One Beat

Band: Sleater-Kinney
Album: One Beat
Best song: "Combat Rock" is brilliant. "Far Away" is relentless.
Worst song: "Pristina" is just OK.

In the wake of the Sept. 11, 2001 attacks, a lot of musicians did a lot of fund raising. I seem to remember Bruce Springsteen doing a lot of benefit shows. Some bands toured and gave money.

A few bands, though, took to the post-Sept. 11 world in a different way. J. Mascis released Free So Free, touching on politics in way unforeseen in his career to that point. Cat Power -- albeit nearly a year and a half later -- released You Are Free, her most grown up record to date.

Sleater-Kinney, already an overly political band by way of feminism, took to the studio. And with it, the band put out its best-reviewed album (a 9.1 at Pitchfork!). Examining the full spectrum of the political reality, One Beat takes on George W. Bush, the PATRIOT Act and the feaar that econcompassed the nation in early 2002.

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One Beat has requisite S-K landmarks. Carrie Brownstein's jaunty chanting on "Oh!" echoes the danceable fun of The Hot Rock's "You're No Rock and Roll Fun." "Sympathy" is quick and jerky, punking around. "Step Aside" is classic feminism rock. And of course, Corin Tucker's operatic wail, sounding something like a female Bruce Dickinson or Rob Halford.

But what makes One Beat stand out is the complexity the band embraces, both musically and lyrically. Moving away from straight up punk music, the band embraces a new math rock effort while also channeling their inner rock goddesses. Tucker's and Brownstein's guitars dance around like a Don Caballero number while turning up the collective volume.

The results are nothing short of epic. "Light Raily Coyote" is the cowboy song on the record, with Tucker describing the Oregon landscape over a constant crescendo of guitars and Janet Weiss' cymbals. "O2" is an S-K song in Superchunk clothing, with an emoting vocal, a solo-y riff and upbeat rhytymn.

The lyrical complexity isn't a first for the band, but the confluence of events make for the band's most compelling words. Tucker spent most of 2001 with her newborn and so was written the emotionally wrought "Far Away." Behind a railing guitar, the song's lyrics are moving and evocative ("7:30 a.m., nurse the baby on the couch/then the phone rings/'Turn on the TV'") and eventually turn on our leadership ("And the president hides
while working men rush in/to give their lives"). Unlike many punk bands, Tucker's lyric is complex enough to be adult and yet easy uenough to understand. "Funeral" certainly isn't directly about Sept. 11, but evokes the death and sadness felt on the day.

The album's brilliant centerpiece is "Combat Rock." The song's darting guitar line borrows from Modest Mouse while Weiss' drum line takes from a military procession. The song's lyrics take on a preduitive quality as Tucker and Brownstein rail against the cultural lemming-ness of the U.S. in the post-Sept. 11 world. The first chorus intones the fearmongering from the mainstream press and politicisans:

Hey look it's time to pledge allegiance
Oh God, I love my dirty Uncle Sam
Our country's marching to the beat now
And we must learn to step in time

Calling skepticism "treason" and directly attacking Bush's instructions to shop ("Show you love your country go out and spend some cash/Red white blue hot pants doing it for Uncle Sam") are just the tips of the band's intelligent lyrical iceberg about the 2002 landscape. Taking on war ("Flex our muscles show them we’re stronger than the rest") and the neocon network ("The good old boys are back on top again"), the band eventually -- with the song's last line -- reasons that we've been here before ("And if we let them lead us blindly/The past becomes the future once again").

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Sleater-Kinney was an amazing band and one to enjoy. They broke the gender barrier in indie rock, growing from a riot grrl stalwart to indie rock's political conscience took a bit, but was well worth it. One Beat is the culmination of that transformation.

FutureSex/LoveSounds

The hope is to get more of these reviews up online, but it's proving to be pretty difficult.


Band: Justin Timberlake
Album: FutureSex/LoveSounds
Best song: "My Love" is undoubtedly the highlight of the album, though "SexyBack" isn't bad.
Worst song: "Damn Girl" is damn bad.

A lot of great success stories come from those who are not necessarily the smartest or most innovative folks in the world, but simply knew enough to latch onto the real innovators/geniuses and hope to ride the wave. That's not to say that these people aren't talented to worthwhile, but their talent is hugely augmented by being around those who can get the most out of them.

Eminmen always reminds me of this skill, as his best work was always done with Dr. Dre showing him around and the the second he eschewed Dre for his own production work, the records suffered.

Justin Timberlake is, no doubt, this type of person. His immense talent is mostly in "packaging" things -- his voice, his bone structure, his dance skills -- and not in the creative places like his songwriting (bleah) or production skills (bleah). So, instead, he chooses to work with those more skilled than he and puts out good records.

Even better, Timberlake doesn't seem to feel the need to stick his nose in everything or release an album every five minutes. He appears in a movie here and there, but he doesn't guest on every record under the sun. It's kind of nice to know that Justin Timberlake appears to enjoy being Justin Timberlake.

(Side note: I saw The Love Guru last week and it was a steaming pile of garbage. Timberlake was passably funny in it, but, overall, the movie sucked so very hard.)

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As with any artist going out on his/her own, Timberlake's work shows a progression that any artist would be proud to enjoy. His work with *NSync is undoubtedly mindless pop. Justified showed plenty of that angle, producing "Rock Your Body" and "Like I Love You," but also the Timbaland-produced classic breakup song "Cry Me a River."

FutureSex/LoveSounds is an extension of this growth. Taking from hip hop's grandiosity, Timberlake spends most of the album chanting and singing over chopped beats and Southern-style production. Guests include Three 6 Mafia and T.I., as Timberlake works more of a hip hop angle.

Surprisingly, the hip hop situation works much better than you would think, largely because Timberlake is mostly a bit player in the songs. "My Love" is, without question, the highlight of the record and not because Timberlake brings a great performance (he does), but because Timbaland's production is the star of the song. "Chop Me Up" features Three 6 Mafia and is less enthusiastically produced than "My Love," but nevertheless is a sum of its parts, as opposed to being carried by Timberlake.

"Damn Girl" isn't great and will.i.am's rap in the middle feels forced. "Losing My Way" is a similarly forced attempt at gospel hip hop or introspection or something.

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FutureSex/LoveSounds is hardly the world's best record. It's mostly a dance record, as "SexyBack" proves. "My Love" is a wonderful ballad with a pretty idiotic message ("love is good," essentially). "LoveStoned" has remnants of Timberlake's boy band past. "Sexy Ladies" is mostly nonsense, but is similarly hummable and fun.

Overall, it's a fine effort and one that builds on Timberlake's perfectly charming first record.

The Ballad of the Broken Seas

Band: Isobel Campbell & Mark Lanegan
Album: The Ballad of the Broken Seas
Best song: The cover of “Ramblin' Man” is great. I love “Black Mountain.” I know I shouldn't like "Honey Child What Can I Do?” but I do.
Worst song: "It's Hard to Kill a Bad Thing" is just OK.

I once wrote that people that think Belle & Sebastian is great pop music are “assholes.” Despite being a minor fan – I have four of the band's seven studio albums – I tend to think the band's fans are overbearing and stake too much on B+S' track record as fantastic musicians. They're nice, but a little bit of twee goes a very, very long way.

Nevertheless, I am an abject sucker for a ladyvoice, so I decided to grab the collaboration between former B+S cellist/vocalist Isobel Campell and former Screaming Trees frontman Mark Lanegan, The Ballad of the Broken Seas. Lanegan's voice has gone through something of a metamorphosis since the band's sole hit, 1992's “Nearly Lost You.” Lanegan's strength has moved to the low end and his mid range vibrato is nearly gone. Taking from Tom Waits and Nick Cave, Lanegan's voice is strong and gritty.

Indeed, Lanegan and Campbell each provide a strong, distinct voice to the record. Campbell's twee stylings remain within the genre's boundaries, but, placed in a more folk enviroment, the juxtaposition is much more pleasant. While a band like Flyleaf relies on a different juxtaposition of metal and twee vocals, the twee/folk situation is much more relaxing and, quite frankly, pretty.

As a record, The Ballad of the Broken Seas isn't terribly well-constructed, as the songs tend to run together. The Lanegan-focused songs are memorable if only because Lanegan's voice is stronger (though not better). The cover of “Ramblin' Man” features Campbell's wonderful whisper sweet vocal singing harmonies and Campbell's contributions are truly the highlight of the song and, essentially, the record.

Lushly arranged, the record has the feel of a classic pop record. Campbell's signature cello exist, but in smaller ways and in easy to digest pieces. The album works well as background music, largely because the record doesn't fall into the crazy highs and lows of much music. Like a great jazz record, The Ballad of the Broken Seas is a wonderfully pleasant, enjoyable record.

Death Magnetic

Band: Metallica
Album: Death Magnetic
Best song: Bah.
Worst song: Bah.

What is creativity?

On some level, we all think we're creative. No one wants to be the boring banker in those Washington Mutual ads; the old white guy in the bland suit.

We all think we're the most interesting people in the world. We all think we could be the star of the best sitcom ever, if only someone would write it about our collective lives. We all think we could be on the radio or that we should have our own blog (Hello!) or whatever.

I'm not sure that's creativity, but it's certainly a piece of American exceptionalism.

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I used to go to a therapist in high school and I have no doubt that it helped me get through high school (mostly) intact. My therapist was also a musician and (I think) has written music for plays and commercials.

Because "therapy" to me in high school -- as I remember it and I hope my parents aren't reading this because they probably wasted their money -- largely consisted of me talking more about music than my psyche, one of the things my therapist and I used to talk a lot about was the idea that an artist has a "well of creativity." In essence, the theory says that any artist has a certain amount of good work in him/her and once that good work is used up, it's gone.

Of course, this is nonsense, but Metallica is the poster child band for this theory. The band was awesome for four (some say five) albums. Then? Terrible.

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What makes Death Magnetic so bad? There's a lot to hate on the record, but I'll start first with my utter disdain for James Hetfield's vocals. Hetfield's voice has never been the highlight of Metallica, but his vocal style fit the band's first four records well. When he wasn't barking, he was sneering and either style proved to fill in the nihilistic and existential holes that was the band's early work.

On Death Magnetic, Hetfield fancies himself an actual singer. This is death-defyingly stupid and his own vocal tic -- over annunciated the final syllable on everything -- makes me want to stick a pen through my eardrum. A line stops being "the day that never comes," but rather "the day that never comesssssssssssssss, ah" with the "ah" sounding like he'd just drank a cold Gatorade after playing hoop.

Building off that, the lyrics on the album are nothing short of idiotic. Metallica's early lyrics, at least, touched on some interesting themes and topics; ...And Justice For All had "One," working from Dalton Trumbo's Johnny Got His Gun and Ride the Lightning had "For Whom the Bell Tolls."

Death Magnetic has nothing like this. At best, the album has "The Judas Kiss," but working any decent themes is not there. "Cyanide" is teenage angst and "All Nightmare Long" is just schlocky.

Finally, the song structures are awful. While Master of Puppets has "Battery" and the title track, Death Magnetic simply adds stuff like "The Day That Never Comes," a structural ripoff of "One" and a musical ripoff of "Nothing Else Matters."

Indeed, "The Day That Never Comes" is a decidedly pleasant song for the first four minutes, but delves into "Hey Jude" territory in that its outro is an instrumental wreck of a cheesy thrash metal number. It's the type of thing that ended up on the cutting room floor of a Judas Priest recording session. In 1990.

Metallica was a great band. Too bad they can't keep producing like they did in 1985.

Winners Never Quit

Band: Pedro the Lion
Album: Winners Never Quit
Best song: "Bad Things to Such Good People" is great.
Worst song: "To Protect the Family Name" is too long.

One of the things the Internet has spawned (along with a curious amount of ytmnd sites) is the more specific niches within music genres. "Indie rock" now has little to no meaning -- though, I'd be curious to see if it ever did -- spanning acts as similar as Pavement and Mogwai, label mates on Matador.

With that said, Pedro the Lion occupies a genre largely vacant before the emo scene exploded sometime in the early 2000s. In my reading (and, admittedly, I know nothing about this stuff), before David Bazan began recording under the PTL name, Christian music was the domain of African-American gospel singers, dc talk and the strikingly beautiful (even still, at 38) Amy Grant. The only outlet for the young, sensitive Christian was to venture to church on the hopes that a Megachurch has a band perform that day, and even then, the young sensitive Christian would have to deal with the chubby ladies with overdone fingernails and bad Nancy Reagan hair. Also, maybe that youth pastor who was a little too friendly.

Enter Pedro the Lion.

PTL's first full-length record, 1998's It's Hard to Find a Friend, is something of a breakthrough in that it captures a wonderful combination of confessional indie rock with a conversational delivery rivaled only by Elliott Smith. The album ender, "Promise," is a sweet recitation of faith despite overwhelming pangs of doubt and fear.

After another amazing EP (The Only Reason I Feel Secure, which included Bazan's version of "Be Thou My Vision"), Bazan recorded and released Winners Never Quit in 2000. A concept album, the record follows a fable of a man looking to be good in the face of a corrupt career, a difficult relationship and a frustrating family. The record is nothing if not dark, with the protagonist failing at every turn, cheating those around him, killing and eventually begging for his soul.

Indeed, the the album's artwork is nothing short of stark, with black and white line drawings of a briefcase being handed over and a man with a gun pointed at his temple.

The album, though, is striking and amazing. Pitchfork hated it, and, on some level, it's understandable. Quite simply, the album is beautiful, but incredibly heavy-handed lyrically.

Unlike later PTL efforts, Winners Never Quit emphasizes Bazan's best qualities: His whisper-sweet voice, his easy Modest-Mouse-on-Quaaludes guitar lines, his earnest delivery. The opener, a scene-setter detailing the protagonist's moral compass -- he steals his brother's lunch and hopes Jesus will forgive him for it -- is stark and creepy. The more amped-up "Simple Economics" is full of similarly strange platitudes, but satiric of the classic political canards.

The album's highlights show a dichotomy difficult to master on a record like Winners Never Quit. The two-song couplet "A Mind of Her Own" and "Never Leave a Job Half Done" tell a story of a deranged, power-hungry narrator (and accomplice) arguing, killing and eventually hiding the body of his victim. Told in striking deadpan, "A Mind of Her Own" inverts the Pixies' quietLOUDquiet, only to press the pedal to the floor as the song flows into its epic climax. As Bazan intones "You put down that telephone, you're not calling anyone" over and over, the song moves into a more rhythmic, serious "Never Leave a Job Half Done." The second song in the duo, the win-at-all-cost world of politics is shown as disgusting and dirty. Cynical as ever, the "quitters never win" axiom takes on a disturbing meaning in the song.

Of course, lo-fi is what PTL does best and Winners Never Quit's other grand moment is a confessional beauty. Speaking about his father's disappointment in him, the narrator takes a tragic look at his own faith and -- in his eyes -- Christ's reaction. Backed by a uptempo guitar line, Bazan's lyrics resonate with an urgency left for overwrought network dramas and Paul Thomas Anderson films.

"Bad Things to Such Good People" is, no question, one of Bazan's best lo fi offerings and his best ambiguous religious tomes.


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The criticisms of Winners Never Quit are, undoubtedly, valid. The record is overly dramatic. It's certainly darker than a person of supposedly strong faith should put forth (for the record, Bazan has since, basically, renounced his faith). I find his anti-political-system nonsense to be just that. It's easy to complain about politics by simply yelling "Everyone is a crook." That solves nothing.

But, still. The record takes the energy of a 15-year-old, Che-shirt-wearing teenager and actually channels it into something other than a Rage Against the Machine record and shows a pop sensibility often overlooked in lo fi indie rock.

More Adventurous

Band: Rilo Kiley
Album: More Adventurous
Best song: "Portions for Foxes" is wonderful. "It's a Hit" is nice, but strained.
Worst song: "Ripchord." Not great.

I sorta (though not harshly enough) lambasted my favorite entertainment Web site for including Rilo Kiley's Under the Blacklight on its best of 2007 piece. Under the Blacklight didn't connect with me on any level, which is weird, because I adore Jenny Lewis' work.

Which brings me to this album. More Adventurous is not a brilliant piece of art and I don't know that it's wildly better than Under the Blacklight. I do know one thing. "Portions for Foxes" is the best song on which Lewis has played or sang. Hands down.

The Postal Service's "Nothing Better" -- on which Lewis guests -- comes close, as it's a beautifully aching portrait of a post-breakup couple's difference in leverage. From Lewis' solo album, "Rise Up With Fists" and "You Are What You Love" can makes cases, as each has a pretty melody and one great lyrical bit ("I've won hundreds at the track, but I'm not betting on the afterlife" and "And I'm in love with illusions, so saw me in half/I'm in love with tricks/So pull another rabbit out of your hat.").

But, "Portions for Foxes" describes -- from what I remember, being that I'm apparently radioactive to women -- the kind of relationship we've all been in. Running through the timeline of a screwed-up relationship, Lewis begins the song easily with the type of proclamation left for bad Alanis Morrisette and great Elliott Smith songs: "There's blood in my mouth 'cause I've been biting my tongue all week."

The protagonist in the song hasn't lost her affinity for the antagonist in the song. She's lonely and can't forget the guy, singing the most forceful portion of the song:

When the loneliness leads to bad dreams
and the bad dreams lead me to callin' you
and I call you and say "C'MERE!"

All the while, the song's chorus is everpresent, coming between various stanzas. Lewis warns of her own intentions "And it's bad news/Baby I'm bad news/I'm just bad news, bad news, bad news" early until she changes her tune late into the song.

Over a small harmonic that turns into a soft stomping, the final verse takes an early line and turns it on the antagonist:

There's a pretty young thing in front of you
and she's real pretty and she's real into you
and then she's sleepin' inside of you
and the talkin' leads to touchin'
then touchin' leads to sex
and then there is no mystery left.

This leads Lewis to change the lyrics to "You're bad news," and works around that. Back on the sorta jealous/sorta lonely/sorta understanding track, Lewis' voice is strong throughout. The band's greatest strength, Lewis' sweet womanvoice is fantastic.

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The rest of album isn't bad, per se. Indeed, there are a several good songs. Robert Christgau really enjoyed "It's a Hit," but I think Pitchfork was right on in calling it's lack of good political sublty. Comparing Bush to a monkey is both overdone and misses the point. "Absence of God" is right up my alley and "Love and War (11/11/46)" is wonderful. "I Never" portends Lewis' foray into solo work by adopting a county tone, though the song gets "Hey Jude"ish by the end. Jimmy Tamborello -- with whom Lewis worked on the Postal Service record -- produces "Accidntel Death," providing an odd, but fun outlet for a different sound. "It Just Is" is not the best eulogoy song I've ever heard, but in the wake of some things in my life recently, I like it more than I probably should.

More Adventurous falls into the twee far too often, but the results are pretty good. Certainly, it has the best Rilo Kiley song and the best Jenny Lewis performance.

Illinois

Band: Sufjan Stevens
Album: Illinois
Best song: "Casimir Pulaski Day" or "Chicago.
Worst song: "The Seer's Tower" is just OK.

"Eeeeeeeeeeeyyyyyyyyyyyy."
- Arthur Fonzarelli

The nature of modern "cool" is such that not caring is as important as anything. Within alternative music, this movement gained traction sometime in the 1980s, when punk rock stopped being important and "indie" rock became the norm. Gone were the days of political rantings from the Minutemen. Replacing them was Stephen Malkmus and his band of merry ne'er-do-wells known as Pavement. Sincerity was lost, in many ways.

"Cool," though, eventually turned into "quirk." The late-1990s saw what was once a mocking tone turn into a reverant one. The 1980s were no longer a decade to be mocked, but to be revered with an odd sincerity long-held for the 1960s and 1970s. Disco became OK with straight people.

Irony, twee and quirk became -- and remain -- the norm. Wes Anderson, a brilliant filmmaker (though some would suggest he's only brilliant in his own mind), celebrates quirk to a remarkable degree. It became cool to enjoy childlike things -- Belle and Sebastian's music comes to mind. It became cool to find the little things in life. "Cool" is meaningless, but a pockmarked, nerdy sincerity became cool again.

One could argue that Weezer created this. One could argue the proliferation of popular culture created this. I'd argue that the personal computer and rise of the Internet created this.

For one, the long tail of Internet commerce and information makes it so that everyone can be quirky. We've all become our own Wes Andersons, our own Napoleon Dynamites. If I like to wear pageboy hats and pocket watches, I can find them online and recreate my own version of 1930s newspaper boy style. Maybe I collect porcelain figures. Whatever my quirk is, I can find and feed it.

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"There’s a fine line between stupid and clever"
- David St. Hubbins

Sufjan Stevens' popularity fits into this concept snugly. A reli-, er, sprirtual songwriter from Holland, Michigan, Stevens is a Midwestern Beck by way of more intelligent singer/songwriters. Stevens' normally whisper-soft voice is gorgeous and his grasp of tons of instruments belies his indie heritage. While the old model of singer/songwriter was one based around a guitar and mic, Stevens' has harmonies, glockenspiels and horns.

His so-called "50 State Project" hasn't really materialized, but the fruits so far of that labor are brilliant. "Michigan" is the more personal album and has some of the prettier, more low-key songs ("Holland" and "Romulus") Stevens has written. Still, "Illinois" is a more robust record, with more dynamics and more room for Stevens to show his skills.

It does stand to reason the "Michigan" is more personal and somber as an album, being the Stevens is from Michigan and that Michigan's recent decline is, well, depressing. Illinois, as a state, has a more robust and interesting history (I say that partially because I grew up in Illinois) and Stevens' evolution as a songwriter reflects that.

The album begins in a similar, but markedly different way than "Michigan" does. "Concerning the UFO Sighting Near Highland, Illinois" has Stevens accompanied by a simple piano (and some other vocalists), but he's upbeat and sweet, whereas "Flint" is somber and sad. The album takes off from the opening track, falling into a long-titled instrumental ("The Black Hawk War, or, How to Demolish an Entire Civilization and Still Feel Good About Yourself in the Morning, or, We Apologize for the Inconvenience but You're Going to Have to Leave Now, or, 'I Have Fought the Big Knives and Will Continue to Fight Them Until They Are off Our Lands!'"). Indeed, long titles for instrumental tracks are Stevens' way of highlighting historical events that he, apparently, wasn't able to write a song about.

One of the album's largely-arranged opuses (opi?), "Come On! Feel the Illinoise!" is over six and a half minutes of organ, horns and choirs. Dropping references like a crazy person, the song eventually had Stevens describing a nighttime visit from Illinois' second-greatest writer:

I cried myself to sleep last night
And the ghost of Carl, he approached my window
I was hypnotized, I was asked
To improvise
On the attitude, the regret
Of a thousand centuries of death

A group of singers serenades Stevens as he augments the lyric (And I cried myself to sleep last night/For the Earth, and materials, they may sound just right to me") and the song eventually fades out.

The album's other opus, "Chicago" reflects the town -- and America's -- love affair with transit, highways and movement. Stevens' need to move is almost teenage in its hyperbole, but gorgeous in its execution ("If I was crying/ In the van with my friend/ It was for freedom/ From myself and from the land,") until he turns it on himself, repeating "I've made a lot of mistakes." It's a wonderful piece of Stevens' emotion; softly ironic and winknigly full of cheese, yet tender and self-effacing.

Stevens doesn't just do bombast well, though. "John Wayne Gacy" is the only song I tend to skip on the disc, largely because it's so unsettling. The song's sweetness belies Gacy's life, though Stevens comes around to the forgiveness angle of his own religiosity.

The highlight of Stevens' softness is the wonderful "Casimir Pulaski Day." Armed with James 5:14, the best holiday ever and a sweet storyline about a new neighbor, Stevens crafts his best acoustic song this side of "Romulus."

He can operate on an upbeat, low-key scale, as well. "Decatur," while not somber, is a fantastic melody and has Stevens rhyming the town name with emancipator and alligator. "The Predatory Wasp of the Palisades Is out to Get Us!" is sweet-sounding, despite its reference to the Trail of Tears. "Jacksonsville" is cool and chocked full of nearly as many references as "Decatur."

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But, of course, this is all played against the backdrop of Stevens' winks and nods. Are the scores of hipsters, critics and fans ("Illinois" was the best-reviewed album of 2005) really into all the bells and organs? Or are they fans of his irony? Or are they some combination of both?

Is the only way to reach this generation -- or at least the people worth reaching within this generation -- through irony, twee and quirk? Do you have to detach oneself by wearing fairy wings or dressing up like a cheerleader (both things Stevens has done in concert) in order to connect with people like me?

And, of course, at what point is it stupid? What point is it clever? Does it really matter?

I don't know, but I think maybe it does.