Vampire Weekend – Contra [Review]
Vampire Weekend is so easy to hate. They are gentrification in musical form, unabashed cultural exploiters. Sure, they aren’t the first clean-cut, intelligent white guys to appropriate “world” music (Brubeck, Simon, Byrne), but they are certainly the most annoying. And now they are #1 on the Nickelback-affirming Billboard charts.
I should state up front that I thought the first Vampire Weekend record was refreshing. There was very little of it at the time. A-Punk was a great pop tune. The record had good hooks, crisp production, and simple instrumentation. Some have suggested that the Vampire Weekend project is really just a tongue-in-cheek take on white privilege. If so, with Contra, the joke has gone too far.
Listening to Contra is like having a hangover on a sunny day. I don’t care how happy it is, it’s too much. Slow down, try playing in a minor key, use your natural voice. Who are you, really?
Perhaps I’m overthinking the whole thing, but to me this album sounds like the byproduct of an ethnography thesis. This is a conscious appropriation of cultural styles not their own, both African/Caribbean and experimental.
First, there’s the “world” music (a loathed genre if there ever was one). The clear first point is that this music is not something that comes out of the natural noodlings of a well-off 13-year-old learning guitar.
Pollution – Black Commune [Review]
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Listen (Myspace)
If there’s one style I’d like to see find a quiet place to die in 2010, it’s the disaffected, out-of-tune, and reverb-awashed excuse for rock music that infected Brooklyn over the last two years. Vivian Girls? Yeah, I get it. Real Estate? I still don’t get it, but whatever. Pollution is the antidote. Their 2009 cassette n.s.DRUGS is pissed off and loud.
Black Commune starts with a punch to the face, and continues with less than two minutes of pummeling drums and guitars that couldn’t give less of a fuck what you think. The second track, Fuck Hope (yeah! fuck hope!) turns the first track on its head, slowing things down to a crawl as feedback sucks the song into itself. The d-beat returns on Reds, another two minute banger with an attitude seemingly designed to wake Brooklyn from its beach-bummer malaise.
These tracks are followed up by two more feedback nightmares, which is followed by the surprising–but totally appropriate–cover of “Downer” by Lush. (A 90s era indie shoegaze band from London.)
One of the best parts about the whole package, though, is the fact that it was released as a cassette, standing as a giant middle finger to the era of digital immediocrity and stultifying High Fidelity pretenders. It’s almost as if, to really get the full experience, you need to hear the shake-click-clack of the tape dropping into the deck. And that’s awesome.
Listening to Lush, you hear hints of the modern-day Brooklynites. But the Pollution cover adds a palpable attitude that today’s forgettables haven’t been able to muster. Let’s hope more bands take a cue from them.
Cam’ron – Boss Of All Bosses 2 [Review]
After a short delay, Cam’ron’s second installment of the Boss of All Bosses with DJ Drama finally hit the mixtape market on Tuesday night. Don’t judge this album based on the cover art (c’mon, Drama, step your Photoshop game up) – Cam gets back to his Killa Dipset status on this one.
Teamed with his Harlem protégé and fellow U.N. member Vado on every track, Cam’ron goes hard on this mixtape right from the get go. The first four tracks are all hot and as Cam can do as well as anyone, he’s spitting some witty rhymes.
However, Vado really does the heavy lifting on this mixtape. While he sounds a little bit like Cam’ron and has the same flow, he’s pretty smooth on all the hooks and a lot of his lines are actually better than Cam’s.
“I’m 20-something, still Young Money Mack Mainin’ / Champagne flowing / Bright leg glowing / Sour diesel blowing while my right hand plowing / And every broad glass I don’t ask, they knowin’ / I get that work back to the condo, they goin’ / Yup, they goin’,” Vado spits on “Nuthin’ Like Araab Musik.”
The Liarbirds – Cut The Slack [Review]
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From left: Logan (Drums), Andrew(bass), Zack (guitar) Listen (Myspace)
The Liarbirds have two gears: Balls to the wall and balls through the wall.
The Minneapolis-based band features driving, almost manic instrumentation on every track of their debut full-length. But unlike many other bands of the sort, they care enough and are good enough to make it fit.
Cut the Slack is an album distinctly reminiscent of a post high-school daze that afflicts our early 20’s. It sounds like the music you liked back then (if you listened to good music) except everything is more full, from the lyrics to the drum fills, guitar progressions and the singer’s voice. Growing up without giving in – that’s what The Liarbirds have done.
At it’s heart, the 14-track album is a collection of songs about everything besides precisely what they are writing about – alienation. Cut The Slack is written as a desperate bid to keep the party going, despite the growing influence of time, which they come to realize will inevitably catch them.
“Hey I hope you’re better, hope you’re making some improvements/ because the last time that we saw us you weren’t making forward movements anymore/ you’ve got the right to be crazy/ you’ve got to be crazy to be right/ so frequently so it seems you’ve got a couple of couches/ platonic relationships/ you’ve got a couple of problems a headache like God’s own grip/ you’ve got a wet paper bag from which your conscious drips and a case of jet-lag still naggin from high school trips”
Critic’s Pick: Canibus – Rip The Jacker
“In the beginning I discovered wordplay. I experimented with some syllables from the first to the third day. On the fourth I searched for the words to say – how to compress complex verbiage in the least amount of space. I was perfect at it – I mastered the tactics. On the fifth day I decided that I would combine it with mathematics. On the sixth day I became a fanatic, and I couldn’t kick the habit. I would just look in the mirror and practice. On the seventh cycle? I had to take the day off. I was exhausted, I guessed my work would never pay off. But if it happened to Him, it could happen to me. And if it happens to me it was destined to be.”
If the true art of rap is a quest for a logical proof that the emcee is a God, Germaine “Canibus” Williams has come closer than any artist in history. On several occasions.
Rip The Jacker is a surreal, sometimes whimsical display of lyrical aptitude laid over beats drawn from an eclectic collection of western-hemisphere influences.
Seemingly, the entire purpose of the album is for Canibus to prove that he is a divine entity. His other work seems to tip-toe around his obsession – but in Rip the Jacker he seems liberated to take it on full-bore. But here’s the thing – when he’s rapping about the things that really are dear to him – the countless hours of practice, the philosophers he tries to emulate, the purpose of hip hop, why he failed so miserably and why we are no more likely to succeed – we actually learn something about the man. In Rip the Jacker, Canibus combines his unheard-of talent with the kind of introspective lyricism that can only come from a man who has seen all of his dreams fall to pieces.
Like so many rappers, he is better when he has nothing. It is too bad that the world first heard Canibus after Wyclef Jean told him that he could have everything.
Old Canes Return With Feral Harmonic
I never thought I’d ever hear another Old Canes record after singer/songwriter Chris Crisci released Early Morning Hymns in 2004. Crisci continued to heavily pursue his main project Appleseed Cast and I just assumed that Old Canes was going to be a thrown away side project. Well on October 20th Old Canes surprised me and released a new record on Saddle Creek titled Feral Harmonic and it’s everything I wanted and waited for. It’s raw and honest. Loud and bold. It’s a contemporary style of folk music that pulls from influences of every type of music I’ve ever loved ranging from indie rock to punk rock. Mix barreling drums with bright trumpets, singing harmonicas and foot stomping choruses and you have yourself Feral Harmonic. Check ou the track “Trust” below and pick up their new album here.
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DC Comics’ Batman & Robin #1
Purchase | Written by Grant Morrison | Drawn by Frank Quitely
For those of you out of the loop, Bruce Wayne is dead. Long live Batman (and Robin)!
It’s an arduous task, introducing a new Dynamic Duo to the world, and the creative team of Batman & Robin # 1 pull it off masterfully. Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne’s former protégé, is the Batman while Bruce’s son, Damian, takes up the mantle of Robin. Gotham City hasn’t seen the Caped Crusader or the Boy Wonder in the months since the Final Crisis took Batman’s life. They were dark times, but that’s about to change.
Morrison and Quitely show us Gotham in a state it hasn’t been in a long time: fun. Batman and Robin (in their brand new Batmobile) chase Mr. Toad through the streets of Gotham City. Each twist, turn and disabling missile give the villain a wild ride that can only end in his defeat. Batman and Robin are back in town and crime is doomed.
This issue, while predominantly set-up, is how you introduce a new status quo. Every panel of this book is flooded with detail and nuance. Through banter, clever facial expressions and clever panel layout, Misters Morrison and Quitely communicate more about these characters and their world in 22 pages than I’ve seen since their last collaboration (All Star Superman).
The Batman’s been with us since 1939. He died at the age of 70. I can only hope his replacement, so long as he’s handled as ably as he’s been so far, will last as long.
Viva La Bat!
A TRL I Can Get Behind
It’s a sad fact that a lot of bands can’t even hold themselves together for a set longer than an hour. Of the many bands I’ve seen, only a few have been able to pull off anything over an hour and forty-five minutes. Some of those bands include Green Day, The Clientele, and of course, California punk legends, X.
The show was part of the “TRL National Tour.” The set list was comprised of fan-voted favorites like “Los Angeles” and “Burning House of Love.” X’s original line-up shredded through hits like “Johnny Hit & Run Pauline,” “Under The Big Black Sun,” “Los Angeles;” hell, pretty much all their classics. I couldn’t help but feel the exhuberance throughout the near two hour set. John Doe’s and D.J. Bonebrake’s energy was awe-inspiring. Billy Zoom, stood to the left of the stage, smiling, nodding and playing perfectly in tune. Exene even broke her usual seeming disinterest for the situation by occasionally bantering with the crowd.
Just before going into “The Have Nots,” John Doe made a comment about the song being responsible for too many DUIs and how he was happy to play it in New York, since the locals don’t drive. A fairly innebreated woman then screamed, “We’re New Yorkers! We don’t fucking drive, we take the train!” With a mix of disdain and a hint mischief, Exene looks the girl dead in the eye and said, “That’s what he just said. You people don’t drive.” She rolled her eyes and X played the song.
This was one of the most high energy show’s I’ve ever been to. There was a symbiosis between the band and the audience. The more excited the crowd became, the more enthused got and vice versa. The crowd, many of whom were well into their forties or older, were more lively than an audience at a grindcore show. There was one gentleman in particular who kept on moshing outside the pit. Despite the best efforts of those on the edge to keep him in, he still found his way into groups of perfectly psyched folks who just wanted to enjoy their beers or waters. Naturally, his flailing prevented such enjoyment. I could have sworn John Doe shook his head when the guy knocked my friend’s beer all over the girl to his right.
Other than that minor incident, the show was fantastic, absolutely fantastic. They’re playing at the World Cafe in Philadelphia on June 4 and making their way west. I highly recommend checking out one of the remaining shows on the tour (you can peep the show dates here).
Fair thee well,
Ian
Drag Me To Hell
Drag Me To Hell is the best kind of nostalgia. See, back when I was young and impressionable, I saw a movie called Evil Dead 2: Dead By Dawn. The flick is extremely, gut-wrenchingly violent; chock full of rotting flesh, blood, boils and even a dismembered hand. It’s also one of the funniest films ever made. The thing is, while director Sam Raimi saw the sheer terror involved in calling up the spirits of the dead, he also saw the absolute absurdity of the situation. Mr. Raimi brings this same whimsically horrifying feel to his newest film, Drag Me To Hell.
Drag Me To Hell follows the story of Christine (Allison Lohman), a loan officer at a small California bank. When Christine refuses to grant an old gypsy woman an extension on her mortgage, the woman places a curse on Christine. Christine has three days before a demon drags her, body and soul, into the pits of Hell. The plot is that of many a Hammer or Universal horror movie that cam before, but Mr. Raimi, aided by a well-rounded cast, play all the beats just right. There’s a fight scene in a parking garage between Christine and the old gypsy woman that is both terrifying and hysterical. The scene is a masterpiece of macabre absurdity.
In a summer of remakes and rehashes capitalizing on your childhood memories (I’m looking at you McG and Michael Bay), I urge you to check this flick out.
Be seeing you,
Ian Gonzales
