Big Fan

I watched Big Fan last night in the comfort of my own home, and while watching it I was amused and bizarrely pleased at the thought that people who saw it in the theater paid around $10 to watch Patton Oswalt (pictured above) not only masturbate once, but later attempt to masturbate and fail. That's as gutwrenching as anything you'll see in Romanian cinema. Please don't let that spoiler keep you from watching this movie, which has many more psychologically disturbing things happening in it, an uncomfortable look at homo-erotic sports and celebrity obsession, and a fairly dismal view of large swaths of American culture in general, but still manages to be funny and empathetic toward people you wouldn't want to know too intimately in real life.

A different kind of grind

Wow. Look at this album cover I came across while looking for an image of The Other Jody Grind's album cover. I've never heard of this band, but for some reason there's not that many good hi-res images of The Other Jody Grind, and the interweb is lousy with pictures of this album. I'm tempted to spend 30 seconds researching them or even downloading the album, but after accidentally glimpsing a site that stated they were a UK prog band who Robert Fripp almost joined, and do a long version of "Willie the Pimp," I think I'll just enjoy the album cover. If it's not good enough for Fripp...

All this has made me curious as to the origins of the term Jody Grind. I know it's a Horace Silver album, but it must have a source other than that. I know Jody's a backdoor man who loves grinding, is that what it's all about? Does the term originate in the UK or is that another thing they've stolen from us? Curiously the know-it-all internet will not reveal its secrets after a (very) brief search.

Record of the day: The Jody Grind - One Man's Trash is Another Man's Treasure

Like most people who have ever heard her sing or enjoyed her witty banter with Neko Case onstage, I love Miss Kelly Hogan. (Or as she was known at the tome of this recording, Kelly Hogan Murray. What's the story there? Ex-husband? "Kelly Hogan" just sound better?) My first exposure to her was in the mid 90s, courtesy of a dubbed tape of this 1990 album released on DB Records. I think it was somewhat beloved by a few folks I knew in Knoxville at the time, and someone must have made me a copy, but for the life of me I can't remember who. I liked it well enough, but there was something nigglingly Adult Contemporary about it to my ears, which at the time were more attuned to free jazz and pigfuck music. Things like the covers of the "Peter Gunn" theme and "Wishin' and Hopin'" always made me feel a little uncomfortable. As music, too comfortable with its effervescent state of being, perhaps. So I lost the tape sometime along the way and didn't think much of it again, until a copy of the album turned up at Hot Horse a few months ago.

It was from some radio station in Athens or Atlanta, I removed the label and can't remember which, but since the band and label were from Atlanta that makes perfect sense. I left a sticker on the back with bore the handwritten declaration "Folk Shit!" which I find amusing because whoever wrote that couldn't be more wrong. It's more of a jazz/lounge/torch song type of thing, with more rock influence than folk. Though there is a banjo on it. But guess who plays that banjo (along with guitar and pump organ)? Bill Taft! Of Smoke non-fame. I love love love Smoke*, and have a more difficult but still rewarding relationship with his latest band Hubcap City. I had no idea he was in The Jody Grind. Well I listened to One Man's Trash and now love it unequivocally. More so, in fact, than Kelly's solo albums, which I must confess my present state finds a bit Adult Contemporary. On her album Beneath the Country Underdog, she does do a devastating take on Willie Nelson's "I Still Can't Believe You're Gone," and achieves the near-impossible task of doing Richard Manuel proud on a version of The Band's "Whispering Pines," which to my mind makes her a national treasure, but some of the instrumentation and arrangements on her albums make me feel uncomfortable in that old familiar way. I'm sure I'll grow into them some day. But One Man's Trash is a lot of fun, Hogan is her usual big-throated sultry self and there's a good mix of torch songs and more upbeat tunes. Although there was a lounge revival coming down the pike in the 90s, this album doesn't sound at all dated and has little relation to something that would fit well with a Gap commercials that used Matrix effects.

*Reminder to self to tell my Smoke/Cat Power anecdote.

Yuck / Smith Westerns, Pilot Light 1/29/10

Well that was mildly depressing. As if to underscore my lax attendance at the more popular PL shows, bartender du jour Mr. Lee greeted me with a confused expression mingled with I would say a mild look of disgust. And this: "What are you doing here? Do you know something I don't." I assured him I didn't (at least with regards to these bands). It isn't everyday I get to indulge in nostalgia while at the exact same time seeing/hearing a young British band on their first tour of America. But there was a weird vibe already because apparently the dudes in Smith Westerns or more to the point their "people" were being less than agreeable in all sorts of manners, which while keeping in mind the only occasionally reliable but often downright wrong Book/Cover trope, I had already gone ahead and assumed after watching this video, which I'll go ahead and admit is the only thing I've actually heard by the band. I didn't watch this, but the screenshot gives me a good idea of what I might be in for if I do. But that's Inside Baseball, and who cares, anyway, because I just can't bring myself to not listen to or dislike a musician because of a personality defect. Miles Davis was apparently a wife-beater, but should we never listen to Bitches Brew again? (Actually I probably shouldn't be so flip about this topic, and it opens up all sorts of questions when you start talking about, say, certain Black Metal bands and their underlying racist/fascist ideologies, most of which aren't readily identifiable in the music or discernible lyrics. A topic for another day, but suffice it to say you don't automatically get the freeze-out just for being an asshole. If that were the case we'd all be in trouble.)

I thought I was doing good by the PL clock by showing up @ 11:00, but local openers Cool Runnings (1 word or 2?) were on their last song when I entered. I've somehow only heard them play once, even though I know I've been to at least half a dozen shows where they were on the bill. They play like three times a month, and last night was another just-missed occasion. Oh well, it's not like I won't have ample opportunity in the future. Then Yuck spent 40 minutes or so doing a soundcheck (I guess this is a god time to mention while they were at the Backroom before the show there was some comment overheard from them about "fat Americans too lazy to do soundchecks," but they were apparently nice enough folks aside from that rather personal, American-generalizing statement. Though come to think of it, the one American in the band is a bit on the heavy side). They have a simple 2 guitar/bass/drum set up, but they do have a lot of pedals. It was worth it, I guess, because they sounded good. The trouble for me was it was more Superchunk than shoegaze, almost every song in their set a poppy rock tune with fuzzy guitar. Nothing against Superchunk or fuzzy rock-pop, but after the diversity of the songs they put up on Vimeo — a little My Bloody Valentine, a little Galaxie 500, some Swervedriver, some Yo La Tengo and yes, some Superchunk — I was a little disappointed their show was so samey. The one slower, quieter song they did was naturally marred by the talking and general noisiness of the crowd, and that's to be expected. Maybe they expected it as well, and stuck with the livelier stuff. Their final song was "Rubber," which I like a lot, sounding good and loud live, but it mostly just made me wish their set would have had more moments like it. But for such a young band they do an impressive facsimile of 20-25 year old music, and I'm curious to hear what they might do when they divest themselves of some of their influences and incorporate new ones. Jason Boardman said the singer/songwriter guy was really into David Berman, and Jason recommended Randy Newman to him. Is the world ready for a shoegazing British Randy Newman devotee? Oh, would that it were so.

I was going to stick around to hear a few songs by Smith Westerns, because despite my bitchy tone about them earlier, the single is ok enough and I like that funny guitar sound in it, plus I was curious about all the fuss. But they took their time getting started and really after just watching them carry themselves I didn't want to give them my time. For the moment, I guess, I was more tolerant of wife beaters and fascists than snotty young rock dudes. But the place was packed, so I'm sure they didn't miss me.

Record of the day - Arto Lindsay "Envy"

I ran out of record crates and shelves long ago, so there's always a few piles of records scattered around the house. Every now and then I get the idea I need to sell some off, so I pull out a few I haven't heard in a while and ask myself "Do I really need this?" after giving them a good listen. The answer is always "No," of course, but want is another thing altogether, and 99 times out of 100 the record goes back on the shelf (or pile).

I'll admit I've held Arto Lindsay and the Ambitious Lovers' album Envy up for scrutiny more than once. Released on EG Records in 1984, I found it in a thrift store around 12 years ago and bought it because I recognized Lindsay's name from DNA and some John Zorn projects. This record didn't sound like DNA or something John Zorn would have anything to do with, and the electro drums and bass and overall oh-so '80s sounding recording put me off immediately. Not to mention, returning to his Brazilian roots, he sang in Portugese and incorporated bossa nova into the song, something I was definitely not into at the time. It sounded like a pop record middle aged nerds would love. Still, there was something eccentric and unique enough about it for me to hold on to.

Every few years I'd listen to it again, and each time something new would reveal itself. It helped that in that time I would hear more of Lindsay's solo work (including two other 80s Brazilian-influenced records, Greed and Lust), be turned on to Tropicalia and to a lesser extent the Brazilian music that came before it. Listening to it today, I'm struck by what it has in common with the bands featured on Soul Jazz's Sexual Life of the Savages comp, which surveys Brazilian post punk. More than that, it got me to thinking about the 80s fetishism and recycling that's been going on for the past decade or so, and I'm wondering if anyone's looked to Lindsay's '80s records for influence, and if so, who? (Though the one-minute percussion track "Beberibe" sounds a bit like the intro to M.I.A.'s "Bird Flu.")

Envy is that odd thing, a weird record not trying too hard to be weird. It's not an overlooked masterpiece or a touchstone for a genre. It's more a product of its time that retains its own strong identity. It's easy to imagine these songs being de-electrified and rerecorded by a traditional 4 or 5 piece rock band, but that would take away a lot of the fun.

Did David Keenan reference something I wrote in The Wire?

Probably not, but in his roundup on hypnagogic pop in the year end issue, he mentions Dwarr has been referred to as "hypnagogic metal." That's an obvious parallel, I know, and it's probably been made by at least half of the dozen or so people who reviewed the Dwarr reissue, but when Googling "Dwarr hypnagogic metal" my Tiny Mix Tapes review is the only thing that pops up, other than a blog that references that review.

"Big whoop!" you say, to which I say, "No duh!" As previously noted, I hate the hypnagogic tag, and have issues with Keenan's hypemanship. That said, I did cheekily use a term he coined, and I certainly don't think he's as bad of a writer as Youtube commenter mikeofdoom seems to:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3VawPJcbBYU
His critique seems a bit on the personal side, actually.

If Blogspot were Twitter #2

new album by @Baby Dee is gorgeous! thanks @Andrew WK.

If Blogspot were Twitter #1

OMG, turn yr car alarm off @neighbor! #headache

More blogging / going out / Bear Hands / Yuck

Like the estimated 95% (my estimate) of Americans and 89% (my estimate) of international citizens who have a blog, I haven't been vigilant in posting regularly. Why? I could give roundabout excuses involving my continuing ambivalence toward the medium, more important things to do, pets that need petting, meals that need preparing (and eating), and so on and so forth, but let's just call it laziness. Anywho, I will try to be better about it, and not just post reviews and articles published elsewhere. I mean, I'm so lazy I haven't even posted links to all of those. (Though I admit it's because I kind of phoned in those Tyvek and Swans reviews. ((Though to be fair, I phone in all of my reviews — I have DSL.))) In the spirit of my renewed commitment, I offer this rumination, independent of other print or digital sources which may or may not have paid for my opinion/critical faculties:

I'm so far out of "the loop" (you know which one I mean) I have no idea who most of the bands that play at Pilot Light these days are. I no longer go down there 3 to 4 nights a week like I used to in the days or yore, and absent professional responsibilities conferred by an editorialship, I don't feel the need to keep up with what's going on. Nor, quite frankly, the desire. There are several reasons for that, but we can lump most of them under the umbrella of "getting older." (And in saying this, the fact that most of the staff there are my age or older (holla, Bill) does not escape my notice, but whatevs.) And often when I do go there, something like this happens:

I went last Saturday to see Jason Ajemian, who I always go to hear when he's in town, which is usually once or twice a year. He's great and always up to something different, so you should see him some time if you haven't. Former Knoxvillian-for-a-minute Keith Wood was there, too, and he kindly played "Rue Hollow" after I requested it. I love that song so much I had the decency not to ask if he'd appropriated the melody from some ancient folk song. That's what it sounds like to me, anyway. PL proprietor Jason Boardman had added a band called Bear Hands to the bill, who have nothing at all whatsoever in any imaginable bent of your brain stylistically, professionally and probably privately to do with our two openers, except maybe they use stringed instruments and sing. Bear Hands are a Brooklyn group practicing a form of traditional indie rock, though I expect you already gathered that given their name. There were @ 25 youngish folks there to see the Hands, @ 6 olderish folks to see Ajemian/Wood. That's how it goes in general these days. Most shows I'm drawn to draw a dozen or less paying customers, unless it's a local near and dear to my heart, like the awesome Fecal Japan show two weeks ago, or a time-tested PL fave like, oh, I don't know, Oneida (who incidentally haven't been through in a while). Many shows I miss (as I would have Bear Hands in other circumstances) bring 2 to 3 times as many people. I bet the next time Bear Hands plays here they'll bring out 50 to 75 people. They're comers and I should add diplomatically that "They're good at what they do it's just not my thing." ("TGAWTDIJNMT")

All of which serves as a rambling prologue to say I'm actually excited about Yuck playing this coming Saturday. A group of kids some of whom I think weren't even alive when Loveless and Painful were released, they ape MBV, YLT and PVMNT and even CHVZ so very well listening to their songs on Vimeo made me feel like a wee young man again. In a good way. (And yes, I like this video. It has both dogs and female nudity.) Oh, I know a lot, too many you say, bands these days are "borrowing" from the sound and that era, and I agree with you. Normally I wouldn't care to hear such a band live. But Yuck's sound is both an uncanny facsimile of bands I like and somehow still unique. Maybe that'ss from sounding like 3 or 4 different bands instead of just 1. Maybe I'll find out this Saturday. I'm tired of typing and doing what passes for thinking while composing these posts, but I hope to have a report on Yuck The Band's live performance in a few days. If the laziness doesn't infect my bones again.

Sic Alps - Napa Asylum

Man, do I love this record. I'm more ambivalent about this review then usual, though, because I'm not exactly sure why I love it so much (other than the obvious reasons listening to it will provide you). It's one of those records I'll probably need to live with a while before the auditory portion of my brain links up with the critical/wordsmithing portion. I might even have to put it away and return to a few months later, thus midwifing a "Eureka!" moment. Do you have albums you love like that? I hope we all do. Anyway, here's the review, from Tiny Mix Tapes.



Sic Alps
Napa Asylum
Drag City

During the lo-fi/shitgaze craze that crested a couple of years ago (and keeps chugging along now, albeit to lesser blog buzz), bands were coming out of the woodwork to unleash an avalanche of cassettes, 7-inches, CD-Rs, and even some old-fashioned "proper" albums on established labels. The energy and excitement of these recordings were the major draws, with groups pounding them out as if they had invented home recording, even rock 'n' roll itself. But while there was certainly an abundance of talented musicians — The Hospitals, Eat Skull, Psychedelic Horseshit — it was unclear what some of these groups would do beyond their two- to three-minute up-tempo rock tunes, if they'd do anything at all.

Sic Alps always stood out as one of the more unique of the bunch. Having a more carefully thought-out approach than most, the duo of singer/guitarist Mike Donovan and drummer Matthew Hartman rectified shitgaze's aesthetic circularity by building on their punk and garage rock core with a sort of late-60s psychedelic vibe, falling on the dreamier, sparser side of that sound, more Skip Spence than Moby Grape, more Syd Barrett than Pink Floyd. And as demonstrated by their Description of the Harbor EP, they weren't afraid to experiment with form either, playing around with seven minutes of feedback and noise before continuing with a group of pop-minded songs averaging about a minute and a half. They always made the gauzy quality of lo-fi recording seem more like a natural component of their music rather than a mere circumstantial necessity or nostalgic fetish.

In the two and a half years since the band’s last album, the excellent U.S. EZ, shitgaze has become an amusing but quaint also-ran genre name, subsumed by the vague but venerable lo-fi. In that time, Sic Alps haven’t released anything besides a 7-inch, a split EP with The Magik Markers, and a few stray compilation tracks. This was curious from such a previously prolific band, especially in an environment where so many bands seem to operate under the music scene equivalent of “publish or perish.” Whatever the reasons for their absence, though, Sic Alps have returned from their sort-of hiatus with Napa Asylum, a fantastic album that adds new dimensions to their sound without altering what made them so engaging to begin with.

Napa Asylum was recorded with two mics on an 8-track in a basement, though that description doesn’t do justice to how good the recording sounds. Sic Alps' aesthetic was never as jarring or harsh as some of their peers, which actually matched quite well with Donovan’s lilting, sleepy voice. While the addition of Comets on Fire's Noel Von Harmonson has certainly fleshed out their sound — his guitar creates an effect like a Les Rallizes Dénudés guitar solo bleeding over into a radio station broadcasting 1960s pop — they still reverb the hell out of everything (yes, including the drums), and they still have songs clocking in around a minute and a half or under. But here they are the exception rather than the rule. “Country Medicine” and “Low Kid” are two brief tunes that feature Donovan alone on acoustic guitar, but you never get the impression that they’re incomplete fragments: he just lets the songs do what they need to do and then checks out. Meanwhile, Donovan’s lyrics are largely inscrutable — and I’m guessing largely personal, referencing people and events the listener couldn't possibly infer without context — but they often contain their own poetic logic, such as the lines that finish off the album: “It’s happening/ Or it’s not happening/ Or I’m dying on my feet/ I’m coming back for me again.”

Napa Asylum isn’t that imagined lo-fi/shitgaze 'masterpiece,' mainly because if it fits at all in that ill-defined genre, it does so uncomfortably. But perhaps I’ve set up a false dichotomy by comparing Sic Alps to other shitgaze bands. If we can get past recording equipment and sound quality for a moment and consider song craft and execution specifically, Sic Alps are clearly both miles ahead of and miles away from their peers. Napa Asylum only further proves this.