gives a full-throated turn as The Queen. If this opera had scenery, she’d be chewing it Pacino style.

My impression at the time was that most critics thought ‘The Hazards of Love’ was a mildly embarrassing mis-step, an indulgence from a band who had delved too deeply into their own affection for the music, the styles and the stories of the Olden Dayes. These days it just sounds like one of the Decemberists best albums, with memorable songs, great performances and a sense of a band coming together to create something in unison.

Nick listened: When I mentioned in my office that we were having a “concept album” evening a DRC, Ian (a potential future member) immediately said “The Hazards of Love!” I bought a Decemberists album once (The Crane Wife, I think – they’re still packed away for moving still so I can’t check) but wasn’t entirely taken with it for whatever reason – sometimes it’s just not the right time to get into a record or a band, is it?

So I was intrigued to hear THOL when Rob said he’d thought of it immediately too. I wasn’t disappointed; in fact I really enjoyed it, although, as usual on first listen to a record, I paid absolutely sod-all attention to the actual lyrics (Twilight-esque as they seem to be, with their tales of shapeshifting romance), but quite a lot of attention to the music, which was rich and rewarding, even when it dove headlong into prime Deep Purple Hammond-and-guitar-solo territory. Perhaps a little long (I’ve little tolerance for records that stretch much beyond 45 minutes these days), the only other criticism I’d throw at THOL is that I don’t really like Colin Meloy’s voice, which is too close to the pancreatic lost-my-dog-on-a-string moan of that guy from Neutral Milk Hotel. I’d love to hear THOL again, and maybe even pay attention to the words.

Tom Listened: We’ve had Marillion. May as well quote Meatloaf….Nick took the words right out of my mouth (thankfully not while he was kissing me). I don’t have a problem with Colin Meloy’s, or Jeff Mangum’s, voice and I haven’t ever connected the two but other than that I echo everything he said – a little too long, a little too indulgent at times, but, in general, surprisingly enjoyable, accessible and catchy…and on an initial listen much better than The Crane Wife. I liked it!

Graham Listened: Heartland lesson learnt, I just listened to this and picked up the lyric sheet on the odd occasion. Really grabbed me from the off with and immediately accessible (perhaps it had the Kayleigh factor in concept album terms?). Sad old hippy that I am, I really ‘dug’ the “John Lord’ish” keyboards and some of the guitar solo’s that I wasn’t really expecting to hear. Would take a good few listens for me to appreciate the full ‘concept’ as it were, but something I would be quite happy to do.

As a consumer of music who rarely listens to the words, let alone thinks about their meaning, concept albums usually pass me by. So it was with a sense of mild despair that I scoured my collection once Nick had suggested this as the theme for our latest meeting. It turns out, once I had actually thought about the lyrical content of a few ‘possibles’ that I own far more ‘concept’ albums than I initially thought (I put the word concept in inverted commas here because I am still unsure as to what a ‘concept’ album is). But I read somewhere on the internet – and the internet never lies, right? –  that Bone Machine is a concept album about death (THE concept album about death?) and as it is also one of my favourite albums… in the world…. ever, I didn’t ponder the voracity of the claim for too long before convincing myself that I could convince the others that Bone Machine is most definitely an album with a concept. After all, even though it doesn’t have any pixie queens or made up kingdoms, it does have locusts…just like any other concept album worth its salt.

Then a funny thing happened. As I listened to Bone Machine in the run up to the meeting, I began to hear things I had never heard before. Like…the words, for example. Of course, I had heard the words before. But I had never really thought about them and how they fitted together with each other and what they were trying to say and the like, so whilst I had always loved the lines ‘What does it matter, a dream of love or a dream of lies? We’re all gonna be in the same place when we die’, loved the way they sound and the images they evoke, I hadn’t really thought about what Tom Waits was trying to say with them. And I never really thought about how this song, Dirt in the Ground, fitted with the preceeding The Earth Died Screaming and the succeeding Such a Scream, a song whose main character (presumably Waits’ wife Kathleen Brennan) has ‘a halo, wings, horns and a chain’. It seems an awareness that Bone Machine is a concept album about death (or mortality) has made me appreciate it even more, which is quite an achievement as it was already languishing somewhere in my top ten albums…in the world…ever.

Whilst I am a huge fan of Waits, I still section his albums into divisions. In my mind Mule Variations and Real Gone belong with some of the pre-Kathleen Brennan albums in the third division of Waits’ discography. Second division and we have Frank’s Wild Years, The Black Rider and Alice. First division – Swordfishtrombones and Rain Dogs.* But Bone Machine is the Tom Waits equivalent of Liverpool FC circa 1975-1985 (as opposed to Liverpool FC circa 2012/13 – sorry Graham, couldn’t resist). Unimpeachable! It’s a parched album, tinder dry and is the most evoking of tumbleweed/dustiness of all his records. I got to know it whilst spending a year in the Australian outback and I can think of no better soundtrack or location depending on which way you’re looking at it. And although the album is riddled with death, it’s by no means a depressing listen. As always, Waits treats us to some exquisite ballads (A Little Rain ends with the devastating lyric, ‘She was 15 years old and she’d never seen the ocean…and the last thing she said was “I love you Mom”), and the album ends with the kooky ‘pop’ song, I Don’t Want To Grow Up and the sweet redemption of the closer, That Feel.

For me however, it’s the one-two-three of Goin’ Out West, Murder in the Red Barn and Black Wings that elevate the album from classic to  top ten…in the world…ever….and now that I have thought about the words, it’s even better than before!

* Of the later Waits albums I do not own Blood Money, Orphans or Bad As Me so they are currently not ‘divisioned’. I am not really a fan of pre-Brennan Waits…they lack the all important ‘clank’, and they are unlikely to ever be ‘divisioned’ as a result.

Nick listened: I know Bone Machine pretty well, but in an abstracted, ambient-music way – when I ran the film and music department of the university library we used to play this album quite often in the office (it was an unusual office!), and it was probably my introduction to Tom Waits. I’ve since bought several other albums by him, and would count Rain Dogs as my favourite, with this coming in second. I’ve never really thought of it as a concept album about death, but then again I seldom have a clue what Tom Waits’ cheese-grater-and-bourbon voice is actually singing about. So yes, a great record (I adore Waits and Brennan’s clattering, ramshackle percussion and live-in-a-workshop[!] vibe), and brilliant to hear in the company of the DRC crew.

Graham Listened: Firstly, in order to qualify my selection for Round 38, I heartily agree    with Tom that members should not be too constrained by any particular theme. Having never heard a full album by Mr Waits this was a real treat. I can’t think of an album I have listened to in the last few years that conjures up such strong all round sensory images of the types of places it was recorded in/conceived in/meant to be played in/set in etc., etc. The equivalent of the physical poetry of Dalglish underpinned by the grit and steel of Souness and Case.

Tom Replied: …but what about Fairclough?

Graham Responded:………….http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Iu7vySQbgXI

Rob listened: I love Tom Waits, but i’m not a completist. ‘Bone Machine’ is one of the two or three of his albums of the last 30 years that I don’t have so it was an absolute pleasure to hear it. I’m finding it hard to place it within the discography as for me Waits is one of those artists who just IS, like an elemental being, he just exists on some other plane. His work is unique and, as a body, almost unimpeachable. I certainly don’t have the critical tools to start dissecting it, I just love it all, like Nick Cave or Will Oldham.

I think I received a ribbing on the night for suggesting that he sounds lke he lives in a workshop full of broken instruments, but it’s flattering that Nick has appropriated the line nonetheless. I certainly can’t claim involvement in or comprehension of the Liverpool AFC metaphor which Tom and Graham seem to be one-twoing merrily along.

When ‘The Money Store’ was reviewed on its release earlier this year, most critics seemed to fall over themselves trying to explain how they had struggled to categorise the Death Grips sound (was it ‘Rock Rap’? was it punk hip-hop?) before magnanimously declaring that pigeonholing was a waste of time. Perhaps it’s only critics who worry when they can’t slot a record into a well-worn genre slot.

For me ‘The Money Store’ is a delirious, ravenous, rampaging record. It’s blunt: witness Stefan Burnett’s brick-in-the-face vocals. It’s dazzling: samples and electronics course through the album like lightning bolts. It’s brutal, both in the heavy hit of individual tracks and the pounding pressure that builds up across the record as the blows keep coming. It’s also huge fun. Try doing the washing up to ‘The Money Store’ without either dancing around the kitchen or stomping around the house pretending to be a yobbish street hustler.

E.B. White famously said, “Analyzing humour is like dissecting a frog. Few people are interested and the frog dies of it.” When I hear a record like ‘The Money Store’ the folly of labelling music seems pure and palpable. Artists like Death Grips, Flying Lotus and M.I.A. don’t belong in a set but all seem to be smashing together sounds to reproduce the noise of the urban 21st century. Why bother worrying where to file it? Just dive in an enjoy the sheer energy, insistence and inventiveness.

Tom Listened: Rob’s choices have become increasingly cacophonous over the past few meetings. Since the tranquility and grace of Lambchop, he has pleasured us with albums by Fugazi, Babes in Toyland and now this (I missed the Dumb offering but I gather that was no walk in the park either). I’d be happy to wager that he won’t be bringing Richard Clayderman to the next one!

Death Grips is everything Rob has said it is in his write up. I thought it was wonderful – messy, irreverent and packed full of interest and invention. Having said that (and we talked about this on the night), I don’t really feel the urge to own it – even in those increasingly rare moments when my still just about innocent children are safely out of earshot, I reckon The Money Store would be unlikely to find itself on my turntable as, in a similar way to Babes in Toyland, it’s such a demanding and exhausting listen that I’d need to get me some Clayderman as an antidote…and I don’t want to have to do that.

Nick listened: Big cosign with both Rob and Tom; this is as brutal, rambunctious, crazed, and enervated as described, and then some. It’s a very modern, 21st centruy style of cacophany, too, and as Rob suggests, difficult (pointless) to try and pigeonhole to the point where even trying seems ridiculous: I’d add Animal Collective to MIA and Flying Lotus in the post-millenial kitchen-sink-eclectic artists list, and there are plenty of others too, who throw seemingly everything into the mix, process it, chop it, add a crazy beat, and call it pop music despite it being really quite sonically extreme an awful lot of the time. I guess, in these post-genre times, ‘pop’ is about the most efficient catch-all term.

Like Tom, I’m not sure what use I’d have for Death Grips in my day-to-day life, when I’d listen to them or for what purpose. Of course, music doesn’t need to have a purpose; it is a purpose in itself, and when the crazy, angry clattering coalesced into bona fide dancefloor hooks on the final track, Death Grips’ purpose was brilliant.

Graham listened: The first album at DRC which inspired me to consider fitting a sub-woofer in my car, tint the windows and drive around the ‘hood with intimidation in mind (even if just going to the Co-Op). As a parent I would be moderately concerned if it appeared on my daughter’s ipod but I might just sneak it in the car to pump myself up for a difficult day at work. Fantastic.

When my brother Ben died of cancer in 1997 I had the distinctly uncomfortable experience of going through his record collection and picking through those albums that had been stacked in his room at my parents’ house. It was a horrible process, one that I really would have preferred to have avoided at the time but now, 15 years later, I treasure those records of his and the memories they evoke.

Ben and I had always been competitive with each other; whether playing table tennis or Elite, doing our ‘O’ levels or winding up our Dad, we were constantly trying to outdo each other. Sure, he was my best mate (he was lots of peoples’ best mate) but I suppose one-up-man ship is part of the territory. However, we shared a love a music and for most of our teenage lives our tastes pretty much coincided – The Beatles, Dire Straits, Queen and Elton John….typical teenage fodder! However, once we went to university and our musical horizons broadened our musical preferences aligned far less frequently. I don’t know whether this was our competitive relationship subconsciously seeping into our musical world but whilst I had a thing for Big Star, Ben opted for The Rockingbirds; I fell in love with Love’s Forever Changes, Ben with Ben Folds Five and so on. Of course there was much we agreed on, many bands or artists that were just too irresistible. Swell were one of these bands. …Well? was an album that Ben discovered and we both enjoyed immensely. And I still do to this day!

Swell are/were a four piece formed in San Fransisco in 1989. They played indie-rock. They were often mentioned in the same breath as Red House Painters and American Music Club but this was down to geographical reasons and journalistic laziness rather than any similarity in aesthetic. Swell sound (to my ears) nothing like either of the aforementioned bands. In fact I struggled to think of any of Swell’s contemporaries who were producing a remotely similar sound. Pavement? Too scuzzy and lo-fi. Fugazi? Too hardcore and shouty. Slint? Too portentous and ominous. The closest soundalike I could come up with when listening to …Well? prior to record club is Spoon, but only in as much as both bands build the majority of their songs around a briskly strummed acoustic guitar, layering the sound with clean electric guitars, often groovy bass runs and usually nimble and light percussion. But they don’t really sound all that similar, as I am sure the others will attest!

Regardless, Swell were unlucky. Their sound is immediately accessible, all the songs on …Well? are hook-laden and captivating and they deserved to sell a lot more records than they did. From ear worming its way into my consciousness all those years ago …Well? has become one of those records that always gives me that little thrill of anticipation just before the needle finds its groove. It’s one of those records I’m very glad my kid brother purchased – I just wish he’d bought a few more records by Swell and a few less by The Rockingbirds!

Nick listened: I wasn’t blown away by Swell (who I hadn’t heard of prior, I don’t think), but I did enjoy listening to Well, and sometimes that’s enough. I’ve been vacillating between the sheer existential assault of The Seer by Swans and the just very pleasant, enjoyable grooves and hooks of A Thing Called Divine Fits this week, and wondering which I prefer. It’s like comparing apples and oranges, obviously, but the enjoyable, easy-to-parse, safe-to-consume-in-company records often get listened to far more often than the astonishing, perception-realigning stuff. Anyway, I digress. Whilst I definitely didn’t get Red House Painters or American Music Club (not that I know either all that well), I didn’t quite get Spoon either, but it was certainly closer to that end of the spectrum. Joy Division were mentioned, and whilst there wasn’t the sense of present desolation you get from that band (nowhere near, in fact), there was something a little doomy about the linear, propulsive, crawling basslines that drove the songs along. And who on earth are The Rockingbirds?!

Rob listened: I don’t get Spoon, or Joy Division, or Red House Painters, but I do get a healthy dose of Ben when I listen to Swell. I loved ‘…Well?’ the first time he played it to me and I went on to love 3 or 4 more of their albums. There’s something smoky, sassy and backwoods about ‘…Well?’. It sounds handmade and warm, like getting back together with an old friend and conversing in a shared language. Which, in a way, I suppose it is.

Graham listened: I had never heard anything by the band but was aware of the name. If this had been on my radar at the time I am sure I would have indulged. Wonderfully accessible, loose and relaxed sound which would have ticked lots of boxes for me, just at the time (post ‘Green’) I was falling out of love with American bands. Will be asking Tom for  a borrow.