I am going to see them tomorrow. I don’t get excited for reunions because they suck and they’re usually cash grabs. Considering the first thing Amebix did upon reuniting was digitally re-release Monolith for free, I’m hoping it’s not the latter. I want this to rule. I’m going to shit my pants.
Go read any comments on any semi-modern Scott Walker video on YouTube. I understand, YouTube comments are always dumb. But Walker videos are even crazier.
Most experimental musicians don’t get this kind of flak. I guess there’s no one to compare Walker to — most pop musicians don’t make this kind of insane transition. But it seems to have created a crazy rift in his fan base.
But… go fucking go, Joe Satriani!
Ever since I walked into Ikea (I think it was) and thought I heard a muzak version of Kraftwerk’s “Computer World” that turned out to be some fucking Coldplay song, I’ve been waiting for someone to come out of the woodwork and take them down. It probably won’t happen because the accuser always looks like a bitter-ass has-been scraping for coin that he can’t manage to get otherwise. And Joe Satriani… doubly so.
The worst part for the Satch is probably what’s stopped any other potential Coldplay attackers: you have to admit that whatever you wrote was boring enough for Coldplay to rip off in the first place.
I have the second printing on gray vinyl, not the 99-copy Prescription version. It’s mis-labeled, and as I don’t really listen to the record that often, I always forget that and put on side B first. This causes it to peak really early with “I Don’t Want To Be The One.” To me most of the tracks on here sound like Elph outtakes. Not that spectacular. I do like the idea of an ode to Kate Bush, though.
Of course what it takes for most of the world to notice The Fireman is for Paul McCartney to start singing. I’ll give Mac and Youth this: it is more entertaining that way. There are a lot of genres represented, and the production is solid without having a lot of trickery. But in the end, is Paul any more interesting than he ever is?
The most paradoxical part of The Fireman is that Youth is quite persistent in changing McCartney into an album artist, but McCartney is ridiculously resistent to being anything other than a vapid collection of singles. It’s just his thing. “Sing The Changes” at least proves that he still has some good ones in him. I applaud him not only for writing a hook that lasts for an entire song (rather than grafting a verse/chorus/bridge structure onto it), but writing one good enough that it won’t make you crazy after hearing it through a whole song. It makes a good candidate for ambient music as hit single. He doesn’t sound as interesting aping Led Zep/Jeff Beck on the opening track (or was it “Helter Skelter” he’s aping? Ray Davies self-plagiarism, anyone?), or on any of the other tracks. But he does sound quite natural the whole time, even when he’s singing in someone else’s voice (like Leonard Cohen’s on “Travelling Light”).
The one song I could really do without is “Dance ‘til We’re High,” the tune that most reminds you that you’re listening to Sir Paul.
Bottom line — Apparently somewhere between aging Industrial Rock star and already-aged world’s greatest popstar, there’s a pretty solid album, and it’s good that the world is noticing. Paul has slid by on Sgt Pepper and Ram, or just his personality, for too long and it was about time he delivered something even passable again.
Sure, take one look and they’re obviously one step away from a tribute band, but their metallic sound manages to capture some of the campy menace that all the whoa-whoa-whoa bands left for dead in a sea of half-baked Ramones-isms. Hell, even the Ramones themselves are more bad-and-menacing (think “53rd and 3rd”) than most of these bands that are too pussed-out to be called power pop (even Cheap Trick had a psychotic streak).
If you only need to hear one song, it’s the fucking awesome title track. Take the three best hooks Glenn never wrote, expand them into a 6-minute thrash metal rumble-fest, and pump your fucking fist in the air.
If you’re into crossover stuff like Suicidal or DRI, and if you sometimes need to be reminded that the Misfits’ legacy to punk is more than just Michale Graves, seek this out and feast on the blood of the unbelievers.
I enjoy going back to Khanate after a long period of not listening to them. Obviously there’s nothing that’ll re-create the ridonkulous feeling of listening to the first album or Things Viral that first time. It actually gave me faith in music — it’s hard to think you’ve heard everything when something that scary crops up.
If I could give up a small and insignificant body part to either write Alan Dubin’s lyrics or sing like him, I’m not sure which I’d choose.
now we’re here. pieces of us in my hands, on the floor, in my pockets.
my god, the smiles, the sneezes, the talking… we’re in that place again.
we’re gone, erased again.
no good times in here.
That’s pretty sweet, but it’s the throat-splitting, vomit-inducing delivery that really makes it.
Yeah, I feel you, Michael Gira put another “freak folk” thing out. The man may have gotten a taste of dollars with Devendra, but face it: Banhart wouldn’t have seemed very cool to just anyone, so I very much doubt that he’s trying to ride the wave. More like he’s just plain into this shit.
But sometimes, you don’t have to strain to see why.
Unlike the other recent catch for Young God, Fire on Fire (who play on this record), Larkin Grimm sounds like something different, even as nicely as she fits into the Gira canon. Akron/Family may envelop you in a cult-like all-encompassing hippie blanket, but Grimm is much like her name. The melodies are solid, and the construction and production won’t be any surprise to fans of the 21st-century incarnation of Gira, but the vibe is strange. Her feminist/post-feminist screeds aren’t really angry and they’re certainly not Kathleen Hanna material, nor are songs like “Anger in your Liver” as hippie as you might think. She’s just real, which makes her a million years removed from the spaced-out A/F but still magically appropriate for Young God.
Don’t mistake Real for gritty — she changes vocal style often and some of the more Banhart-y styles may be off putting to some, but overall there’s the kind of homey feel that MG seems to love to project. And that I love to listen to. Don’t mistake Real for “singer-songwritery” either. There’s an immediacy to the tunes that rambling coffee-shoppers can’t seem to grasp, and a willingness to do what has to be done — whether it’s repeating, whistling, banging on stuff. Gira tastefully lends polish to all this without sounding intrusive or “produced.”
I put this on again immediately after hearing the first time.
According to Keith Scott, who was employed at Federal Studios in the fifties and sixties, “Between 1962 and 1966 Lloyd Knibbs was the dominant drummer-he played on over 90 percent of the records.
No wonder Ma thought all those ska records sounded the same. From a history of the Skatalites.
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