One of my favorite musical sub-hobbies is re-imagining albums as they might have been. It’s not because I think the artist did wrong, it’s more just a way for me to bend the artist’s output to fit around my taste even better. I’ve re-done everything from Radiohead’s A Moon Shaped Pool, which was originally tracklisted in alphabetical order, to Brand New’s Science Fiction. However, my favorite album restructuring has to be the one I did years ago for Viva La Vida and Prospekt’s March, which I happened upon while cleaning out some old files on my PC. The LP (VLV) and the bonus follow-up collection (PM) are each superb in their own right, but in blending the best of them, you get a truly special – dare I say perfect – pop/rock record. Chances are if you’re not a huge Coldplay nerd I’ve already lost your attention, so I’ll cut through all the fanfare and just get right down to my playlist and the reasoning as to why I structured it the way I did.
The album begins with “Life in Technicolor II” – I chose this version because it is more fully fleshed out than its instrumental counterpart. The band stripped away the vocals from the original version “Life in Technicolor” in 2008 because it sounded too much like “an obvious single”, but I much prefer the full bodied track with Chris Martin’s stunningly beautiful melodic arc. “Viva La Vida” fits in nicely early…
I feel a certain sort of pride in knowing that the country I came from produced an artist like Nick Cave. It’s a feeling invariably mixed in with a kind of disappointment towards a lot, though far from all, of the music we’ve produced otherwise, and borderline bewilderment at how a country composed (as Australia is) 95% of quiet rural towns where nothing ever happens and there’s nothing to do produced an artist like this. An artist who somehow drew together like-minded art students like himself to bang out some of the craziest post-punk ever put to record with The Birthday Party; an artist who adapted like a chameleon to the bluesier, folksier talents of Blixa Bargeld, Thomas Wydler and the dearly missed Conway Savage in the 90s to create stunning albums that many justifiably consider his greatest work; an artist who can give us the wounded, desperate baroque love songs of No More Shall We Part in the same decade he hammered out some dirty garage rock with Grinderman and Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!!. In short, sometimes I wonder if Nick Cave was a total fluke.
If so, I’m happy to number one of the greatest living songwriters as my country’s lucky dice roll; it’s a distinction I’d award not just for the sheer breadth and consistency of his back catalogue, but because of Cave’s peerless ability to conjure an entire world with his words. Cave’s worlds aren’t a dark mirror reflection of our society or any cliche like that.…
First thing to note: I won’t pretend to be able to analyze the hype phenomenon here (though hopefully I can offer some insight into why you might enjoy this album; at any rate, definitely give the two reviews a read). Rather, I want to delve into some specific themes that particularly endear Clairvoyant to me — its portrayals of love, spirituality, and vengeance.
The most central component of Clairvoyant is love — specifically, love without boundaries, universalized love, the sort of love that brings solidarity and acknowledgement of some shared humanity. Everyone involved in the transmission and reception of this message (i.e. the band and the listeners) is, I think, aware of the very idealized nature of such love; and to be sure, it’s never presented as anything easily attained (or even attainable at all in full). But if anything, Clairvoyant is a dogged pursuit of that ideal, a blunt confronting of the bitterness, loss and violence that inevitably precludes it. The religious allusions (often but not exclusively to Christianity), though somewhat ambiguous in attitude, lend more context to where the ethos of Clairvoyant comes from: within the album, Christianity is variously a cleansing force, a mechanism of rebirth, but also prone to corruption. “Contaminature” sings of “birdcages lined with Bible verses” — the implication could be that the desecration of the religion is a pitiable thing, but perhaps it’s a more general comment on hypocrisy in the political climate in which State Faults (who happen to be American) compose.
At any rate, the spiritual dimension of Clairvoyant is evident. The albumdoesn’t…
One of the very first things I remember loving was blink-182’s “The Rock Show”. Yeah, I was like five at the time, young as shit blah blah blah, but that put me right in the targets of blink’s music. I was the archetype of the demographic that found “The Rock Show” a refreshing change of pace from MTV’s usual fare, which at the turn of the millennium was Coldplay’s “Yellow”, Coldplay’s “Trouble”, a few spins of U2’s “Beautiful Day” and then “Yellow” again. “The Rock Show” was nothing if not a gear shift: it was short, brash and stupid, it demanded to get stuck in your head, Tom spat on the camera in the video. To me it was cool as all fuck.
I lead with this partly because “The Rock Show” is blink’s best single – one of the best singles of the 2000s, really – and partly because there’s no other way to broach the topic of Enema of the State than via what it means to the listener personally, subjectively. From the outside, it’s not hard to see why this is disposable, trashy music to some: pop-punk in general is the most maligned genre, outside of those that actually deserve it like fucking nu-metal. Pop-punk wants to get inside your head and stay there at any cost – the best pop-punk bands understood that it was a multi-approach task, pulling together not just the best hooks but the best production, the best instrumentals, and every now…
Nobody else alive can do what Childish Gambino is doing. It’s not a matter of outstanding talent in any one area: he’s far outranked at rapping by Earl, Danny and Vince, can’t dominate a singing feature like Anderson .Paak, hasn’t yet pulled together a concept album the likes of which make big waves in the scene nowadays. But the fact remains: that thing he does, that he did demonstrably, mesmerisingly, ridiculously at Coachella last weekend, is one of a kind.
I think his closest compatriot was actually Mac Miller – another rapper who, initially considered kinda embarrassing to listen to, pulled himself up through a scattershot spread of talent in basically every area. Up into something that looked from the ground like a genuine higher calling. Gambino’s mention of Mac’s name in the show’s quiet pause before an emotional “Riot” gives me hope that he thought the same. Or maybe he was just reading the room, feeling out that the crowd would be receptive to some tributes to fallen brothers – it’s hard to begrudge him that.
Donald Glover the man is brilliant because it seems like he can do everything, but Childish Gambino the artist is incredible because at any moment he might do anything. For example, he can debut a new song at Coachella with no words in English, a primitive tribal ritual which whips the crowd and striking team of backup dancers into a circle pit that feels seconds away from either transcending music entirely or…
“Untitled” wouldn’t just have improved Noonday Dream if it had been recorded for the album, it’s downright essential to its entire tapestry. The song ties together an astonishing amount of this dreamy, impressionistic LP – clarifying “Towing the Line”‘s rookery-as-metaphor, contrasting the closing of “Murmurations” with its celebration of sight, unnervingly foreshadowing the ‘something in the canopy’ in “The Defeat” which makes Ben ruminate on death like the birch tree in “Untitled”. There’s actually something weirdly fitting about the thematic, like, key? to an album this distant and unaccommodating being impossible to find outside of a couple YouTube live vids, which makes you wonder if it was sidelined for giving away too much of the album’s thematic tissue. Then again, this is the dude who never released “Keiko”, so chances are he’s just fucking insane with this ‘dropping his best music’ stuff.
The definitive version of “Untitled” thus far, in this writer’s opinion.
Whatever. “Untitled” is a gorgeous piece of work, often played as an intro to “The Defeat” in live shows as above. It’s almost more powerful to read it poetically than it is to hear the words sung out loud. Birch tree lost its branch one day in violent winter / I said it was grieving, you said ‘it don’t feel nothing / I bet you think everything’s in its rightful place – that sentiment is man’s disgrace’. Howard’s lineage of imagistic lyrical masters in the folk scene – Cohen, Dylan, Drake – is…
I used to be so sure “I Could Be Anywhere in the World” was the one. I mean, who wasn’t, right? As far as stadium-ready, skyscraper-chorus bangers go it’s downright flawless, and George Petit’s trapped-animal screeches never ceded more gracefully to Dallas Green’s highschool-fantasy of a voice. I also nearly gave the spot to “Boiled Frogs”, putting aside for the moment that Crisis is borderline perfect and any song could have made it. But “Rough Hands” has its praises sung less frequently than those songs despite arguably deserving more.
First off, it’s as perfect a closer as you could ask for on Alexisonfire’s most balanced album. Unlike “Happiness by the Kilowatt”, which is basically Petit featuring on the first City and Colour song, “Rough Hands” sees the whole band getting in on the fun. Within the first few seconds, a gentle piano tinkle gives way to a brooding guitar which chugs underneath the whole song, though the keys return to accompany Green as he establishes the scene. Petit’s entrance in the second verse is a downright heartstopper – partially thanks to the lyrics which I’ll address in a minute – but once again Alexisonfire go all out on a hook with all three vocalists jostling for attention. It’s like a well-scripted and extremely yellable play: Green, our honey-throated voice of reason, desperately explains how his heart’s been sealed with rust while the gravel-and-whiskey-stained tones of Wade provide a balanced, harshly objective assessment of the situation – “two people too…
Inspired recently by some quality discussions in the Leaked Demos 2006 review thread concerning possible variations of the 2006 alt-rock classic The Devil and God Are Raging Inside Me, I decided to piece together this little beauty. It’s not “The Best Possible Version of TDAG” – as in, the best demos subbed in for the worst album tracks – but rather: The Devil and God Are Raging Inside Me: Reimagined. It’s what the album might have sounded like if they took a stripped back, acoustic approach. I realize that (1) it is not better than the actual album and that (2) this is more or less just the 2006 Leaked Demos, but it provides an intriguing twist on the album’s overall aesthetic. It’s got a (mostly) chilled out vibe, like TDAG stretched out as to feel less abrasive, and more soothing/flowing/whimsical. There are a handful of alternate takes on the traditional songs, and I feel like this works together exceptionally well as a cohesive whole, in the order I’ve selected below. I’d encourage anyone who’s willing to go ahead and give this a listen. If you’re not comfortable with it, and/or are not okay with listening to this band anymore, I understand – but for fans who still can’t tear themselves away from the music behind all the drama and misdoings – I do think that this will strike a chord that perhaps no other personally-curated Brand New playlist could. Many of these songs are not available on Spotify or…
I don’t really know what the impetus for writing this was, but in case you were at all curious: one of my favourite late-era Weezer tracks sounds like Rivers Cuomo spent a couple hours dissecting millennial tumblr blogs then tried to write a Killers song. If that sounds like a recipe for absolute trash, well, fair enough – and “Trainwrecks” hails from the much-maligned (and half-great) Hurley, which means I’m starting off on the defensive here. But, like all great late-era Weezer songs, “Trainwrecks” isn’t hobbled by it’s potentially bad aspects but all the better for rising above them.
A stomping one-two rhythm section sees Pat Wilson and Scott Shriner largely out of the limelight, and while Brian Bell keeps the guitar-work simple, he supplements it with a fantastic warbling synth that’s less “Take On Me” than mid-era Cure. But it’s a genuinely great Rivers vocal sells the whole thing; he snarls “you don’t keep house and I’m a slob / you’re freakin’ out cos I can’t keep a job” with the vitriol of an actual 20-year-old, and sells the blink-and-you-miss-it joke – “we don’t update our blogs, we are trainwrecks” – with the deftness of a guy who’s been making jokes about being a dumbass kid most of his career.
When Rivers pushes up into to a scream, leading into an honestly moving climax of “that’s the story of our lives, we are trainwrecks”, it’s a forcible reminder that the man’s indomitable stream of crazy good melodies…
Welcome back to the greatest show on the internet!
The SMA’s have returned!
Duh – Sowing’s Music Awards? It’s cute that you pretended to forget – it’s only the biggest name in sputnik user profile, end-of-year, blog-based award shows. It’s kind of a big deal.
So anyway, after a one year absence, the SMA’s are back in full force to rock your world. Forget the Grammy’s – they’re a joke. Teen Choice Awards? God help us. This is where you want to look for the best music of 2018: A place where only exceptional music earns the spotlight, and only the very best wins (Well, unless it’s one of the worst of the year categories – a brand new feature! But I won’t give anything else away.)
There’s a plethora of fun categories this year, but no award is more coveted than the seriously cool shit AOTY trophy [pictured below]. Low Roar, Sufjan Stevens, and Yellowcard (lol) have all come away with it before, and last year it would have been Manchester Orchestra. In the meanwhile, we’ve seen distinguished nominees such as Radiohead, The Antlers, and Fleet Foxes walk away empty-handed. It just goes to show that I don’t give a shit, and this is my show.
I’m still accepting offers to host the show. Judio (remember him? wasn’t he a contributor or something?) still has permanent dibs, but seeing as…
A lot has happened since the release of Brand New’s presumed swan song, Science Fiction. Released just about one year ago (August 17, 2017), the record was initially received to widespread acclaim. It shot to #1 on the Billboard chart, a first in band history despite nonchalantly dropping the album – unannounced – after an eight year absence. It garnered rave reviews. Noisey published an article entitled I Will Fight for Brand New to Be Crowned the Best Band of a Generation. Pitchfork named it Best New Music. The list of accomplishments go on and on. We all know how fleeting that success was though; Brand New’s legacy came to a screeching halt on November 10th when allegations of sexual misconduct arose against front man Jesse Lacey, which were all but confirmed by him a day later when he issued a lengthy response that vaguely acknowledged wrongdoing ( “I am sorry for how I have hurt people, mistreated them, lied, and cheated…”), spoke on the help he has sought since the time of those actions (the claims are from when he was 24…Lacey is now 40), and spoke on repentance (“The fact remains that none of us get to put a wall up between who we are and who we were. I need to earn forgiveness”). Then, just like the eight years that led up to Science Fiction, the band went radio silent. And so did most of their fans.
So why dredge this topic up again? It’s not to force victims to relive their anguish, and it’s…
The topic of enjoying and supporting artists of questionable moral reputation is one that I often find myself dwelling upon and discussing with others. The variety of takes on the subject are wide and interesting and, unlike a multitude of other topics, a large amount of these positions are thoughtful and sensical. The topic itself is rooted in concepts of personal ethics, the place of art in society, and how much the artist’s views influence their own work, all of which are thought provoking topics on their own. Yet, no one can objectively say how we should feel and which art should strike us as worth our time (heaven knows Sput has tried…). Yet, still, the topic is endlessly interesting to me, as it’s one that encompasses so much of how we, as people, view the world around us.
At what point does an artist’s actions overshadow their art? Are more personal records more susceptible to being tainted? How much does one’s opinion stem from their own personal morals? Such questions are ones I see being flirted with and danced around often, evolving a specific instance into a much broader topic. Yet, in terms of answers, I somewhat draw a blank. Instead, these questions lead me to even more open thoughts, such as “where do we draw the line” (I’ll be the first to admit said line can be blurry for me) and “can we even justify something as subjective to what messages and frequencies resonate…
Now this is just creepy. There’s such an unsettling vibe to this whole thing, from the band name to the artwork to the massive industrial groove beat that throws me all the way back to The Downward Spiral. Oh, and those shrill, shouted vocals, followed by by the low, distorted Frank the Rabbit (Donnie Darko) spoken passage. Yikes. This thing just feels monumental. I get the feeling from the tracklist that there could be some serious political vibes on this thing as well. The band itself has 25k Facebook likes, so this is very much a fringe “under the radar band” (sure, they don’t have hundreds of thousands of followers)…but they have only released one album (as far as my knowledge and a cursory google search can tell) and it was all the way back in 2010. Apparently, Gate of Grief has been 7 years in the making. I have a feeling it will be well worth the wait, and one of those albums that catches everyone off guard when it comes out of nowhere. Consider me as hyped as I’ve been for anything so far in 2018.
The first things which interest me on every play of this album are the parallels between Kids See Ghosts and Pusha T’s DAYTONA. Both albums begin with a slow, surgical verse from Pusha delivered nearly a cappella; both move to a foot-stomping Track 2 built around vintage-sounding guitars with a hint of psychedelia; both repurpose soundbites with positive intentions and turn them to their own twisted ends. (To that last point, “Come Back Baby”‘s flip of Mighty Hannibal’s anti-drug “The Truth Shall Make You Free” as an intro to, uh, a drug song is one of Kanye’s best black comedy moments, while “4th Dimension”’s creepy sample is where the album veers closest to its surreal cover art). This isn’t a direct one-to-one comparison, though, and it’s the divergences between the albums which colour them as much as their similarities. While DAYTONA doubles down on Pusha’s ice-cold raps in its second half, Kids See Ghosts starts to resemble a more complete ye in its emotionally vulnerable second half, when the two rappers begin an unexpected, touching reckoning with their insecurities and mistakes.
This is why a moment which many have justifiably rolled eyes at, namely Cudi’s extended repetition of the chorus at the end of “Reborn”, is to me the most important on the album. This more than anything is music of reclamation – “Freeee” reclaims a line 070 Shake introduced to the project as an ode to emotional numbness and turns it to joyous proclamation, “Cudi Montage” reclaims Cudi’s…
I must confess that this is not my idea; having recently come across Tom Breihan’s ‘The Number Ones’ column for Stereogum, and in turn, Tom Ewing’s ‘Popular’ column for Freaky Trigger, I felt inspired to approach the format from my own geographical perspective; that is, review every single to reach number 1 on the ARIA Charts/Kent Report, and assign a numerical grade from 1-10. In the interest of brevity (and some pertinence), the column shall begin from July 1974, the date in which the initial Kent Report was first published commercially, and work forwards from there. Dependent upon time constraints and general interest, publishing of these articles will, similar to Ewing and Breihan’s columns, be daily. And now…
Daryl Braithwaite – “You’re My World”
6 January – 20 January 1975 (3 Weeks).
Perhaps one of the most underrated delights of exploring a history of Australian pop music is that I can accord some attention to songwriters that have either had a minimal presence in the US and the UK, or just plainly didn’t make much of an international dent to begin with. Daryl Braithwaite is one of those performers; having fronted Sherbet, he produced some of Australia’s biggest anthems including “Summer Love” and “Howzat,” whilst topping the charts in his own right with “One Summer” and “The Horses.” As an inductee to the ARIA Hall of Fame, he’s a national treasure; to those North of the equator, he’s Daryl Braithwaite.